Who is the ‘Dark Angel’?
Daily Herald, 15th July 2016
Everything you need to know about Lucy Newton, who was freed by appeal court judges yesterday.
Lucy Newton, the so-called ‘Dark Angel’, was sensationally freed yesterday after appeal court judges quashed her original conviction. Lawyers for Newton, 39, argued that the DNA evidence that was a crucial part of the case against her was unsafe. There were chaotic scenes outside the court when the judges announced their verdict, setting the former nursing assistant free.
But who is Lucy Newton?
She was born Lucy Pica in 1977 and grew up in Bromley, south London. According to former teachers she was a quiet girl who loved cats but had few friends. She left school aged 16 with seven GCSEs.
She met and married IT manager Chris Newton in 2003, following what she described as a whirlwind romance. The pair had a simple registry office service.
Lucy first hit the headlines in 2013 after Chris Newton was killed in a fire at their flat, which was started by their upstairs neighbour, Jamie Knight.
Knight, now 32, was charged with murder but claimed he was driven to it by the behaviour of the Newtons, who, he said, had waged a campaign of terror against him and his wife, Kirsty, a paediatric nurse. It became known as the ‘Magpies’ trial’ after Knight’s lawyer compared Lucy and Chris to the ‘black-and-white pests’ who are renowned for destroying the nests of other birds.
During the trial, the previous residents of the Knights’ flat came forward and testified that the Newtons had done the same to them. Mr Knight claimed that the Newtons had set up surveillance cameras in his flat and had also caused his wife to miscarry their unborn child.
He revealed that he had discovered that Lucy and Chris had separate bedrooms and his lawyer suggested that their marriage was a sham. He said they were ‘two psychopaths who teamed up to further their twisted mission – to destroy the lives of normal, happy couples’.
Jamie Knight was found not guilty and freed. Several months later he came forward with evidence linking Lucy Newton to the deaths of eighteen residents of Orchard Heights, the nursing home where she worked. Knight had found a USB stick containing the death notices of these residents. He claimed, too, that Lucy had kept a bag of glasses that had belonged to them.
Although most of the evidence had been destroyed in the fire that killed Chris, police used the testimony of Lucy’s former colleagues at Orchard Heights to build a case against her. Crucially, they found DNA evidence that linked Lucy to residents who she should not have had contact with. Lucy was arrested and charged with murder.
The jury at that first trial unanimously found Lucy guilty and she was given a life sentence. Nicknamed the ‘Dark Angel’, Lucy was sent to the UK’s highest-security prison for women, HMP Bronzefield.
Lucy Newton was described as ‘a model prisoner’ who always maintained her innocence.
According to insiders, Lucy has already started work on a ‘tell-all’ memoir which is set to spark a bidding war among publishers.
One
TODAY: YA HORROR AUTHOR BRIAN MORTLAKE. 3 p.m.–5 p.m.
Jamie Knight didn’t take in the words on the sign at first glance. He was deep in thought, although afterwards he wouldn’t remember exactly what he had been thinking about. Something work-related, most likely. Or perhaps he’d been trying to decide where to go for dinner. There was a new hot-dog place on South Terrace that he’d been meaning to check out. Or perhaps he’d go and see that new Amy Adams film.
Most likely he’d do what he usually did: buy a takeaway and a bottle of red and stay at home. Tell himself there was a big difference between being alone and being lonely.
Because life here in Fremantle, Western Australia, was good, wasn’t it? He rose early to drink a flat white in the hip coffee shop around the corner from his apartment. Sometimes, when the sky wasn’t ablaze like it had been through the summer months, he worked all morning, taking his laptop on to the balcony with its view of the ocean. In the afternoon, he often went to the beach before heading for a bar on the Cappuccino Strip. He was on nodding terms with a few guys there; he’d buy a round, join in with a couple of games of pool. Occasionally, he went home with a girl, though he never allowed himself to become emotionally attached. He’d been there, done that, got the bandages. It wasn’t going to happen again.
He was so busy persuading himself that everything was hunky dory, he almost walked straight by the bookshop. If a little kid hadn’t run into his path, forcing him to stop, breaking his flow of thoughts, he might not have glanced at the sign again. The name – Brian Mortlake – would not have punched him in the stomach and glued him to the spot, staring through the window at a display of paperbacks, the sun burning the back of his neck, memories scorching the inside of his skull.
He checked the time. It was 4.30 p.m. so Brian would be in there now.
Jamie hesitated. He should go home, as fast as he could.
But his legs wouldn’t move. He took a step closer to the window and peered through his own reflection. There was a man sitting at a table near the back of the shop. Grey hair and matching beard. A pile of books sat before him, but there was no one queueing to get one signed, and Brian was clearly trying to mask his embarrassment with a brave smile.
Jamie took a step back and at that moment Brian raised his head. Their eyes met, instant recognition on Brian’s face, the bloom of surprise, and it was too late to run, to get away. Brian was on his feet, smiling and heading towards the exit.
‘Jamie!’ he exclaimed as he came through the door into the street. ‘Bloody hell.’
‘Hi, Brian.’
‘Don’t tell me – you came all this way to get a book signed.’ He chuckled. ‘I would have sent you one.’
Jamie tried to laugh. ‘I live here now.’
‘In Australia? Good for you.’ Brian looked him up and down. ‘You look great, man. Much . . . better.’
‘I am . . .’ He ran a hand across his brow. It was damp. ‘Sorry, I’m kind of in shock. I wasn’t expecting to run into you.’
For a moment, Brian didn’t seem to know what to say, as if he too felt the weight of history between them. But then he said, ‘Want to grab a beer?’
‘What about your book signing?’
‘Oh, it’s like a ghost town in there. I’ve only had three people come in and one of them was expecting Terry Pratchett. I didn’t have the heart to tell them he died. Wait here a sec.’
He disappeared back into the shop, giving Jamie an opportunity to run away. It would be easy and Brian would never find him. But Jamie had always been too polite, too worried about hurting other people’s feelings. And, in truth, he couldn’t have left even if he didn’t care about appearing rude.
Despite everything, it was impossible to resist this chance to stroke his favourite scar.
‘So what have you been up to?’ Brian asked, two sweating pints between them in a pub at the end of the street. On the way here he had explained that he was on a book tour, promoting his latest novel. It was the sequel to a book he’d written called The Kiss of Death, which had been a bestseller in the UK, apparently, despite some sort of cock-up with an app which Jamie didn’t really understand.