What Actually Happened, And What Didn’t

Crispin Flintoff writes:

I spent 21 days at the Old Bailey because I thought a major public interest story was unfolding in front of me and hardly anybody else was watching.

Three young men stood accused of carrying out arson attacks on a car and two properties linked to Keir Starmer. They had been arrested by counter-terrorism police and spent a year in Belmarsh prison awaiting trial. At the centre of the prosecution case was a mysterious Telegram user known as ‘El Money’, who was alleged to have directed the arsons but was not himself in the dock.

Three young men stood accused of carrying out arson attacks on a car and two properties linked to Keir Starmer. Roman Lavrynovych (pictured below right), 22, a Ukrainian national from western Ukraine, was accused of setting fire to a Toyota RAV4 previously owned by Starmer at 2.42am on Thursday 8 May 2025, and then being involved in fires at Ellington Street at 2.05am on Sunday 11 May and Countess Road at 1.35am on Monday 12 May. Stanislav Carpiuc (picture below left), 27, a Romanian national who had lived in Britain for nine years, was accused of helping connect people and arrange payment. Petro Pochynok (picture centre), 35, a Ukrainian-born man who had lived in the UK for several years, was accused of involvement but was later acquitted.

The three had been arrested by counter-terrorism police and spent a year in Belmarsh prison awaiting trial. At the centre of the prosecution case was a mysterious Telegram user known as ‘El Money’, who was alleged to have directed the arsons but was not himself in the dock.

There were obvious questions from the start. How did these men know details about Starmer’s former car and two addresses connected to him? Why had they been held in Britain’s highest-security prison? Who exactly was ‘El Money’? And why, if this was such a serious case involving the Prime Minister, were so few people there to watch it?

I had no idea what was involved in attending a major criminal trial. I did not know whether the public gallery would be packed, whether I would be able to get in, or even whether the defendants would appear in person. I was advised to use CourtServe to find the right courtroom, which turned out to be vital. Court Two at the Old Bailey was not accessed through the normal public route, and without that advice I am not sure I would have known where to go.

On the first day, 27 April 2026, I arrived at 9am. I had even stayed in a hotel nearby the night before because I was worried I might miss the start of proceedings. Part of my motivation came from two journalists I admire: the late Frank Doleman, whom I knew when I was a student at Glasgow University and Craig Murray, whose determination to bear witness to important proceedings has always stayed with me. Murray once slept outside the International Court of Justice in The Hague in the middle of winter to guarantee himself a seat for the Gaza genocide hearings. I felt this was one of those stories where simply turning up mattered.

But I was also aware of the rumours already swirling around the case. Some people were interested because of speculation that the defendants may have been ‘rent boys’. That was not evidence before the jury, and it is not something I claim to prove. But it was a major talking point around the trial, and it cannot simply be ignored if one is trying to understand why people were interested, why certain lines of inquiry mattered and why some people suspected there was more to the case than a straightforward arson conspiracy.

In the first few days, a curious assortment of people came to watch. There were two Tommy Robinson supporters who appeared to have heard rumours about the backgrounds of the defendants. There was a journalist from Vox Populi who came and went over the 21 days. There were people who had watched George Galloway’s show and were interested to see what might emerge. An academic became a regular presence, and my friend Rob, who knows the court system well through Palestine protest cases, was also there. But after the prosecution opening, many of those people stopped coming.

On Day Three, prosecutor Duncan Atkinson told the jury that it was ‘no part of your considerations to decide who El Money is and what reason he might have had to coordinate the actions of these defendants’. The jury were also told that motive was not relevant to their task. Keir Starmer was mentioned, as he had to be, because he connected the three fires. But the case was narrowed to a much simpler legal question: did these three men conspire to commit arson?

The early media reports picked up the prosecution’s description of El Money as Russian-speaking. That immediately shifted the public understanding of the case. The rumours that had drawn some people to the public gallery faded, and the story became one of a possible foreign threat. Yet if this really was a Russian operation directed at the Prime Minister, I could not understand why there was not a much larger media presence. Why were there no cameras outside the Old Bailey every day? Why was the public gallery so empty?

That was one reason I kept going. Something about the narrative did not feel right.

What I quickly discovered was that attending a major trial is almost a profession in itself. Every day involved airport-style security. You could not bring in a phone, a water bottle or a large bag. You could not stand up in the public gallery, even though the witness stand and the screens were below us and difficult or impossible to see. We had no access to the evidence bundles or documents. We were expected to follow a complex case through voices, fragments and memory.

I found a nearby travel agent who would look after my phone for £2 in cash or £5 by debit card. Travelling from Reading to Farringdon, including parking, cost me around £100 a day. Over 21 days, that came to more than £2,000 simply to turn up. There is a reason so few people sit through long trials any more. It is expensive, time-consuming and difficult to combine with earning a living.

Inside Court Two, the world felt oddly theatrical. Each session began with a loud knock and the instruction: ‘All stand’.

Mr Justice Garnham entered and took his place on the high bench. The barristers were wigged and gowned. Each defendant had a lead and junior barrister. The defendants sat inside a plastic-enclosed dock alongside security staff and interpreters. The whole thing had the appearance of openness, but in the public gallery we felt cut off. We could hear proceedings, but we could not see much of what mattered: no video evidence and none of the manuscripts of the incriminating messages between the defendants.

Mr Justice Garnham seemed affable and not particularly pompous, considering his title and responsibility. He appeared keen to keep the trial moving and regularly expressed concern about the jury getting tired or jurors dropping out. But there was also a strange culture of deference in the room. At one point, he mentioned he had tickets for the cricket but the weather forecast was rain, and the barristers laughed as though it was the funniest thing anyone had said all week. When D’Souza and Rashid applied for ‘no case to answer’ and the judge rejected the application, both made a point of saying, ‘Thank you, m’lud’. I understand that this is courtroom etiquette, but from the public gallery it felt like watching a contest in sycophancy.

I started putting out video reports about what I was hearing in court and the inconsistencies I was spotting. That came with risks. The judge repeatedly warned the public gallery that anything said in court while the jury were not present could not be reported and that doing so could amount to contempt of court and even lead to imprisonment.

Fear of contempt 

On Day 12, this suddenly became very real. While the jury were out, Mr Justice Garnham told the court that a YouTube post about the trial from someone in the public gallery had been brought to his attention by a ‘regular journalist’. He said he would look at it over lunch to decide whether there was a possible contempt issue.

I realised he was probably talking about me. I left the gallery, deleted the videos and spent the lunch break phoning lawyers for advice. Within an hour I had four different opinions. Two told me not to go back because I would be like a red rag to a bull and the judge might direct someone to arrest me. One said there was nothing to worry about. The last said that if I stayed away and the judge thought I was in contempt, he could order my arrest at home, which would be even more inconvenient.

So I went back. Feeling like a martyr, I said a prayer or five, joined the queue for the 2pm restart, went up to the gallery and prepared myself for being arrested. I even had my solicitor’s number with me. But nothing happened. The judge came in, we all stood up, he called for the jury and the trial continued. At the end of the afternoon, he simply adjourned the case until the following day.

I left the court feeling like a free man. I was overjoyed to get on a packed Underground train and then a train from Paddington. I resolved never to do another court report again - at least until the end of the trial.

The barristers were something to behold. It was like a theatre company. Atkinson, for the prosecution, reminded me of a head boy reporting litter to the headmaster. He had an odd habit of playing with his cufflinks while speaking, and seemed keen to tell the judge what those of us in the public gallery could or could not report. His presentation was dry, almost surprisingly so given the seriousness later attached to the case. 

James Scobie KC, representing Lavrynovych, was matter-of-fact and schoolmasterly. He carried himself with understated authority, holding his gown close to his chest and sipping from what look like a thimble of coffee between questions. His case seemed to rest heavily on portraying his client as ‘low intelligence’ and easily manipulated. At times, though, it felt as if he was doing more to convict his own client than the prosecution, because Lavrynovych admitted much of what he had done and Scobie appeared keen to implicate the other two defendants.

Dominic D’Souza, representing Pochynok, was the most dramatic and energetic performer in court. He clashed with Scobie at times and once told him to stop shaking his head while he was speaking. He was the stand out performer. He had a difficult job as his client had undermined his whole case with a lie that he had met Lavrynovych at 2am in Tufnell Park to help him move heavy luggage. D’Souza addressed this full on by dubbing it ‘laughable lies about luggage’ and suggesting that everyone makes up stories when they panic but that there was no evidence his client knew he was participating in arson. His argument appeared to land. Many of us in the gallery thought Pochynok might be acquitted after that speech - and he was.

Shahid Rashid, representing Carpiuc, appeared as calm as a Buddhist monk. His voice was high-pitched, almost musical, and at times rather soporific. He was methodical and far less abrasive than the other defence barristers. He seemed less interested in attacking the other defendants and more focused on showing that Carpiuc thought the whole plan to set fire to the car was ‘mad’ and was not really interested in the arson itself.

The defence teams were far from united. One of the surprises of the trial was how often the barristers attacked another defence barrister’s clients. At times, it felt as though the prosecution had three extra advocates.

One thing I had not anticipated was how central language would become. The interpreters were essential to proceedings and the pauses created by translation allowed me to write down many exchanges almost verbatim. But interpretation itself became an issue. On one occasion, an interpreter interrupted proceedings to say that some of the Telegram messages were in Ukrainian and not just Russian. Mr Justice Garnham rebuked her, saying it was ‘not for the translator to give evidence’.

That moment stayed with me because language was not just a technical detail, it became central to the case.

On Day Three, El Money had been presented as Russian-speaking. By Day Four, it became clear that messages were in Russian and Ukrainian. In the witness box, Lavrynovych said he could not tell where El Money was from because messages were in both languages. Later, he referred to El Money as ‘they’. When cross-examined, he said there was at least one woman involved, possibly more, as well as two or three men. One message referred to ‘my husband’ checking up on the Toyota car.

This was not the simple picture later presented to the public.

‘Rent boys’ 

Then there were the money questions. A major part of the prosecution case was that these men were desperate for money and prepared to do almost anything for it. The jury heard claims that they were willing to carry out anti-Muslim graffiti on an Islamic centre for £20, or take a removals job for £30. If the prosecution wanted the jury to believe they were that desperate, then it was fair to ask what other forms of cash work they may have been involved in.

This is where the ‘rent boys’ issue came in. I am not saying it was proved in court. It was not. But the attempt to dismiss the line of inquiry simply because Tommy Robinson or George Galloway had discussed it is weak. An idea is not disproved by pointing to who has forwarded it. It has to be tested against the evidence.

The court appeared keen to move away from that suggestion by emphasising that the men worked in construction, hotels and other ordinary jobs. But details emerged that made the picture more complicated. For reasons that were never entirely clear to me, the prosecution appeared to want the jury to know that Lavrynovych had a girlfriend. Her name, Victoria, and the fact that she lived in Surrey Quays, were mentioned. Later, when the jury asked whether Carpiuc had a girlfriend, the judge told them not to speculate.

There was also material outside the court proceedings that complicated the picture further. The defendants appear to have had Grindr accounts, and those accounts were taken down while they were in custody. It also emerged that Carpiuc’s regular drinking spot was The Champion in Notting Hill, a pub associated with Freddie Mercury and a considerable distance from the hotel where he worked in Paddington. None of this proves anything on its own and it was not evidence put before the jury. But if the case repeatedly returned to money, cash work and what these men may have been prepared to do for it, then it is not unreasonable to ask what aspects of their lives were not explored in court.

During cross-examination, Carpiuc was shown a photograph by his barrister and asked to explain it. The barrister acknowledged that the question might be embarrassing, then asked what he was doing in the picture. It turned out to be connected to modelling. Carpiuc said that seven years earlier he had joined a modelling agency, attended events and met people involved in that line of business. He said this ‘type of activity’ was not for him. What struck me is that Carpiuc was not the only one with a link to modelling. Lavrynovych also appears to have had a modelling portfolio. Yet, as far as I could tell, he was not asked about it in the same way.

The money evidence itself raised more questions.

During cross-examination, one barrister appeared to try to humiliate Carpiuc by showing that he had very little money in his five bank accounts at the time of his arrest. Across all five accounts, the total was £214.28. Carpiuc seemed shocked by the suggestion that this meant he was desperate. He said he was not desperate because he had a lot of cash and was often paid cash in hand. What jobs are paid cash in hand nowadays?

Oddly, Lavrynovych was not asked the same kind of question about how much money he had in his bank accounts. That evidence was not put before the jury in the same way. I found that curious because, on 11 March, two months before the fires, Lavrynovych set up a company. Between then and his arrest, that company had six bank accounts attached to it. Why would a man supposedly so desperate for money, taking removals jobs for £30, need a company with six bank accounts?

There was more.

Lavrynovych shipped two cars to Ukraine earlier that year. One was a Dacia Duster five-door hatchback worth around £3,000, sent in February 2025. The other was a BMW estate worth around £4,000, sent in the same month as the arson attacks. He said he had bought the cars with his savings. For someone presented as broke and desperate, that raised obvious questions. Why would someone send a car worth £4,000, plus shipping costs, to Ukraine and then be presented as living in poverty?

Another surprise came from Carpiuc’s questioning under Schedule 7 of the Terrorism Act after his arrest at Luton Airport on 17 May 2025. Schedule 7 allowed police to question him and access his devices. Carpiuc later disputed aspects of what had been attributed to him, saying he had been drunk and that the interpreter was ‘rubbish’. The police officer who interviewed him was called to give evidence and said Carpiuc had seemed coherent and did not appear drunk.

What astonished me was that the interview had not been digitally recorded. The officer had simply taken notes. In a case involving counter-terrorism powers, the Prime Minister and huge political sensitivities, I found that remarkable. And that’s how the Terrorism Act can be misused!

It became even more significant when the prosecution later had to admit that a statement from the police officer had not been disclosed to the court. Defence barristers applied for the case to be thrown out or stayed, but the judge rejected the applications.

The attacks themselves took place over four days in May 2025. At 2.42am on Thursday 8 May, a Toyota RAV4 previously owned by Starmer was set on fire. At 2.05am on Sunday 11 May, a fire was started at Ellington Street. At 1.35am on Monday 12 May, a fire was started at Countess Road. Lavrynovych was arrested in Sydenham on 13 May. Carpiuc was arrested at Luton Airport on 17 May before boarding a flight to Romania. Pochynok was arrested at his workplace in Chelsea on 19 May.

At sentencing on Friday 19 June 2026, Lavrynovych received seven years in prison and Carpiuc received two years. Pochynok had already been acquitted.

Mr Justice Garnham said Lavrynovych ‘neither knew nor cared’ who the car and properties belonged to. ‘You just accepted the job, just as you had accepted other grubby little tasks for the cash he offered you,’ he said. He described Lavrynovych as ‘a useful idiot’ and ‘a pawn’ used by El Money for a purpose of which he knew nothing.

That description captured one of the central problems of the trial. The person allegedly directing the attacks was not in the dock. The jury were told not to speculate about who El Money was. The motive was legally irrelevant. Yet the entire case revolved around this absent figure.

After sitting through 21 days of that, filling four notebooks, paying to travel back and forth from Reading and trying to follow every piece of evidence, I was furious about what came next.

On the day of the verdict, the BBC led with the headline ‘Russia was behind arson attacks’.

A story suggesting the BBC knew who El Money from ‘open source’ evidence became the headline of the day. Within a couple of hours of the story, a 30-minute Panorama documentary with high resolution court footage of the fires and massive investigative leaps poured petrol on the narrative that Russia is a threat – already lit up by the PR seizure of a ‘shadow fleet’ vessel in the English Channel.

I do not claim to know the truth of what happened with the arson attacks. But I know the BBC’s story is a fictional conspiracy theory that doesn’t tally with the evidence heard in court.

A video post on social media I put out in reaction to the Panorama story received this reply from Pochynok’s barrister D’Souza: “I still find my head pickled over what real underlying truths were never exposed.”

That is an extraordinary thing to hear from someone involved in the case.

The public deserves to know what was actually heard in court, not just the version that the BBC put out to fit the government’s need for a cold or hot war with Russia.

If there had been peace in Ukraine, and if the US, the UK and the EU were not continuing to push for war, this trial may never have happened. These three young men would not have been in England seeking sanctuary from military conscription and working long hours in different jobs simply to make ends meet.

It would also have saved the taxpayer more than £1 million. The judge revealed during the trial that the case was costing around £50,000 a day.

I think it’s good I went for the whole trial as I now have a much better understanding of the justice system and I’m able to tell you what actually happened – and what didn’t.