Killer Women - Devasting True Stories of Female Murderers. Wensley Clarkson
her. Even though they had not even slept in the same bed for weeks she lived in hope.
But the pressure of the situation was leading them both to drink excessively.
And at that neighbour’s party, they both went over the top…
It was two-thirty am by the time they stumbled into their house.
Graham was looking for an argument.
‘I just don’t care for you any more,’ he said. ‘We must get a divorce.’
They were standing in the hall. He was not giving her a single ounce of compassion.
Gillian longed for him. She really wanted to sleep with him that night. Feel his body next to hers. Feel the warmth and security they had enjoyed together for so many years.
‘Can I come to bed with you? Please.’
He did not reply.
‘Please let me sleep there tonight. I won’t go near you. I won’t touch you if that’s what you want.’
But Graham’s thoughts were only for Janet – even then.
‘I don’t want you. Can’t you understand that?’
He was shouting fiercely now.
‘I don’t want you.’ He kept repeating it over and over.
Even then Gillian felt a compulsion to try to please him in any way she thought might bring him back to her.
‘I’ll bring Janet back into the house. Anything.’
‘You’re a bitch. You should never have thrown Janet out.’
Gillian still kept pleading.
‘But surely this isn’t worth giving up eight years of happiness for?’
She was trying to appeal to his good sense now. The sensible side of him that made him such a right and proper person for his job. But he only wanted one thing now – the divorce settlement.
‘I’ve lost a house and money before. But this time, you’re entitled to nothing.’
That was the final straw for Gillian. He had switched this screaming match from the subject of love to money. In her mind, it showed just what he really thought of her. It proved that he was a cold, calculating man. Not the loving person she once knew so well.
He was shouting more at her now. He kept on and on about the money. She took the pink dressing gown cord from around her waist and gripped it tightly in her fist – just in case.
He was losing control. Everything he said was becoming increasingly hurtful. Then, as he swayed around in the room, he grabbed Gillian by the neck. She did not know if it was because he was falling or trying to throttle her. But she grasped the dressing gown cord in both hands and twisted it around his neck. He felt his throat tightening as the cord dug into his windpipe. Nothing would stop her now. There was no marriage to look forward to – he had seen to that. Gillian Philpott felt the urge to pull that cord tighter and tighter. She could see his eyes bulging outwards as he tried to free himself. But the surprise element had given Gillian just a few moments in which to seal his fate. He had already begun to die. He simply did not have the energy left to fight back.
She gave the cord one more sharp pull and her husband was dead.
It had all been so quick and, in a strange way, so painless.
For a few seconds she sat there stunned by her own actions. What had she done? It was awful as the feeling began to dawn on her. She had just killed Graham the man she once loved so dearly. The man who had given her the happiest days of her life.
But he had taken his own life. He had demanded death and been given it in the end.
Gillian looked at his twisted body on the floor and knew she had to do something to make him look as if he’d committed suicide. She wanted to die with him.
Using all her strength, she picked up his lifeless body by putting her arms under his and pulling hard. She stopped by the bannisters at the landing and tied a fresh, longer piece of cord around his neck.
Then she knotted the other end firmly to a bannister. It was no easy task to lift his 12 stone body over the edge of the rail. For minutes she struggled until, through sheer will power she managed to tip it over the edge.
Exhausted, she sat down on the bed for a few minutes, trying to compose herself so she could plan the next stage. She thought about Graham. What he meant to her. What, ultimately, she had ended up meaning to him. That gave her the strength to carry on. She got out a sheet of their headed notepaper and paused for a few seconds to decide what to write. It was not that difficult.
‘We couldn’t live separately. We wanted to die together. Please keep us together – I beg of you. We love one another so much.’
And she meant every word.
Gillian Philpott grabbed at the bottle of aspirins in the medicine cupboard. She was going to do it. She was going to kill herself. End it all. There was nothing left to live for.
She had lived through the worst nightmare of all and now it was time to say goodbye. To leave this world and all her problems behind. The note was written. Now she had to go through with it.
She struggled with the childproof cap of the aspirin bottle for what seemed like minutes, in a desperate effort to get at the tablets. Finally she managed to pull off the lid and put the bottle to her lips. The bitter tasting pills cascaded smoothly into her mouth. She stopped and took a huge swig from the bottle of whisky that stood on the table besides her. Soon she had finished off the bottle of about 30 pills and sat down to die.
She presumed that the tightness in her stomach was a sign that the tablets were getting into her bloodstream. Poisoning her permanently. She hoped it would be quick. Suddenly, a terrible nauseous feeling overwhelmed her. Her stomach began to spasm. Uncontrolable jerking movements. She could feel the bitter taste of the pills against the roof of her mouth. She vommited everywhere. A steady stream gushed out of her like an oil well.
She would have to try something else. The determination to end it all was still there.
It was early morning on 31 December, 1990. Gillian Philpott was trying to concentrate on the road as she drove the couple’s Ford Orion on the busy ‘A’ road full of New Year’s Eve traffic.
Just a few hours earlier, she had killed the husband she had always loved so much and then tried to kill herself. Unsuccessfully. Now she intended to finish off the job in such a way there would be no room for failure.
As she approached the cliffs of Beachy Head – a picturesque beauty spot on the Sussex coast renowned for suicide bids – she kept rehearsing her death plunge plans.
She wanted to make sure there was no mistake this time. She wanted to join Graham in heaven. At least Janet was not there.
There were quite a number of sightseers at Beachy Head that day watching hang gliders sweep majestically up into the skies from the cliff edge, hundreds of feet above sea level.
Gillian clutched onto the steering wheel as the car mounted the grass verge that led to the cliff edge. Her foot flat down on the accelerator, she willed the car forward as fast as it would go. This was the worst part. The waiting. The waiting to die.
She felt the car rear forward as the engine over-revved. Getting closer and closer to that leap into the unknown.
No one was watching the Ford. All eyes were on the hang gliders soaring on the thermals.
Gillian felt a weird sensation as the car got near the edge. It was a mixture of elation and fear. She was relieved it would soon all be over. But she was terrified of the pain she might have to endure before the moment of death.
Then it happened. The car lifted over the edge of the precipice. She was flying through the air. Totally out of control now. Completely unable to stop fate from taking a hand.
She felt