From report to court, part nine – I have a probation worker

In the last email I hope to ever receive from the CPS, they told me what I already knew about Tim’s sentencing, and that The Restorative Justice Team would be contacting me in the near future. That team is the one that liaises between a convict and a victim, if the convict wishes to make contact.

I wasn’t surprised when I found out the CPS were yet again, wrong. Two weeks after the sentencing I got an email from the Victim Contact Scheme. Attached was an information leaflet, a form to fill out if I wished to engage with them, and an introductory letter from the officer assigned to me.

My first hint this team may not be part of the CPS was the way the email was worded. Thought and consideration had been used to write it, ending with “Please accept our apologies if this contact has caused any alarm or distress.” The CPS absolutely never put any thought into how their emails made someone feel, and I don’t believe the organisation cares at all. Once, they put so little thought into what they were sending me, they didn’t even get my address right and sent full details of the trial to my apartment building management.

So, who were these mysterious support workers that seemed to actually care about what they were doing? I read the leaflet and letter. They offered an entire array of services, from keeping me informed of any changes during Tim’s sentence, and dealing with the parole service, arranging bail conditions to be applied upon release such as exclusion zones around where I live or even my town. The list went on, but each and every item was about support and protection of me.

I talked it over with my husband, and then replied to my potential support officer, Bella. My response was a bit heated, I was used to having to fight for the slightest bit of support or recognition with the CPS, but Bella took what I said, acknowledged it, and dealt with my concerns. I will admit to being left on the back-foot. We arranged a video call to go through everything, and I made a gin and tonic. That had to be able to help with my confusion.

I logged onto the video call a few minutes ahead of schedule, and Bella’s cheerful friendly face appeared instantly. After introductions and a quick chat, I had to stop her and apologise for my heated email. She couldn’t say anything in response to me talking about the hellscape that is the CPS, but she nodded and smiled in a sympathetic way, I don’t think I was the first to mention it.

She started by detailing the sentence. Not how the CPS had, but actually discussing what each part meant, deciphering the lingo, checking that I was following her, and then she mentioned the release date.

“The earliest possible release date is 2036,” she said.

My mind swam. I’d known that Tim had been sentenced to twenty-two years. I’d known that he was to serve a minimum of two thirds of that. But I hadn’t put any thought into how long that would actually be. Hearing Bella say 2036, sounded like something from a sci-fi book. Tim wasn’t going to be released until we got personal robots and flying cars, and now we had to talk about where I might be or what I might want in that distant future.

We discussed where I might be living, if I wanted any friends or family members added to a theoretical exclusion zone, even if I wanted to be part of any parole hearing that may take place. She explained that my future home could be added to a police patrol list, and they would drive by and check on me regularly. By signing up to the probation service, Bella would become my worker for the entire period Tim was incarcerated. I had an email, an office phone number, and a WhatsApp, all in case I needed or wanted to talk to her. The service is structured in a way that Bella will have contact with Tim’s probation worker, but Bella would have no contact with Tim, and vice versa for his worker.

We were on the call for an hour, and when it ended, I sat at my desk, staring at my screen. For the first time, it actually felt like things were over. Anything more that might happen was in the distant future, and the CPS were in my soon to be distant past. I’d survived the disinterest, neglect, and at times, abuse, dished out by them. Although I wanted to scream about how their actions are directly responsible for not just the low conviction rates, but also the bad reputation the police have, as the CPS hide behind the police in their ivory tower, separated from, and never having to deal with the pesky victims of crime. I was done with them, I’d been moved to an organisation that wanted to interact, to help, to support. I was going to be back in the real world where I didn’t need to shout at a windowless wall until I lost my voice if I needed, or indeed wanted anything.

I could begin again. I was free.