I've buried her under the floorboards
Robert Kelly
Wednesday 15th August 2007
Sometimes it's easier to ignore things. Push them to the back of your mind like you haven't heard them. But as I walked out of the door, my boyfriend Robert's words rattled around my brain like something from a horror film.
'I'm going to bury her body under the floorboards,' he'd said.
He was talking about Nessa Mechen, a local lady. Of course I didn't believe him. It was just his idea of a sick joke. He might have a twisted sense of humour, but Robert wasn't capable
of murder.
I just couldn't understand why he'd been acting so strangely lately. Things had been brilliant at first. We'd met in a bar in Glasgow, two years earlier. Robert Kelly, 31, had the gift of the gab and the looks, too. He got on well with my daughter, Sophie, 11, from a previous relationship and two months later, we'd moved in together. Robert was ecstatic when I gave birth to our daughter, Sarah, in May 2001 at Glasgow's Southern General Hospital.
But it wasn't long before he changed. I could try to justify why he turned from a charming man into a violent, hard-drinking bully. Why he liked to sit at home all day playing violent games on the PlayStation. But the bottom line was that Robert was just a nasty man who preyed on people's fear.
I feared the slam of the door as he got in from the pub… The vein twitching in his forehead as he demanded his tea. Why didn't I leave him? Utter fear, that's why. Robert kept a knife under our mattress and I worried he'd use it if I stepped out of line.
Because he wasn't working, he was finding it difficult to pay the bills, so Robert had taken out a loan with a company called Provident. It was 6.30 on a Friday evening in August 2002 and Agnes Mechen, 64, who everyone knew as Nessa, was due round to collect his weekly payment for Provident.
Nessa was a kindly mum-of-three and a grandma.
'I'm going to kill Nessa and bury her body under the floorboards,' he raged.
He was so agitated spit flew from his mouth and his face was practically purple.
'Shut up!' I cried.
I knew Robert was strapped for cash, but joking about killing an old lady for her money was sick. I was so outraged I left the house and went to visit his sister Donna instead.
Two hours later the doorbell went. Robert. Donna nipped into the kitchen to get him a drink and as soon as she shut the door he whirled round.
'I've done it,' he hissed.
'Done what?' I gasped.
'I've killed Nessa. She put up a fight, but it was easy.'
Before he could say anything else, Donna came back in the room.
'What are those scratches on your face?' she asked.
'Nothing,' he mumbled.
Then he carried on chatting as if nothing had happened.
But when we walked into the flat later that night, my heart stopped. There were bare floorboards where our cream hall carpet should have been.
'Wh-where's the carpet?' I stuttered.
'I got rid of it,' Robert laughed.
The next morning, I prayed Robert had dropped his sick mind games. Suddenly, Robert was behind me.
'Remember what I told you last night,' he hissed.
'I don't want to hear another word!' I yelled.
Two voices echoed in my head. He's winding you up, said one. There's a body under the floorboards! screamed the other.
That afternoon, I rushed off to pick the kids up from Dad's. When I got back a police car was waiting outside. Robert had gone out, so I invited the police officers in.
'A lady called Nessa's gone missing,' one explained.
'She was due round, but I was out,' I mumbled.
I tried to stay composed, but my mind was racing. Robert had killed Nessa. Her body was rotting just inches beneath our feet. As soon as the police had left, I sobbed my heart out.
'Tell me it's not true,' I wailed at Robert, when he arrived home later.
'Look at this,' he said, taking me into the kitchen.
He pulled out a black handbag from under the sink. It had Nessa's payment record book in it.
'Do you believe me now?' he snarled.
'But why?' I said. 'She was just a harmless old lady.'
'She had £300 and I needed the money,' he spat.
Suddenly, in one swift movement he'd pulled a knife out, grabbed me by the throat and pinned me up against a wall. His face was so close to mine I could smell cheap wine.
The broken blood vessels in his eyes danced in front of me.
'There's plenty of room under the floorboards,' he whispered. 'If you tell anyone what I've done, I'll kill you and your body will rot beside Nessa's.'
There was no doubt in my mind. This maniac would kill me if I gave up his secret.
The next day, Robert had to go to the police station.
'Come with me,' he ordered.
What happened next will haunt me for the rest of my life. Because I didn't tell the police.
Robert was being questioned in the next room. I knew that if I dared speak out, he'd hunt me down and kill me.
As the weeks passed, I was tormented by thoughts of Nessa. Every time I walked into the hall, I thought of her body lying below. What must her poor family be going through? I'd think.
Two months later, I had a nervous breakdown.
'What's the point in living?' I muttered, swallowing a handful of paracetamol.
When I came to, the first person's face I saw was Robert's.
'You think it's that easy to escape me?' he taunted.
I'd survived.
That's when it hit me. If I died, the kids would be left in that madman's clutches. How could I destroy their lives as well as my own? So I waited until my strength was back and two months later, when Robert was out, I grabbed the girls and made a run for it. Suddenly, a year on from the murder, I felt absolutely free.
But we were far from safe. If I gave up Nessa's secret, I knew he'd find us. So I set about changing my life. I got my own flat, changed my mobile number, even met a new bloke, James, 41.
But as much as I changed my life, I couldn't change the past. I carried the image of Nessa round with me everywhere. Then one day, I saw her face on a Missing poster. It hit me like a tonne of bricks. Nessa wasn't just a corpse under the floor. She was someone's mum, wife.
And only I could put her poor family out of their misery.
Grabbing a bottle of wine, I poured myself a glass. By the time James got home, I was drunk and ready to unload my secret.
'She's under the floorboards,' I slurred.
He stopped, stunned, as I spilled out the whole grisly story to him. By the time I'd finished, he was poleaxed.
'Tell the police,' he insisted.
Two weeks later, I went to the station to make a statement. Three days after that, police searched Robert's flat and the next day an officer came to see me.
'We found human remains under the floorboards,' he said.
The next day, Robert was arrested and charged with murder and five months later, in May this year, he pleaded guilty at Glasgow High Court. I couldn't face going. I didn't want to see Robert ever again. Plus I felt so ashamed. How could I face Nessa's family?
Months on I'm still haunted by guilt. To say sorry now would be an insult. But I am sorry, deeply sorry. Sorry I let fear get the better of me, sorry I allowed myself to be terrorised, sorry Nessa knocked on the door that fateful night. I'm sorry, Nessa.