Cannibal Couple Tortured My Girl
Groomed by a pervert Raped and murdered Sickos ate her insides
Abeautiful young woman, with porcelain skin, perfect features and long dark hair breezed past me. When on earth had that happened?
My little Irina – or Ira as we called her – had suddenly grown from a little girl into a lady. And a gorgeous one at that! It was hard saying goodbye to her, as I went off to a health farm to convalesce.
But I was feeling worn out and had been told by my doctor to rest.
Anyway, my husband, Slava was more than capable of taking care of psychology student Ira, 18, and our boy, Yaroslav, then 6.
It was 2002, my eldest daughter, Lena, had recently married, and the rest of us had just moved out of the town of Zhitomir to a nearby village.
Ira missed her mates though, often stayed in the city with her best pal, Anzhelika.
That’s where she told Slava she was going, as she kissed him goodbye at about 5pm one balmy afternoon in June.
What he didn’t realise was that she had a secret liaison first, with a bloke called Oleg.
Slava had spoken to him when he’d phoned for her, thought he’d sounded pleasant enough. Ira had sworn they were just mates.
Later that night, at 2.30am, Slava was woken by someone hammering on our garden gate.
Slava wandered down the garden path.
‘Ira is that you?’ he called out. ‘We’re with Ira – please open the gate,’ replied a female voice, so he unlocked it.
What happened next was like something from a TV thriller.
A man with a black stocking over his face pushed Slava back with a gun, demanding cash, while the girl, also masked, stood and watched.
‘You won’t get hurt if you give us what we want,’ said the man. Terrified they would hurt Yaroslav, who was asleep in his room, Slava gave them £80.
Then they made him lie down on the floor, as they grabbed our TV and other electrical goods.
‘Don’t call the police,’ barked the man, before they fled.
Worried about what had happened to Ira, poor Slava called Anzhelika’s, but her phone was broken. Meanwhile, Ira’s mobile was off. So, bundling our sleeping son into the car, he drove to Anzhelika’s house – banging on the door.
‘Ira never came,’ said Anzhelika’s mum, concerned. Slava was ex-army. He was strong. But he drove home, shaking with fear, before calling the police and then me.
‘Ira’s missing,’ he told me. ‘I’m really scared for her.’
In a complete blur, I got straight on a train and made the sixhour journey home.
Meanwhile, cops combed our house for clues.
‘She’s probably been kidnapped,’ an officer told us. ‘Expect a call from them. We will monitor it – keep them talking.’
I shuddered to think what had happened to her. But our phone stayed silent. Everyone in our local community was fantastic. Missing posters of Ira were posted all over our village and around Zhitomir.
And I racked my brains, trying to remember some snippet of information Ira had told me about her friends that might help.
‘Can it be this Oleg?’ Slava asked. ‘Anzhelika said Ira was seeing him more than she admitted.’
Sadly, we couldn’t find a number for him anywhere, though, and Ira’s phone still wasn’t answering.
But Slava became increasingly
Irina had grown from a little girl into a lady
convinced that he’d recognised the burglar’s voice that dreadful night.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was Oleg. Five days later, the phone rang. ‘We were your guests in the middle of the night – you remember us?’ said a voice.
‘Tell me where Ira is – tell me?’ Slava pleaded.
‘Shut up. She’s here, with us. If you want to see us again, pay us £2,000,’ the man continued.
‘I don’t have that kind of money. We’re not a rich family. Please...’ my husband reasoned.
‘That’s your problem,’ snarled the man. ‘If you want to see her alive, get the money. Until you do, we’ll do anything we like with Ira.’
‘OK, OK… We’ll find the money,’ Slava fretted, arranging to meet the kidnappers the next morning in a park.
The cops gave us the money in fake euro notes, after tracking the call to a district in Zhitomir.
Maybe our daughter could be safe after all…
‘Bring her back safe and sound’, I told Slava, kissing him goodbye the next morning, as he left with the fake notes. When the appointed time came and went, Slava waited patiently. And, 10 minutes later, the man he now knew was ‘Oleg’ – which we later discovered was an alias – walked up, his face covered by a scarf. ‘Give me the money,’ he demanded, so Slava obeyed, without hesitation. But, instead of freeing Ira immediately, as promised, nothing happened. Waiting at home, in case the kidnappers called, was torture. In the meantime, the police called Slava. They’d tailed Oleg and found Ira – or what was left of her. ‘Sorry but your Ira was already dead when they took the money from you,’ the officer told him. ‘In fact, she was dead when they robbed you. It wasn’t a normal death. Please bring a coffin when you come to the police station.’ The words ‘bring a coffin’ juddered through Slava’s brain
as he wept. Then he came home and broke the news.
‘Our Ira will never come back,’ he told me.
Collapsing, I was so overcome he had to phone for a doctor. Over the following days, police revealed more horrendous details to Slava.
They’d arrested a couple and some of their friends.
The local police chief Sergei Nesterchuk told Slava that ‘Oleg’ was really called Vladimir Konovalchuk, 30.
The sicko had groomed Ira – while planning her kidnapping with two friends.
After meeting her at a party, he’d promised her the world, according to a friend – claiming to have fallen in love at first sight.
‘It wasn’t a normal death. Please bring a coffin’
SNATCHED BY SATAN AND HIS SICK DISCIPLE