Murdered by the 'cereal killer'!
Yvette Dow was brutally murdered
Wednesday 11th June 2008
Sitting in the seat of the supermarket trolley, my 3-year-old grandson, Kai, kicked his feet.
'Coco Pops, Grandma!' he cried, pointing at the breakfast cereal.
I froze. Just the sight of them set my stomach churning. They'd always remind me of the day I'd discovered my daughter, Yvette, 24, had been murdered.
It was 2 November 2001, when Yvette's dad, Mossat, then 54, and I had turned up at her house in Leicester to find it cordoned off with police tape.
'I don't understand,' I'd sobbed.
Just four weeks earlier, she'd watched her dad and I tie the knot at Nottingham Register Office.
'About time, too,' she'd teased.
Together 27 years, we'd only decided to get married because two of my other girls, Theresa, then 36, and Michelle, 23, had recently done the same thing themselves. I just thanked God Yvette hadn't followed suit. Her last boyfriend, Simon Williamson, 25, had been a thug. They'd met through friends in February 2001. But just a month later, on 9 March, he'd beaten her black and blue.
'Oh, love,' I'd wept when I'd collected her from Kings Mill Hospital in Sutton-in-Ashfield, Nottinghamshire.
'You don't know the half of it,' Yvette admitted. 'He even asked me if I'd like Kai to grow up without a mum.'
What kind of sicko was he?
'Don't worry, Mum,' Yvette said. 'I'm pressing charges.'
'I hope they throw away the key,' I fumed to Mossat, a couple of months later, when I heard Simon had admitted assault occasioning actual bodily harm.
He was jailed for just six months. Still, it gave Yvette and Kai, then 16 months, a chance to start again. Yvette moved from Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, to Leicester, almost 50 miles away. Living in Nottingham, a good 27 miles away, I only saw her once a week. But we chatted on the phone regularly. That's how I knew she was applying for a court injunction to keep Simon away after his release. And that, I thought, was the end of that. Sadly I couldn't have been more wrong.
A few weeks later, Yvette had come to our wedding and seemed so happy.
But on 1 November, I'd been expecting her to come over with Kai. She was due to attend court the following day about the injunction, but she didn't show up. When her dad and I drove to hers the next day, we found the house cordoned off. Our daughter had been suffocated and dumped behind her settee. But most disturbing, she'd been coated in cooking fat, Coco Pops and flour.
CEREAL KILLER announced the headlines. BODY COVERED WITH COCO POPS.
'So sick,' Mossat and I wept.
The police told us she'd been killed while Kai was in the house. I knew immediately who'd done it. Simon Williamson. He'd attacked my girl before
and threatened to leave her son motherless. I'd no doubt he'd carried out his threat. But while the police gathered evidence, I had someone else on my mind — Kai.
He'd been taken to hospital when Yvette's body had been found but, later that day, a policewoman brought him to us.
'You'll have to make do with Grandma and Grandpa looking after you from now on,' I sobbed.
He was so young, I had no idea how we'd cope.
'It's been 23 years since I last changed a nappy,' I fretted. 'What if I've forgotten how to do it?'
'You'll be fine, Mum,' Michelle said. 'I can take Kai for a while, so you can get yourselves sorted.'
And that's what we did. For the following two weeks, I focused on getting the house ready. Mossat and I had our work cut out, painting the spare room blue and white, putting up 101 Dalmations-themed curtains and installing a safety gate on the kitchen door.There were moments when I'd break down in tears. But I had to be strong for Kai's sake. I've no idea how I identified Yvette's bruised body at Leicester Royal Infirmary, a couple of weeks after her death, or how I got through her funeral on 7 December, just four days before what would have been her 25th birthday. But somehow, the thought of Kai pulled me through.
Since he'd moved in with me and Mossat, life had changed beyond recognition. There were no more lie-ins for a start. On the outside, Kai seemed as smiley as ever. But the police had no way of knowing if he'd seen
the attack on his mum. One afternoon, Mossat fell asleep in front of the telly.
Suddenly, Kai toddled towards him, arms outstretched. The next thing
I knew, he was screaming and trying to open Mossat's eyes.
'What's he doing?' Mossat panicked.
'I don't know,' I gasped, calming Kai down. 'Maybe he was worried you were dead.'
We looked at each other, our eyes clouding. Had Kai seen more than we'd ever imagined? The horror of it all came out in September 2002, when
Simon Williamson appeared at Nottingham Crown Court, charged with murder. I wept as I heard how he'd suffocated Yvette before covering her with Coco Pops. He'd also daubed her private parts with white paint and vandalised her body by standing household ornaments on her and sprinkling her with torn-up photos. Twisted.
The doctors were never positive if Williamson had throttled or smothered her. But I was disgusted when his defence tried to claim my 17st daughter had been smothered by her own breasts. Thankfully, the jury found him guilty, and he was sent down for life. But how would we ever find a way to tell Kai?
'We'll do it when he's old enough,' Mossat said. 'When the time's right.'
But would the time ever be right?
During the following few years, we kept Yvette's memory alive by talking about her, and as Kai grew, he came to understand she'd died when he was a baby. But the simplest thing would bring back the horror of it. Like Kai asking me to buy Coco Pops now.Terrible images swam in my mind. But Kai wouldn't understand if I refused such a simple request.
'OK, darling,' I gulped, grabbing a packet off the shelf.
I knew I'd have to tell him the truth one day, but neither Mossat nor I could face it. Instead, we spoiled him rotten, treating him to lots of presents at Christmas, and in February 2004, we took him to see the dolphins
in Orlando, Florida.
'It's something your mummy always wanted to do,' I told him.
It was a bittersweet moment. To be honest, life's full of them now. Like Kai's first day at school. Dressed in his black-and-red uniform, he looked adorable.
'Be good,' I called, blowing him a kiss at the gates of Newton Primary School, Derbyshire, in September 2004. But as I turned to leave, my eyes filled with tears. His mum should be here to see this.
A few months later, in early 2005, Kai sat me down on the settee and asked me a question.
'Can I call you Mum?' he asked.
Gulping back the hot tears, I took a deep breath.
'No sweetheart,' I said. 'I'm your Grandma. I wouldn't want to take your mum's place.'
'OK,' he shrugged.
And that was that.
That's not to say that, over the past three years, Kai hasn't asked me more questions. One night in 2006, I was pottering about in the kitchen.
'Grandma,' he said softly.
'Is it true someone killed Mum by putting a plastic bag on her head?'
'No,' I said. 'That's not true. But I'll tell you when you're older.'
Of course, I know I can't keep the truth from him for much longer. He's 8 years old now, and I've been putting a scrapbook together for him that explains what happened all those years ago. But for me, the most important thing is for Kai to know he's loved and safe. And he is — very much.