There was silence as McAreavey told of his two-week marriage and his memories of the day his wife was killed
WITH AN affectionate pat on the arm from his brother-in-law Mark Harte, John McAreavey rose to his feet and pressed through the throng that had filled the courtroom far beyond capacity for his day on the stand.
All eyes followed his progress – past the defendants’ families, past the crammed benches of the public gallery and finally past the two men accused of murdering his wife. Like everyone else, Avinash Treebhoowoon and Sandip Moneea fixed their gaze on the 27-year-old, dressed in a light grey suit and a blue tie, as he took his place in the witness box.
For 3½ hours the crowd watched, engrossed, as McAreavey recounted his relationship with Michaela, their two-week marriage and his memories of the day she was killed. His voice began strongly, but he could have whispered and he would still have been heard.
“She was a wonderful, wonderful person,” McAreavey told the court, “a real special human. She completed my whole life.”
He had never met anyone more beautiful, he said. “She was a charming, charming individual – full of life, full of happiness . . . I do not have the words to fully explain how much she meant to me and how much she still means to me and her family.”
The couple met through a mutual friend in 2005, when they were both studying in Belfast. They became “pretty much inseparable” – in the five years before they got married, they spent just three days apart.
They got engaged in 2008 and bought a house but, being devout Catholics, decided not to live together until they were married. “We thought by waiting it would give us something magical and wonderful to look forward to.”
Theirs was a traditional, “magical” wedding. They were married by McAreavey’s uncle and the reception was held across the Border in Co Cavan. That was December 30th, 2010 – the day before Michaela turned 27. Two weeks later, her funeral would be held in the same church.
McAreavey shared some photos of Michaela with the jury – some of them were taken in Dubai, on the first leg of their honeymoon, a few more at Legends Hotel the day before she was killed.
On arrival at Legends – the hotel Michaela had picked out the previous summer after hearing it was popular with Irish honeymooners – they had tried their luck and got an upgrade. “We were off to a good start.”
Do you remember the events of January 10th, 2011, asked Mehdi Manrakhan, the lead prosecution lawyer. “Yes, I do,” McAreavey replied, breathing out slowly. There was a catch in his voice.
“It was the day my wife was murdered, that her life was ended, that my life was ended.”
That day, the McAreaveys had breakfast together before he went for a golf lesson and she spent some time sunbathing at the poolside. They met up again for lunch and, after the meal, Michaela ordered a cup of tea. She always liked biscuits with her tea, so she said she’d go back to the room to get a Kit Kat.
After 15 minutes, Michaela had not returned. McAreavey signed the bill and went to look for her. He knocked on the door but got no response, so he went to reception. A porter accompanied him back and opened the door. Within seconds he saw Michaela lying motionless in the bath.
“I could hear the water gushing in the bathtub and Michaela was, like, face up, bobbing.”
McAreavey’s voice began to crack. His sister Claire, sitting beside their father Brendan and Mark Harte, asked for her brother to be given some water.
McAreavey pulled his wife out of the bath, he continued. He put her on the floor, kneeled down beside her and started calling for help. “I was just screaming from the top of my voice, screaming for help, screaming for help.”
The tap was still running. “I was in complete disarray. Michaela was cold, her lips were blue,” he said, fighting back tears. He noticed a mark on his wife’s neck.
“I kept on just saying: ‘Michaela, Michaela, wake up, come on, come on’.” As he spoke, some of the law students who attend court every day were in tears.
Hotel manager Brice Lunot arrived at the room and began trying to resuscitate her.
McAreavey’s mind was racing but he was unable to form thoughts. He tried to call “my daddy” and “Michaela’s daddy”, but could not reach them.
“I was down on my knees praying. I was in hysterics. I couldn’t utter the words that were going through my mind.” Then he noticed Lunot, on his knees at Michaela’s side, had stopped pressing on her chest. McAreavey collapsed on the bed.
An hour or two passed. He was being comforted by a couple in their room when the police collected him, put him in a 4x4 with four officers and drove out of the hotel complex. En route, the officers stopped for a takeaway.
He also remembered a policeman in the 4x4 telling him: “What are you crying for? You’re young. You’ll get another wife.”
McAreavey was brought to “some sort of a derelict place”, where he was handcuffed and left in a room on his own for more than five hours. Police asked him if he and his wife had had an argument and checked his chest for marks. “I could see what was going through their minds,” he told the court slowly, as if trying not to let his words falter.
Late that night, McAreavey was driven back to Legends by Lunot, the manager. He was given a new room, where the hotel nurse cared for him until he eventually dozed off for a few hours.
Court room number five is normally a difficult place to quell. People fidget. Visitors come and go. Policemen chat among themselves. Not yesterday. Yesterday it went quiet.
Before finishing with his witness, Manrakhan wondered how McAreavey was coping these days. “It’s a case of rebuilding your life,” he replied. “It’s extremely, extremely hard. Everything was finished on that day. Everything was destroyed – our dreams were destroyed, the dreams of our children [together].”
“I suppose you miss her a lot,” said Manrakhan.
McAreavey paused for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
