We cornered Mum’s killer in the gym
My mum was only in hospital for a chest infection but now we’ll never see her smile again
Walking into my mum’s bedroom, I was greeted by a familiar scene.
Mum, Tracy, then
44, was nestling under the duvet.
The sun was shining through the open curtains, and she was listening to her Savage Garden CD.
As she turned to see me in the doorway, she flashed me a familiar smile.
Closing the door behind me, I silenced the background noise of the care home.
‘How you doing, Mum?’ I asked, wrapping her in a cuddle.
It was July 2011 and for as long as I could remember, this was our Sunday routine.
Mum had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis when I was just a toddler.
She’d woken up one morning unable to move her arms.
Then, gradually, she’d lost the ability to walk, then speak.
In fact, when I really thought about it, I couldn’t remember hearing Mum’s voice at all.
In 1999, she was moved to a care home for extra support.
Me and my older sister Lauren, now 28, had gone to live with Dad and our stepmum.
But it didn’t stop us being close with Mum.
Every Sunday, we’d pile in to the care home and catch her up on our lives.
If I received a good school report, I couldn’t wait for the weekend to show her, while she grinned from ear to ear.
And countless birthdays, Mother’s Days, and Christmases were spent perched on the end of her bed. In July 2011, I told Mum about my week, as I always did. And a few hours later, when she drifted off to sleep, I gently kissed her forehead. ‘I’ll see you next week,’ I whispered, tiptoeing out. Only, just two days later, my grandparents turned up at our home, looking worried. They’d been in to visit Mum, but she’d been taken to hospital.
‘She developed a chest infection,’ my grandad explained. This wasn’t unusual. Normally, Mum would stay in hospital until it cleared and be back in the home by the weekend. But looking at my grandparents’ expressions, I could tell this time was different somehow. They pulled my dad and stepmum to one side, and I could hear them whispering.
My heart was racing, my eyes darting between them.
‘What’s going on?’ I blurted.
‘It’s your mum. She’s died,’ my dad stammered.
‘What?’ I whispered, my breath catching.
I tried to steady myself as the room spun.
As Dad called Lauren to tell her the news, I replayed my last visit to Mum over and over.
Was there something I missed?
Had I not realised how sick she was?
But everything had been normal.
Now, my gut was screaming.
It wasn’t a chest infection that killed Mum.
Something suspicious was going on.
And a week later, the news reported that the police were investigating a string of suspicious deaths at Stepping Hill Hospital.
Still, as I was only 16, it was my grandparents who
When she drifted off to sleep, I gently kissed her forehead
contacted the police.
But we had to wait to hear Mum’s post-mortem results.
Eventually, in October 2011, a coroner confirmed Mum had died of an insulin overdose.
‘But she didn’t use insulin!’ I wailed.
It was clear now – this wasn’t an accident.
Someone had killed our mum.
‘Who would do this? Who’d want to hurt her?’ Lauren cried on my shoulder.
As the police investigation continued, we discovered there were 19 others who had been poisoned in the same way as Mum while at Stepping Hill.
Police suspected that a particular nurse was to blame.
And eventually, in January 2012, Victorino Chua was arrested.
It felt like the beginning of justice for Mum.
But then we heard he’d been released on bail. And a week later, as Lauren and I worked out at the gym, she spotted a familiar face.
‘Isn’t that him?’ she gasped, nudging me. Looking over, I saw a man who looked just like the picture we’d seen of Victorino Chua.
‘No way,’ I whispered. Surely he wouldn’t be allowed to be using the gym after what he’d been accused of.
Walking over, my stomach churned.
‘Excuse me? Are you Victorino?’ I asked calmly.
For a moment, he just stared back at me.
But then, eventually, he nodded.
‘Yes I am, why?’ he replied.
I wanted to scream, yell and lash out, demanding answers.
Instead, I turned on my heels and bolted from the gym.
Tears streamed down my face as I realised I’d just been face to face with the man accused of killing Mum.
The next time I saw Victorino Chua, now 54, was in February 2015, at Manchester Crown Court, where he denied Mum’s murder plus two others, and 31 additional offences including GBH and attempted poisoning.
The court heard how Chua had injected saline bags with insulin.
My mum had been one of many to receive a contaminated bag. And that’s what killed her. She’d been wholly innocent, vulnerable and in need of medication to treat a chest infection.
Instead, she had been poisoned.
Police found a rambling confession note written by Chua, where he boasted of deceiving his loved ones and colleagues, writing: They thought I’m a nice person but there’s a devil in me. Chilling. Victorino Chua was found guilty of Mum’s murder plus a second, 22 counts of attempted grievous bodily harm, one count of grievous bodily harm, seven attempts of administering poison and one count of administering poison.
He was jailed for life, to serve a minimum term of 35 years.
We were all relieved, but no less heartbroken at losing our mum at just 44.
Instead of looking forward to our weekly visits, we’re going to her grave, and will never again see her smile at our good news.
I’d give anything to see my mum smile just one more time.
She was taken from us so suddenly, so cruelly. No motive was ever discovered for Chua’s despicable acts.
I can’t begin to imagine why anyone would want to harm my lovely mum. So caring, so vulnerable. Maybe Chua was right about one thing.
There really is a devil in him.
I wanted to scream, yell and lash out, demanding answers