BUTCHERED: MOTHER AND DAUGHTER SLAIN!

A young mother and her daughter were brutally murdered in what police say was a bungled IRA operation. Mrs Jennifer McCartney, the wife of Northern Bank manager Peter, suffered what police describe as an horrendous ordeal at the hands of the lone perpetrator, who was apprehended as he was leaving the premises. She sustained a single gunshot wound to the back of the head, although police believe that the 32-year-old solicitor had already died as a result of strangulation. The victim, whose body was discovered at the top of the stairs, had endured a vicious and prolonged sexual assault and had some fifty-seven bite marks on her back and torso. Police believe the young mother was making a desperate attempt to reach her daughter’s bedroom. It is understood, however, from the forensic examinations of both victims, that the child, who sustained two gunshot wounds to the face, died before her mother. Chief Superintendent Reg Donaldson commented: ‘In all my time serving in the RUC, my officers have never dealt with a more distressing scene. The only small consolation we can take from this tragedy is that the perpetrator has been caught and will be brought to justice. I would like to thank the concerned neighbour who contacted the police to report this incident and if that person would make themselves known to me, I would like to take the opportunity to thank him personally.’

The victims were formally identified as 32-year-old Jennifer Mary McCartney and her 6-year-old daughter Annie.

He felt the water gather in small puddles in his ears, then pour onto the pillow behind his head. He let it flow until no more would come. He raised himself from the bed and opened the old curtains. The first shafts of morning sun were fighting their way through the thick blanket of cloud that hung low over the church on the hill. The room filled with a soft light that banished the shadows that had engulfed it. The water from the rain still meandered its way slowly down the dirty pane. He sat back down on the noisy ancient bed he’d slept in as a child and contemplated the day ahead: the most important day of his life. Maybe the only day left in his life.

By the time he drank the last of his mother’s tea, he knew what he had to do. He must sacrifice himself for Annie. This was not a time for running away. He’d done that once before, and where had that gotten him? He was still running twenty-two years later. It would all end today. He must be strong for her; he must be brave for her. He was not a coward. He had been a boy then, but now he was a man. He would sacrifice himself so Annie could live. Annie deserved that from him. He looked at the little black object on the kitchen table. He picked it up and placed it in his trouser pocket.