'The following programme contains strong language.'
'Just remember.'
One step at a time...
like we said.
They arrest us, they read us our rights.
We know what we're gonna say.
We've gone through it a thousand times, and we're ready.
Just don't say a word without a solicitor. Right?
And remember...you're in charge.
'Then come the police interviews.'
'They'll try to confuse you, but don't let them.'
'Just tell our story simply and calmly.
No need to make anything up.
Just tell them the truth.'
'Ah, hello there, Mrs Edwards.'
'Oh, hello. It's Susan Edwards. You're being offered as my, um...?'
'Yes. My name is Douglas Hylton. I'm coming in to help you tonight.'
'Oh, good, because you've heard, I think, that my husband and I
got ourselves into a bit of a pickle.
I know it sounds all rather morbid.' 'Susan. Susan, sorry, can I -'
'So, for his sake, everyone should know the truth from the outset.'
'Susan, this isn't a private call. I'm not your representative yet.
That's what I'm coming to do now,
to take your instruction, and then I can...
Does that make sense?' 'I see. Yes, sorry, silly old me.'
Just tell our story simply... and calmly.
No need to make anything up.
Just tell them the truth.
Oh.
Thank you.
Morning, Susan. Oh, you came back, then.
How was your night? Oh, you know.
Yeah. First night's the worst. Ah...the waiting.
Yeah. And also just not being with Chris.
Even though he's just down the corridor. Very peculiar.
Yeah. Still, not for long, though.
Huh? Sorry.
Ah! Thank you.
Erm, Douglas, I was wondering...
You know your advice...
about not telling the police anything.
Is that because you don't believe us?
Um, no. It's just to keep it simple, so that we don't get tripped up.
To be honest, it's not my job to have an opinion, really.
My job is to help you.
So, when the police start asking questions, I just ignore them?
You simply let them know you prefer not to answer.
Most people like to go with, "No comment."
"No comment" to everything. At least until we know...more.
You've gotta remember, they've only got until tonight
to convince the CPS that they have enough evidence
to win a trial or get an extension.
If you and Chris don't give them anything, you might go free.
I can't promise, but it does happen.
OK. So, "No comment."
And how do we let Chris know that that's the new plan?
I... Erm, we...we don't.
The police aren't mega-keen on suspects sharing tactics.
It's just Chris never said anything about "no comment".
We agreed that we would just tell our story.
We would never have handed ourselves in if we thought we had something to hide.
OK, erm...
Tell you what...
How about we...
..write a brief statement.
Just the basics.
Your story in your words, very short, which I'll read out.
And after that - "No comment."
Ah, got it. Erm... OK.
So, go for it, as simply as you can.
OK, erm...
The day before my parents' deaths,
I took a National Express coach
from Victoria Coach Station to Mansfield.
It was route number four-five-O - it was then -
Er, Susan, sorry. Could you slow down a bit?
Oh, sorry, sorry. We don't need the routes and so on.
Just the important stuff. Oh, OK.
'Ey up. How you feeling? Fucking wired, mate.
Yeah? Nervous?
Nah, I'm not nervous. I'm wired. There's a difference.
It's like there's a little bit of shit in my pants, but I'm also really excited.
Ah, all power to you, mate.
It's just 15 years, long time to get their story straight.
'Just tell our story... simply and calmly.
No need to make anything up.
Just tell them the truth.'
'"On the weekend of my parents' deaths, in May 1998,
while my husband Christopher was at our home in London,
I took the National Express coach number 450
from London to Mansfield and visited my parents -"'
That was the route number then. It might be different now, the way these things go.
Erm, "I... I took the National Express coach number 450
from London to Mansfield and visited my parents at their home.
All I'm prepared to say is that, firstly,
I am not responsible for the death of my father William Wycherley.
I believe my mother Patricia Wycherley shot him.
I will say that I did, in fact, shoot and fatally injure my mother,
but only after severe provocation.
I was in a very fragile state of mind at the time.
I would like to make it absolutely clear that my husband
Christopher Edwards had nothing to do with the deaths of my parents.
He was only made aware of their deaths by me
one week after the incident."
Signed and dated.
As I've said, it's my handwriting but it's my client's words.
Thank you, Mr Hylton. Susan, ARE these your words?
Does that reading accurately reflect the content of your statement?
No comment.
OK, Susan. If I go to the end of the statement.
This your signature? No comment.
It's OK, Susan, you can answer. Oh, sorry. Yes, that's my signature.
That's all right, Susan. Your statement's very helpful.
So, tell me, when you say you went to visit your parents,
what was their address in Mansfield? 5 Braxton Close.
And at that time, you were 39, just about to turn 40?
Yes. "No comment."
Erm, again I must stress to you, that although it's completely...
your decision, my advice remains
that you answer all questions, "No comment."
No comment. I can see you're confused, Susan.
Your solicitor and I are coming from different angles.
But I'm just trying to establish some extremely basic facts.
So, if you want to, you can answer.
Right?
You say Christopher Edwards is your husband. When did you marry?
No comment.
Can I ask why you're smiling?
Well...no comment.
Whoa.
We've uncovered some slightly dodgy financial activity,
which Sandra's looking into,
and apparently they were friends with Gerard Depardieu...
whatever the fuck that has to do with anything.
Oh, hello again. You done?
Yes. Thank you. I-I'm sorry. Breakfast isn't really my thing.
But my...my compliments to the chef, though,
or whoever it is that prepares the microwave packages.
Cos scrambled eggs, they're not easy to do in bulk, are they?
They often go hard, don't they? You still going with that?
Oh! Er, no, all done. Thank you.
It was great. It wasn't what I expected.
Oh, really? No.
Apres vous. Merci.
Me, too!
How is it so late? I've missed the last train!
Well, get a bus. Or I'll help you with a taxi - It's already so late!
What's the panic? It's not the end of the world.
I know it's silly! But we have...we have this routine.
We usually have a cup of hot chocolate together at bedtime and talk about the day.
We've done it since I was little. It's story time.
Only, I didn't tell him or Mum that I was gonna be late.
So they'll be waiting up, wanting to go to bed.
Just phone them. If they're sleeping, I'll wake them up.
OK. How about this? If you want...
If it's easier for your parents, I mean,
you can stay at mine tonight. I mean, I'm not...
No, er...no funny business.
But... I've got me mum staying. She's on the sofa.
A bit of a long story but er...
But, anyway, I'll sleep on the floor. You can have my room.
Oh, I couldn't make you do that. No, honestly. I'd be happy to.
And in the morning, I can help you get home.
Oh, Chris.
'Just to confirm one more time,
Chris, you are content for this interview to continue without a solicitor?'
'I am content.'
I don't need someone who knows nothing about me
telling me when, and when not, to speak.
Right, you understand you can change your mind on that at any time?
So, I've been told.
In fact, people won't stop telling me.
Right. Thank you.
I can't say I didn't know.
Right, Mr Edwards.
Before we begin with specific questions,
is there anything you would like to tell us from the outset,
anything about why you think you're here?
Yes, I would. Thank you. Ah...
The following is an account of the events as I recall them.
On a bank holiday weekend in May, 1998,
my wife Susan Edwards took a coach from London to visit her parents,
William and Patricia Wycherley, in Mansfield.
I myself remained at home in London.
Now, I went with my wife to Mansfield...
the following weekend
and only then learned of the tragic events
that had transpired the previous weekend,
ie, the death of her parents.
I wanted to ring the police, of course,
but my wife can be very fragile
and she convinced me that nobody would understand
the complexity of what had happened
and why she was not at fault.
That's when we er...
when we did what families traditionally used to do -
still do in many parts of the world, in fact - which is to inter them,
uh, respectfully, in their own home dwelling.
Or domicile, if you will.
'I mean the thing that's really tortured me all these years
is had I been with her on that previous, fateful weekend,
none of this would have happened, you can be sure of that,
and we wouldn't be sitting here right now, you gentlemen and I, no.'
'Right, one last question.
Do you happen to recall the coach company
you and Susan took up to Mansfield?'
'National Express.
Route four-five-O, as it was then.
It might have changed now, the way these things go.'
'All right, well, I think we've covered the crux of it,
so erm...we'll take a break there and pick things up later,
if you don't mind, Mr Edwards.' 'Happy to oblige.'
"Happy to oblige" with the same bollocks wifey's peddling!
Only difference is she's got a solicitor.
Yeah, but they've given us a confession, haven't they?
Of sorts. Er, "Dear Christophaire,
it was a big mistake to tell your stepmuzzaire about ze-" Shut it, Gerard!
What do you reckon they'd get if we take it, sir?
Not enough. Financial stuff aside, whatever fraud they've committed -
Oh, yeah, worth doing again,
it went so well the first fucking time
That's Susan up on loss of control manslaughter for shooting her mum.
Assuming that "severe provocation" business holds up.
So, what - five years?
Eight at most. And Chris is only gettin' a year or two if that.
For what? Interfering with the duties of a coroner or some vanilla crap.
Which is not bad if they've actually committed double murder.
Maybe not such idiots after all.
That story won't hold up in court, though, will it?
Bullet wounds like that.
It's one shooter, just a question of who.
I reckon we press him on that - Sir?
I wonder if we could try something?
Mess with their heads a bit. Go on.
Could I handle both interviews, sir?
You've got big bollocks today, don't you, Lancing?
This is your statement, Susan, now labelled as item EL-06.
We're glad to have it, but it doesn't begin to explain
how your parents wound up dead and buried in the garden, does it?
Do you have a question for my client?
Dozens. How did you first learn your mother shot your father, Susan?
Where were you? No comment.
Was it daytime or night-time? No comment.
What about the gun? Whose was it?
Had you seen it before? No comment.
What did you do with it afterwards? No comment.
What did you do with the bodies? No comment.
Did you wrap them in duvets, put them under the bed?
No comment.
Did you make a phone call around 2:00am?
Perhaps to your husband, Christopher?
Is... Is Chris talking? What about his solicitor?
No, "No comment." You said he wouldn't talk!
Your husband's opted not to take legal advice, Mrs Edwards.
Have you told him it's free? He knows it's free.
It's just he's chosen to be cooperative.
He's told my colleagues everything he can, Susan.
Which makes me look a bit silly, to be honest.
I'm meant to be the smart one, but it's Bill and Ben in the other room
getting all the juicy stuff from your very charming husband.
Only, he wasn't there, was he, Susan, that night?
So, we're inclined to think he might be making it all up.
You do want us to know the truth, don't you?
My advice remains - You said he wouldn't talk!
Now he's doing one thing, I'm doing another, and we're not together.
I'm sorry. It's actually...it...it's quite...
erm, strange. Does Chris know anything -
Chris is very clever man. Don't worry.
Perhaps you'd like to take a - No, I would not!
'OK, Susan, can we go back to the beginning?' 'Yes, of course.'
'Thank you. Let's break it down one step at a time.'
Big balls.
Er, do you want me to leave you alone for a bit?
Or I can show you where to get some fresh air -
Oh, I'm fine, thank you.
OK.
You're doing really well.
Am I?
Yeah. Er, definitely. Just...stay strong.
Try not to take the bait.
OK.
It's October 31st, 2013. The time is 13:31.
Interview with Christopher Edwards.
Hello, Mr Edwards. How are you today?
Never better. May I ask what happened to the other two officers?
Something more important than this, apparently.
Very rude, if you ask me. But, anyway...
And thank you for providing such a thorough account
of the awful events of May 1998.
It's a very sad story, Mr Edwards.
It is. Yes I'm...very happy to help.
Would you mind if we just review a few things? Not at all, Detective Constable.
Susan was up with her parents in Mansfield.
You're at home in London, in Dagenham.
She rings you up in the middle of the night.
You answer. What does she say?
Nothing, really. She couldn't tell me anything. She was too upset.
'Upset about what?'
I need you, Chris. It's all wrong without you.
'Well, she'd had a terrible night.
Her mother was drunk, her father abusive.
The usual story, I'm sad to say.'
I can't wait to get back... to London.
'And the next time you see her, you say, is the following Tuesday?
After the bank holiday Monday.' 'Indeed.'
'At Victoria Coach Station.' 'That's right.'
'You say she'd not told you anything about what had happened,
but was there anything that struck you as unusual about her? Her mood?'
'Yes, she was odd...quiet.
She said er...
What was it? Something like...'
It was the most awful weekend, Chris. Really dreadful.
I need a drink.
'Which was very unusual.
She almost never drinks.
I remember she asked for a port and brandy.'
Port and brandy?
Er, yes. Port and brandy. For the nerves.
Shot of brandy, shot and a half of port.
Right.
OK. Port and brandy. And what did you have to drink?
Erm...well, I didn't want a drink.
I had a cup of tea. Earl Grey.
So, you go up to the house the next weekend...
week after Susan first went up,
she having said nothing that whole week,
about having killed her parents. About her mother killing her father.
About her killing her mother, then. She was provoked.
Provoked. So you say. So, SHE says.
So you both say. Very neat.
Look...
I'm not gonna sit here and pretend
I don't know it's a defence... provocation.
"Loss of control" you call it now, I believe.
Reducing murder to manslaughter.
You've done your homework! It's good I have.
You've just arrested my wife for murder,
whereas in truth all she's ever done is suffer.
And I don't think anyone should go to prison for that, do you?
And as for that night - no, no, she couldn't have shot them both,
because she couldn't have done anything to hurt her father.
I know her. I know her better than you.
He had too much power over her.
Trouble is, it looks to us like your in-laws
were both shot from a similar angle, perhaps by the same person.
Well, I don't know anything about that, but Susan didn't lie to me.
OK. Let's get back to you, then, Mr Edwards.
That following Friday, you both take the coach up to Mansfield.
That is correct. The Friday, right after I finished work.
And she still hasn't told you? I'm getting to that.
It wasn't until we arrived at the house.
First, we picked up fish and chips.
We always have fish and chips on Fridays.
It's just when I'm tucking in that Susan starts to act a bit different
and suddenly she says something like -
I can't stand it any more. They haven't gone away. They're upstairs.
And I'm, "What are they doing upstairs?
Why don't they come down and say hello?"
Something like that.
And then I don't remember the exact words
but then she says something like... Because they're dead.
And I'm, you know...
"What do you mean?"
It's a surreal...disbelief thing.
I lose all interest in my haddock and chips.
And I love haddock and chips. It's my favourite.
A big deal, then?
Well, I've not had a single bite of haddock since that day.
Strictly cod. Isn't there a smell?
What? Ah, you mean a fish smell?
It was warm that week. We checked.
Yeah, but it was night when we ate our fish and chips.
The point is that the bodies would've been lying there for days.
Forgive the unpleasant image - they're your in-laws after all -
but there would've been quite a stench.
Ah. I er... Yes, well, I know.
That's one of the er... But, no, I didn't smell it.
But Susan... Susan said...
Or, well, later I think she said
that there had been an awful smell.
But, no, I didn't... notice it at the time...myself.
Hard to explain, really.
Except, of course, that the house always smelt
overwhelmingly of cigarettes because of her parents.
Sandra!
There you are. You're looking for me?
Oh. Yes, sir. Sorry. Why you apologising? I hear you've found something good.
Just make it quick. We're in the middle of interviews.
I spent the morning at the branch in town.
In the archive room. Oh, bank archives.
The glamour never stops, does it? Yeah! It won't stop. Um...
But, yeah - Excuse me.
Er, this is a bank statement for a joint account.
Susan Edwards and Patricia Wycherley.
Right. And if you look over here...
that's the date the account was opened.
This is good, Sandra. This is very good. Come with me.
Come here! Fuck's sake! I'm not gonna eat ya'!
'First of all, Susan, I'd like to introduce you to Officer Sandra Winters.'
Hello.
Officer Winters is a member of our Forensic Financial Department.
Oh, my husband's an accountant!
Can you look at this bank document, please? Police Item CKA-04, Sandra.
Do you recognise that?
That's a bank account statement showing the joint account you opened in your name and your mum's.
Can you read the date there, please? Left-hand side.
5th of May. 5th of May, 1998.
So, talk me through it.
You kill your mother. Your father's dead as well.
You dispose of the gun and then first thing Tuesday morning,
after the bank holiday - 9:17am to be specific -
you transfer a bank account into you and your mother's names
and withdraw almost half the funds.
In cash. In cash.
Yes, I... I...can't remember.
You don't need to remember. It's all there in the document.
Well, yes, as I say, she's been er...
Sometimes she's simply economical with the truth.
We all are sometimes.
But this... This is difficult.
It's straight after the killings. It's obscene. It's mercenary.
And, to be honest with you, it's a little bit daft.
Well, I think she was obviously very - It's not confusion, Chris, is it?
Bang, bang, open a bank account.
Well, yes, I...
You said the word, I suppose.
Mercenary. But...
Is there something you're not telling us, Chris?
Something that could help Susan?
Because at the moment, this doesn't paint a very pretty picture, does it?
It's...
It's a very personal matter.
Personal?
I'll tell you what's personal.
Being shot in your own house, kept under the bed for a week
and buried in your own backyard for 15 years.
I'd like it on record that I don't think it's very fair
what I've just said about Susan - or rather what you said.
It does her a grave disservice to call her "mercenary".
Why?
Because Susan has always had...
..much bigger things to worry about than money.
Right. Clean sheets on yesterday, in case you're wondering.
Here's a towel. Toothbrush.
Thank you. Are you sure this is all right?
Yeah, of course, yeah. Yeah, it's my pleasure.
Is your mum OK?
Yeah, she's fine.
She's er...
She's not very well at the moment.
Well, I had a very good time with you tonight, Susan.
Me, too.
Have a good sleep and I'll see you in the morning.
Good night. Good night, Chris.
You OK for coffee?
Everything's good, Mum. Thanks. It's very nice.
Eggs aren't her strong suit.
It was so nice of her to cook for us.
Oh...
I'm sorry. I really should go.
All right.
Thank you. All right, then?
Both done?
Oop! Oh, silly me.
You going already, Susan?
I'm sorry. I've had a lovely time. Thank you for your hospitality.
And you're walking her back.
Lovely. Chivalry lives!
Separate rooms and everything.
Christopher, I know I embarrass you.
But I was right about the dating agency, wasn't I, hmm?
It was my idea. Might even give it a go myself.
It was very nice to meet you.
You too, Susan.
And hopefully, we'll be seeing each other again.
OK.
Look, maybe we should just say goodbye here.
Oh.
All right, then. Goodbye.
Bye. Bye.
You've met MY mother!
You're embarrassed of me! They're just old-fashioned!
Maybe next time!
Can you let me in?
Mum?
Dad, please, can you let me in? I can explain.
Sorry to keep you waiting, Susan. I know it's been a long day already.
What we need now are your words on exactly what happened that night.
Chris can't really tell us, because er...
according to you both, he wasn't there.
Only you were there.
Now, you say that your mother shot your father.
That's not something that happens every day, is it?
So the obvious question...is why?
No comment. Oh.
I thought you were feeling a bit more comfortable talking to us.
What happened, Susan?
Was there an argument or disagreement between them? No comment.
What did you feel when you saw your father there, dead on the floor?
Your mother having shot him.
I felt terrible. Terrible.
That's a normal reaction, Susan.
But what do you do - with that emotion? - No comment.
Do you confront your mother? No comment.
What's she say to you? These questions have to be answered.
They DON'T have to be answered. That's not true.
But this is a horrible event, isn't it?
Two people shot dead. Your own parents. This is what I mean by bait.
But it's not a full explanation to say you're simply "provoked".
People are gonna provide their own answers if you don't.
You don't have to say anything. No comment.
The bank account you opened the day after the killings, Susan.
The pensions you collected, the sale of the house,
all those debts you had to cover.
That feels like a slightly better explanation, doesn't it -
to someone who wasn't there - that this really was about money?
After all, you'd not seen your parents for over a year,
you say, and then suddenly you pay them a visit.
And then they die. But it wasn't, as I said -
We've just been with your husband.
Do you know what word he used to describe your behaviour
with that bank account?
Mercenary.
And, I'm sorry, but I'm inclined to think a jury would agree.
He wouldn't say that.
It might be useful for my client - It's on tape, Susan.
Chris told us something else as well, Susan,
that I'd like to ask you about if you're comfortable with it.
He said that your mother told you something that night
that you didn't know.
What did your mother tell you that night?
She said um...
Sorry.
Must have been very hard for him to tell you that.
Can I just... I'm sorry - It's OK, sir, I'll explain.
I know how hard it is.
But it'll be better for - I just said, I'll explain it.
Even while I was sleeping, I was aware of shouting,
some sort of row.
But that was nothing unusual in that household, not at all.
And as I told you, I had been drinking a little...
a little more than normal. I... I don't normally drink.
'I don't know what time it is. Maybe 2:00am.
And I've been woken by these bangs.'
'How many bangs?' 'Er... I dunno. I was asleep.
Two, maybe? Or just one. Definitely not three.'
'One or two?' 'Yes.'
And I know immediately that my father's dead.
I don't know how I know, I just know.
And my mum is standing there with a gun.
There are brass casings on the floor.
Brass casings? Yeah, erm, spent bullets, I suppose.
And I can tell she's even more drunk
than she was when I went to bed.
Then I say something like, "What have you done? You've killed him!"
Something like that. It was a long time ago.
And she says - I can't give you the exact words -
but she says something like... I had to.
I can't take it any more, Susan! I couldn't look at him.
Something along those lines. And then she turns on me
and she's actually waving the gun at me at this point -
God knows why you care, after everything you've been through,
grubby little man.
Horrible, horrible man.
What a disgusting piece of work he was.
And then she throws the gun on the bed somewhere about here, so I pick it up.
He treated me as though he was disgusted with me.
Er, sorry, Susan. Yes?
Why'd you pick up the gun?
Er, it's just, well, she'd been waving it at me
and she was drunk and I suppose I was afraid
that she was gonna pick it up again.
Erm, so anyway, and then she starts saying that thing.
I hated him.
For years, I hated him.
And I hate you too.
Cos when I look at you, I know I failed.
I failed you, Susan, and I know that.
I know what he did to you.
I knew it and I just let it happen.
How do you think I feel about that?
You knew, Mum? You knew? Look, of course, I fucking knew.
I'm your mother, aren't I?!
He didn't even want me after that! He couldn't do it.
He couldn't even get it up!
I've spent 15 years trying to forget what she said
so I can't tell you exactly, but it was something like that.
Oh, I'm sorry.
I am so sorry, Susan.
I'm not a monster.
I did my best.
We had some good times together, didn't we?
Even though you were a difficult child.
All I could think of was, "I want to call my husband."
I even said, "We should call Christopher. He'd know what to do."
Give up, Susan.
You think he's different but he's not.
He's not gonna help you.
He's the same as all the others. He's just using you for the sex.
No, Mum! And then I keep crying and she keeps saying these things.
He doesn't love you! Just accept it before you get hurt.
Nobody loves you! Stop! Please stop!
God knows I tried but it's impossible.
You're impossible to love! Stop it, Mum! Stop it!
With your miserable little life, it would be better for all of us if you'd never been born!
I just want to confirm the implications of what you're saying.
Are you telling us that your father abused you as a child?
Yes. Sexually?
Yes.
And that night you discovered that your mother had known all along?
Yes. And you'd never told her?
I was always too afraid of what my father might do.
I spent my whole life just trying to wish it away.
Thinking of all those years after school when she was at work and he...
And Chris, your husband.
Are you sure he wasn't involved in the killings?
I only ask because the bullet holes on your parents' chests
were strikingly similar.
And that bank account, that looks like a plan.
With all this new information today, some of which is quite important,
as my colleague is pointing out,
we will be applying for extra custody time so we can continue.
So, we're just trying to get everything as clear as possible before we progress.
Er, I think she's been pretty clear already, don't you?
Are you sure Chris wasn't involved?
He helped you, didn't he?
He decided to protect you.
Susan?
Course, he did. He always protects me.
Did he bury the bodies for you?
Yes, he buried the bodies.
He's very practical like that.
He has to be, cos I'm not, you see. So, he has to be.
Ah, Susan, if you wanted a break - We couldn't tell the police.
He understood that so he took control.
And so...this was his idea, then...
to bury the bodies?
Yes, it was his idea.
He did that for me.
He's the only person in the world that's ever made me feel safe.
We'll get it sorted.
He's not allowed to keep you out of your own house.
Has he always been like that?
It's OK. You don't have to tell me.
No, I...
I do want to tell you.
What is it?
It's just I've...
I've never told anyone else.
Well, whatever it is...
..it'll be between us.
Just you...and me.
'Susan Edwards had been at her parents' house
when she was woken by a loud bang.'
'She'd gone into her parents' bedroom.'
'Her mother had shot her father.'
'Susan Edwards claimed an argument then took place,
during which her mother told her she knew her father had abused her as a child.'
'Susan Edwards admits manslaughter.' 'Manslaughter.''Manslaughter.'
'She says, killing her mother...' '..she was provoked..''Provoked.'
'Provoked.' '..into shooting her.'
'The Edwards claim they returned to the house a week later
and had sat down to eat fish and chips
and watch the Eurovision Song Contest on television
when Susan Edwards suddenly blurted out, "They're upstairs."
Christopher Edwards said he went upstairs
to find the Wycherleys dead, underneath the bed.
'..before then dragging the two dead bodies down the stairs
and burying them here in the garden.'
'But prosecutors say it was all a lie.
They claim the Edwards jointly planned to kill the Wycherleys.'
'Over the years, the Edwards emptied the elderly couple's bank accounts.'
'Both she and Christopher Edwards admit burying the bodies and theft.
But both of them deny murder.'
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