Fi­nal in­sult… Cut up and flushed down the loo

For years, I’d feared this brute was hurt­ing my daugh­ter, but what he did in the end was be­yond my worst night­mares

Chat - - Contents - Anita No­den, 65, Wins­ford, Cheshire

Sit­ting in a bar in Ibiza, me and my three pals were hav­ing a right gig­gle on hol­i­day.

It was June 2016, and al­though we were all in our 60s, we knew how to let our hair down.

We got chat­ting to a psy­chic and he took turns read­ing our palms. It was a laugh, him pre­dict­ing ro­mance and wind­falls for my mates.

Only, when he got to me, his mood changed.

‘I can see prison bars,’ he frowned. ‘Some­one is go­ing to prison for a very long time.’ We all fell silent. I knew in­stantly who that some­one might be... ‘Dean,’ I mut­tered. Fin­ish­ing up our drinks, we headed back to the ho­tel.

But for the rest of the hol­i­day, I couldn’t stop think­ing about my youngest daugh­ter, Kirby, 31, and her boyfriend, Dean, 31.

I hadn’t seen Kirby in more than seven years.

Not since Dean had made her cut off con­tact.

Now, she didn’t speak to me or our fam­ily.

It hadn’t started out like that. Dean and Kirby had been child­hood sweet­hearts.

But he’d be­come con­trol­ling, vi­o­lent even.

Spot­ting bruises on her arms and legs, we’d begged Kirby to leave him. ‘Please, love,’ I urged. ‘But I love him, Mum,’ she sighed.

I prayed she’d come to her senses, but it was like Dean had cast a spell on her.

I tried ev­ery­thing to con­vince her, again and again, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. It broke my heart... Kirby split with Dean for a while, met some­one else.

In Fe­bru­ary 2007, she had a lit­tle boy, Jack.

But when Jack was 18 months old she and Dean got back to­gether.

Not long af­ter, I no­ticed bruises on Jack’s back, and called in so­cial ser­vices.

And in Oc­to­ber 2008, Jack, 2, came to live with me. Away from Dean.

Kirby was fu­ri­ous and I didn’t blame her.

She was a vic­tim, too, and now I’d taken her son away.

But I’d been left with no choice. I hadn’t been able to save my daugh­ter, but I was de­ter­mined Jack would be safe.

Af­ter­wards, Dean mon­i­tored Kirby’s calls and closed her Face­book ac­count.

They went to live hun­dreds of miles away in Corn­wall.

She was iso­lated, alone and vul­ner­a­ble, and I wor­ried about her ev­ery day.

And now, the psy­chic’s words whirled around my mind.

Was Dean re­ally des­tined for jail? And if so, for what crime?

But ar­riv­ing home a few days later, my thoughts turned back to car­ing for Jack, by then 10.

Only, in May 2017, I had a Face­book mes­sage from Dean’s cousin Re­becca, 30. Have you heard from Kirby? I gulped. No, I typed back. A ter­ri­ble feel­ing churned in the pit of my stom­ach as I waited for Re­becca’s re­ply.

And when it came, I wished it hadn’t. We think Dean may have hurt her. Po­lice are at the flat now.

Dis­traught, I begged my hubby Robert, 52, to drive me straight there.

But af­ter speak­ing to the

Was Dean des­tined for jail? And if so, for what crime?

po­lice, our fam­ily li­ai­son of­fi­cer urged us to wait.

Early the next day, an of­fi­cer came over.

‘We found a lot of blood at Kirby’s flat,’ she ex­plained.

‘That brute’s killed her,’ I said, weep­ing.

The of­fi­cer took DNA swabs from me and went up­stairs to do the same with Jack.

‘Is this about Mum?’ Jack, 11, asked later, con­fused. ‘We don’t know yet,’ I fibbed. Dean was ar­rested and po­lice gath­ered ev­i­dence in the home he’d shared with Kirby.

Blood on the floors, splat­tered on the ceil­ing, teeth on the bed­room car­pet.

DNA re­sults con­firmed it all be­longed to Kirby.

Ex­plain­ing to Jack that his mum had been mur­dered was the hard­est thing I’d ever had to do.

‘I knew he’d hurt her,’ he wept, thump­ing his fist against the wall. As a fam­ily, we were bro­ken. I trav­elled to Corn­wall, stood in the gar­den of the house Kirby had lived and died in.

I sobbed as I came to a con­clu­sion. I wanted to die, be re­united with Kirby.

But then Jack’s face flashed be­fore my eyes.

Some­how, I had to keep go­ing for his sake.

In May 2018, Dean Lowe, 33, ap­peared at Ex­eter Crown Court, where he de­nied mur­der.

I went ev­ery day, will­ing jus­tice to be done.

I lis­tened in hor­ror as the grim de­tails of Kirby’s death were re­vealed.

Lowe had hit Kirby with a large rock, the force of the as­sault smash­ing it into pieces.

He’d then beaten her with a metal pole.

Ex­perts couldn’t say how long it took my poor girl to die.

I prayed she’d gone with the first sav­age blow, that she hadn’t suf­fered.

Though Lowe had killed her in Jan­uary, no­body knew for four months.

And even then, po­lice had divers out for days search­ing the sea near their home, hop­ing to find Kirby’s body.

But the brute had chopped up her body, stuff­ing her re­mains into a wheelie bin and flush­ing the rest down the toi­let.

Hear­ing the de­tails was agony. Even the ju­rors cried. Des­per­ate to pro­tect Jack, I banned him from watch­ing TV or look­ing at the pa­pers dur­ing the trial.

But the de­tails of Kirby’s grue­some death were every­where.

Some re­ports about Kirby’s mur­der had been ex­ag­ger­ated, too. One claimed Dean had used Kirby’s teeth to make a neck­lace, but of­fi­cers told me that sim­ply wasn’t true.

In the end, the jury found Lowe guilty.

He was sen­tenced to life im­pris­on­ment with a min­i­mum term of 28 years.

That psy­chic in Ibiza had been right all along.

Dean was be­hind bars for the worst pos­si­ble rea­son.

But as far as I’m con­cerned, 100 years wouldn’t be long enough. Dean is evil through and through.

Now, all that’s left of my beau­ti­ful girl is a sil­ver box of beaded jew­ellery that I keep on my man­tel­piece.

And a huge can­vas of her smil­ing, which I’ve hung in the liv­ing room. She looks so happy. But I’ll never feel that sort of hap­pi­ness again.

Kirby’s death has changed my view of hu­man­ity. I have no faith in any­one any more.

In our gar­den, we have a lit­tle shrine, with stat­ues, lights and flow­ers, that I tend to daily, just to be near her.

They say you never re­ally get over los­ing a child.

But to lose my daugh­ter in such a hor­ri­ble, bru­tal way is some­thing that will haunt me daily for the rest of my life.

Hear­ing the de­tails was agony. Even the jury cried

The psy­chic had a mes­sage...

Dean Lowe

Keep­ing the mem­ory alive

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