Extradited Read Online Free PDF

absolutely no control! The only thing that comforted me was the knowledge that my family and friends were doing absolutely everything in their power to prevent the injustice.
    The online petition was growing by the hour. We had far more support than I ever thought we would – and for that I was grateful beyond words. People I knew showed their support in different ways, and even a text message or an email was appreciated greatly. Some people who I hadn’t spoken to in a long time had called me to ask how my family and I were doing. Some friends would text me, not even mention what was happening and just ask how I was. It was a delicate subject to broach; I guess it isn’t every day that somebody you know stands accused of killing someone. The one thing I didn’t appreciate was the very few people I’d had no contact with for many years who called, not to ask how we were, but to find out if the rumour was true. Some even wanted to know if I ‘did it’, almost as though they needed confirmation so they could then gossip with their friends about me, not knowing all the facts.
    A week had passed and arguments began to form over the internet. Friends of the victim began to post obnoxious messages on ourFacebook group for the campaign. I’d read things like ‘Andrew is a scumbag who deserves to go to prison’, ‘He’s going to go to Greece kicking and screaming’ and ‘Anyone in this group is a scum-supporting idiot!’ One person even wrote that I had a ‘sickening face’. My friend Sophia disabled the facility to post messages on the Facebook group before it got too out of hand. I don’t know why I even bothered to read them, because being aware that there were a group of people who hated me in Wales added to the depression that I was already trying to deal with. It wasn’t me they really hated – it was the thug who’d taken their friend away from them forever. It was clear that many of them wanted me to go to prison before even being tried! The possibility of me being innocent was something that they’d failed to consider, regardless of the lack of information that they had. Friends of mine would reply in an attempt to defend me – but there was no point in arguing with those who could never be reasoned with. Thanks to a group of corrupt Greek officers and two scared eighteen-year-old boys, my face represented their friend’s alleged killer.
    As usual, my house was full of people. My cousin Andreas brought his Nintendo Wii video-game console round for everyone to play. As I walked into the conservatory he was teaching our gran, Yiayia Nitsa, how to play a virtual tennis game. I remember us all being completely shocked at how good she was at it – she was a natural. I drew strength from seeing her smile; it was unlike the emotional greeting we’d had the previous day when she’d arrived from Cyprus.
    I turned to my left and saw my dad speaking on the telephone. His face looked pale and drained.
    ‘Who’s Dad on the phone to?’ I asked my mum.
    Her eyes looked absolutely exhausted as she sat on the sofa holding a cup of tea. ‘George Pyromallis, the Greek lawyer.’
    I waited in anticipation for the phone call to end so I could hear what George had said about the case file.
    My dad eventually put the telephone down. ‘It took Georgea while, but he finally met with the investigating magistrate in Zante. He has the file now.’
    ‘And…’ I needed him to elaborate.
    ‘And, at a glance, he can already see huge anomalies.’

    Two days before the hearing and protest, George Pyromallis had flown to London to meet us in John Jones’s office. When we walked into the boardroom, a tall, dark-complexioned man in his early forties stood up to shake my hand. He was suited with neat, short hair and spoke in perfect English with a slight Greek accent. We all shook hands with John Jones and our solicitor before sitting down and discussing the case file.
    Before Chris Kyriacou and Charlie Klitou were forced to