House of horrors still haunts a quiet street

Published on Wednesday 3 December 2008 09:08

JUST a typical street in an ordinary town. But a house of horrors with a dark secret.

A ten-inch long knife hidden in a gap in the wall of a loft in a house he once occupied proved a decisive piece of evidence that led to evil Peter Tobin being convicted of the murder of Vicky Hamilton.

It lay there undiscovered for 16 years until police searched the loft of Tobin's former home in quiet Robertson Avenue in Bathgate and was found to be covered in minute fragments of her skin.

Robertson Avenue consists of a row of perfectly unremarkable homes. Nothing – not even a smudge of graffiti or glass from a broken bottle – to show for its new-found, reluctantly-acquired title as an address for pure evil.

Yet it's here, up the well-tended front garden's steps, behind the unassuming white front door of number 11 and somewhere within its walls, that terrified teenager Vicky Hamilton almost certainly lost her young, innocent life at the hands of a cruel, deranged man.

Peter Tobin lived in this quiet street – which police never visited during their initial investigation into Vicky's disappearance – until 1993 – a few minutes drive from the bus stop where his tragic young victim was last seen waiting in the snow for a bus to take her home to Redding, near Falkirk.

No-one except vile Tobin knows what exactly happened next, how long he may have tormented her or whether she even lived long enough to see the house where her killer lived.

Seventeen years since that fateful February night when the schoolgirl vanished, Tobin's presence haunts Robertson Avenue and seeps into streets nearby.

A smartly-dressed woman with neatly-styled short ash-blonde hair answers the door of Tobin's former home. The hall inside looks freshly decorated in neutral pale colours – but then it would be, as police teams searching the house tore it apart in their microscopic search for vital clues, lifting floorboards, ripping down wallpaper.

Previous owners Jackie and Gary Dyet, both 37, moved out with their children while the search progressed and their home became a focal point for television crews and ghoulish 'tourists' who cruised by, clogging the narrow street.

Not surprisingly, the family – whose ten-year-old son gave evidence at the trial – put the property up for sale and moved away. More surprising is that someone bought it, for a bargain 144,000 in an area where similar homes fetch upwards of 160,000.

Today, as the well-dressed woman peers from around the door, the sound of young children's laughter drifts from within.

It's her son's home now, she explains nervously, and he wouldn't want to get involved. "It's a lovely house, they're a lovely family," she adds. "Everyone wants to move on now. It was such a huge thing to happen, everyone was affected.

"But this is bricks and mortar, you can't think about things too much, it's not something anyone wants to think about."

She apologises politely and closes the door firmly. Like most residents, a year on from the police taking over the street, she's had enough.

The door at number 13 – home to David and Hilda Weir for more than 25 years – swings open. A flame-haired older woman in a bright yellow top glares angrily: "We didn't even know him," she barks. "We've been told not to say anything. Now go away."

"He deserves to die," says Ian McGregor, 70, nursing a half in The Engine Room, the pub – then known as Barr's – close to where Tobin was seen on the night Vicky went missing. "My son, John, and all his friends were questioned by police at the time – all the young men were. It changed them. A whole generation of young men changed because they suddenly saw a different side of life."

Councillor Jim Walker, chairman of the Bathgate local area committee, says the area simply hopes for an end to a nightmare.

"The disappearance of Vicky Hamilton was a traumatic event for the Bathgate community," he says.

Others are also hoping to draw a line under the case. Linda Newman, the last person – apart from Tobin – known to have spoken to Vicky, recently returned to the George Place chip shop where she handed the shivering schoolgirl a bag of chips and pointed her towards the bus stop – an act that would haunt her for 17 years.

"She was in the other day saying how difficult it's been," says Veronica Marrocco, 26, daughter of Valente's chip shop owner, Geatano. "You feel sorry for her, all she did was sell a bag of chips and she's been dragged up to court in Dundee. Linda just wants to get back to normal."

Linda refused to talk about the night she met the girl who would go on to become one of Scotland's most famous missing persons.

A relative at her home in Hillhouse Drive, however, speaks bitterly of Vicky's killer. "He deserves to rot," he says angrily.

"He's a murdering b*****d."

Grief that tore a family apart

THEY have justice at last, but Vicky Hamilton's family was torn apart by their 17-year nightmare.

Vicky's mother, Jeanette, took ill and died suddenly in January 1993 – almost exactly two years after her schoolgirl daughter's disappearance. She was only 41.

Relatives at the time said she had died of a broken heart.

Vicky's older sister Sharon – who the 15-year-old had been visiting in Livingston prior to going missing – was left to look after her eight-year-old siblings, twins Lee and Lindsay. She was just 21 at the time.

As time wore on, the family were tortured by dozens of 'sightings' of the missing teenager – many well-intentioned but some vile hoaxes.

Sharon's wedding day was marred when a sick hoaxer sent her a congratulations card signed 'Vicky', while others claimed they had seen her sister working as a London prostitute.

There were other distressing moments too – such as in 1997, when Vicky's father revealed how he had turned to psychics in a bid to find his daughter.

One used a ouija board to claim Vicky was buried beneath the Wallace Monument in Stirling. Her father revealed how he clawed at the earth with his bare hands in a desperate bid to find her grave.

The stress took its toll on the family and relations between Vicky's sister and her father became increasingly strained.

The discovery of her body failed to unite the family – instead it drove them further apart. At Vicky's funeral, father and children occupied separate areas of the small village church in Redding, near Falkirk.

Michael, his wife Christine and their family even held a separate wake from Vicky's siblings after the funeral.

The situation had been fuelled by the 58-year-old coach firm boss's decision to bury Vicky at a graveyard plot at Grandsable cemetery, just a few miles from her childhood home near Polmont, where he, too, will eventually be laid to rest.

Her resting place is marked by a v-shaped marble memorial inscribed with the poignant words: "Sleep tight my precious until we meet again."

Her sister wanted her to be buried alongside their mother in Muiravonside Cemetery, four miles away.

Detective Chief Superintendent Malcolm Graham, head of Lothian and Borders CID, paid tribute to the Hamilton family as the trial finally drew to a close.

"It has been 17 long and difficult years for Vicky Hamilton's family and our thoughts are with them," he said. "We hope this guilty verdict will help bring them some comfort."