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Confessions of a killer

Could jealousy make you kill? It did me...


Published by: Jai Breinauer and Will stewart
Published on: 21st July 2011

Coming home from work, I sighed at the state of the flat. The bed was a mess, there were pots and pans on the side… But I guess that’s what happens when your man’s home all day without you.
Me and Sergey, 55, had been together for 30 years.
We’d never had any kids, stayed living in the same flat, and money was tight – but we’d always been happy until Sergey lost his job six months earlier.
I’d taken extra shifts at the packing plant where I worked, but we were falling into more and more debt.
‘We’ve got no money for food, for bills!’ I’d screamed at him one night, after yet another debt collector had been hammering on the door.
‘No one’s hiring, love,’ Sergey had sighed. ‘All the engineering plants are cutting back.’
‘Well, get a job, any job, before we lose the flat!’ I’d snapped.
A few days later, Sergey had told me he’d found work as a night security guard, and I’d crossed my fingers things would get better.
But the money wasn’t very good, and me and Sergey were like ships passing in the night.
He spent all day mooching around the flat and making a mess. With a sigh, I started clearing up – and noticed something strange.
An empty bottle of wine in the recycling… two cups on the draining board… and why had he cooked pasta for lunch when normally he barely managed to make a sarnie?
‘I’ll try to be tidier,’ Sergey said when I’d asked him.
A few weeks later, I noticed two cups on the side again, and more beer cans in the rubbish. Hmm, when
I’d called him at lunchtime, he hadn’t answered the phone.
It all pointed to one thing – he was cheating on me. ‘We need to talk,’ I said that evening as he got ready for work. ‘Is-is there someone else?’
He’d smile, tell me I was being silly. There’d be an explanation for his weird behaviour.
Instead, his face crumpled. ‘Who told you?’ he whispered.
My legs went from under me, I had to hold on to a wall to stay upright. I found the strength to yell, though. ‘Get out!’
Sergey didn’t argue, just packed a bag and left. Thirty years together, over in minutes.
I didn’t hear from him for three weeks, spent my time moping alone at the flat. Despite our money troubles, I even called in sick at the factory. Didn’t know what to think or feel.
I hated him! But I also missed him so much…
One evening, there was a knock at the door. Sergey, on his knees, clutching a huge bunch of flowers.
‘Tanya, I’m sorry,’ he sobbed. ‘Please, come out for dinner, let me explain everything.’
Heart or head, which should I listen to? The heart won.
Half-an-hour later, I was sitting opposite him at my favourite Italian place in town. ‘I never meant to hurt you,’ he said. ‘I met Natasha while I was off work. Me and you were rowing constantly. Then, when I got the security job, we never saw each other.’
‘But that’s no excuse for an affair!’ I cried.
‘No, I was stupid,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t love her, I love you and I don’t want to lose you.’
We’d had 30 years of good times, I couldn’t throw that away over one mistake.
‘If you ever set eyes on another woman…’ I started, but Sergey shook his head.
‘Promise,’ he vowed.
I wanted to believe him, but couldn’t shake the thought of him and that woman. It didn’t matter how many evenings we sat holding hands on our bench, how many bunches of flowers he bought. When I looked at Sergey, I remembered. He’d slept with another woman – in our bed.
Love and hate mingled, and I fell into depression.
Eventually, my GP put me on pills to help me cope. Still, I felt like my life was falling apart, so he suggested
I take part in a trial for a new drug.
‘Whatever will help,’ I muttered.
Months passed, and still I felt I had a cloud hanging over me.
One afternoon, we finished packing an order at the factory early. ‘You can all go home,’ smiled the foreman.
Great! I wandered back towards the flat in the sunshine. Sergey didn’t have to be at work for hours yet, maybe a bit of quality time would help us. There was steak in the fridge, I could buy a bottle of wine.
In fact I’d nip to the shop now…
That’s when I saw Sergey, sitting on the bench opposite the flat. Our bench.
And he wasn’t alone – of course not. He was with a woman, that Natasha tart I bet.
They were drinking wine, laughing, kissing.
His hands were running up her leg, under her dress.
He’d promised she meant nothing, that they were over. But he was carrying on for all the world to see.
A red mist of anger descended. All I could hear was the thumping of my heart as I calmly walked to the flat, grabbed the can of emergency petrol we kept in the cupboard, and sloshed it into my cleaning bucket.
I’ll teach them, I thought, storming down the stairs.
Then I was in front of them. No time for words or thoughts, just action. I threw the fuel over the pair of them, and in one move struck a match and chucked it.
Natasha’s eyes widened, Sergey’s mouth shaped a no…
I was blown to the ground by a whooshing fireball that singed my fingers and hair. It burned away the red mist, too – suddenly, I could hear, see, think.
Hear the terrible screams of agony. See the flames that devoured Sergey and Natasha, that filled the air with the smell of burning flesh.
Think…my God, what have I done?!
‘S-Sergey…?’ I gasped, lifting my hand to shade my eyes from the heat.
Suddenly, I was pinned to the ground by three men. ‘Call the police!’ shouted one.
‘She’s killed them!’ cried another. As reality hit, I began to sob and shake.
‘I didn’t mean to!’ I cried as the police led me away. ‘Are they okay? I didn’t meant to hurt them.’
But I’d done worse than hurt. I’d killed. Police told me Natasha Fedorova had died in the ambulance. ‘Sergey is in hospital, but he probably won’t last the night,’ the officer added. ‘We’re charging you with murder.’
Murder? I deserved to be locked up and the key thrown away.
Insane jealousy had made me kill a woman, and probably the love of my life, too.
I was transferred to a remand centre, locked in a cell.
Days passed, and I begged the prison wardens for updates on Sergey. All they’d tell me was that he was still alive, and I prayed he would recover.
Then, one afternoon, the prison warden told me she was taking me to court. ‘B-but I haven’t spoken
to my lawyer,’ I gasped.
‘No need,’ she said.
Frightened and confused, I sat in the dock while the judge explained what was going on.
‘Against all odds, Sergey Siderov is still alive two weeks after suffering horrific burns to 90 per cent of his body,’ he said.
Dear God…
‘Hospital staff believe it’s the thought of his common-law wife that’s keeping him alive,’ he
went on. ‘They fear if she isn’t allowed to go to his bedside, he will give up fighting and die.’
My mouth dropped open.
I’d engulfed Sergey in a ball of flames, killed his mistress, but he still wanted me?
‘What’s more, we’ve been handed evidence from Tanya Petrova’s GP. The
drug she was testing for depression has been linked to violent bouts of rage, uncharacteristic levels of anger, and unpredictable behaviour.’
The drug trials had stopped as a result.
And, because of that, the judge ruled my charge should be reduced to manslaughter on account of diminished responsibility.
He turned to me. ‘You’ll be taken, by police escort, to Sergey’s side. Help him live,’ he said.
‘Thank you!’ I sobbed. I didn’t care what happened to me, but if I could help Sergey, maybe I could make up for my terrible actions.
At the hospital, I was led into a private room. If I hadn’t known it was Sergey sitting on the bed, I wouldn’t have recognised him. Covered from head to toe with bandages and on a ventilator, the small areas of skin I could see were blistered and raw. His face was completely covered.
‘He can’t talk, and you can’t touch him,’ the nurse explained. ‘But he can hear you.’
Nervously, I sat down by his side. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I wept. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
Sergey nodded gently.
Then the nurse spoke.
‘Are you happy Tanya is finally here?’ she asked.
Whole body shaking with the effort, Sergey nodded vigorously for what seemed like minutes.
‘I’ll help get you better,’ I said. ‘I promise.’
Over the next few weeks, Sergey went from strength to strength.
Three months after the fire, doctors were able to take him off a ventilator.
‘Oh, Sergey,’ I whispered. His beautiful eyes were just little pink pricks peeking through red raw flesh. But he still looked at me and smiled.
‘I…sorry…’ he whispered, reaching out to me with a bandaged hand. ‘I betrayed you, and you had every right to be angry. I don’t deserve you.’
Shaking my head, I just wept. ‘Natasha didn’t deserve to die,’ I sobbed. ‘Her poor family!’
‘She didn’t have any family,’ Sergey sighed sadly. ‘She was very lonely. I think I felt sorry for her… I didn’t love her, you’ve got to believe me.’
Poor woman. I thought the guilt would eat me up from the inside. My head sank into my hands.
‘Listen, I know about your medication, I know you wouldn’t have done it if you were in your right mind,’ Sergey said. ‘I drove you to take those pills, I brought all this on. Forgive me and I’ll love you for the rest of your life.’
‘You could really forgive me?’ I whispered.
Smiling, he nodded.
On April 8 this year, I appeared in court on charges of manslaughter. Sergey was too ill to come with me, but wrote a statement. As it was read out, I broke down in tears.
I love Tanya… her care kept me alive… she wouldn’t have attacked me and Natasha if it hadn’t been for her medication…
The judge asked me to stand. ‘On the charge of manslaughter I find you guilty,’ he said.
I nodded, it was what I deserved.
‘However, there’s compelling evidence that you were not in your right mind,’ he continued.
‘I also believe that your partner needs you, and so I am sentencing you to one year in prison – which will be suspended.’
I gasped, stunned.
I wouldn’t have to go to prison, could go home and care for my Sergey.
Nine months on and he’s still in hospital, and they’re not sure when he’ll be well enough to come home.
From the window of our flat I can see the burned remains of mine and Sergey’s bench, a reminder of the awful thing that I did.
I wonder how I can continue to live with the guilt I feel over Natasha. Then I visit Sergey – and his smile reminds me how lucky I really am.

• Sergey says: ‘I’m the cause of the nightmare, and I deserve to be punished after what I did to Tanya.
‘I’m so sorry that Natasha was killed because, in the end, it was my fault.
‘She was lonely, and I took advantage of her because I never wanted to ditch Tanya for her.
‘I was a monster to cheat on Tanya like I did.
‘She was right to be angry, even if she shouldn’t have been so extreme – but for these drugs, she would never have reacted like that.’
Tanya Petrova, 53, Voronezh, Russia