2013-05-21T14:42:26-04:00 Chris Atkins http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=chris-atkins Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Chris Atkins Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1514110 2012-05-14T07:11:10-04:00 2012-07-14T05:12:04-04:00

Chris Atkins http://www.huffingtonpost.com/chris-atkins/ Channel 4 Dispatches how unregulated private detectives were openly selling our most personal information, and how they might be obtaining this data from supposedly secure government databases, banks and mobile phone companies.

As far back as 2006 the Information Commissioner published a report called What Price Privacy, which included a shopping list revealing how much PIs were selling our private data for on the black market: An ex directory telephone number cost only £75 where accessing someone's mobile account was £750. But since then no-one had seriously followed up on this explosive allegation it up - not the journalists who would normally investigate such large scale wrongdoing, nor the police.

The phone hacking scandal has brought to public attention investigators selling intrusive information on celebrities. This in some ways has distracted from a much wider issue of the trading in the private and most personal information on us all.

So, how to catch the PIs in the act, and track the source of their illegal information? After much considering it was decided that I would pose as someone wanting thorough background checks on individuals, who, unbeknownst to the PIs, had given me their consent for the checks. I would invent a company, a new identity and pay in cash to avoid setting off any alarm bells. Any information received from the PI's would be cross checked to establish where it might come from and if there had been a breach of the Data Protection Act 1998. As I would have consent for the checks, the legal advice was that I would have a strong public interest defence against any accusations of criminality. All I needed was to get permission from publicly minded citizens who would volunteer to be the subjects of the investigation.

Recruiting volunteers took about a year. Most people said "no" straight away, for obvious reasons - who in their right minds wants a private investigator rummaging through their past and then the results to be broadcast on national television? Some altruistic acquaintances agreed, as they could see the important public service in our mission. We always gave people a cooling off period, and most who said yes at first would call back two days later to politely decline, once the implications had set in. Eventually a good friend Tom Puukko, who runs an advertising company, and two political activists bravely said yes to our plans, and, as Britain's best loved private detective Sherlock Holmes would say: "the game was afoot".

Given that I've had some limited media exposure, I thought it best to change my appearance before I went to meet any PIs. My producer Christina Slater said it was wishful thinking that I was famous enough to be recognised, but we decided to err on the side of caution. And much to my partners annoyance I shaved my hair, grew a goatee and began wearing glasses.

A web search of "Private Detective" brings up an astonishing number of outfits advertising their services. Most seemed to offer 'background checks', and it seemed they often worked on matrimonial disputes, insurance claims, employee screening and corporate rivalry. I started cold calling pretending to need thorough checks on our volunteers. Some were up front and explicitly stated that they wouldn't breach the Data Protection Act. Others suggested they might obtain questionable information. But a few offered me personal data that ostensibly could only be obtained by breaching the Data Protection Act, and it was with these firms that I arranged meetings.

The realisation of what I was about to do hit me. Here I was, a filmmaker with no experience of spying, private detective work, about to go toe to toe with people who had been doing cloak and dagger work their entire lives. All these PIs claimed they were experts at counter surveillance, so I had real concerns that I might be exposed. Backed by Channel 4's Dispatches strand, the experienced investigative executive producer Paul Woolwich and extremely diligent assistant producer Tom Marchbanks, I felt a lot safer investigating the murkier side of private investigators industry.

Nevertheless, the build-up to the meetings with PI's were awful. The worst thing you can possibly do is worry that your buttonhole camera is somehow showing, or fret that anything else might be going wrong. As I walked down the road to that first meeting I keep telling myself cool calm rational thoughts and not to let it become overwhelming. But thankfully as soon as I met the PI the adrenaline kicked in, and the rush would keep me focused until the meeting was over.

There are some pretty tough rules to follow in undercover filming for TV - you can't just rock up somewhere with a micro camera in your tie and hope someone says something naughty. There's a strict procedures we had to follow, quite rightly, that means you have to have strong evidence of probable wrongdoing before you get wired up. We had to wait for the PI to offer the illegal data first before we commissioned any undercover filming.

The level of private information that we were sold for a few hundred pounds was genuinely shocking. Medical records, benefits records, national insurance numbers, criminal records, itemised mobile phone bills, and bank statements were all provide to use for a few hundred pounds. Both the acquisition and sale of this information break the Data Protection Act. One of the PIs even boasted that he carried out similar work for the Metropolitan Police, though the Met have denied this.

Two months after the investigation started, the phone hacking scandal blew up, and we thought this would probably kick our investigation into the long grass. However, after a couple of months on hold we found that the PIs were still just as willing to sell us information illegally.

Unbelievably I had several meetings with PIs while revelations from the Leveson Inquiry, which looked into private detectives selling celebrities' confidential information to newspapers, were dominating the headlines. So it was sods law that I got the call to give evidence to Lord Leveson myself in the same week I'd arranged to meet with two PIs. Fearing my cover would be blown I made my case to the Inquiry and they kindly agreed to turn the cameras off, and even hustled me in through the back entrance of the Royal Courts, well away from the 'paps'.

I gave evidence over two hours and thought everything had gone swimmingly until I was safely in the pub round the corner. A reporter friend of mine said that the feed had gone live for five minutes to anyone watching the Inquiry website at the time. It turned out someone had sat on a remote or similar, and there were a few red faces at the Inquiry. I crossed my fingers that none of the PIs I was investigating had clocked this, but it wasn't until I'd had my next meetings and come out unscathed that we knew we were in the clear.

Given that I had been 'running' several different PIs for nearly a year, it isn't hugely surprising that my cover was eventually blown. In January I had a phone conversation with one the PIs who had already provided me with a volunteers bank statements and mobile phone bills, and we arranged to meet in a sandwich bar on Victoria Street two days later to discuss further checks.

But there was something odd about his tone, rather than being matey and conspiratorial, he was now detached and cold. That night I couldn't sleep, and kept turning over in my mind what would happen if they did rumble me. Channel 4 secret filming guidelines have a procedure for this, essentially "Make your excuses and leave. Get out safely and keep hold of the secret camera footage."

The Café had a large glass window, and it occurred to me that if I sat next to it we would be clearly visible from the other side of the road. If I could get a cameraman holed up out of sight, he'd get a nice profile view of the meeting in case there was a problem. The next day I went down to Victoria and got 'wired up' in a public toilets for what was to be the last time. I got to the sandwich shop nice and early and sat by the window waiting for the PIs to turn up. I was only expecting Marcus, but his boss Nick arrived with him, which put me on my guard straight away. Both are ex-soldiers. After a couple of minutes of banal banter Nick dropped the bombshell.

"The reason for the meeting is, we're not really sure who you are", Nick said.

I'd been rumbled!

Nick continued: "We went to your offices, doesn't exist. We know you wore a camera last time you were with Marcus. You're wearing one now, I can actually see it... "So I want to know who you are and what it is you want?"

I was immediately concerned but remembered my training. "Right at that point I'm afraid the meeting is over. And I'm going to leave", I said. Outside I felt a massive sense of relief - that was it, it was over. I didn't have to go through this ordeal any more. The relief was short lived; I turned round to see Nick and Marcus trailing me down the street.

"Are you following me?", I awkwardly asked. "Yes" replied Nick. Not that I needed confirmation.

A cab not slowed to crawl right in front of me, and I found myself whacking it on the top to alert the driver to stop and jumped in the back in a less than dignified manner. As the cab pulled away I felt sheer relief as my extraordinary undercover expose' of the private investigation had come to an abrupt end.



Chris Atkins is the Reporter/Producer of Watching the Detectives, Channel 4 Dispatches 8pm Monday 14 May. ]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.897293 2011-07-13T14:08:54-04:00 2011-09-12T05:12:01-04:00

Chris Atkins http://www.huffingtonpost.com/chris-atkins/
On monday The Guardian took the phonehacking story to a whole new level:

"Details from his [Gordon Bown] infant son's medical records were obtained by the Sun, who published a story about the child's serious illness."
Guardian Monday 13th July

The Sun has since denied it.

"We did not access the medical records of their son, nor did we commission anyone to do so. The story the Sun ran about their son originated from a member of the public whose family has also experienced cystic fibrosis."

News International said the individual had come to the Sun voluntarily as he wished to highlight the plight of those with the disease, adding that he had provided "a written affidavit" confirming this.

Apart from the fact that News International has been lying on an industrial scale throughout this affair, I know from experience it's impossible to sell health stories to that organisation without obtaining hard evidence.

In 2009, as part of an investigation for the film Starsuckers, I called up four Sunday tabloids, pretending I knew a Harley street nurse who wanted to sell plastic surgery medical records of celebrities. The Sunday Express turned us down saying it was against the PCC code and "a legal minefield". The News Of The World, Sunday Mirror and The People all asked to meet for a drink. During the secretly filmed meetings the journalists all expressed strong interest in the stories. The bloke from the Sunday Mirror offered me £3,000 per story and told me to "get a copy of every document in the building". The News Of The World hack said that they could offer up to eighty grand for health stories on A List Stars. The offers of cash in this sting were not the acts off rogue journalists, but were made with the blessing of their newsdesks, proving that criminality was ingrained in red top culture.

All three journalists told me their paper couldn't run a story about celebs having plastic surgery simply on my say so. Even a signed affidavit would not suffice. For their editors to be 100% sure that these celebrities had had their boobs nipped and tummies tucked, they would need cold hard evidence. Being in the libel capital of the world, all newspapers have learned through bitter experienced that they need solid proof on stories about the rich and famous, otherwise they'd be shredded in court. The Sun knows full well that affidavits are often not worth the paper they are written on - their Elton John case in the 80's collapsed as their source had fabricated a string of stories, all backed up with meaningless signed affidavits.

In my sting the journalist for the News Of The World, The Sun's sister paper, said that they could only print my stories if they had "proof". The "proof" in health stories can only have come from accessing some kind of medical records, and the sale of medical records is a criminal offence under the Data Protection Act (unless they could prove there was a huge public interest, which was impossible in this case)

The Sun and News Of The World share the same lawyers, so it follows that the Sun would have insisted on the same level of evidence for their Gordon Brown story as the News Of The World insisted for my plastic surgery story. Given the level of evidence required by News International's legal team for my sting, it seems extremely unlikely that The Sun would run a similar story simply on the say so of a member of the public.

When Starsuckers was released in 2009 The Guardian very kindly splashed this story on the front page. We thought the evidence that 75% of the Sunday tabloids were offering cash for health records would rock fleet street. But the story was completely ignored by the rest of the media.

Why did no other paper write about this, given the public's revulsion over the Gordon Brown story this week? I can only guess that finding out that one's industry is so riddled with criminality was deeply uncomfortable for any journalists to talk about - even for those who have never deviated from the rules. The instinct is to protect ones own in any profession, and never more so in the media. The lack of further coverage of my sting didn't make us bitter, as we were amazed at the Guardian coverage. But when I saw the Gordon Brown story this week, it did remind me that we exposed this problem nearly two years ago and it was quietly swept under the carpet.

I'm not going to do a Jemima Khan and claim we are responsible for bringing down the News Of The World - Starsuckers was just a drop in the ocean. There has been mounting evidence from all sides that tabloid practices were out of control, and we just added to the pile.

The fault in this scandal is not just with the demented hacks who trampled the privacy of celebrities and mourning parents alike. Nor does the buck stop with the corrupt police who took the bribes, or the politicians who ignored it. The job of a free press is to hold the rich and powerful to account, which includes other parts of the press. There was no-one more rich and powerful in this country than Rupert Murdoch and his newspapers, and the code of silence that cloaked the dark arts of Fleet Street is what enabled them to get away with it for so long.

"All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing." The acts that were carried out by the News Of The World can only be described as evil. And they triumphed for many years because good men and women at The Telegraph, The Independent, The Daily Mail, The Mirror, The Times, The BBC and many others did nothing. By ignoring these despicable acts for so long, the mainstream press enabled this problem to grow for years, and now it has exploded and journalists are tarred with the same brush. My twitter feed is full of journalists complaining that their entire profession has been sullied by these disgusting practices. If more of them had done their job and written about it over the last five years, then they would be spared that embarrassment.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.894693 2011-07-12T15:22:19-04:00 2011-09-11T05:12:02-04:00

Chris Atkins http://www.huffingtonpost.com/chris-atkins/ Don't Panic TV.



When we set out do track down those responsible for the heinous crimes carried out by the News Of The World, I needed the help of someone who wouldn't let the rules get in the way of a good story and. Because the Screws hacks were otherwise engaged, I called in Heydon Prowse, best known for digging up Alan Duncan MP's lawn into the shape of a pound sign after it was revealed he'd claimed gardening costs on expenses. We donned grubby raincoats, put on trilby hats and went in search of the villains who've been [abusing]the British public for so long.

First stop was Andy Coulson's house. It was Tuesday night, two days before his arrest. As we pulled up, we saw a gaggle of journalists and a TV crew, religiously staying off his property and on the pavement as per PCC rules. We swept straight past them up the drive, and a hack demanded to know who we were. "News Of the World", we barked. This got them very excited and they followed us up to the front door, where we rang the bell. There was a commotion inside as various lights went on and off and dogs barked, but no-one answered. So, we did what tabloid hacks are trained to do: yelled obscenities and threats through the letterbox and banged on the window. After a few moments the real hacks realised that by filming us and taking photos they were also in breach of PCC rules, and they scampered back to the pavement. "The police might get called!" one of them warned us. Well, with the money Andy has allegedly been paying them you'd hope he'd get decent protection.

We planted a can of Special Brew, a teen porn mag and a pack of Rizlas in his bin, then 'discovered' this incriminating evidence and marched back up to his front door, shouting through the letterbox allegations that he was an alcoholic, dope-smoking nonce. Taking his silence as confirmation, we were satisfied we'd done our journalistic duty and made our excuses and left. To the pub.

On Thursday, News International announced that it was firing everyone at the paper except the people responsible. We also learned that members of the Met Police had allegedly been taking bribes from Screws hacks, and that some of the transactions had taken place at a McDonalds in Wapping. This last fact tickled me, and I decided to see how easy it was for upstanding journalists to bribe a cop in this town.

Fortuitously, that evening it was the Police Bravery Awards at the Savoy, so I stuffed a load of readies into paper McDonalds bags, and headed down to the Strand to see what I could get for my money.

I bumped into a PC on the way to London's most respected hotel. "Excuse me, are the Police Bribery Awards on here tonight?" I asked. "Yes sir,' he replied. 'Round to the front." Down on the riverside, I pitched up to the entrance where there were three other media types and about a hundred officers looking out for trouble makers. A car pulled up and a rotund senior policeman struggled to get out - presumably, all those Big Macs had taken their toll. I approached the car, opened the door for him and tried to help him out, with the intention of slipping a bung into the pocket of his sizeable uniform. Unfortunately, the chaps from the bomb squad took umbrage at this behaviour and restrained me. "What's this?", a very large officer demanded, grabbing my Maccy D's bag. "Wink Wink, nudge nudge, say no more," I whispered conspiratorially, flashing him a wodge of moulah. "Give that to me!" he hissed, snatching the bung from my hands. "Easy tiger, enough to go round," I said. He looked me in the eye, which was twitching like the bloke's in The Hurt Locker. "You shouldn't be doing this!", he said. I apologised: "Sorry sarge. Is it better to do bank transfer or cheque?" He snatched my other bung bag and stormed off into the hotel.

Fortunately I had a few more tucked into my dirty mac, and when he came back out had two more bags ready and waiting. Now PC Shortfuse got really mad and rummaged through my pockets. Discovering that the wads of 'money' were actually novelty napkins printed with ten pound notes, they told me they were detaining me under the forgery act. "Who do you work for?" they demanded. "News International." I replied. One of the more reasonable coppers raised an eyebrow to indicate how little he'd care if I spent the night in the cells. "Who are you really?'. "Er... a media tit," I confessed. They gave me back my bungs. "I think you should go to the pub, sir, or we're going to lose our sense of humour." I went to the pub.

Once refreshed, we jumped in a cab down to Wapping. Outside the gates of News Int was a line of OB vans so long that they could be seen from space. But we sped past to the McDonalds down the road, the spot where NOTW hacks had allegedly slipped the Met officers their bungs over their morning Mcmuffins. How easy would it be for the staff to facilitate a McBribe? I sauntered up to the kiosk and ordered a Big Mac. As the nice man served it up, I produced a brown envelope: "Could you guys look after this for my mate Andy Hayman?"

Hayman was the cop in charge of the original phonehacking enquiry that failed to fully digest the mountain of explosive evidence in its possession. I should add that there is no suggestion that Hayman took bribes, but he did go and work for The Times - also owned by News International.

"Could you take this for my pal Andy?" I repeated. "How long will he be?", my server asked. "Not long" I said. "You won't miss him - shiny uniform, squad car, flashing lights." The nice man took my McBung and wrote "Andy Hayman" on the back. "He'd better be here by 1am before I clock off." Job done.]]>