Mother of Sarah Everard 'still tormented' by murdered daughter's final hours
PAThe mother of Sarah Everard says she is still tormented by the horror of her daughter's final moments before she was killed.
The 33-year-old was abducted, raped and murdered by serving Metropolitan Police officer Wayne Couzens in March 2021.
Her mother, Susan Everard, spoke of her "sadness, rage, panic, guilt and numbness" in a foreword to an inquiry which has issued a raft of recommendations to protect women from violent attacks.
She said: "I am not yet at the point where happy memories of Sarah come to the fore. When I think of her. I can't get past the horror of her last hours".
The Angiolini Inquiry was launched after Ms Everard's death to investigate how Couzens was able to carry out his crimes, and look at wider issues within policing and women's safety.
Sarah's mother spoke powerfully of her grief in a statement to the latest stage of the inquiry: "All the happy, ordinary things of life have been stolen from Sarah and from us – there will be no wedding, no grandchildren, no family celebrations with everyone there.
"Sarah will always be missing, and I will always long for her".
Couzens tricked Ms Everard into thinking he could arrest her for breaking lockdown rules, as she walked home from a friend's house in south London.
Couzens, who is now serving a whole life term in jail, had been a police officer for almost 20 years and had indecently exposed himself on two occasions in the months leading up to the attack.
A second report from part two of the inquiry will be published next year, looking at whether there is a risk of issues from the first phase happening again, such as failures in police vetting, police culture and poor police investigation into reports of sexual offences.
A third phase of the inquiry will consider the crimes of David Carrick - who also served in the Met's Parliamentary and Diplomatic Protection Command and was handed 36 life sentences in 2023 after being unmasked as a serial rapist.
Susan Everard's words in full:
"I read that you shouldn't let a tragedy define you, but I feel that Sarah's death is such a big part of me that I'm surprised there is no outer sign of it, no obvious mark of grief.
I have been changed by it, but there is nothing to see. Outwardly we live our normal lives, but there is an inner sadness. People who do know are unfailingly kind and have helped more than they will ever know.
We are not the only ones to lose a child, of course, and we form a sad bond with other bereaved parents. After four years, the shock of Sarah's death has diminished but we are left with an overwhelming sense of loss and of what might have been.
All the happy, ordinary things of life have been stolen from Sarah and from us – there will be no wedding, no grandchildren, no family celebrations with everyone there.
Sarah will always be missing and I will always long for her. I go through a turmoil of emotions – sadness, rage, panic, guilt and numbness.
They used to come all in one day but as time goes by they are more widely spaced and, to some extent, time blunts the edges. I am not yet at the point where happy memories of Sarah come to the fore.
When I think of her, I can't get past the horror of her last hours. I am still tormented by the thought of what she endured. We find we still appreciate the lovely things of life, but, without Sarah, there is no unbridled joy.
And grief is unpredictable – it sits there quietly only to rear up suddenly and pierce our hearts.
They say that the last stage of grief is acceptance. I am not sure what that means. I am accustomed to Sarah no longer being with us, but I rage against it."
