Justice for Colette: My daughter was murdered - I never gave up hope of her killer being found. He was finally caught after 26 years

by Kirby, Jacqui

  ‘I know, love,’ I agreed. ‘I can barely believe it too, but we mustn’t get our hopes up too much until we know what’s happening. Until then, keep it to yourself, Mark. We don’t want anything to go wrong at this stage.’

  ‘I won’t, I promise,’ he assured me.

  Mark was a good lad; I knew that he wouldn’t let me down.

  ‘Love you,’ I added, bidding him farewell.

  ‘Love you too, Mum.’

  The next call was to my mother. She’d lived through every moment of the past 25 years with me. Now it was time to pay her back for all her love and support; now it was time to tell her that the police were just one step away from capturing her granddaughter’s killer.

  Peter was in town that day. Instead of calling him, I sat there all day and waited for him to return home so that I could tell him the news. As soon as he walked through the door, I leapt up to greet him. I was bursting with excitement.

  ‘Kevin rang me,’ I began, and in seconds I had told him everything.

  Peter looked at me; he was shocked by the news, but naturally cautious. ‘Jacqui,’ he warned, ‘try not to get your hopes up too much, just in case it comes to nothing.’

  But I refused to be negative about this. I knew that Peter was only saying this to protect me. After all, he’d be the one picking up the pieces if things came crashing down again, but I had believed what Kevin had told me. I believed in him. If he was telling me this, I knew that he must be one hundred per cent sure that they had an idea who had murdered my daughter.

  Still, I spent the following weeks in a kind of limbo. I thought about what Peter had said; maybe it would be wrong to raise my hopes after all this time. But what if the police were right; what if they’d finally got their man? I hardly dared to think that, finally, our long years of torment could be coming to an end, that there was light at the end of the tunnel, that I might be able to allow Colette to rest in peace. I thought about it constantly – could it really be that we’d find out not only who had committed this wicked act on our innocent girl, but why?

  I slipped straight back into the long sleepless nights that I’d endured for many years after Colette’s murder. I was consumed with a feeling of uncertainty. I wanted to scream at the not knowing, scream at the waiting around for the one thing that I craved. I also wanted to scream from the rooftops that that they were looking at making possible arrests. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell a soul. I’d been told not to discuss it with anyone in case it leaked out and the media got hold of it before they had a definite arrest. Instead, I operated like a robot. I went through the motions of everyday living, my life on hold. Would there be something definite this time?

  A few weeks later, on 7 April 2009, Peter and I were shopping in the nearby town. We had both arranged to meet our friends separately but had decided against taking two cars.

  We needed to do some general shopping and call in at the bank before setting off to meet our friends. My friend and I had met for a coffee at a nearby restaurant. We enjoyed a laugh and a joke before, suddenly, I glanced at my watch and realised the time. I was late to meet Peter. I drained the remnants of my cup and bid my friend goodbye with a quick kiss on her cheek.

  I set off for Peter’s car. It was a muggy day. The sun was shining high in the sky, usual for that time of year in Greece, but there was absolutely no breeze and the intense heat had settled against the earth making it feel much hotter than the forecast. The warm weather had lifted my spirits. I felt happy, joyful even, optimistic about the future. I’d felt like this since Kevin’s call a few weeks before.

  The jeep was cool inside as Peter pressed the switch and pumped up the air conditioning.

  We decided to drop in at our Italian friend Lina’s house for coffee on the way back. Lina is a good friend who Peter and I have known for over 16 years. We love our friend and her coffee. Lina is a typical Italian woman, firm and forthright but with a great sense of humour. I smiled to myself as we drove. The scorched Greek fields and olive vineyards whizzed past the car window as we sped by. I knew what was coming. My friend Lina would always start by asking me if I’d like a cup of coffee. Peter would shoot me one of his looks, waiting for my usual response. I’d ask for a weak one and Peter would smile – we always joked about my bad taste in coffee – and Lina would roll her eyes upwards and tut in mock annoyance before joking that fine Italian coffee was wasted on me. Then we would all laugh and joke about how English I am in my safe choice of coffee. I’d always been a Mellow Birds kind of girl.

  We’d just pulled up outside Lina’s house when my mobile rang. I rummaged in my handbag to find it, and saw Kevin’s name flashing up at me.

  Peter had parked the car and was just getting up out of the driver’s seat.

  ‘Hi, Jacqui,’ Kevin began. ‘Where are you?’

  I was just climbing out of the car as he spoke.

  ‘I’m just coming in, Kevin; we’ve just been out shopping.’

  Peter saw I was deep in conversation so gestured towards the house and disappeared off inside. He probably thought, as I did, that this was just another routine update on the case.

  I don’t know why, but I walked away from the driveway and over to my friend’s balcony. There was something different in the tone of Kevin’s voice. This wasn’t a routine call. Kevin had something to tell me, I could just sense it.

  ‘You’re not driving, are you?’ he asked me.

  ‘No,’ I replied.

  ‘Well, that’s good because I’ve got something to tell you.’

  His words hung in the air for a moment. Then I digested them and realised that there had been a breakthrough in Colette’s case.

  ‘Really?’ I said, stealing a breath and holding it inside in preparation for what Kevin was about to say.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied quietly.

  ‘Is it good news, Kevin?’ I asked.

  I needed to prepare myself for the bombshell I thought he was about to deliver over the phone. My mind was racing, and my heart sank at the thought that it might not be a bombshell after all. How would I cope with yet another disappointment after all this time?

  My heart beat loudly in my chest.

  ‘It’s relatively good news,’ Kevin replied cautiously.

  By now, it was just me and Kevin on that balcony in Greece – it didn’t matter that he was thousands of miles away. He was the police officer in whom I had placed the utmost trust. I sat down heavily before Kevin could continue whatever it was that he had to say. I knew that it would have the impact to knock me clean off my feet.

  ‘Jacqui, we’ve got three men in custody,’ he began. ‘There are four brothers. One of them died in January, but we’ve got the surviving brothers here.’

  By now my heart was pumping fast and furious; I could feel the adrenalin coursing through my veins as his words sank in.

  ‘It’s looking very positive, Jacqui. But one brother died in January.’

  ‘It’ll be just our luck to be the one that’s already died,’ I said. A familiar sinking feeling came over me.

  ‘You just have to think positive at the moment,’ Kevin insisted. ‘Because it is looking positive. We’ve got a pretty good idea anyway.’

  Hope began to rise once more. He obviously knew more than he was allowed to tell me at this point. All these years and, for the first time, the police had a serious breakthrough. I wanted to get hold of Kevin and give him a great big hug.

  All the emotion that I’d been storing up for all these years bubbled up to the surface and erupted like a volcano. Pure emotion came rushing out of me. Pools of tears welled in my eyes and began cascading down my cheeks. Once they started, there was no stopping them. Relief flooded through me and overwhelmed my body; it was no longer my own, it was as though something else had taken it over.

  I sobbed and sobbed. A howl came from deep down inside me, fighting its way through to the surface. It was like the howl of a wild animal – one in deep pain – but now, for the first time in 25 years, that p
ain had been released from its cage deep within my soul. My grief had finally been set free.

  Kevin was still on the other end of the phone and I knew he was waiting for me. I tried to compose myself, but I was still shaking in disbelief.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ I wept.

  I couldn’t speak any more, so I said a quick goodbye to Kevin and clicked the phone off. I knew that he’d understand.

  I thought of Peter and Lina. After a few moments, I stood up and went through the balcony door. It was obvious to both of them what a state I was in.

  ‘Jacqui, what on earth’s the matter?’ said Peter.

  ‘I’ll tell you in a minute,’ I said, still trying to process the information that Kevin had just given me.

  ‘For goodness sake, Jacqui,’ Peter said, coming over to give me a hug.

  Lina was baffled by my sudden emotional outburst, and the two of them were becoming quite concerned. I don’t think anyone, other than my family back in 1983, had seen me like this before.

  ‘Has somebody died?’ Lina asked, trying to get some sense from me. ‘Has something happened to someone?’

  ‘No,’ I replied, shaking my head. I was still in shock and disbelief. ‘I can’t believe it. This is the closest we’ve ever been.’

  I said it over and over again. ‘This is the closest we’ve ever been.’

  Both Peter and Lina looked concerned and baffled; they had no idea what I was talking about. Lina had been a good friend to me and knew all about Colette and her murder. I’d confided in her around 14 years before. We’d had a long and open conversation. She’d held my hand as I recounted the entire nightmare in minute detail – how Mark had found his sister, the crank calls, how the pressure of it had split up my marriage and why I’d ended up living in Greece. She was both kind and sympathetic. She had listened to me when I’d needed a shoulder to cry on. We remained great friends from that day onwards and continue to be so.

  Despite how close I was to Peter and Lina, I struggled to relay the information that I’d just been told.

  ‘They’ve got some brothers in custody,’ I finally gasped. ‘They’ve got three in custody. Kevin’s just told me.’

  I garbled on, still not making much sense. But as I spoke I could see that both Lina and Peter knew exactly what I was telling them: The police had had a breakthrough.

  Peter and Lina stood there, looking back at me in shock. Lina clasped her hand to her mouth as she listened.

  ‘This is the closest we’ve ever been in 25 years,’ I said.

  I felt excited but the numbness that I had carried inside me for all these years refused to let me get carried away with myself. What if this came to nothing? I had to be careful not to get overconfident. I’d waited all these years for news – anything – or any scrap of information to shed light on who killed my daughter. This was the first piece of positive news I’d had in all that time.

  A quarter of a century of my life had passed waiting for this moment and now I didn’t know how to feel. I didn’t want to get my hopes up too much, but then I didn’t want to believe that all this would come to nothing at all.

  Peter and Lina waited for me to tell them more.

  ‘That’s all I know,’ I explained, ‘but Kevin says he’s going to call me again later.’

  The following hours were a blur. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t concentrate on anything or anyone. I kept wondering what these three brothers looked like. Would one come forward during the police interviews and admit his guilt? Would it turn out after all to be the brother who had died in January, only a few months before the arrests were made?

  These questions led to many others I just couldn’t answer. What would I do once I knew who he was? Would I be able to see this man, to look into the face of a monster?

  Kevin had sounded sure about one brother in particular. I trusted his judgement completely. I dared to hope that this would turn out to be the long-awaited justice for my beautiful daughter.

  A few hours later, my mobile rang. I dashed straight over to it and my heart leapt with excitement when I saw it was Kevin. Again, he asked where I was; I was in the front room of my Greek home.

  ‘Two of the brothers have been very co-operative but the other one just keeps on saying “no comment”.’

  I held my breath.

  ‘Jacqui?’ Kevin said, as if to check I was still there. He knew how important his next few words would be – they would change my life and that of my family. Next thing I knew, he had uttered them:

  ‘Jacqui, we know it’s him.’

  I began to sob once more, but this time with complete and utter relief. This time, there were no more doubts. The brilliant detective work of Nottinghamshire police and all the forensic scientists involved in Colette’s murder inquiry over the years had finally paid off.

  They’d got their man.

  Kevin began to explain to me all about the familial DNA work that had been used in this case. I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand as he told me in detail the processes the police had gone through to get to this point.

  They’d always had the killer’s DNA from the paper towel that had been retrieved from the Generous Briton pub. By washing his hands that night, the killer had provided the police with a vital piece of evidence.

  Over the years, the forensic science team had been able to develop this DNA until they had achieved a full profile of the killer. It was painstaking work but we had a brilliant scientist called Tim Clayton on our side. Based at a Forensic Science Service in Wetherby, in West Yorkshire, Tim had helped develop the profile until they were able to run it through the national DNA database. Initially, this had drawn a blank. The database held over six million people on it and, each week, thousands more samples and names were added to it. The killer’s DNA profile had been put through at the end of 2007, but there was still no match. However, as Kevin had explained, the police were developing their use of another tool – familial DNA. This enabled police to use a full DNA profile to see if there was a strong link to another person’s DNA. In other words, if Colette’s killer wasn’t on the database, then perhaps a family member might be.

  This new search technique was absolutely groundbreaking. Part of the theory behind it was that, if someone committed an offence of this nature, there was the strong likelihood that another family member might also commit crimes too. It was a psychological general theory based on social upbringing. But it wasn’t a guarantee.

  In late 2008, Kevin insisted on a re-run of the DNA profile of the offender and, for the first time in 25 years, there was a connection. At this time, scientists at the Local Government Chemist (LGC) had progressed the work of familial DNA searching by focusing on Y chromosome analysis.

  James Walker, a scientist from the LGC, had rung Kevin at work to say that he might have found a potential Y chromosome match between Colette’s killer and a young man whose DNA had been added to the database – there was a potential family match. The scientists were able to mark the Y chromosome in the killer’s profile and it showed strong potential links to the new profile. Armed with this information, Kevin and his team soon set to work researching this lad’s background. Not only did this family come from Nottinghamshire, they also came from South Nottinghamshire.

  The police then drafted a family tree. There were four brothers who could be this boy’s natural father. One had died and been cremated a few months earlier but the police had obtained a DNA sample from him. He’d been a heart patient at the local hospital and, armed with consent from his family, detectives were able to obtain his DNA and rule him out completely.

  Arrests were indeed made, but only one of the three surviving brothers had continued to say ‘no comment’– his name was Paul Hutchinson. Hutchinson’s brothers were able to recall Colette’s murder, but gave concise and accurate statements to the police as to where they’d been at that time. They had been more than helpful in police interviews and had provided everything that had been asked of them; only Paul Hutchinson r
emained reticent.

  Upon their arrests, the police had obtained DNA samples from all the brothers. These were fast-tracked through the system the same day and, at 10pm that evening, Kevin received a call from scientist Tim Clayton at the Forensic Science Service up in Wetherby.

  ‘Mr Flint,’ he said, ‘we’ve got a match.’

  The two men absorbed the enormity of that confirmation. A quarter of a century of fine police and scientific work had finally brought Colette’s killer to book.

  ‘Paul Hutchinson’s DNA matches the DNA that we found on the paper towel,’ Tim told him.

  Kevin and Tim knew then that they’d got their man. But the case had to be watertight. After all this time, they needed to be sure that they got this absolutely right. Thirty minutes later, Kevin’s phone rang again. This time, it was someone from the fingerprint bureau. The fingerprint found on the letter exactly matched that of Paul Hutchinson. Fingerprints, like DNA, are unique to each and every person. This was definite proof that he’d not only killed Colette, but also written the cocky Ripper-style letter taunting detectives as they worked around the clock trying to find him.

  I listened in wonderment as Kevin explained everything.

  The killer’s youngest son had been arrested for a road traffic offence and taken back to the station where he’d been routinely swabbed for his DNA. This had then been entered into the national DNA database. Ultimately, this linked him to his father. Paul Hutchinson had been tested and not only did his DNA match the paper towel, but it was also his fingerprint found on the letter. His two other surviving brothers had now been completely ruled out of the inquiry. Kevin said he knew he had the right man, and that he would be charged and going to court.

  ‘I want to be there,’ I told him urgently. ‘I want to see him.’

  ‘It might not be worth it, Jacqui,’ Kevin said, knowing that this first appearance would be very brief.

  ‘I don’t care,’ I insisted, rage brewing in my voice. ‘I want to see what this bastard looks like. I’ve lived in fear of this man for 25 years. I need to know.’