15th March 2007

We decided the best way to write this page was to reproduce the article in Pick Me Up Magazine.  This is now on their web site too.

Killed for caring

Step-dad Terence with Sarah - Her last photo on 13th March 2007

When his wife set off for work that morning, Peter Merritt, 42, from Southampton, had no idea it was the last time he'd ever see her

My wife Sarah, 39, couldn't contain her laughter.
'I'm sorry,' she giggled to her step-dad Terence. 'But you look so silly!'
It was Terence's 57th birthday in March 2007, and he was sporting a giant foam hat in the shape of a birthday cake. All Sarah's fault.
'New family tradition,' she'd announced when we'd bought it on holiday in Cologne, Germany a few months before. 'Everyone has to wear this on their birthday. No arguments.'

'Silly thing,' I'd chuckled. But that was Sarah all over.
Ever since we'd met in December 1988, she'd been the life and soul. She never needed an excuse for a family get-together. Parties, holidays, day trips… as soon as one event was over she'd be planning the next.

Family meant everything to Sarah. She adored our children Daniel, 23, and Aimee, 16, and was so close to her mum, Margaret, 63. Then there was her 'extended family' – the vulnerable people she visited in the community as part of her job as a carer.
'It's not a nine to five job,' she'd say when she came in late.

So I wasn't surprised when, two days after Terence's birthday, Aimée and I were waiting for Sarah to get home so we could leave for a family dental appointment.
'Where's is she?' asked Aimée. It was almost 3pm and Sarah's mobile was just ringing out.
'She probably got delayed on a job,' I said. 'Let's meet her there.'

When we arrived at the surgery round the corner from our home, I sent Aimée inside while I hung around to see if I could spot Sarah pulling up in her green Skoda Felicia. She still wasn't answering her mobile, so after 10 minutes I called her work.
'We don't know where she is,' a colleague said. 'She missed a few visits this morning.'

My stomach lurched. That wasn't like Sarah. She'd never let anyone down. Something had to be wrong. I got straight on the phone to the police.
'What if there's been an accident?' I worried.
They agreed to look for her car and call the hospitals. I hurried into the dental surgery.
'Send my daughter home when she's finished,' I told the receptionist. 'Tell her I had to go.'

I hurried back to get the car and on the way I called Margaret and asked her to stay with Aimée while I looked for Sarah.
'Terence will come with you,' she said.
From her voice, I could tell she was worried too.

Terence and I drove around in silence, going up and down the streets where I knew Sarah worked. I imagined the worst. She's been in a car accident… She's been mugged and hurt… At 4.45pm we pulled into Meggeson Avenue. I saw the flash of green parked outside some flats straight away. Sarah's car.
'She's here!' I said to Terence.

The car was empty so I ran up the path to the ground floor flat.
'She must be inside,' I shouted, banging on the door.
Silence.
'Sarah,' I shouted.
I knew my wife was in there. I could sense it. I tried to see through the dingy net curtains, but the main curtains were drawn. So I looked through the letterbox but it was pitch black.

Heart racing, I called the police.
'I've found her car,' I said, giving them the address. 'I know she's in this flat. I'm going to kick the door in.'
'Don't,' the operator said. 'We'll be right there.'

Time skidded to a halt as we waited for them. All my instincts told me Sarah was in there. So why wasn't she answering? Had she slipped and become unconscious? Was someone keeping her quiet? I felt sick to my core.

Just then, two other carers from Sarah's firm arrived, also looking for her.
'Who lives here?' I demanded.
'A lady called Susan Hale,' one of them told me. 'And her boyfriend.'

Sarah had been caring for Susan, who suffered with cerebellar ataxia - a brain disorder, for months. Five minutes later the police arrived.
'Just get in there,' I urged as they knocked on the door. 'No-one's answering.'
I stood by, frustrated as the police went through everything I'd already done. Knocking, calling, peering through the window and letterbox… All the time a voice in my head was screaming: 'We're running out of time.'

As an officer kicked the door open, I raced up the front path.
'Stay back sir,' he shouted.
Six police officers disappeared into the darkness. Less than a minute later they all came out.
'They can't have searched the place in that time,' I said to Terence. 'Where is she?'

They were talking amongst themselves, avoiding my questions. Then I overheard two of the officers. I caught just one thing.
'We found two deceased females…'
'No,' I whispered. Terence looked at me wide eyed.

'While we believe it could be Sarah, we can't confirm anything,' they told me.
But their eyes said it all. My darling wife was gone. Just after midnight we were allowed to come home. Our living room was full of familiar faces. As well as Margaret and Aimée, there was Sarah's brother Mark, 38. Daniel was in Mexico with his girlfriend Laura, 24.

It was just like the family gatherings that Sarah loved, except their faces were pale with worry and eyes red from crying.
'The police are looking for a man in connection with the deaths,' I told them. 'It's Susan Hale's boyfriend David Tiley.'
It felt odd saying the words. These were things you heard on the news.

At 10am the next morning the family liaison officer from Hampshire Police arrived.
'We need someone to identify the body,' he told me.
'OK,' I said.
I didn't want to but I couldn't ask anyone else. We arranged to go to the morgue the following afternoon. But before that horror there was another thing I had to do.
'Daniel's flying back to Gatwick tomorrow morning,' I told the liaison officer. 'I'm worried he'll see the news before I can tell him about his mum.'

While Sarah's name hadn't been officially released we'd been warned it wouldn't take long for the newspapers to figure it out. So the police arranged for Daniel and Laura to be met from the plane and led to a room where Mark and I were waiting.

There were a few seconds when their tanned faces looked relaxed and happy. Then Daniel saw me.
'What's wrong? he panicked. 'Where's Mum?'
I can't remember what I said next. I just remember the agony on my son's face.
'I'm sorry Daniel,' I said.

That afternoon I went to the morgue.
'Your wife was stabbed in the neck,' the coroner warned me.
A blanket covered the body with just the head showing.
'No,' I screamed.
It was Sarah. My precious Sarah.

Police arrested David Tiley on 17th March, two days after we found Sarah.
'He's admitted both murders,' they said a few days later.
It was a small thing and little comfort but it meant that the trial would be sooner. A month later, on April 13th we held Sarah's funeral. A final goodbye.

My heart shattered once again when I saw my wife's coffin at Southampton Crematorium. The whole family was in pieces. Not to mention the friends and work colleagues who had come to say goodbye. At the thanksgiving service, relatives of some of the people Sarah cared for came to say a few words.

But life without Sarah seemed to get harder, not easier. Everyday there was something new to overcome from the big family shop to a night alone in front of the telly. Far worse, was thinking of how terrified Sarah must have been in her last moments.
'I should have been there for you,' I'd sob.
But somehow, I coped. Because I knew that's what she'd have wanted.

We were given a trial date of 14th June 2007, but before we faced that we had one more milestone to overcome. 10th June 2007 would have been Sarah's 40th birthday.
'We can't not do something,' Margaret said.
I agreed. No doubt if Sarah were here she would have organised a big celebration.

So the family gathered in our house. We had a cake and on the table was a big photo of Sarah, smiling out at us, the silly foam birthday hat balanced on the frame. We'd remembered her rule: 'Everyone has to wear this on their birthday. No arguments.'
We all smiled that day.

There was a different mood four days later at Winchester Crown Court when Tiley admitted Susan and Sarah's murders. Though I'd seen pictures of him in the papers, seeing David Tiley in the dock, I was stunned. He looked small, pathetic. Where was the monster who'd killed my wife?

The police had warned us the evidence we'd hear would be horrific but nothing could have prepared me. Turns out, Tiley had already served a six-year sentence for rape in 1995, and had been jailed three times since for failing to tell police his whereabouts as a sex offender.

Finally he had registered at Susan Hale's address and they'd got engaged in January 2007. The police had told Susan about his past.
'She knew what he was capable of,' I thought. 'She'd made that decision to have him in her life.'
But poor Sarah had no idea the danger she was in.

On 7th March David claimed Susan had taunted him so he'd bludgeoned her in the head with a hammer. He then bound her with dressing gown cords and sexually assaulted her. He stabbed her, twice in the head, and twice in the neck before leaving her to die.

Tiley then covered Susan's body, turning on a fan to keep the bedroom cool and sprayed deodorant to mask the smell of his lover decomposing. He lived as normal for 8 days. Until Sarah came to give Susan a bath.

Tiley had answered the door, and invited her in. Then he'd told her that he'd killed Susan and to co-operate with him. I felt sick as I imagined her terror. Tiley bound my wife's hands with bed sheets, gagged her and demanded her cash card and pin. Then he left her, alone with Susan's rotting corpse while he drove off and withdrew £150 from her account.

I battled back the tears as I thought of her terror in those few minutes alone. She'd have been desperate to escape, would have tried frantically to survive for me, for Daniel and Aimée. But Tiley came back.

He'd told police that after smoking two cigarettes he'd removed her gag. They spoke but Sarah started crying. Angry, Tiley took off her uniform and raped her before binding her ankles and stabbing her twice in the neck. Then he left her to die alone.

I was asked to give an impact statement before sentencing. My voice shaking, I stood up.
'She was the glue that held our family together,' I croaked. 'There was never a dull moment, there was fun and laughter in the air. I've lost a wife, a lover, a best friend, a soulmate.'
The judge was so horrified by Tiley's crimes he gave him a whole life sentence. That means he'll never be released.

But Sarah wouldn't have wanted us to focus on the evil that took her, or the terror of her last moments. So we've tried our hardest to bring laughter back to the house. We still get together as a family and it never takes long before someone starts a sentence 'remember when Sarah….' My wonderful wife may be gone, but her joyful, loving spirit is still with us.