‘I Escaped A Serial Killer'

Half naked in the boot of a car with her hands bound, Jennifer Asbenson, 45, thought she was going to die

Seeing my bus pull away outside the shop, I panicked. It was 9.30pm on 27 September 1992, and I was supposed to be going to my night shift at the care home. Only, I’d decided to buy sweets for the residents on the way, and had taken too long. ‘No, wait!’ I called desperately, as I rushed out. But the bus was long gone.

Kicking the pavement in frustration, I racked my brains for another way to get to work. ‘My boss is going to kill me,’ I thought. I was 19, new to the job, and couldn’t afford to get a black mark on my record. But then a light blue Toyota Corolla pulled up and the window was lowered. ‘Want a lift?’ a deep voice said from within. Ducking down, I saw a youngish man with dark brown eyes and a shaved head smiling back. He seemed friendly, and told me his name was Andrew. Although, yes, I’d been told never to speak to strangers, I reasoned I was an adult now, and it was only a short drive to work, what could go wrong? I accepted his offer and we chatted on the drive there.

When he dropped me off, he asked for my number. I wasn’t interested, so I gave him a fake one. After that, my shift passed uneventfully, but as I walked to the bus stop the next morning, I heard tyres crunch on the road behind me. Turning to look, I was surprised to see the Toyota again. ‘How about I give you a lift home?’ Andrew said, pulling alongside me. I tried to come up with an excuse, but my mind went blank. Panicking, I convinced myself it would be OK to get in and yanked open the door.

At first, things seemed calm, but then he asked me about the number I gave him, and I felt the atmosphere change. ‘I guess there was a miscommunication,’ I said. ‘But you gave me the wrong number,’ he replied angrily. ‘When I called it someone else answered.’

Paralysed with fear