By the time the police caught up with her, Fiona Mont, educated, glamorous and once dubbed 'Britain's most wanted woman', was a bloated, dishevelled mess living in squalor on a caravan site in Spain.Paranoid and exhausted after two years on the run, the woman who once drove detectives to distraction clutched her 10-month-old baby daughter and screamed a tirade of obscenities.
Now, as she pledges her innocence and fights extradition from the Spanish jail cell where she languishes with Eta terrorists, the police officer who tracked her down has spoken about the woman nicknamed 'The Cat' for her skill in evading the law.
The campsite showdown last month was a pitiable end to an escapade that captured the public's imagination in 1999 when Mont allegedly faked suicide and skipped the country in her lover's plane. She is accused of defrauding companies of computers worth £300,000.
'Fiona's story has been glamorised each time it's been told,' said Detective Constable Steve Skerrett, who sees nothing funny in the adventures of the woman he chased for two years.
Mont's story combines the romance and glamour of a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde with the mystery of Lord Lucan, a touch of Keystone Kops and a sprinkling of the surreal humour of Batman's Joker.
Fiona Mont was born into one of East Sussex's most prominent families; her mother, Joan, was chair of the Conservative county council and her father, Neville, was a high-ranking criminal lawyer and county under-sheriff. Some claim her problems can be traced to the career commitments of her parents.
But while her older sisters, Sarah and Vanessa, conformed to society's norms, Fiona rebelled - first against her parents, then her school and, finally, the law. By the time of her expulsion from St Mary's Hall in Brighton, she was committing acts of petty crime, and when the family's apartment was burgled in 1987 15-year-old Fiona was dispatched to stay with relatives in Canada.
When she returned, more than a year later, she began work at the Gemini Business Centre. She appeared to have calmed down. 'But we now know it was during this period that she picked up skills that would enable her to commit the serious frauds of which she is accused,' said Skerrett.
In 1992 her attempts to stay on the straight and narrow appear to have been dashed when Tyrone Bishop, a sales rep and convicted car thief, swaggered into her office. 'He bowled her over,' recalled a friend. 'He awakened the criminal instinct in her. She told me she "found her way of life" after meeting him.'
Bishop introduced Mont to local crooks, among them Graham Hesketh, a convicted drug smuggler who rented planes at nearby Shoreham airport 'Hesketh was a creepy, nasty man who crept around here watching and waiting,' said a receptionist there.
'He called himself the Baron because he was fascinated by the World War One German fighter pilot, "Red Baron" von Richthofen,' said John Haffenden, the airport manager.
It was then that Mont is thought to have put her scheme for computer fraud into action and, when Bishop was arrested in France on drugs charges and imprisoned, police believe she continued to see the money rolling in with the help of a new boyfriend.
The twist that would eventually lead to the tale's pathetic denouement was a matter of chance: when Skerrett knocked at Mont's door one Friday in September 1999, in search of a cheap computer she had advertised, he had no idea who the neat, conventional-looking woman who opened the door really was.
Mont showed Skerrett three computers; he made his choice, agreed to pay with cash a couple of days later and, when the two fell to chatting, mentioned what he did for a living. 'Her eyes didn't even flicker,' he said.
On his way out, Skerrett noticed a pile of boxes addressed to a local company. 'I wasn't suspicious, but I remembered the address. That was the single detail that gave us the first concrete evidence against Mont.'
When he got back to the station, Skerrett mentioned his computer bargain to his colleagues. It was only when a colleague noticed the computer system Skerrett described matched one at the centre of a fraud complaint from a local company that the pieces fell into place.
'Instead of going back to buy the computer, we went back with a search warrant and burst in through the back patio window,' Skerrett said.
Emerging rumpled and sleepy in her dressing gown to see five policemen crashing into her living room, Mont said: 'I take it you haven't come to buy a computer, Steve,' and disappeared into the kitchen to make everyone a cup of tea.
The search took six hours: over a dozen computers were found in the bedroom, while piles of papers detailing equipment worth over £300,000 were documented.
Throughout it all, Mont sat on the sofa with her boyfriend, appearing calm. Her demeanour didn't alter when she was taken to the station, arrested and bailed to return in four weeks.
Two days later Skerrett visited a farm in East Sussex where Mont rented two large containers in which, the detective believed, the missing computers were stored.
'But when we opened the containers, all we found were two torn pieces of A4 paper with smiley faces drawn on them,' he remembered. It was a gesture typical of a woman who had spent five years taunting DC Dave West, a financial investigator, with million-pound cheques and mocking letters. 'Then,' said Skerrett, 'my mobile rang.'
It was Mont. 'I think she knew exactly where I was and wanted to see how I was taking it,' said Skerrett. 'She asked me to come by to talk over a glass of wine. Of course, I turned the offer down. I've never had people I'm chasing being that cocky.'
On 18 November, Mont took part in an identification parade, after which she was bailed for a second time to return on 12 January, 2000. 'We needed just a bit more evidence, but I fully intended arresting her for conspiracy to defraud come January,' said Skerrett. But Mont had other ideas. When she walked out of the police station, she had no intention of ever going back.
A few weeks later, Skerrett received a call from Eastbourne police station. Mont's unlocked car and keys had been found on Beachy Head, a 500ft cliff frequently used by suicides. 'I didn't think for one moment she'd taken her life though,' said Skerrett. 'She simply wasn't the type.'
Mont's mother, Joan, was questioned and, although she seemed unconcerned, it wasn't until the coastguards had mounted a two-day search that she admitted she had received a telephone call from her daughter.
Skerrett, who discovered Mont had also sold her flat, wanted to give chase but was frustrated by the law. 'She was still within her bail date and so there was nothing we could do, even though it was obvious to me that she had no intention of coming back.'
By January, Skerrett was at his wit's end. 'All conventional lines of inquiry had gone cold and so I turned to Crimewatch,' he said. Information began dribbling in, but after a near-miss in Holland Mont remained on the loose and the taunting continued: in September, a website - www.the-baron.50megs.com - appeared, boasting of the couple's exploits and newspapers received emails offering interviews and photographs - for a price.
A few months later the case was featured on LWT's Britain's Most Wanted programme and Skerrett learnt Mont was living with Hesketh and their 10-month-old daughter, Samantha, in Camp Morales, near Málaga in Spain. The hunt was back on again.
It was 9.50am on Thursday, 24 January, when Skerrett and three other policemen approached Mont's dingy caravan. 'If you'd seen that place, you would have been shocked,' he said. 'There was no toilet or shower. It was squalid and nasty - no place to bring up a baby.'
When Mont saw Skerrett, she lost her famed control. 'She began screaming all sorts of obscenities,' said Skerrett. 'She was a different person and swore that she wouldn't come out while I was there.'
Skerrett backed off. 'To be honest, I was glad to,' he said. 'I didn't feel like watching or gloating; there was no feeling of elation. I was just glad it was over, if only to save them from living in such a pit of filth.'
Hesketh has sworn that Mont is innocent and that they will fight her extradition. Back in Sussex, Skerrett admits they have a good chance of success: Samantha is a Spanish citizen and, as Ronnie Biggs discovered to his delight, parents are often treated leniently for the sake of their children.
Perhaps surprisingly, the policeman who has dedicated the last two years of his life bringing Mont to justice wishes them luck in their appeal. 'If Fiona had gone to the police at the beginning and pleaded guilty, she would have been out in six months at worse,' he said. 'Instead, she's spent over two years living in a squalid prison of her own making. I can't help thinking she's suffered enough. This story needs to finish. Why shouldn't it finish here?'
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