Bakersfield also testified that Aylor showed no remorse over the killing she’d commissioned. ‘She said if she had to do it all over again, she’d do it differently,’ he said. ‘She’d do it herself.’ He recalled that Aylor once told him that guilt ‘was a wasted emotion that could be dealt with under any circumstances and should not be carried around’.
Bakersfield even told the court that Aylor had asked him about finding someone to kill Marilyn Andrews after she tipped off the police. Aylor thought that if Andrews ‘was removed’ any tape-recorded testimony might not be admissible in court. ‘The best defence is a good offence,’ Bakersfield quoted his former lover as saying.
Summing up, prosecutors stressed Aylor’s behaviour as she fled police and pointed out the damaging content of various tape-recorded conversations. Defence attorneys claimed that Aylor didn’t hire anyone to carry out the hit but did employ Robert Cheshire to rough up her ex-husband. They insisted the death of Rozanne Gailiunas was the result of an overzealous hitman.
Prosecutors dismissed the claims by recalling the tape-recorded comment Aylor made to Marilyn Andrews that, ‘He [Robert Cheshire] did not know who paid to kill her.’ Assistant District Attorney Chapman pointed out to the jury: ‘Does that sound like a woman who ordered eggs and bacon?’
On 18 August 1994, the jury deliberated for just two-and-a-half hours before finding Joy Aylor guilty of capital murder. She was given life imprisonment because the French authorities had only extradited her on condition the death penalty was not instated. Aylor showed no emotion as she was led away to a Texas Department of Corrections jail.
Her last lover, Albert Neilsen, later pleaded guilty to nine charges, including helping hide Aylor while she was on the run and passport fraud. The judge announced an adjournment on sentencing. Middlemen Buster Matthews and Gary Matthews were given life sentences for their attempted shooting of Richard Finley.
Chapter Eleven:
STAND BY YOUR MAN
Twelve-year-old Michelle Samarasinha kissed her mother goodbye at the breakfast table and headed out into the bitterly cold January morning. She was to meet her father at the garage behind their home, where he was warming up the car to take her to school. All along Demesne Road, in the Surrey commuter belt town of Wallington, just south of London, businessmen and women were coming out of their neat, suburban houses and heading briskly towards the nearby railway station.
As the schoolgirl walked around the side of the row of houses to meet her father, she wondered why his car wasn’t out of the garage yet. Michelle headed towards the alleyway which provided a speedy cut-through to the lock-up garage. Then she spotted a group of people gathered around something on the pavement. One woman with a dog on the end of a lead was speaking to the others. She was saying, ‘I thought he was drunk or something, and then he collapsed.’
Just then little Michelle peered through a gap in the crowd and noticed a man’s shiny shoes and grey trouser legs. The pair of Aviator sunglasses, with one lens broken, lying on the pavement sent a shiver down the spine of Michelle. She started shaking. In the distance, the loud wail of police sirens got closer and closer.
Michelle finally plucked up the courage to look down at the figure on the pavement properly. A woman was crouching over her beloved father, giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. She only pulled back as two paramedics forced a pathway through the crowd. Then Michelle noticed her father’s pullover was soaked in blood.
Nimal Samarasinha – known as Sam to everyone – died before the ambulance could even get him to hospital. He’d bled to death from a single knife wound to the heart. It later transpired he’d been stabbed as he went to open the door of his garage. Then he’d managed to stagger a few yards before crashing on to the pavement.
Police immediately sealed off the area and began interviewing witnesses and residents. One man claimed he saw two or three men in a white Ford Escort, who’d driven off so fast that the witness had presumed they were late for work. He couldn’t even provide a description of their clothes, but he did recall that they all looked ‘Indian or something’. He hadn’t even managed to get a note of any part of the car number plate. Detectives were baffled by the cold-blooded nature of the attack in a quiet suburban street. Was it a botched robbery? But it was so unusual to die from one single thrust of a knife and, in any case, few muggers ever resorted to murder.
Detective Inspector Tony Kirby then went to call on the grieving widow and child of the deceased. He was expecting a lot of tears, especially because of the violent, sudden nature of Samarasinha’s death. Victim’s wife Florence Samarasinha answered the front door wearing dark glasses, elegant clothes and fashionable slingbacks, and dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
It was that style which had so impressed Sri Lankan-born Sam when the couple first met in Africa in 1978. He was 22 and had just been posted to Nigeria with Bristow Helicopters. Sam took great pleasure in bringing Florence back with him to London at the end of his Nigerian contract. However, Sam’s extremely conservative family were horrified when he announced he was marrying an African woman rather than someone from his own cultural background.
Sam’s parents even made some discreet enquiries about Florence’s background. But communications between Nigeria and the UK were not good and they found precious little information about her family or circumstances. They just hoped and prayed that the romance would fizzle out before the couple could take their marriage vows. But Sam remained besotted with Florence and the wedding quickly went ahead.
Florence knew her husband’s family didn’t approve of her. But she ignored it all. Her first job in London was as an administrator for Brent Council. Then in 1985 she beat dozens of rival applicants to an important administration job at Croydon Council, in south London. Soon she was head of the housing benefits department, with a staff of 80, earning £30,000 a year. She was the first black woman to become a senior official at Croydon Council.
All this apparent success left Detective Inspector Kirby wondering why the family hadn’t moved to a more expensive house. This one was extremely modestly furnished. Kirby noted daughter Michelle’s private school uniform and Florence’s immaculate Mercedes in front of the house. But apart from those two extravagances, the family weren’t exactly big spenders.
However, Kirby was already aware there had been some serious domestic problems between Sam and Florence in recent months. Police had been called to the house four times by Florence, including one incident which resulted in Sam getting a nasty cut on his head. On another occasion, officers arrived to find the couple arguing in the street. Another time Florence claimed her husband had attacked her with a knife. Officers even told Sam – who always denied his wife’s claims – to go and sleep at another address until things cooled down. But when police urged Florence to get a legal injunction out against her husband, she refused.
Back in their Wallington home, DI Kirby listened intently as Florence suddenly made a revealing comment: ‘I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but my husband was involved in the drugs business,’ she sniffed. ‘I never knew what was going on, but I know there had been some threats against him. He used to get these strange phone calls at night.’
Moments later, Florence burst into tears as if she was trying to emphasise the point. DI Kirby sensed she was acting. But it wasn’t that surprising if she’d been subjected to the alleged spousal abuse, which had prompted all those earlier calls to the house. Maybe she was just pleased that he couldn’t bully her any more?
But when investigators began checking on murder victim Sam’s background, a completely different picture emerged. No one had a bad word to say about him. Friends and associates described him as a kind, thoughtful man who doted on only-child Michelle. She believed her father to be one of the most gentle people in the world. Sam didn’t even like watching police shows on TV because he found them too violent. He adored sport but thought football was turning increasingly rough and so preferred cricket.
Mo
st mornings, Sam would drop his daughter at school and then make the 45-minute drive to Bristow Helicopters in Redhill, Surrey, where he was an aviation engineer. During the school run, father and child always had the most enjoyable conversations – something that Michelle later said she would never forget.
However, on the day before he was killed, Sam had revealed to little Michelle that he and her mother were about to split up. He told his daughter: ‘You’re going to have to make a very difficult choice. You have to decide which of us you’re going to live with.’
‘With you, Daddy. I want to live with you.’
Little did either of them realise that would never happen.
Head of the murder investigation, Detective Superintendent Brian Younger and the rest of his colleagues soon concluded that Sam was the type of man who really did not deserve to die. And every one of his friends said there was no way he’d ever been involved in the shady world of drug dealing. In that case why was Florence trying to suggest it?
Back at the family’s Wallington home, DI Kirby went back to Florence to gently confront her about those earlier drugs claims. She immediately responded by insisting her late husband must have been dealing in ‘something bad – pornography or smuggling’. Over the following few days, Florence poured out theory after theory as to why her husband was killed. But none of it added up.
Florence also boasted to DI Kirby about her powerful job at Croydon Council and how she had an honours degree from Cambridge. Later that day, Kirby got his office to check out her qualifications and they turned out to be bogus. Even Florence’s seven GCSE ‘O’ levels and five ‘A’ levels in her application for the Croydon job were non-existent – as were a bunch of glowing references from her previous job at Brent Council.
When Kirby went back and confronted Florence, she dismissed all her lies as irrelevant, saying her employers in Croydon said she was doing a splendid job. But her colleagues reported that Florence rarely completed more than half a day of work at a time and often only made a brief appearance in the morning before putting on her coat and leaving. She told staff she was out investigating bogus claims for housing benefits. Florence insisted she often ended up working in the evenings to catch these money-grabbing cheats.
Then investigators discovered that, despite her high salary, Florence was constantly in debt. She’d even borrowed money from junior colleagues and recently added £5,000 to the mortgage on the family home. She also had a £5,000 claim against an insurance company rejected because it was bogus. And she was currently more than £34,000 in debt.
DS Brian Younger attended the funeral service for Sam at Croydon Crematorium a few days later and got the distinct impression that the murdered man was trying to tell him something. Sam had been so wary of an early, unexpected death he’d carefully written out the directions for his funeral, right down to the music, which turned out to be Tammy Wynette’s ‘Stand By Your Man’. Younger later recalled, ‘Standing there listening to it. I could only think it was a bit ironic.’
So it was no surprise that the first real break in the case came from the victim himself. It emerged that Sam – a meticulous character – had made an appointment for himself and Florence to see a local social services official to decide who should get custody of Michelle in the event of their legal separation. Sam had made precise notes in preparation for the meeting. He’d even written that Florence’s career at Croydon Council was a complete sham. He also branded her an unfit mother for their child.
And when Sam had uncovered that Florence was heavily in debt he’d presumed she was having an affair, so he’d even hired a private detective called Yousef Ghida to shadow her every movement. Ghida soon reported back that she was spending all her money on gambling. She adored amusement arcades and would spend hours each day on the fruit machines.
Rudy Drummond, manager of the MDJ amusement arcade on Church Street, Croydon, near Wallington, later told police: ‘She was in here four days a week. At first it would only be for an hour or two. Then it was three, four, five hours. Sometimes all day. Now and then she’d be up to about £30 or so. But I’d say she was losing an average of 50 quid a day. Several hundred pounds a week, anyway.’ Florence was losing something in the region of £1,000 a week at various arcades across south London.
But then private eye Ghida came up with some even more dramatic news: Florence was working for the Effleurage Escort Agency as a hooker to try and pay off her debts. It then dawned on Sam that his wife was capable of anything. He hoped all these revelations would help him win custody of Michelle, so he instructed private eye Ghida to get some solid evidence which could be used in a court of law if necessary.
A few weeks later Ghida returned with secretly filmed videotape of him going to an appointment with Florence as a prospective client. On the film, Florence – wearing just a pair of skimpy white panties – tells Ghida she’s ‘new in this business’ and is working to pay off some debts. ‘If there is anything you want me to do, just say so.’ Moments later Ghida pretends he can’t perform and apologises, saying, ‘I’ve lost my bottle.’ Then Florence asks him, ‘Would you like a massage?’ He politely declines, puts on his clothes and takes back part of the £100 he’s paid her.
Sam felt humiliated and appalled as he watched the video, but realised it was crucial evidence, along with her gambling, to put before a judge to convince him that Florence was an unfit mother. Later that same day, Sam confronted his wife about her secret life as a vice girl. Florence accused her husband of lying and told him there was no way she would leave the house and abandon her child. She knew then she would have to do something very drastic.
During that summer of 1991, Florence met a cleaning contractor called Simon Wash at a neighbour’s drinks party. He clearly found her attractive and was extremely sympathetic when she told him that her husband regularly beat her up. But Wash’s ears pricked up even more when Florence mentioned that she handed out cleaning contracts at Croydon Council.
‘Come to my office and we can talk about some contracts due for renewal,’ she told Wash. He wanted to impress Florence enough to ensure she gave him the business, so he decided to take an associate called Gerry Smithers, a nightclub bouncer and weightlifter, with him to the meeting. Florence gave the muscle merchant a friendly ‘Hmmmmm!’ as Smithers walked in. ‘You’re a big boy. You might be able to help me.’ Smithers offered to provide Florence protection from her brutal, violent husband. He even said he might ‘have a word with him’ if necessary.
While Simon Wash’s main priority was discussing cleaning contracts, Florence had other ideas on her mind. ‘My husband’s been beating me up all the time and he stole £350,000 from the textile firm we own,’ she told the two men within minutes of their arrival. The ‘textile firm’ was a figment of Florence’s colourful imagination. She continued, ‘He’s even tried to kill me, can you imagine? Someone fired a gun at me not far from home. I know he hired somebody to do it.’ Then she paused for a moment before ever-so-casually asking, ‘Would you kill my husband for me?’
Wash and Smithers coughed and spluttered and a long silence filled the room. Then Wash chipped in, ‘Wouldn’t it be a better idea if you moved into a hotel for a while? Let things cool down a bit?’
But all that did was send Florence into floods of tears. ‘You don’t understand. He’s molested our daughter. You wouldn’t believe it. He had one of his uncles rape me once, and,’ she sobbed,’ he stood there and watched.’
Smithers handed Florence a huge, manly handkerchief and assured her, ‘Don’t cry, love. We’ll sort it all out for you.’ As they left the building both men shrugged their shoulders with bewilderment at what they’d just heard. It seemed a bit of a steep price to pay for a cleaning contract.
But Florence was determined to get what she wanted. Next day she phoned hardman Gerry Smithers and told him that her husband was in the aviation business and could get hold of a private plane and fly him and their daughter out of the country at a moment’s notice. ‘Oh, Gerry, y
ou’ve got to do something for me. Even if you can’t do it, you must know someone who could help.’
So when Gerry Smithers read that Florence’s husband had been stabbed dead in an alley behind their house that icy January morning, he felt compelled to visit his local police station. Detective Superintendent Younger later explained: ‘He was prepared to put pen to paper.’ It was the turning point in the case. Smithers’ statement was enough for detectives to get a warrant for the arrest of Florence, who was then charged with soliciting murder.
Then arcade owner Rudy Drummond came forward and told officers he’d slung Florence out of his premises after she kept talking about her husband’s cruelty and how she’d one day kill her husband. Drummond never forgot the phrase she used: ‘I’d take a knife and push it in.’
Detectives then located more than 20 men who’d paid for sex with Florence. This wasn’t a crime in itself, but investigators wanted to know if she’d ever asked any of these men to arrange a hit on her husband.
Police then interviewed a man called John Cheetham, who was chairman of the the Citizens’ Police Consultative Committee and knew Florence through her work for Croydon Council. Flamboyant Cheetham – who favoured bow-ties and rimless specs, and had vast protruding Bugs Bunny teeth – saw himself as a prominent do-gooder in the community. He was a paid official of Church Action with the Unemployed and chairman of a Croydon voluntary group. He described Florence as a charming, bright woman who was very good at her work – which seemed to contradict everything else the police had heard.
Hitmen: True Stories of Street Executions Page 11