NAN WAS MURDERED...AND I FOUND HER BODY

Sharon Owens, 52, was still living with the trauma she experienced as a child when she made a shocking discovery

- JANE COHEN, LOUISE BATY

The comforting smell hit me as soon as I walked into my nana’s kitchen. Roast chicken and freshly baked pies – and there was Nana bustling about in her pinny. 'How was school?' she asked, wrapping her arms around me. Nana Glenys, 67, was tiny, only 4ft 9in, but she was full of love and I adored her.

Three years earlier, when I was nine, my dad John - Nana’s son - had died of cancer, aged 41. My mum struggled to cope, so I'd moved in with Nana in her three-bed terraced house. It was my sanctuary and we'd settle on the sofa every night, watching EastEnders and eating chocolate biscuits.

I slept soundly in her bed at night, piled high with blankets, and she taught me how to cook, clean and save money. She had a little leather purse for storing pennies and when it was full, she'd give it to me.

'Get yourself some sweets,' she'd wink. Nana was proud of me when I got a paper round after school on Fridays, and on Friday, 13 December 1985, I nipped home before my round and found Nana cooking as usual.

A LIFE STOLEN

'There you are,' she said, greeting me with a hug. When I walked into the front room, I saw a man on the sofa. Donald Sheridan, then 21, was a family friend. With his blank staring eyes, he was strange and I didn't really like him, and while Nana loved most people, she wasn't keen on Donald either. Still, kind as ever, she'd clearly welcomed him in when he'd turned up unexpectedly.

'See you after my paper round,' I told Nana. When I arrived home hours later, it was dark. The lights were on but the front door was locked, so I put my hand through the letter box, reaching for the key Nana kept on a string, but it wasn't there.