HM Prison Bronzefield is a Category A prison on the outskirts of Ashford in Surrey. It is the only purpose-built high security prison for only women in the UK. One of the officers once bragged to me that it was the largest female prison in Europe. As if I give a shit.
I was transferred here when it opened in 2004 from Low Newton prison in County Durham. I don’t know why they didn’t leave me there. I was getting on OK. I’ve learnt to keep my head down.
I’m forty-nine years old. In early 1999, when I was thirty-three, I’d received a whole life sentence after being found guilty of the murder of eight people. I will never be released.
I now weigh over sixteen stone and my breathing is not as easy as it once was. My grey hair has been cut really short. A lot of the other girls in the prison keep away from me. Most of them know to give me a wide berth but there’s always one who thinks she’s tough and wants to show off to the others. I’ve been in fights a few times. Sometimes I come out of it better and other times I don’t. It’s the way it is in here.
At least I was given enhanced prisoner status. That means I’m allowed to have my own things around me in my cell. They got me a catalogue so that I could choose some stuff I wanted. I got a bright rug for the floor, some new mint green bedding decorated with little bluebells and a DVD player to watch films on. Believe it or not the prison paid the bill. They said I could order some make-up but I told them I didn’t want it. I never really went in for that stuff. And what’s the point in here? I’m not a dyke.
I even have a little job working as a cleaner on the wing. They pay me eleven pounds a week. It’s better than nothing and it stops me from getting too bored.
Most of the time I wear the green prison uniform but occasionally I put on a grey Adidas tracksuit just for a change. On that day I was wearing my tracksuit. It was a special day.
I heard the door to the room being unlocked and I turned to face the entrance. An officer showed her into the room and then left, locking the door again.
She sat down nervously, placing the Dictaphone on the table between us.
‘Hello, Deborah.’ She folded her hands together and rested them on the table. I noticed a large sparkling diamond ring on her engagement finger. Lucky bitch, I thought.
‘Hello.’ I looked at her through my glasses. My eyesight isn’t what it once was.
‘I’m Verity Holten.’ She was pretty and probably not much older than thirty. She wore her auburn hair in a silky bob, which emphasised her delicate jaw and neck. She had large dark blue eyes that were framed with just the right amount of make-up.
‘Yes, I know who you are.’
‘Thank you for agreeing to talk to me.’ I noticed she still hadn’t taken her green jacket off.
‘Not just down to me. I suppose you had to get permission from the Governor?’
‘Yes that’s right.’ She was finding it hard to look me in the eye. I was used to people being like that.
‘What is it?’
‘You look very different from the pictures of you,’ she admitted.
‘They are old. I was younger then.’ I ran my hand through my short hair. ‘People change.’
Verity didn’t say anything and just sat there looking at me strangely.
‘So.’ I leant back in my chair and it creaked. ‘What exactly do you want?’
‘I would like the truth.’
‘You mean you want me to spill my guts so that you can splash it all over the front of your fancy paper.’
‘I am here for the families of the victims.’
‘You’re here to sell newspapers.’
‘Yes, I work for The Times and yes, a lot of what we discuss is likely to end up in my article but that is not my sole purpose for being here.’ Suddenly she found the courage to look directly at me.
I examined her face for a moment deciding on my next move. ‘What makes you think I am going to tell you anything?’
‘The fact that you agreed to meet me suggests you are prepared to talk.’
‘Maybe I just thought I’d have some fun.’ I looked down at the nails on my left hand.
‘Is this fun for you?’
I didn’t like her tone. ‘I can get up and leave this room any time I like.’
‘That is true.’ She was keeping her calm and it riled me. ‘But before you do walk out of this room I think there is something you should know. My aunt was Joanne Hewitt.’
‘Now that’s a name I’ve not heard for a long time.’ I leant forward and smiled. Now she had my attention.
‘So, will you talk to me?’ Verity rested her hand on the Dictaphone.
‘Sure. We can talk.’
She picked up the Dictaphone and turned it on.
‘Interview with Deborah Miller, May second.’
‘So?’ I folded my arms and sat back. ‘Ask me something.’
‘During your murder trial in March 1999 you pleaded not guilty. Can you tell me why?’
‘Well, that’s a stupid question isn’t it?’ I chuckled shaking my head. ‘I didn’t do it.’
‘Didn’t do what?’
‘Didn’t do what they were accusing me of.’
‘So can you please explain then how you came to have knowledge of the whereabouts of the eyeballs.’
‘Like I said before, I found them.’
‘Where?’
‘In the freezer.’
‘And instead of handing the evidence over to the police you decided it should be cremated alongside your husband?’
‘He’d already been labelled a murderer and he was dead. I was trying to avoid any more hassle.’
‘Hassle?’ Verity made no effort to conceal her distain. ‘You are talking about the body parts of your husband’s victims.’
‘Well I didn’t know what he’d done until I found them. By then he’d already been arrested. I didn’t want to make matters worse for him. And I had my boy to think of.’
‘So without hesitation you took the evidence and placed it inside his coffin two days before he was due to be cremated. Did it not occur to you that the families of his victims deserved closure?’
‘No. Not really. I had my own family to think about.’
‘It didn’t occur to you that by withholding evidence you could end up in trouble?’
‘I did what I thought was best.’ Her look told me that she didn’t believe it. ‘That’s the truth.’
‘OK, let’s back up. Can you tell me how you felt when you discovered a collection of eyeballs in your freezer?’ she asked the question the same way a waitress might ask what you wanted to order in a restaurant.
‘Well, I was shocked, of course.’
‘Naturally.’ Verity’s sarcasm was beginning to wind me up.
‘If you want me to talk to you, you’re going to have to show me a bit more respect,’ I growled.
‘I apologise.’ Suddenly she didn’t look so sure of herself and I felt as if I were regaining some control of the situation.
‘So,’ I said changing the subject, ‘Dr Hewitt was your aunt.’
‘Yes.’ She shifted in her chair looking uncomfortable.
Inside I was smiling. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘Can you tell me why you tortured her and left her with injuries that ultimately led to her death?’ Verity swallowed the words down.
‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘OK, have it your way. Do you know why your husband did it?’
‘I suspect he was pissed off with her.’
‘Because of the complications when you had your third child?’
‘Yes. Because of that.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t seem that upset about it.’
‘Why should I be?’
‘Because a woman was murdered.’
‘Rather her than me.’ I smirked knowing it would cause a reaction.
‘OK. That’s it. I’m done.’ Verity stood up and grabbed the Dictapho
ne. ‘I thought I could do this but I was wrong. This interview is over.’ As she swept past me I grabbed her wrist and stopped her.
‘You don’t just walk out of here. I’m not done yet.’
‘Let go.’ I could see the panic in her eyes.
‘Fine.’ I released her. She took a step back and she rubbed her wrist. ‘Do you want to know the truth. All of it?’
‘Yes. That’s why I’m here.’ Verity was clearly shaken up.
‘OK then. Sit down. I’ll tell you everything.’
She stood for a moment looking at the door, still deciding whether to stay or go.
‘Look, we got off on the wrong foot. Sit down.’ My voice was softer now. Verity walked back around the table and took a seat. ‘Thank you.’
‘So tell me about my aunt.’
‘No.’ I replied coldly. ‘Let’s go back to the beginning. We’ll come to her later.’
‘Fine. Where do you want to start?’ Verity removed the Dictaphone from her jacket pocket, turned it on and put it back down on the table.
‘Before I begin I need you to understand something.’ I placed my hands palm down on the table. ‘You cannot leave this room until I have finished telling you my story. If you will agree to that, then we can begin.’
‘OK. I agree.’
‘Good. So, the truth is that Larry was a killer.’ I raised one hand to stop her interrupting. ‘Let me finish.’
Verity took a bottle of water out of her small black leather handbag and took a long sip. I noticed her hands were shaking.
‘I am going to speak and you are going to listen. I will not repeat a single word I say. This will be the last time you ever hear me speak of this again. Understand?’
She nodded meekly.
‘Right. I am admitting to the murders of Ms Faulks, Jane Shanks, Rose Delaney, Sandra Morrison, Mark McCarthy, Dawn McCarthy and Daisy McCarthy. I killed them all. Dawn and Daisy were unfortunate. I’ll come to that later. As for the rest, every one of them deserved it.’ I watched as Verity removed a notepad and pencil from her bag and started to flick through some notes. ‘Ms Faulks, as you will know, was my first. That nasty old bitch thought she was so much better than me. But I showed her.’ The memory of it made me feel warm all over. ‘I owe a lot to her, I suppose. She woke something inside of me. A hunger I didn’t know existed and when I’d killed her, and cut out her eyes, I felt more alive that you could possibly imagine.’
The horror on Verity’s face only added to my enjoyment.
‘The next one, Jane Shanks, needed to be put in her place. I saw her with Larry, talking and flirting. I was so angry. One night I followed her from work. It was dark. I saw an opportunity and I took it. I pushed her over and punched her in the head until she wasn’t moving. Then I took out my penknife and carefully removed her eyes. I didn’t know she was still alive when I dumped her in the river. I thought she must already be dead.’ I paused trying to remember back to that time.
‘Rose was next. She was a hooker. I’d seen Larry talking to her when I’d followed him one night. I watched them fuck up against a wall. It made me feel sick. They didn’t know I was there.’ I lifted my glasses and rubbed my eyes. ‘He has such an appetite for sex. It was relentless. Nothing could satisfy it in those days. When I got pregnant with Sue-Ann he didn’t want to fuck me any more so he turned his attention to prostitutes. That made me really angry. I knew he was getting it somewhere else so I would follow him. I must have watched him shag lots of different women over the years. In the end I started to find it a bit of a turn on.’ I licked my lips.
Verity had turned very pale. ‘But why did you take their eyes?’ she spoke in a whisper, her voice sounded dry.
‘I’ll tell you. Larry loved eyes. He said my eyes were the reason he fell in love with me. He was obsessed with them. He became an optician, after all.’ I reminded her. ‘Ms Faulks was different. I took hers because I didn’t like the way she’d looked at me, but with the others,’ I paused for a moment trying to order my thoughts, ‘I took them because I knew that was what Larry had liked. If he hadn’t liked their eyes he would have never slept with any of them. That was his weakness you see.’ I looked up at the CCTV camera and spoke directly to it. ‘Can we get some tea in here please?’
Verity shifted in her chair and hugged herself. The room didn’t feel cold to me.
‘Sandra Morrison was different. I did feel a little bit bad about her, I suppose. She didn’t do anything really wrong, just wound me up I guess.’ I remembered back to the night I had seen Larry talking to her outside a pub. ‘He had been trying it on but she wasn’t interested. Still that pissed me off. What made her think she was too good for my Larry? Little cow was stuck up and that annoyed me.’ I looked up at Verity and saw the disgust written across her face. ‘You think you’re better than me, too. Don’t you?’
Verity said nothing. I shrugged.
‘My favourite was Mark. He got what he deserved. He was scum. He raped me, you know. That was true. I never lied about that.’
‘You were a prostitute,’ Verity reminded me gently. That made me angry.
‘So what? You think hookers can’t be raped.’ I spat my words across the table and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
Just at that moment the door was unlocked and an officer came in carrying two plastic cups of tea. ‘There you go, ladies.’ He winked at Verity. ‘All OK?’
She picked up her tea, took a small sip and nodded.
‘Fair enough. You behave, all right?’ the gruff officer turned to me.
‘Yes sir.’ I gave him the finger as he left the room. ‘Some of them are real dicks. Some aren’t so bad.’
‘Do you have any friends in here?’ she asked tentatively.
‘I do actually. Sonya Lily.’
‘The Sonya Lily?’ Verity couldn’t disguise her shock.
‘Yes. As far as I am aware there is only one.’
‘I suppose you both have things in common.’
‘You’re right.’
Sonya was locked up for 12 years for a catalogue of sex offences against teenage girls in her care. She had worked at a children’s home, which is where she met her victims. It turned out to be her dream job. She understood what it was like to want to hurt other women and how good it made you feel.
‘I’ve taken her under my wing and been showing her the ropes.’
Verity looked like she might be sick.
‘So, Mark McCarthy.’ She returned to flicking through her notes.
‘Yes. I invited him to come back. Told him he could do what he wanted to me. He was so stupid.’ I couldn’t help but smile. ‘It was a piece of cake. He came over, I took him upstairs and while we were…’ I paused for a moment, ‘intimate, I put a knife in his back. The look on his face was priceless. I took the knife out and did it again and again until he wasn’t moving.’
‘They never recovered his eyes,’ Verity probed.
‘No. I never took them. I didn’t want them. He could keep them.’ I picked up the tea and took a sip. It was bitter. Normally I liked sugar in it. ‘When Larry came back from work I got him to help me bury the body. I told him Mark had come over and tried to rape me again. Said it was self-defence. He felt so bad he hadn’t been there to protect me I was able to persuade him to dig a hole in the garden. We chopped him up with an axe and threw the pieces in. It was simple really. Nothing fancy.’ I looked down into the watery tea and thought for a moment.
‘Everything started to go wrong when Dawn married that idiot Ian. If she hadn’t, then things would have been different. Larry might even still be alive.’ Even now, thinking about him made me feel sad.
‘You loved Larry?’
‘He was everything to me.’ I looked up at her. ‘Don’t be so surprised. I’m not dead inside.’
‘After Mark, what happened next?’ I could see that she was beginning to enjoy listening to my story. The journalist in her had taken over and she was n
o longer so concerned about her aunt.
‘Well, at some point in September 1993 Dawn and Daisy moved in. Ian had beaten her black and blue and she’d had enough. She was my sister and I’d always looked out for her. I was happy for her to stay with us for a while.’ I noticed the sadness in my own voice. ‘Things were fine for a bit. It wasn’t ideal having her there, but we managed.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I walked in and found her fucking my husband.’ I stared blankly at Verity. ‘Dawn could never keep her legs closed and had to take what wasn’t hers. That’s what happened.’
Verity picked up the pencil and jotted something down on the notepad.
‘So that’s why you killed her?’
‘Yes. She was shameless. Wasn’t even embarrassed by her behaviour. I’d welcomed her into my home, not into my husband’s pants. She just had to be centre of attention. That was always her big problem.’
‘When he was interviewed Larry told police he killed her when he found her stealing. You’re now telling me that was a false confession?’
‘Yes I am.’
‘So Larry knew you murdered Dawn and was protecting you?’
‘No he didn’t know for sure. When I walked in on them I started screaming. I was so angry with her. He pulled his trousers on and ran out the room like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. That night he stayed away. When he came back I told him she’d moved out. He never asked what happened and we didn’t talk about it again.’
‘Did he know about any of them, apart from Mark?’
‘I don’t really know. I think he must have suspected. Otherwise why confess?’
‘Why do you think he did confess?’
‘Because he loved me. And he felt guilty about Dawn probably.’
‘What exactly happened to Dawn?’ Verity’s pencil hovered above the pad.
‘I strangled her until she passed out. Then I carried her down to the cellar. Daisy saw me dragging Dawn’s body down the stairs and started to cry. So I had to shut her up. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her down to the cellar. She was so scared she wet herself and she wouldn’t stop crying. I put a plastic bag over her head and suffocated her. It was all over pretty quickly.’
The Optician’s Wife: a compelling new psychological thriller Page 22
