‘Tortured Soul

The killing of a homeless woman

Sleeping rough and suffering from terminal bowel cancer, Barbara Campbell, known as Rose, was allegedly murdered in January in the shopfront she’d made her home. Blair Ensor investigates how she came to be estranged from her family, and living on the street with a stoma bag.

This story is featured on Stuff’s The Long Read podcast. Check it out by hitting the play button below, or find it on podcast apps like Apple PodcastsSpotify or Google Podcasts.

Barbara Campbell relied on the charity of people like Stuart Black in her final days.

Barbara Campbell relied on the charity of people like Stuart Black in her final days.

One night in December 2021, as a wild storm hit Christchurch, Stuart Black answered a knock at the door of his home.

Hunched over in front of him stood a sodden, rail-thin woman, with sunken eyes, rotting teeth and unruly grey hair. She’d walked to his property in the pouring rain, pushing a shopping trolley full of detritus that were her belongings.

“I’m dying,” the woman said. 

Black recognised the husky voice of Barbara Campbell, an often cantankerous woman to whom he’d rented a room for a few months in 2018.

She was 45, but looked decades older. Campbell told Black she had terminal bowel cancer, showed him her stoma bag and said she had no pain relief. She weighed less than 50 kilograms.

Estranged from her family, she’d burned bridges with many others who’d tried to help her.

Until August, Campbell had lived in a flat several kilometres away, but was forced out after a year-long tenancy during which she drank heavily, screamed and yelled at neighbours and accused them of crimes such as theft and sexual assault. Since then she’d largely been homeless.

Black’s experience living with Campbell several years earlier was fraught - she didn’t pay her rent, kept him awake when he worked night shifts, and would fly into rages. When she finally moved out, she left behind a rat’s nest of cigarette papers and butts she’d foraged from the street and a bucket full of vomit.

But Black had lost a wife to cancer, and didn’t want to leave the frail woman who now stood before him exposed to the elements. He took her in.

The next day, Campbell barricaded herself inside Black’s house. She used furniture to block the doors and windows - paranoid someone was trying to steal from her. It took Black half an hour to force his way in.

Two days later, when the worst of the weather had passed, he asked her to leave. She did so willingly. 

Stuart Black rented Barbara Campbell a room in his house in 2018.

Stuart Black rented Barbara Campbell a room in his house in 2018.

After Christmas, Black was holidaying on the West Coast when his phone rang. It was Campbell. She’d found the spare key to his home and was calling people using a work phone he’d left behind. She told him she was trying to stop people breaking into his house. 

When Black arrived home, he found Campbell again barricaded inside, burning toilet paper in his toaster on the floor.

He knew she was beyond his help and called the police.

The attending officers told Black they’d tried unsuccessfully to get Campbell committed to Hillmorton Hospital, a mental health facility, a week earlier when she was barred from a storage facility. This time, she was only trespassed from Black’s home. She wasn’t charged with any offence.

The next time Black heard Campbell’s name was about a fortnight later. She’d allegedly been murdered while living in the doorway of a vacant shop in New Brighton. Black felt shock and guilt, but also a peculiar relief that Campell’s suffering was over.

Since Campbell’s cancer diagnosis the previous year, her life had spiralled out of control. There were numerous calls to police about her behaviour. She had exposed herself to children and abused people who stared at her. She wasn’t charged with any crime, but it was clear her physical and mental health were deteriorating. Social services tried to help, to no avail. She turned down offers of financial assistance to help with her medical treatment.

In the end, Campbell was a prisoner of her own mind, unable to escape her affliction and incapable of letting others help her do so. She slipped through every safety net, and relied on the charity of good samaritans in her final days.

“It’s not good enough,” says Black, who believes Campbell was let down by a health system ill-equipped to handle acute cases on the fringes of society.

Here’s a woman who’s got cancer, she’s obviously got mental health issues, and yet all the facilities that are supposed to be there to help somebody in that situation, they all failed.
Stuart Black

The truth was more complicated.

Lorraine and Brian Campbell were estranged from their daughter Barbara, but they still loved her.

Lorraine and Brian Campbell were estranged from their daughter Barbara, but they still loved her.

Pride of place on Lorraine and Brian Campbell’s living room wall, among dozens of family photos, is a portrait of Barbara, their eldest daughter. She’s in her late teens or early twenties and wearing a blue and white polar fleece jacket, a 90s-style black bucket hat and earrings. Her blue eyes are fixed on the camera, and she has a wide smile on her face. 

It’s hard to rationalise that the seemingly happy young woman in the photo is the same person who sat with blackened toes poking through holes in her socks, surrounded by alcohol boxes, cigarette butts and other rubbish in a shopfront on the fringe of a supermarket car park.

Those who encountered Barbara during her short, complex life have described her as a “riddle” and a “mystery within a mystery”.

She was an alcoholic. She was volatile and abusive. She was paranoid and delusional. But she was also vivacious, creative, hard-working and deeply spiritual.  

Barbara (far right), her parents Lorraine and Brian, and her sister Dianne.

Barbara (far right), her parents Lorraine and Brian, and her sister Dianne.

Lorraine last spoke to Barbara in July 2020, when she and her other daughter, Dianne, went to the Cashel Court Motel in Linwood and handed Barbara a trespass notice. For months, Barbara had been calling and texting family members day and night and abusing them. She would swear, call them “heartless” and “evil”, say they’d abandoned her and blame them for how her life had panned out.

Lorraine and Brian installed a call blocker on their landline. When Barbara started ringing Dianne’s work, more drastic action was needed, hence the visit to Cashel Court Motel, the emergency housing that social services had found for Barbara during the first Covid-19 lockdown.

Barbara didn’t take kindly to being served with the trespass notice.

“Get out, just go away,” she had yelled before emerging from her room and pushing her mother.

“It breaks my heart … to think that was the last time I talked to her,” Lorraine says. 

We just couldn’t take it any more. It was sapping our life. We’d tried everything to help her.
Lorraine Campbell

Since their daughter was killed, Lorraine, 67, and Brian, 70, have spent hours picking through possessions she’d hoarded in a storage locker she’d rented for $100 per month. Among dozens of empty cans of bourbon and cola and piles of clothes tainted by the smell of cigarettes, they’ve found neatly filed photos, medical records and other documents, old diaries and scrapbooks, boxes of jewellery, and items given to her many years ago - such as a 30th birthday card from Dianne. 

The process has stirred memories, and made them reflect on whether there’s anything they could have done to change the course of Barbara’s life.

“We made mistakes,” Lorraine says, “But we did the best we knew how. We still love her even though she’s not here. I just wish I could give her a big hug.”

Pride of place on Lorraine and Brian Campbell’s living room wall, among dozens of family photos, is a portrait of Barbara, their eldest daughter. She’s in her late teens or early twenties and wearing a blue and white polar fleece jacket, a 90s-style black bucket hat and earrings. Her blue eyes are fixed on the camera, and she has a wide smile on her face. 

It’s hard to rationalise that the seemingly happy young woman in the photo is the same person who sat with blackened toes poking through holes in her socks, surrounded by alcohol boxes, cigarette butts and other rubbish in a shopfront on the fringe of a supermarket car park.

Those who encountered Barbara during her short, complex life have described her as a “riddle” and a “mystery within a mystery”.

She was an alcoholic. She was volatile and abusive. She was paranoid and delusional. But she was also vivacious, creative, hard-working and deeply spiritual.  

Barbara (far right), her parents Lorraine and Brian, and her sister Dianne.

Barbara (far right), her parents Lorraine and Brian, and her sister Dianne.

Lorraine last spoke to Barbara in July 2020, when she and her other daughter, Dianne, went to the Cashel Court Motel in Linwood and handed Barbara a trespass notice. For months, Barbara had been calling and texting family members day and night and abusing them. She would swear, call them “heartless” and “evil”, say they’d abandoned her and blame them for how her life had panned out.

Lorraine and Brian installed a call blocker on their landline. When Barbara started ringing Dianne’s work, more drastic action was needed, hence the visit to Cashel Court Motel, the emergency housing that social services had found for Barbara during the first Covid-19 lockdown.

Barbara didn’t take kindly to being served with the trespass notice.

“Get out, just go away,” she had yelled before emerging from her room and pushing her mother.

“It breaks my heart … to think that was the last time I talked to her,” Lorraine says. 

We just couldn’t take it any more. It was sapping our life. We’d tried everything to help her.
Lorraine Campbell

Since their daughter was killed, Lorraine, 67, and Brian, 70, have spent hours picking through possessions she’d hoarded in a storage locker she’d rented for $100 per month. Among dozens of empty cans of bourbon and cola and piles of clothes tainted by the smell of cigarettes, they’ve found neatly filed photos, medical records and other documents, old diaries and scrapbooks, boxes of jewellery, and items given to her many years ago - such as a 30th birthday card from Dianne. 

The process has stirred memories, and made them reflect on whether there’s anything they could have done to change the course of Barbara’s life.

“We made mistakes,” Lorraine says, “But we did the best we knew how. We still love her even though she’s not here. I just wish I could give her a big hug.”

Barbara Louise Campbell was born in Christchurch on January 8, 1976. She was named after her father’s eldest sister, Barbara, who was born with spina bifida and only lived for 12 days.

Brian and Lorraine had married two years earlier. Brian was a carpenter by trade and a speedway fanatic. Lorraine worked in hospitality and had always wanted to be a mum. They owned an ex-state home in the Christchurch suburb of Richmond.

Barbara was a happy baby with chubby cheeks and a thin crop of mousey hair. She slept a lot and fed well - a first time mother’s dream. 

“I loved being a mum,” Lorraine says. “I loved her to bits. She was the delight of our lives.”

Dianne was born two years later. Like many older siblings, Barbara initially didn’t like the limelight being stolen by her new sister, and could often be found pulling pots and pans from drawers or sticking pens, forks and hair clips into plugs. But the pair were soon playing well together. Photos in old albums show Dianne and Barbara wearing face paint, playing dress-up and posing happily with Santa.

Barbara and her younger sister Dianne.

Barbara and her younger sister Dianne.

As the pair grew older, though, it was clear they were very different. Dianne was well-behaved. She was quiet, diligent and loved reading. Barbara didn’t like school work. She was a free spirit who preferred to be outdoors riding her bike, playing with the family dog or bouncing on the trampoline. By the time she was a teenager, Barbara had begun to rebel - skipping class and climbing out her window at night with bottles of her parents’ liquor and meeting boys. 

Aged 13, she fell pregnant. Her parents were supportive of her having the baby, but Barbara chose to have an abortion. Lorraine went to the hospital with her.

Barbara went to Avonside Girls’ High School and later Aranui High School.

Barbara went to Avonside Girls’ High School and later Aranui High School.

“She changed,” Lorraine says, “Her innocence had been taken away. Things just seemed to go downhill.

Some of it I’ve actually blacked out … because it was just so difficult to deal with.
Lorraine Campbell

In November 1992, two months shy of her 17th birthday, Barbara left school and got a job at KFC. Over the next few years, she drifted in and out of the family home - often staying with friends or boyfriends. 

Despite leaving school early, Barbara appeared determined to make something of her life.

She completed courses in natural healing, photography and communication skills. She trained to be a flight attendant and did two weeks of work experience with the police. She even completed an anger management course. But her relationship with her family remained strained.

She could be so nice, and then you’d say the wrong thing and she’d just snap.
Dianne, Barbara’s sister

One day, in 1995, Barbara showed up at her parents’ home yelling and screaming. She pulled a knife from the kitchen drawer and glared at them angrily. “I’m going to kill you,” she said.

As Barbara raised the knife in the air, Brian grabbed her arm with both hands. It took all of his strength to subdue her. Lorraine called the police and Brian sat on Barbara until officers arrived. She spent the night in the cells and was released without charge in the morning. Her parents didn’t want to make a formal complaint. They had no idea what drove Barbara to attack them - they suspected drugs even though Barbara denied it - but resolved to keep supporting their daughter however they could.

The house bus Barbara called her home for several years.

The house bus Barbara called her home for several years.

In 1997, with her parents' help, Barbara bought a white Bedford house bus and embarked on what she called the “gypsy life”. For several years, she seemed happy. The bus was her home, but she visited Brian and Lorraine regularly to have dinner and do laundry.

Privately, though, she was in turmoil. She was smoking cannabis almost daily and drinking heavily. She wrote in her diary of her struggles with anxiety and depression and how she felt like her family had given up on her. “When I really need their support, they are never there to guide me or help me along - it’s always more putdowns.” 

Eventually, Barbara sold the bus. She became increasingly secretive about where she was living and what she was doing. Any tenancies she had were brief.

Barbara celebrated her 21st birthday at her parents’ home.

Barbara celebrated her 21st birthday at her parents’ home.

She also became consumed by her paranoia. In 2003, Brian and Lorraine were driving through central Christchurch with Barbara in the back seat. As they approached their destination, Barbara lay down and made them drive round the block several times because she thought someone was following them. 

At the time, she was receiving treatment from a community-based mental health centre, and had been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder, major depression and psychosis. She was discharged from the centre’s care after a few months.

Barbara and her sister Dianne were like “chalk and cheese”, their mother says.

Barbara and her sister Dianne were like “chalk and cheese”, their mother says.

The following year, much to Lorraine and Brian’s surprise, Dianne asked Barbara to be a bridesmaid at her wedding. Since leaving home, Barbara had made no effort to stay in contact with her sister. She’d refused to give Dianne her phone number, and wouldn’t tell her where she was living. Despite that, Dianne had always looked up to Barbara. "I still wanted her in my life even if she didn’t want to be in mine."

Lorraine was on tenterhooks throughout the wedding, but she needn’t have worried. Barbara was the perfect bridesmaid. She helped with Dianne’s make-up, posed for photos and appeared happy.

Barbara and her former partner Paul Lester.

Barbara and her former partner Paul Lester.

Barbara’s date for the wedding was her boyfriend Paul Lester, a panel beater she met while working for a rental car company in 2002. The couple shared a love of the outdoors and road-tripped around the South Island together, but their relationship was plagued by Barbara’s mental health issues and ultimately failed. “She had a beautiful soul but it struggled to come out.” Lester says, “I couldn’t do anything to alleviate her paranoia. She thought I was seeing someone else, but I wasn’t.”

In 2011, about the time Christchurch was hit by a deadly 6.2-magnitude earthquake, Barbara was diagnosed with stage two breast cancer. She had her left breast removed and several rounds of chemotherapy.

Barbara was an alcoholic.

Barbara was an alcoholic.

As aftershocks rattled the city, Barbara’s alcohol intake increased and her mental state became even more deranged. She believed spirits were communicating with her through a television and an ‘incubus’ (a male demon) was having sex with her at night. She hid a knife under a couch to defend herself against people she thought were breaking in through the roof and stealing alcohol, food and money.

Barbara was twice admitted to Hillmorton Hospital in 2012. Each stay lasted several weeks. Initially, it was thought she was suffering from schizophrenia or substance induced psychosis, but when she was discharged for the second time she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, a condition which causes extreme mood swings.

Barbara was twice committed to Hillmorton Hospital in 2012.

Barbara was twice committed to Hillmorton Hospital in 2012.

Lorraine and Brian only knew of Barbara’s second admission to Hillmorton. They visited her there regularly and attended support meetings. When Barbara was released they tried to get her to move into a rented home, but she chose to live in her car. Attempts to get her help for her alcoholism were also unsuccessful. Once again, they watched their daughter drift away.

“Eventually we realised she was only coming around when she wanted something,” Lorraine says, “Usually money to buy cigarettes and alcohol.”

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Jenny Bedford helped Barbara when she had no-one to turn to.

Jenny Bedford helped Barbara when she had no-one to turn to.

In late 2013, Barbara walked through the doors of Treasure Trove, a vintage clothing store on Ferry Rd, and into the life of the owner, Jenny Bedford.

Barbara had dark curly hair and was well dressed. She needed a new zip for her bumbag. 

But Bedford noticed a sadness about her. She asked Barbara what was wrong.

Barbara began crying. She said her grandmother had recently died and she was having issues with her family.

“She told me she lived in her car, which broke my heart,” Bedford says, “So from then on I started to support her. I do it because I’m a Christian and it’s my path in life.”

Barbara was feeling unsafe on the street, so Bedford allowed her to park her car at her home.

I think she liked the idea of sleeping in a car because she could just do what she wanted. She didn’t like being under anyone’s thumb.
Jenny Bedford

For the next year, Bedford was a mother-like figure to Barbara. She acted as a referee on job applications, helped her look for somewhere to live and drove her to places when she didn’t have enough money to pay for petrol. Barbara had lots of clothes stashed at her lock-up, and sold some of them to Treasure Trove. Other times, Bedford would pay her for cleaning windows or vacuuming at her shop. Never more than $20.

Sometimes, without warning, Barbara would turn. Once, Bedford did some laundry for her and Barbara noticed one of her bras was missing. She accused Bedford of stealing it and demanded that she buy her a new one. She also sent Bedford abusive messages and called her a bad Christian when she wouldn’t give her money.

“Anyone that helped got their hand bitten off,” Bedford says, “For some reason it was everyone else’s fault.

She was a tortured soul. I think there were demons from her past that she just had to drown.
Jenny Bedford

Gary Gribben tried unsuccessfully to get Barbara to quit drinking.

Gary Gribben tried unsuccessfully to get Barbara to quit drinking.

In 2015, Bedford passed the mantle of supporting Barbara to her friend Gary Gribben.

Gribben, a retired electrician who attended the same church as Bedford, remembers Barbara as an “absolutely gorgeous person”. When she wasn’t drinking.

When she got that alcohol she … turned nasty and abusive. I called alcohol her traitor.
Gary Gribben

Gribben tried repeatedly to get Barbara to quit drinking. But each time she got dry, she relapsed. She often talked of being treated poorly by her family, wronged by employers and abused by former partners, one of whom was said to have stolen a valuable winning Lotto ticket from her. 

Like Bedford, Gribben would drive Barbara around. One day, in early 2021, she asked him to attend a doctor’s appointment with her. It was then he learned she had bowel cancer. “So, who’s your next of kin?” the doctor asked. Barbara pointed at Gribben.  “I’m not your next of kin,” Gribben said, “I’m just someone that looks after you.” But by then Barbara had no one else to turn to. She no longer had contact with her family and had wrecked relationships with friends. One of them changed their phone number three times to escape her abuse. 

Barbara’s last stable accomodation was a rental property in Waltham, Christchurch.

Barbara’s last stable accomodation was a rental property in Waltham, Christchurch.

The last time Gribben really saw Barbara was when he helped her move in August last year. As they carried her possessions outside, Barbara asked Gribben to watch them. He agreed. Then, Barbara turned on Gribben and accused him of stealing her belongings. “No, I’d never do something like that,” he said. Gribben only saw Barbara a few times in passing after that. She mostly lived in her van and could be difficult to get hold of.

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Max Percy was Barbara’s supervisor when she worked as a security guard for Armourguard.

Max Percy was Barbara’s supervisor when she worked as a security guard for Armourguard.

Despite Barbara’s prolonged mental health issues and battles with addiction, she held down a string of jobs, continuing to work until within a year of her death.

“She was a mystery within a mystery,” says Max Percy, who was Barbara’s supervisor when she worked as a security guard for Armourguard from 2016 to 2018. 

If Barbara didn’t have a job, she was looking for one.

If Barbara didn’t have a job, she was looking for one.

“You could never really break down that door about her or her background. She’d only tell you what she wanted you to know… I definitely got the impression that she did not like men - she’d had bad experiences with men - and she had family issues and was bitter towards them.”

Percy knew Barbara was living in a van, but he couldn’t fault her work ethic. She turned up on time and adhered to the company’s strict dress code. She didn’t like working with other staff and they didn’t like working with her - which is how she ended up on the night shift - but if someone called in sick, she was always willing to work overtime. “I had nothing but respect for her,” Percy says, “She was a perfect guard, I wish I’d had more of them.”

Percy didn’t experience Barbara’s bad temper first-hand until after he’d retired from Armourguard.

She wanted him to be a referee for a driving job, but he knew nothing about her driving ability. He called Barbara and told her he didn’t feel it was appropriate.

She went off the deep end. I was called all the names under the sun.
Max Percy

Percy hung up on her.

Months later, he helped Barbara move some possessions out of a storage container. Afterwards, they had coffee. “It was like old friends meeting up,” Percy says. “ She was just a normal, caring person. And that was the mystery with her, you could never know where she was coming from, but I liked her.”

Barbara's last job was at Wigram Lodge where she patrolled the grounds at night as a security guard. She left in about March last year. Soon after, her life entered its final, tumultuous chapter. For years her fortunes had fluctuated in concert with her mental health and addiction issues and now, wracked by delusions and paranoia and ridden with bowel cancer, she reached her nadir.

Barbara wound up living on the streets of New Brighton. She liked being close to the beach - it had always been somewhere she went to clear her head - but this stay was no seaside retreat. Barbara could often be found camped in a shop doorway, surrounded by her belongings, or loitering around the suburb's neglected shopping centre. If people were kind, so was she, but if they stopped and stared, she abused them: "Just leave me the f— alone."

Peter Donnelly barely recognised his old friend Barbara when he saw her in New Brighton late last year.

Peter Donnelly barely recognised his old friend Barbara when he saw her in New Brighton late last year.

It was here, in November 2021, while sitting in his car, that Peter Donnelly encountered Barbara. As she approached, Donnelly could tell from her stare that she knew him, but he didn’t recognise her.

“It’s Barbara,” she said.

Donnelly was stunned. The woman was skinny and drawn - if it wasn’t for her light blue eyes  he wouldn’t have believed it was her - but it was definitely Barbara Campbell. Donnelly met Barbara through his daughter when she was a teenager. The pair had a shared love of art, socialised in the same circles, and became good friends. Over the years, Barbara, a keen photographer, had taken photos of Donnelly’s canvases and the sand art he drew on New Brighton beach.

But now, startled by the emaciated figure before him, Donnelly made his excuses.

“Sorry,” he said, “I’ve got to go.” He drove off.

Weeks later, Donnelly saw Barbara again, sitting under the eaves of the old Save Mart building in New Brighton mall, surrounded by rubbish. Again, he was sitting in his car. Again, he chose not to engage.

“I wasn’t even tempted to go over and say hi,” he says. “After dark, it’s a different world in there … with alcohol and drugs and street people. It’s a world of hurt, and Barb was right in the middle of it.

There was nothing right about it, so I left her in that world.
Peter Donnelly

On January 8, local hair salon owner Letecia Redcliff approached Barbara, who by then had adopted the name Rose, to see if she needed any help. Barbara told her it was her 46th birthday, and asked her if she could play her favourite song: Nothing Else Matters by Metallica. The pair listened to the rock ballad together.

“I had tears in my eyes,” Redcliff says, “She touched my heart that day. She sparkled while she spoke.”

Bin Inn New Brighton owner Nikki Griffin worried for Barbara’s safety.

Bin Inn New Brighton owner Nikki Griffin worried for Barbara’s safety.

Around this time, Nikki Griffin, who owned the Bin Inn food store in New Brighton mall, says she rang the police several times, concerned for Barbara’s safety. She worried someone would react violently to something Barbara said. “If you don’t move her,” she told the operator, “She’ll die.”

Officers twice attended and spoke to Barbara in January, but, because her behaviour wasn’t considered criminal, no action was taken.

On January 12, staff from support service Housing First visited. Barbara agreed to meet with her Ministry of Social Development case manager, who’d spent months trying to get her into emergency housing, the next day.

Hours later, about 10pm, it’s believed Barbara had an argument with a man. She was found lying unconscious on the ground and died on the way to hospital.

A 43-year-old was later charged with her murder. He has name suppression, is in custody and is yet to enter a plea.

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Lorraine and Brian have struggled to come to terms with the loss of their daughter.

Lorraine and Brian have struggled to come to terms with the loss of their daughter.

As their daughter’s life came to a violent end, Barbara’s parents were oblivious. They had no idea she had bowel cancer, or that she was living on the street, just five minutes drive from their Avondale home.

“If I knew she was in New Brighton, I would have been there every day, and stayed there all day,” Lorraine says. “Just to see if I could get her to come home or get her some help.”

Brian will never forget standing in a small, featureless room at Christchurch Hospital. It was cold and quiet. On the other side of a window, within touching distance, was a woman’s body, lying on a gurney. It was covered by a white sheet. Only the face was exposed, badly bruised and swollen. 

“Is that Barbara?” a police officer asked him.

Brian wasn’t sure. The face he saw was so badly beaten he couldn’t tell if it was his daughter. Even the piercing blue eyes - always Barbara’s most striking feature - looked brown. The officer asked if there was any other way to identify Barbara. Brian told him about Barbara’s mastectomy and how, aged about 12, she’d had a mole on her wrist partially removed. The officer and a colleague went into the other room. They were gone a short while, then returned. 

“They…nodded their heads,” Brian says.

“I wouldn’t wish that on anybody.”

Words: Blair Ensor
Visuals: Chris Skelton
Design & Layout: Aaron Wood
Editors: Keith Lynch and Michael Wright

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