Now we would finally see justice done.
It felt odd to be on that flight, most of the passengers were coming home, looking forward to celebrating Christmas. I was looking forward to celebrating something of a very different kind.
I stayed at Michael’s house that night. On the Sunday, all, of us, including Mum, travelled to Nottingham, ready for the court the Monday morning. Meanwhile, Mark came straight to his grandmother’s house. No one wanted to miss this day. We were united in our fight for justice for Colette.
The day came – Monday, 21 December 2009. Two detectives turned up at Mum’s front door to accompany us to court. There was me, Mark, my brother Michael and his wife Sue, my mother and my cousin David, who had also attended every court case. When we arrived, I was delighted to see that the Godfreys – Colette’s former boyfriend’s parents – had made it too. Tony had been taken to court by one of Kevin’s colleagues. We all met up in a downstairs room where we had a pre-court meeting with the prosecution barrister.
Some of Colette’s old school friends were there and had brought me flowers and cards – I was touched by their kindness. However, my uncle Roy Greensmith couldn’t get into the court because he got there late and they’d closed the doors by the time he’d arrived. Roy had been Mayor of Nottingham at one point and was an upstanding member of the community; he wanted to be here to see justice served. But, instead, he was forced to wait outside.
Once we were inside the court, it was a few minutes before a hunched-over Hutchinson was led in. The hearing began. I had always insisted that Colette’s killer had lived in the village somewhere and it transpired that I was right. The bastard had lived in our little village of Keyworth at the time of Colette’s murder. I knew it. I’d always said that whoever had done this must have known the village – and he did. He’d lived at his then new wife’s parents’ home in Manor Road, Keyworth – just a mile away from where he dumped the car after killing her. This proved what sort of man he was; he virtually had to pass our house to get to his in Keyworth.
Hutchinson later moved to nearby Gamston with this same wife and they went on to have three children. He already had a child from his first failed marriage.
Only someone who knew that area would have dumped the car keys to the stolen red Fiesta down the unknown alleyway. The police had found them a few days after Colette’s murder. The alley is fairly concealed – it leads up from a main road in the village up to a small cul-de-sac. A lot of people were unaware of its existence – my aunt and uncle lived opposite it for two years and knew nothing of it. Hutchinson had dumped the car on a through road, then presumably had cut through the cul-de-sac, dumping the keys as he went down onto the main road and then along it to his own house.
Now it had emerged that he’d lived just streets from us, I thought about all the times I’d been convinced he was watching our house. Maybe I had been right. I thought of the long, silent phone calls – I was convinced it had been him.
At the time, the police had insisted that he was long gone, but nothing could convince me. I’d known in my heart of hearts that he was there, sitting on my doorstep, watching and laughing at us. Now I’d just found out that I had been right all along.
I heard things that day that no mother should have to listen to. Some of the things that he’d done to her I’d never heard before. One of the most distressing things to hear was that Hutchinson had put something inside Colette during his savage sexual assault – either a bottle or a blunt instrument – and that she would have been conscious throughout all of this. This thought haunted me. The police had briefed us that we would hear things that we might not have heard before, but nothing can prepare you for something like that.
I played it over and over in my mind. Had she screamed for me? Had she screamed for Tony?
The prosecution outlined the case against him. Prosecutor Greg Dickson QC told the court that Colette’s body had been left arranged in an ‘overtly sexual pose’ after Hutchinson had strangled her with his bare hands.
The court was told that the abduction and murder was premeditated and sexually motivated. He said that Colette was abducted by force and her screams were heard by local residents.
The prosecution said, ‘She was a sexually inexperienced girl and she sustained a blow to the head. However that may have been caused, it would not have been sufficient to render her unconscious and she would have been alive and conscious when she was sexually assaulted in the car. The defendant then strangled Colette with his hands and abandoned her naked body in a field. Her body was arranged in an overtly sexual pose and he was later to write a letter to police in which he taunted them that he had never been detected.’
No one shouted out, in fact there was complete silence, but then his barrister spoke. He asked the judge if how long Hutchinson had already served on remand up until this point could be taken into consideration. He explained that Hutchinson had been in prison 291 days and they wanted to deduct it from any sentence given.
My rage bubbled under the surface until I could contain it no more. I couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t intending to shout but the words just came spilling out.
‘I don’t believe that!’ I hollered.
I was immediately silenced by a court usher who told me I would have to sit outside the court if I didn’t remain quiet. It was hard but I pursed my lips together to stop any further outbursts from escaping.
They continued with the same line about how long Hutchinson had been in prison.
‘Big deal,’ I uttered sarcastically, as my tears began to flow.
I was told that, if I spoke again, I would be sent outside. I just couldn’t help myself. How could this man seriously be asking to deduct a few miserly days off his sentence when he’d put us through all those years of torment.
How did they think this made me feel? His legal team wanted 291 days off his sentence because of what he’d already served. How many days was 26 years worth? How many days had I, Tony, Mark, my mum and the rest of our family already served because of what he’d done? That hadn’t been taken into consideration. We’d all served one life sentence. Yet, despite this, his paltry days on remand had to be considered.
The hearing only lasted a total of ten minutes. In that time, Hutchinson only spoke twice – once to confirm his name and the second time to admit his guilt.
When we heard his voice loud and clear plead guilty, my family and I broke down. We hugged each other for support both emotional and physical.
A sentencing date was set for the following month. Hutchinson had accepted the prosecution’s case and admitted abduction and murder. A charge of rape was ordered to lie on file.
Mr Justice Sweeney warned Hutchinson that he may now spend the rest of his life in prison.
‘I am sure that you already understand that there is only one sentence that can be passed, namely a sentence of life imprisonment,’ he said. ‘The minimum term you must serve before you can be considered for parole may be that you must serve a whole life sentence.’
The court then adjourned and broke for the Christmas break.
Now we would have to wait until the following year – only a matter of weeks away – for our justice.
Later, the prosecution barrister explained to me that, although Hutchinson had been arrested in 2009, his sentence had to reflect the sentencing of 1983, when he’d committed the crime.
‘But he’s been caught now,’ I said, exasperated.
The barrister was a kind man. He understood my frustration but the law was the law and, if they didn’t sentence him as they would have done back when the murder had been committed, then Hutchinson could have grounds to appeal that it hadn’t been fair and just. Unbelievable. The rights of the killer seemed to carry more weight than the rights of the victim.
Christmas was hard, but I was determined just to get through it so we could face the New Year with the prospect of Colette’s killer being jailed for life. I stayed with Mark, while Michael, Sue and Mum drove back down sout
h for Christmas.
Mark and I were inundated with journalists banging at the door. Then, just before Christmas, a photograph emerged of my uncle Roy Greensmith shaking hands with Colette’s killer. Roy had been Mayor of Nottingham at the time the picture was taken. We were mortified. I knew that my uncle Roy would be distraught when he saw the photo. It was another sick and twisted coincidence in this case. I was so distressed that I spoke to Kevin about it.
Meanwhile, my poor uncle was approached in a pub by a stranger who asked him about the photo and why he would be shaking Hutchinson’s hand.
‘Do you think that if I had known who he was I would have shaken his hand?’ he asked, incredulous. ‘I would have strangled him. She was my niece, for God’s sake!’
It was a horrible and stressful time for all the family.
It was during the Christmas holiday that Mark suggested we go for a drink. I wasn’t bothered but I knew that he wanted to and I felt that he deserved it. We went to a local pub in Nuthall, Nottingham, and sat down at a table. There was a large group nearby, and after a few minutes I realised that everyone in that group was staring at us. Mark had his back facing towards them and so he didn’t notice but I felt really uncomfortable. Everybody seemed to be looking straight at me.
A friend of Mark’s wandered over. He told us that there was a man who’d recognised me from the papers and TV news reports from the past few weeks. It was enough. I broke down in tears and admitted to Mark that I’d seen them looking over.
‘Why did you stay if you felt that uncomfortable?’ Mark asked, as I dabbed at my eyes with a soggy tissue.
‘Because it’s your Christmas as well, and you’ve suffered just as much if not more than me, your dad or anybody else,’ I sobbed. ‘You’re entitled to a normal Christmas, if possible. I wanted to come here tonight because, if I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have either.’
‘Well,’ he said, getting to his feet and passing me my coat, ‘we’re going now. We’ll get a taxi and go home.’
On 25 January, we all returned to Nottingham Crown Court for sentencing. I was glad that Hutchinson had pleaded guilty. If there had been a trial we were all worried, especially Mark, that it would have run over many weeks and into what would have been Colette’s 43rd birthday. I’d thought about it too, but now that Hutchinson had admitted his guilt this wouldn’t happen. It was a small mercy.
I can’t remember why, but in the lead up to this court appearance, someone had mentioned Hutchinson’s human rights to me. It made my blood boil.
‘His human rights! Where have my daughter’s human rights been in all this? She didn’t have any, did she?’
The court was packed with journalists and even former detectives who had worked on the murder inquiry. After today, they could sleep easy knowing the man that they’d hunted for all these years would be where he’d always belonged – behind bars.
When Hutchinson was led into Nottingham Crown Court I could barely believe it. He was wearing dark glasses – sunglasses in a courtroom! I’d seen everything now.
I spun my head around looking for an officer to ask. ‘Is that allowed?’ I said.
I was told it was. Hutchinson was partially sighted; if he needed to wear dark glasses to protect his eyes, then he could.
I was astounded. He’d arrived in court as if he was going out for a day on the beach! However, all that bravado, all that trying to stare me out must have taken its toll. To be honest, I couldn’t see which way his eyes were looking now because they were hidden behind darkened glass.
Get used to it, I thought to myself. Get used to hiding behind something because I’ll be waiting for you if and when you ever get out. I’ll be waiting.
Unlike before, Hutchinson didn’t even appear to glance around at anything or anyone in particular. His head was fixed straight ahead the whole time. I wanted to rip the glasses from his bloody face. Unmask him to everyone in court that day. Unmask my daughter’s killer.
Instead, I sneered at him as he walked past. I don’t know whether he saw me but I felt better for doing it. Glasses or no glasses, there was no more running and no more hiding. This time, he was as good as done. He’d thought that he had been so clever but this stupid man had brought about his own downfall with his bravado. Today, we were all here to witness his spectacular fall from grace.
The court heard how Colette had set off from our home to visit her boyfriend on 30 October 1983. She never arrived. The court listened in horror as the prosecution told how her brother Mark had found her naked and strangled body in the field, just as police had cordoned off the area.
Hutchinson had spent hours in a shed near to a riding school on the day of Colette’s murder watching for girls returning home alone. He was stalking them. When he failed to find a suitable target, he stole a car and spent hours driving around looking for a victim. The court heard how this evil man had approached two other girls before he finally abducted Colette at knifepoint.
He dragged her into his car, hit her on the head with a hard object and sexually assaulted her while she was still conscious. Hutchinson then strangled her before leaving her battered and dead by a hedgerow. Her naked body was found the following morning dumped in a field by police, before being stumbled upon by her own brother.
The case – the first ever to be featured on BBC’s Crimewatch – was only solved after scientists used a new technique called familial profiling. They’d obtained the first match in over a quarter of a century after using his son’s DNA to trace him.
Like the Soham killer Ian Huntley, Hutchinson had returned to the village to witness the unfolding police investigation. At the time of the murder, he only lived seven streets away from us.
Weeks later, Hutchinson sent the police an anonymous Ripper-style letter goading them that he’d never be caught. But catch him they did. After 26 years, Hutchinson’s unique fingerprint was found above what he’d written. Ironically, those words were ‘got me caught’.
We all listened as the prosecution told how Hutchinson’s youngest son had been held for a driving offence in June 2008. The DNA taken from him had found a match using the familial techniques now available, and three brothers were initially arrested. Two brothers were immediately discounted but one, Paul Hutchinson, was a perfect match not only to the DNA, but also to the fingerprint on the letter.
The court heard how this father-of-four had initially tried to blame the murder on his dead brother Gerhard, who had been cremated in January, just before Hutchinson’s arrest in April. But the police could prove that it wasn’t Gerhard’s DNA found on the paper towel.
Faced with this, and other overwhelming evidence against him, Hutchinson had come clean. He’d bragged about Colette’s murder to inmates while on remand before finally pleading guilty to the crime.
The time Hutchinson had already spent on remand was put forward again – the defence said that Hutchinson didn’t want to die in prison.
‘Oh poor thing,’ I said, speaking out. ‘Wouldn’t want to die in prison, what about my poor daughter? He left her dying in a hedge bottom.’
I was silenced immediately, and afterwards I held my tongue. I had to be careful – I didn’t want anything or anyone to detract from his sentencing.
Impact statements were read from each member of my immediate family – Tony, Mark and me. I knew that my and Tony’s statements would be similar in terms of describing our loss, but what I wasn’t prepared for was what Mark had written in his.
The court heard that, since her murder, every time Colette’s name was mentioned, all Mark would see was her battered body at the bottom of that hedgerow. The impact of that day – of witnessing what this evil man had done to his sister – had voided Mark’s mind of all their happy childhood memories. Instead, they had been replaced with one image and one image only – Colette’s naked body, beaten senseless by Hutchinson, disposed of like a piece of rubbish, left there with no dignity, not even in death. She was abandoned, dead and exposed for anyone to find. Little did Hutchins
on know when he left Colette that one of the first people to stumble upon the scene would be her own brother.
The image had affected Mark more deeply than anyone could ever imagine. But now Mark, like the rest of us, was here and he finally had his day in court. He could see the man who had done that despicable thing to Colette. He was here to see Hutchinson punished for what he’d done.
I glanced around the courtroom. You could have heard a pin drop. Mark’s heartbreaking statement had made a huge impact on everyone sitting in court. Surely, no matter how much time Hutchinson had spent on remand, his suffering and loss of freedom wasn’t even a drop in the ocean compared to our own pain and grief.
I knotted my hands tightly, entwining my fingers together, making a huge balled fist in my lap. I held my breath as the judge, Mr Justice Flaux, began to sum up. He asked Hutchinson to stand as he told him that he had subjected Colette to ‘unimaginable terror and degradation’.
‘Less than an hour after killing her,’ said Judge Flaux, ‘you calmly walked into a local pub and ordered a meal and drink as if nothing had happened, subsequently abandoning the car. Just over a fortnight later, you wrote a letter to the police taunting them and indicating knowledge of the killing.
‘Despite the extensive enquiries of the police, the featuring of this case more than once on BBC Crimewatch, the killer was never found. Over the years, through developments in forensic science, DNA evidence was obtained and refined, enabling the police first to narrow the suspects down to you and your three brothers and eventually to eliminate your brothers as well on the basis of their full DNA profile.
‘…Initially, you denied any involvement, but as recently as 30 October last year, you served a defence statement which implicated your deceased brother, Gerhard, as the killer.’
Turning to Hutchinson, who was standing in the dock, Mr Justice Flaux added, ‘It’s clear from the defence statement and other material before the court that you are a compulsive liar and fantasist.
Justice for Colette: My daughter was murdered - I never gave up hope of her killer being found. He was finally caught after 26 years Page 18
