Someone knows something
I need your help to find Mum’s killers
Hearing the letterbox flap, I stifled a laugh at Mum’s voice. ‘Cooee! I know you’re in there!’ It was 1996 and my mum Beverley Brinkley, then 28, had her key, but loved playing this game with us.
I was 6. Me and my sisters, Tara, then 10, and Tina, 3, would hide round the corner while she pretended she was locked out.
‘Gotcha!’ Mum beamed as she burst through the door, wrapping us in her arms. Mum was so bubbly, always making us laugh. Her big personality lit up a room, and she adored us – her precious girls. Together, we’d go to the seaside or Mum’d fill up a paddling pool in the garden. We’d mess around, shrieking with joy, all so happy, so close. Especially as Mum had split with our dad, so we spent most of our time with her. But when I was 7, my older sister Tara told me Mum was going to rehab. As for us, we were moving in with our nan Pearl, then in her 60s. I didn’t understand fully at first. But, in time, I realised that Mum was struggling with a drug addiction. I loved living with Nan, but missed Mum desperately, hoped we’d live with her again one day. For now, we made do with a couple of visits a week. Years passed like this, Mum seemed happy, making progress with her addiction.
In February 2003, I was looking forward to my 13th birthday. Mum always spoilt me with presents.
‘This year, you’ll be a teenager, so even more,’ she said, ruffling my hair.
Five days before my birthday, I was in Grandad’s car – he was my dad’s dad – when we saw Mum on a zebra crossing.
As always, her smile reached from ear to ear.
We waved madly at each other and I felt excited that I’d see her soon.
But, the next day, walking home from the shops, I met a family friend.
‘Is your mum OK?’ he asked, concerned. ‘I heard that she got hurt.’
‘She’s fine,’ I replied, a bit puzzled.
But when I got home, Nan was in tears.
‘Your mum’s been attacked!’ she cried.
Nan and Tara explained Mum had been beaten up on a communal stairwell outside the flats in The Stow, a local shopping centre.
‘She’s in hospital with severe head injuries,’ Nan explained to me.
It didn’t make sense. Who would want to hurt our lovely mum?
For the next couple of days, we weren’t allowed to see her. But, then, Nan took us to the hospital.
Mum was on a life-support machine, her long, brown curly hair shaved at the front. Her face was bruised, swollen.
I barely recognised her, had it not been for the tattoos of me and my sisters’ names on her arms.
‘Mum,’ I cried, holding her hand.
‘It’s OK, love,’ Nan soothed. But it wasn’t OK.
‘I’m afraid that there’s nothing more we can do,’ the doctors said.
And as I held Mum’s hand
A witness reported seeing two men attack her...
on 6 February 2003, she slipped away. The day before my 13th birthday.
As we grieved, the police told us a witness had reported seeing two men attacking Mum. They’d allegedly escaped through a car park behind the flats.
In the weeks after Mum’s death, an computergenerated image of a suspect was released by Essex Police as part of what was now a murder investigation.
It was a white man with black hair, looked as though he was in his 30s.
Meanwhile, we organised the funeral. Me and my sisters all chose a song – mine was Mama by the Spice Girls, Tara picked R Kelly’s If I Could Turn Back the Hands of Time and Tina chose Whitney Houston’s
I Will Always Love You.
The police investigation continued…but weeks turned into months. Soon, a year had passed without finding Mum’s killers.
Then, in 2005, four people were arrested.
Three men and a woman were questioned, but all released without charge.
‘I can’t believe it!’ Tara cried.
Nan did her best to look after us but we missed Mum terribly. Seeing my school friends with their mums, I was overwhelmed with envy.
With every year that passed, my birthday was a reminder of the awful events leading to her death.
Then, when I was 16, we were devastated when Nan died from emphysema.
She was denied the chance to see justice for her beloved daughter.
In 2008, at 18, I had my first child Tenisha.
In labour, I found myself crying out for Mum. Being a mum myself only made me feel the grief more keenly.
In time, I had another two children – Cleo, now 2, and Lazell, 1.
Meanwhile, Tara, now 35, had six kids and Tina, 28, had one herself. We’re always talking about Mum.
‘She’d be so proud,’ I tell my sisters, imagining how amazing Mum would’ve been with her grandkids.
Today, 18 years since our mum’s death, we’re still seeking answers.
Crimestoppers has offered a reward of £10,000 for information leading to the arrest and conviction of those responsible.
And the police still want to identify the writers of two letters sent to them anonymously in 2004 – we don’t know what they said.
So we’re begging you to come forward.
Someone, somewhere, must know something.