logo
Selfies of a British woman 'dripping in diamonds' lead to her arrest for theft

Selfies of a British woman 'dripping in diamonds' lead to her arrest for theft

9 News2 days ago

Your web browser is no longer supported. To improve your experience update it here A former jewellery store manager in the United Kingdom was sentenced to 28 months in prison after posting selfies wearing stolen merchandise and sending them to her coworkers, Humberside Police said in a statement. Lucy Roberts, 39, frequently took jewellery home with her during the year she worked at a high-end shop, police said, telling suspicious coworkers she "was conducting work at home and sorting stock for the workshop." The police statement does not name the store. Police said Lucy Roberts, 39, frequently took jewellery home with her during the year she worked at a high-end shop (CNN) It was only when Roberts quit and went on holiday that her colleagues realised where the jewellery went, the statement says. She began sending her former coworkers selfies from a cruise, decked out in items taken from the shop. "Without a care in the world, dripping in diamonds, thinking she had deceived everybody," Detective Sergeant Krista Wilkinson said in the police news release. Police found "thousands of pounds worth of jewellery strewn around in boxes beneath the bed and in cupboards," after searching her home, the statement says. In total, Roberts stole more than $260,000 in diamonds, gold, silver, "bespoke jewellery" and cash from her employer, according to Wilkinson. CNN was not able to determine whether Roberts has legal representation. Roberts was arrested at London's Heathrow Airport, according to police. (Getty) Police said Roberts initially denied she had stolen any stock from her employer, insisting she had borrowed some of the jewellery from a coworker and that they planted the other items in her bags, but she later entered a guilty plea for theft by an employee, receiving 28 months in prison. Roberts was arrested at London's Heathrow Airport, according to police. They took her into custody after finding her "wearing a substantial amount of stolen jewellery" with more pilfered merchandise in her suitcase, according to the statement. Body camera footage from the arrest shows Roberts removing more jewellery as she was escorted through Heathrow Airport … in an attempt to dispose of it," police added. The store where Roberts formerly worked said it is "pleased to finally have closure on the matter after several years," according to the news release. CONTACT US
Auto news:Is this the next Subaru WRX? Mysterious performance car teased.

Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

‘I started to feel numb': Woman recalls syringe attack at French music festival
‘I started to feel numb': Woman recalls syringe attack at French music festival

7NEWS

timea day ago

  • 7NEWS

‘I started to feel numb': Woman recalls syringe attack at French music festival

It was around 1.30am, after the crowds had thinned from the streets of Bordeaux, when Manon felt the prick of a hypodermic needle going into her arm. 'Someone tapped my left forearm. I started to feel numb in the muscle, like you do when you get a vaccine. After about 30 minutes, the injection mark appeared,' she said. Despite not knowing what she had been injected with – or who had done it – she said she 'didn't want to panic.' Manon, 22, was one of nearly 150 people in France who reported being pricked with syringes during a nationwide street music festival at the weekend. According to the interior ministry, it remains unclear if date-rape drugs such as Rohypnol or GHB were used in the 'needle spiking' attacks, which took place across the country and appear to have involved multiple perpetrators. Ahead of the festival, which drew crowds of millions of people to the streets, a feminist influencer had warned that calls had been made on social media for women to be targeted with syringes. After spending 4am to 7am on Sunday in the emergency room, Manon shared a video of her experience on TikTok. 'It was important for me to raise awareness, because I hadn't seen any testimonies from people who had been injected,' said Manon, who declined to give her last name for safety reasons. 'We had been told on social media to be careful, but I think people want to know more – how it happens, the symptoms, how it unfolds. 'It reassured me to talk about it, because at the time, I was completely alone.' 'I told myself I wasn't going to let it defeat me' After she got home from the hospital, Manon filed a police report. 'It's important because if we're too lax, if we say, 'oh, others will file complaints', nothing ever changes. I told myself maybe it can have an impact.' Since Saturday, French police have detained 14 men aged between 19 and 44 and including both French citizens and foreign nationals, police spokeswoman Agathe Foucault told Radio France. But authorities have made no arrests in connection with the needle spikings. 'The police have not identified any perpetrators behind the injections, but the incidents are confirmed,' Minister of Justice Gérald Darmanin told CNN affiliate BFMTV Tuesday. The minister said authorities would also pursue those who had called for the attacks online. 'We are implementing a criminal policy to prosecute those responsible on social media for these very unhealthy injection games targeting women,' Darmanin said. The feminist influencer Abrège Soeur, who before the festival had warned men on social media were planning such attacks, told CNN the perpetrators' 'objective isn't only to drug women. It's to instill fear in them.' 'When people start saying that there will be needle attacks, it spreads in the form of rumor,' she said. 'Some people mention it in group chats, others pick it up, it just gets amplified.' Manon, who faces a wait of three weeks for her toxicology results, said she had 'barely slept the last few days' but refuses to be cowed by her experience. 'The Fête de la Musique is meant to be a time of good vibes, music, dancing, having fun. Someone wanted to ruin that moment, to kill that spirit. I told myself I wasn't going to let it defeat me. I don't want to be sad or angry. I don't want to let them win.'

What happened to my brother, Julian Assange, once felt extraordinary. Today it feels like the norm
What happened to my brother, Julian Assange, once felt extraordinary. Today it feels like the norm

Sydney Morning Herald

time2 days ago

  • Sydney Morning Herald

What happened to my brother, Julian Assange, once felt extraordinary. Today it feels like the norm

The London rain was falling sideways as we walked from Plumstead Station to Belmarsh Prison. My father, John Shipton, had his collar turned up against the wind, but it was no use – we were soaked by the time we reached the gate. Beside us was journalist John Pilger, he moved a bit slower, his presence a quiet anchor in the storm. It was a pilgrimage we would make again and again over the next five years. But this was the first time. We were going to see my brother, Julian Assange. Inside the walls of that maximum-security prison, he was being held in solitary confinement – not for violent crime, but for daring to publish the truth. On the train ride back, still drenched, still angry, we knew we had to do more than visit. Pilger believed there was still a chance the British courts might block Julian's extradition. But we couldn't rely on legal processes alone. We needed a movement. On that dark day, the plan began to take shape. Legal action, yes – but also a broad, public campaign. My dad and Stella Assange would take Julian's case to Europe's parliaments and streets. We would build a grassroots network, organise street protests, mobilise supporters, and begin a media offensive. We needed a film to counter the years of smears. Every step would need funding, persistence, and people. That was the beginning. A small conversation on a wet train ride that became our mission. What we discovered along the way was this: when someone speaks truth to power, the infrastructure to protect them doesn't exist. Governments and institutions often fall silent. Legal defences are slow, expensive, and easily outmatched. Media outlets are inconsistent allies. And too often, the public is left watching from the sidelines, unsure how to help. So we built the response ourselves. What began as a campaign for one man became something bigger – a movement shaped by experience, driven by necessity. We took the lessons, tools and networks we forged during Julian's fight and turned them into something lasting: an organisation dedicated to protecting those courageous enough to speak out. Because what happened to Julian wasn't just a tragedy. It was a template for those who wish to suppress dissent on a global scale. Loading Now, that warning has become impossible to ignore. The silencing of those who seek to hold power to account has picked up a blistering pace. We've watched it unfold before our eyes with the deaths of more than 185 journalists in Gaza according to the Committee to Protect Journalists. In the United States, those voicing opposition are facing the threat of deportation to hellish prison conditions in El Salvador. Journalists are being stopped and questioned at the border and in some cases turned away. And in the past 24 hours, President Donald Trump's criticism of CNN and other outlets over reports on US strikes on Iran's nuclear program is creating a climate that discourages open dialogue and may limit the public's access to critical reporting. The same forces that came after Julian are now moving in broad daylight. These are not isolated incidents. They are signals – warnings meant to suppress speech, punish resistance, and make people afraid to resist. If what happened to Julian once felt extraordinary, today it feels like the norm.

What happened to my brother, Julian Assange, once felt extraordinary. Today it feels like the norm
What happened to my brother, Julian Assange, once felt extraordinary. Today it feels like the norm

The Age

time2 days ago

  • The Age

What happened to my brother, Julian Assange, once felt extraordinary. Today it feels like the norm

The London rain was falling sideways as we walked from Plumstead Station to Belmarsh Prison. My father, John Shipton, had his collar turned up against the wind, but it was no use – we were soaked by the time we reached the gate. Beside us was journalist John Pilger, he moved a bit slower, his presence a quiet anchor in the storm. It was a pilgrimage we would make again and again over the next five years. But this was the first time. We were going to see my brother, Julian Assange. Inside the walls of that maximum-security prison, he was being held in solitary confinement – not for violent crime, but for daring to publish the truth. On the train ride back, still drenched, still angry, we knew we had to do more than visit. Pilger believed there was still a chance the British courts might block Julian's extradition. But we couldn't rely on legal processes alone. We needed a movement. On that dark day, the plan began to take shape. Legal action, yes – but also a broad, public campaign. My dad and Stella Assange would take Julian's case to Europe's parliaments and streets. We would build a grassroots network, organise street protests, mobilise supporters, and begin a media offensive. We needed a film to counter the years of smears. Every step would need funding, persistence, and people. That was the beginning. A small conversation on a wet train ride that became our mission. What we discovered along the way was this: when someone speaks truth to power, the infrastructure to protect them doesn't exist. Governments and institutions often fall silent. Legal defences are slow, expensive, and easily outmatched. Media outlets are inconsistent allies. And too often, the public is left watching from the sidelines, unsure how to help. So we built the response ourselves. What began as a campaign for one man became something bigger – a movement shaped by experience, driven by necessity. We took the lessons, tools and networks we forged during Julian's fight and turned them into something lasting: an organisation dedicated to protecting those courageous enough to speak out. Because what happened to Julian wasn't just a tragedy. It was a template for those who wish to suppress dissent on a global scale. Loading Now, that warning has become impossible to ignore. The silencing of those who seek to hold power to account has picked up a blistering pace. We've watched it unfold before our eyes with the deaths of more than 185 journalists in Gaza according to the Committee to Protect Journalists. In the United States, those voicing opposition are facing the threat of deportation to hellish prison conditions in El Salvador. Journalists are being stopped and questioned at the border and in some cases turned away. And in the past 24 hours, President Donald Trump's criticism of CNN and other outlets over reports on US strikes on Iran's nuclear program is creating a climate that discourages open dialogue and may limit the public's access to critical reporting. The same forces that came after Julian are now moving in broad daylight. These are not isolated incidents. They are signals – warnings meant to suppress speech, punish resistance, and make people afraid to resist. If what happened to Julian once felt extraordinary, today it feels like the norm.

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into a world of global content with local flavor? Download Daily8 app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store