Majella Lynch, known as Maj, was described by her friends and support workers as friendly, gentle and kind – though with a fierce temper. She loved to chat (often, frankly, over a can of super-strong lager) on the steps outside her flat, outside the fire station and over in the park. But she was also isolated, lonely and vulnerable, a target for thieves and sexual predators who knew that she struggled physically and mentally to keep her property and herself safe.
When her body, all 5ft 2in of it, was laid out on the pathologist’s examination table, he found dozens of scratches, scars and bruises on her face, forehead, arms and legs that told of her hard life on the streets of Southampton. She suffered from alcohol-related liver disease that made her more susceptible to infection.
Psychologically, Lynch was as frail as her body. “A lovely, harmless lost soul” was how one charity worker who knew her put it; “a delicate flower, really … one of society’s forgotten” according to another.
As far as anyone can remember, the day before Lynch was murdered was an ordinary one. She had her routines. Lynch, 51, who after years on the streets or moving from hostel to short let-tenancy, had recently set up a more stable home in a small basement flat in St Mary’s Road, not far from the city centre.
She would start drinking at breakfast time. If the day was fine she would sit outside, gossip and joke with friends she knew from the street over a can or three. Support workers would pop around and fetch food for her and delicately try to persuade her to clean up or wash herself – she wasn’t keen on either activity. She might stroll over to the Cranbury Avenue day centre or potter through the parks over to the malls, but not long before she was murdered she had a nasty fall that restricted her wanderings and she was often confined to her flat.
Footage from a CCTV camera a few doors down established her last known movements before she was viciously attacked. Lynch was visited by a support worker in the morning and exchanged a few words with a couple of neighbours. By mid-afternoon she was ensconced indoors.
The same CCTV camera caught Daniel McBride going into the flat at around 3.40am the next morning – Good Friday last year. McBride, 43, was a bodybuilder and habitual cocaine user with a penchant for rough sex and hardcore pornography. He had spent the night drinking and taking cocaine in the city centre after falling out with his 22-year-old girlfriend.
At around midnight, he sent a friend a text: “I’m on it and fucked.” He had got the numbers of two women he had met that night and tried, but failed, to persuade either to have sex with him. Instead he headed towards home, crossed the parks and ended up walking down the steps to Lynch’s flat.
He claimed he did not know Lynch and had stopped and gone to her aid when he heard her calling for help. In court he admitted he had snorted cocaine off her battered chest of drawers, but insisted that he left without harming her. The jury at Winchester crown court disbelieved him and found him guilty of a sadistic sexual assault in which a shampoo bottle with a diameter of 6.5cm was forced into her abdominal cavity. So horrific was the attack that a juror fainted when she heard the details and the case had to be delayed. McBride was caught by the CCTV camera leaving at around 6.15am.
Several hours later, Lynch was found by a carer suffering severe abdominal pain. She would not say what had happened, but was clearly frightened. She was taken to hospital, where a scan revealed the shampoo bottle. Doctors said they had never seen anything like it. The bottle was removed during a two-hour operation.
A nurse asked her if she had been sexually assaulted. She finally said she had, but looked away and added: “It doesn’t matter.” She died of septicaemia two days later, her alcohol-ravaged liver leaving her less able to fight the infection.
One of the many really disturbing aspects of the case is the notion that if the sexual assault had not been so extreme, it might not have been reported at all.
Lisa Longstaff, of the campaign group Women Against Rape, said: “The most vulnerable women who are sexually assaulted don’t usually get their cases to court, but this woman came to the authorities’ attention because she died from her injuries. These tragic circumstances may have been prevented if we had a more caring society. Instead women are being increasingly impoverished and isolated and made more vulnerable to attack.”
Though Lynch knew many people, friends said she felt lonely. She had been in Southampton for at least 15 years. There are conflicting stories about her origins. Some thought she came to Hampshire from the Midlands, others say she was originally from the north-east. Over the years, she often slept rough. She was once given a place in a hostel for women with alcohol problems, but had to leave after attacking another resident.
She had the occasional, fraught romance. One boyfriend, Derek, died a few years before her own death. She also kept a picture of a close friend called Jeremy on her bedroom wall, with the message “Jesus loves you Jez” scribbled on it. Lynch followed him to the north of England when he moved, but he did not want a romantic relationship with her and she returned to Southampton.
Because she was lonely, she would invite passersby into her home at all hours of the day and night. Neighbour Mark Harry said: “Some people would come and have sex with her, some would take beer or food or money from her. One time she shouted for me and I went and found a man lying on her on the bed. I threw him out.”
A support worker said a few months before her death, Lynch told her that a man – not McBride – had come into her flat and threatened her with a penknife over a disagreement about either drink or money. It may be that she invited McBride in that night – only he knows.
Lynch was well known among the agencies in Southampton who work with homeless people and addicts. Trevor Pickup, the chief executive of the Society of St James, which provided Lynch with domiciliary care – what used to be called meals on wheels – said she was a likable woman.
“She was seen by our staff, who knew her as a lovely, harmless, lost soul, and also someone who was a very kind, sweet lady, greatly liked by her peers. She was given domiciliary care for a few hours a week for around seven months and was a pleasant, sometimes quite chatty person.
“Although she was not a resident in any of our services, staff from the broader organisation also, on occasion, gave her a helping hand when she needed it, by, for example, giving her a cup of tea, a listening ear, sometimes a meal, or perhaps some dry clothing.”
In the weeks leading up to Lynch’s death, there had been an improvement in her circumstances. She had started looking after herself and her home better, taking medication, and was keeping to a planned drinking regime.
Those who worked with her said that they tried to help – and in an ideal world with limitless funds, there might have been a way of giving her the intense help she needed. But privately, they say there is only so much they can do when a woman like Lynch opts to live on the edge of society, drink and open her door to strangers.
She died a victim, but those around her did not see her as one during her life. One of the most striking tributes came from a friend called Haimona in the comments section of a local newspaper piece on her death: “Poor old Majella. She never deserved an early death. As strong as an ox and with a liver that could cope, she was a good laugh. Rest easy, Maj.”
