The FoJSC refutes all three allegations. (1) and (3) depend entirely on the word of Amanda Streeter. (2) refers to a statement made by one of James's colleagues who has since admitted that he wasn't sure even in 1990 if it was James who made the remark.
Further:
The FoJSC has obtained proof that it was Amanda herself who was having the affair and that her lover was Nigel de Vriess. We have photocopies of bills and eye witness statements which refer to two secret meetings the couple had in 1986 and 1989 at the George Hotel. Bath. The first occurred only weeks before her marriage to James, the second three years after it. (See enclosures)
We accuse Amanda Streeter and Nigel de Vriess.
James Streeter's murder has gone unpunished. Unless the Press shakes off its apathy and acts now, the guilty will continue to profit from an innocent man's death. The FoJSC urges, indeed demands, a proper inquiry into the activities of Nigel de Vriess and his lover, Amanda Streeter. Please fax or phone on the above numbers for assistance and/or further information. John and Kenneth Streeter are available for interview at any time.
Two evenings later, and because he had nothing better to do, Deacon dialed John Streeter's number in Edinburgh. A woman answered.
"Hello," she said in a soft Scottish accent.
Deacon introduced himself as a London-based journalist who was interested in talking to a spokesman from the Friends of James Streeter Campaign.
"Oh Lord!"
He waited a moment. "Is this a problem for you?"
"No, it's just-well, to be honest, it's over a year since-look, just hang on a moment, will you?" A hand went over the receiver. "JOHN! JO-OHN!" The hand was removed. "It's my husband you need to talk to."
"Fine."
"I'm sorry I didn't catch your name."
"Michael Deacon."
"He'll be here in a minute." The hand again, and this time her voice was muffled. "For God's sake hurry. It's a journalist and he wants to talk about James. His name's Michael Deacon. No, you must. You promised your father you wouldn't give up." She came back, louder. "Here's my husband."
"Hello," said a man's much deeper voice. "I'm John Streeter. How can I help you?"
Deacon flicked the trigger on his ballpoint and pulled forward his notepad. "Does the fact that it's three and a half years since you sent out your last press release mean you've now accepted your brother's guilt?" he said bluntly.
"Are you with a national newspaper, Mr. Deacon?"
"No."
"Then you're freelance?"
"As far as these questions are concerned, yes."
"Have you any idea how many freelancers I've spoken to over the years?" He paused, but Deacon didn't rise to the bait. "Approximately thirty," he went on, "and the number of column inches I've had out of them is nil because no editor would take the story. I'm afraid I'd be wasting both our time if I answered your questions."
Deacon tucked the telephone more firmly under his chin and drew a spiral on his pad. "Thirty is nothing, Mr. Streeter. I've known campaigns like yours approach hundreds of journalists before they get anywhere. That apart, most of what you allege in your press releases is actionable. Frankly, you're lucky to have avoided a libel suit thus far."
"Which proves something in itself, don't you think? If what we're claiming is defamatory, why does no one challenge us?"
"Because your targets aren't that stupid. Why give your campaign the adrenaline of publicity when it's dying a death of its own accord? It would be a different matter if you managed to persuade an editor to go against his better judgment. Are you saying nothing has ever been published in defense of your brother?"
"Only a grudging piece in a compilation of unsolved mysteries that came out last year. I spent two days talking to Roger Hyde, the author, only to have him write a bland summary which ended with his own half-baked conclusion that James was guilty." He sounded angry and frustrated. "I'm growing rather tired of beating my head against a brick wall."
"Then perhaps you're less persuaded of your brother's innocence than you were five years ago?"
There was a smothered obscenity. "That's all you lot ever want, isn't it? Confirmation of James's guilt."
"Except I'm giving you an opportunity to defend him which you don't seem very keen to take."
John Streeter ignored this. "My brother came from an honest, hardworking background, just as I did. Have you any idea what it's done to my parents to have their son labeled a thief? They're decent, respectable people and they can't understand why journalists like you won't listen to them." He drew another angry breath. "You're not interested in facts, only in trying to further destroy a man's reputation."
"Aren't you playing the same game?" Deacon murmured unemphatically. "Unless I've misread your releases, your defense of James rests entirely on blackening Nigel de Vriess and Amanda Streeter."
"With reason. There's no proof of her assertion that James was having an affair, but we've found evidence of hers with de Vriess. He stripped the bank of ten million and she aided and abetted him in pushing the blame onto her husband."
"That's some accusation. Can you prove it?"
"Not without access to their bank and investment accounts, but you only need to look at their respective addresses to realize there was an injection of cash from somewhere. Amanda bought herself a six-hundred-thousand-pound house on the Thames within months of James's disappearance and de Vriess bought himself a mansion in Hampshire shortly afterwards."
"Do they still see each other?"
"We don't think so. De Vriess has had at least five lovers in the last three years while Amanda's kept herself to herself and remained celibate."
"Why do you think that is?"
Streeter's voice hardened. "Probably for the same reason she's never sought a divorce. She wants to give the impression that James is alive somewhere."
Deacon consulted some photocopies of the press releases. "Okay, let's talk about James's alleged affair with-" he isolated a paragraph-"Marianne Filbert. If there's no proof of its existence, why did the police accept Amanda's word on it? Who is Marianne Filbert? Where is she? What does she say about it?"
"I'll answer those questions in order. The police accepted Amanda's word because it suited them. They needed a computer expert in the frame, and Marianne fitted the bill. She was part of a research and development team working for Softworks Limited in the mid-eighties. Softworks was commissioned to prepare a report for Lowenstein's Bank in 'eighty-six, although no one knows if Marianne Filbert was involved with that. She went to America in 'eighty-nine." He paused briefly. "She was employed for six months by a computer software company in Virginia before moving on to Australia."
"And?" prompted Deacon when he didn't continue.
"There's no trace of her after that. If she went to Australia, which now seems doubtful, she was using another name."
"When did she leave the Virginia company?"
"April 1990," said the other reluctantly.
Deacon felt sorry for him. John Streeter wasn't a fool, and blind faith clearly made him uncomfortable. "So the police see a connection between your brother's disappearance and hers? He told her when to run in other words."
"Except they haven't established that James and Marianne even knew each other." Streeter's furious indrawn breath was audible down the wire. "We believe it was de Vriess and Amanda who gave her the green light to disappear."
"A three-way conspiracy then?"
"Why not? It's just as plausible as the police theory. Look, it was Amanda who gave them Marianne Filbert's name and Amanda who told them she'd gone to America. Without that evidence, there'd have been no computer link and no way that James could have worked the fraud. The entire police case rests on James having access to expert knowledge, but Amanda's testimony about his alleged affair with Marianne has never been independently substantiated."