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by PAUL HARRIS and CHRISTIAN GYSIN, Daily Mail
Sarah Payne is a name few parents will ever forget. The summer holidays had barely started when she was snatched from a cornfield and bundled into the back of a van, another victim to add to Britain's bleak catalogue of abducted children.
But there was something about the disappearance of this bright-eyed eight-year- old that dominated the thoughts of parents across the land.
She had been kidnapped in daylight just a short distance from her grandparents' home.
For weeks afterwards, her little face beamed out almost everywhere from ' missing' posters or newspaper appeals.
Practically every day, you could catch her increasingly desperate parents on a TV screen somewhere, pleading for help, refusing to give up hope.
So when hope died, and Sarah's naked body was found in a dismal roadside grave, there could hardly have been a mother or father anywhere who didn't imagine that it could so easily have been their own child.
The perverted irony of this case is that as far as Sarah's killer was concerned, it might just as well have been.
Any little girl would have done for Roy Whiting, on any day.
Had the tragedy of chance not thrown them together that summer's evening two years ago, then some other parents, somewhere else, would almost certainly have been in mourning.
He did not stalk Sarah Payne. He had never met her before and had no connection with her school or family.
But Roy Whiting was ever ready to take an opportunity.
We now know he had kidnapped and indecently assaulted a young schoolgirl before. He couldn't get the thought of children out of his sick mind.
He had already prepared the back of his white van like a sealed prison cell, with all the necessary equipment for abducting and assaulting a little girl, right down to the rope, the nylon-tie handcuffs and the Johnson's baby-oil.
He spent the day cruising three parks, a funfair and a boating lake. He didn't have long to wait.
Some time around 7.50pm on July 1 last year, Sarah Payne was making her way out of the cornfield at Kingston Gorse, West Sussex, after playing with her sister and brothers at a rope-swing play area popular with local children.
In a disastrous coincidence, it appears she simply stumbled into Whiting's path. He suddenly-found himself presented with an eight-year- old girl in her favourite blue dress and little black shoes.
Yet the chances of the two coinciding would have been massively reduced, or even eliminated, had Whiting's twisted predilection for young girls not been left to develop by those who might have done something about it.
For it transpires that Whiting had been convicted five years earlier of abducting a nine-year-old schoolgirl and subjecting her to a disgusting attack.
It does not take much imagination to identify a pattern in his actions.
Once again, it was a sunny Saturday and she was playing in the street. He snatched her, dragged her into his car and took her on a terrifying drive to a secluded spot in West Sussex.
There, he told her he had a knife and a rope then ordered her to strip naked.
He assaulted her and tried to force her to commit indecent acts.
It was 90 minutes before he allowed her out of the car.
When he later appeared in court, however, a psychiatrist told the judge in a medical report that Whiting was 'not a paedophile'.
Furthermore, Whiting volunteered to undergo treatment for his perversions in prison.
His pathetic explanation for the offences - to which he pleaded guilty - was that something 'just snapped'.
First, it allowed Judge John Gower to sentence him to only four years in prison (the maximum sentence for indecent assault is ten years, and the jail term for kidnap is normally between five years and life).
Second, going to prison only as an unclassified sex-offender meant he never received any of the attention the authorities afford paedophiles, both to help them and to protect potential victims.
Nor was he segregated with other child-sex offenders, incidentally --he avoided retribution from fellow inmates by claiming he had been jailed for a car-ringing scam.
Although he had assured the court he would undergo voluntary treatment for his perversions, he never did.
Neither did he take up the option of treatment under licence once freed.
Crucially, no one bothered to check. There wasn't even any mechanism in place to do so.
The first time anyone identified his perversion was when a probation officer opposed his parole application because he had not admitted culpability for what he had done.
She believed Whiting was 'a predatory paedophile' who would re- offend and possibly kill next time.
Parole was refused then - but Whiting was nevertheless released in November 1997 after serving just over half his sentence.
It was only then that he came under any kind of structured scrutiny.
The national register of sexoffenders had come into operation while Whiting was in prison and he signed it after he was freed.
Inspector Paul Williams, an intelligence officer with a brief to monitor sexoffendersin the Sussex area, visitedhim at home.
The fact that he was on this list, and because of what Williams knew about him, was the reason he would so quickly become a suspect for the Sarah Payne murder.
Mr Williams said that when he heard about Sarah's disappearance, he put Whiting 'at the top of my list'.
Yet at Christmas 1997 Whiting was essentially on the loose again. It would have been impossible --and unnecessary at that stage - for police to keep a constant watch on him.
After all, he did not shape his life in the classic style of paedophilia. Perhaps he was too clever for that.
He even showed some signs of reform - getting rid of a stash of pornographic magazines and videos from his home, for example.
He categorically told police when questioned about children: 'I keep away from all that now. I've learned my lesson.'
Yet there would later be signals that flagged up his continuing sexual interests.
In Littlehampton, some time after the first police visit, he moved to a flat overlooking the beach and a children's playground.
Even his work would not get in the way of his hobby. In the past, he had organised his schedule as a mechanic at a local garage so he could take cars on road tests at the exact time girls were walking home from school.
Now he would make time to go out 'window-shopping' in his car, cruising parks and playgrounds.
Three years later, when Sarah Payne became his victim, he was also much wiser.
The only reason he was caught last time was because police were given a good description of the abductor and his car. This time there would be no witnesses.
So were the danger signs there when he was convicted in 1995?
The mother of his first victim is in no doubt. The dark-haired housewife, who cannot be named without identifying her daughter, told the Daily Mail: 'It staggers and angers me that he was not classed as a paedophile.
'I would like to stand in front of the judge and those who defended Whiting then, and ask them how they feel now. I am sure Sarah Payne's parents feel the same.'
Quite what turned Whiting from an unremarkable teenager into a monster who preyed on children seems to have escaped the 'experts'. But with hindsight, there were ominous foundations.
was born in Horsham, West Sussex, on January 26, 1959. He grew up in Crawley, one of the 'new towns' created to relieve pressure on London, from where his parents had moved.
It was a pleasant modern suburb, but Whiting's upbringing was hardly idyllic.
He was abused as a child by a close relative. As long ago as 1965, when Roy was six, his father George, a sheet metal worker, was cautioned after an indecent act with a girl at the local swimming baths.
George and his wife Pamela had two other children, a boy, three years older than Roy, and a girl, six years younger.
Roy would later tell people his mother had a nervous breakdown when he was a child. Pamela left in 1976 - on her daughter's 11th birthday - leaving the three children with their father.
Roy Whiting had not enjoyed school. He was slow at reading and never showed any flair in his other work. Even at this age, his class-
mates described him as solitary and aloof.
The one passion he had was cars. So at 16, with few other options, he got a job as a mechanic. He drifted between several garages before settling at Kirkham Motors in Crawley, where he worked as an MoT tester.
Even there, in the company of other mechanics, he failed to fit in. The lone figure in the corner, listening to his favourite heavy metal music on a cassette player while he worked, was Roy Whiting.
In the evenings he would spend his time doing up old cars at home. The most respectablesounding entry on his otherwise uninspiring CV would have been a spell at Lancing College, a leading independent school whose alumni include Evelyn Waugh and Sir Tim Rice.
But Whiting was never a pupil - all he did there was an out-of-hours paint-spraying course when he was 18.
From the mid-1970s until 1991 Whiting was a casual worker at the Cherry Lane adventure park in Langley Green, Crawley.
He would turn up and help children fix their bicycles. He was also a member of the Crawley Tigers cycle racing team which competed at the children's play area. He continued to lead a mostly friendless existence, living partly with his father in return for doing jobs around the house. According to George, his other son regarded Roy as the black sheep of the family and did not speak to him.
His sister never got on with Roy and described him to a friend as 'a dreamer'. He bullied and tormented her for years.
George remembers the father-son relationship at that time as being 'a very good one', although it went through difficult periods.
They had a row one day and Roy moved out. He set up a 'home' in the rented workshop at Bonnets Lane Farm, Crawley, where he had a job repairing cars. There was a camp bed, a kettle, a microwave oven and a TV, plus some posters of racing cars on the wall.
Were anyone looking for a snapshot to sum up Whiting's miserable life, it could be found here behind the doors of his grubby little den.
Whiting, now in his midtwenties, had showed only casual interest in women his own age. Although he told friends he had his first sexual encounter at 16 and progressed into several long-term relationships, he probably exaggerated his sexual experience to appear 'normal'.
He actually preferred to read adventure stories.
His hair was dirty and lank and his fingernails were always black. He washed by visiting the swimming baths once a week.
Not surprisingly, women did not show much interest in him either.
So it stunned his friends and family when he married Linda, a Crawley brunette he chatted up in a local filling station.
Linda was a shy 19-year-old on the till and Whiting was a regular customer.
He would joke with her and make her laugh. One day he asked her out for a drink and the relationship grew.
Whiting tried to impress her by making out a scar near his kidneys was a wound from a knife-fight.
Linda would tell later how they 'drifted together', marrying in the summer of 1986 after she proposed to him.
They enjoyed a normal sex life and Whiting showed no sign of perversion. But it was not long before they drifted apart.
In 1987 they produced a son, born just a year before they separated. According to Linda, her husband did not bother to visit her in the maternity hospital.
'In the end he simply walked out,' she said later. 'I came home one afternoon and he was gone.'
Whiting sent money for their child for a few months but it quickly dried up. So the boy's contact with his father thereafter was mostly through birthday cards or Christmas visits, or not at all.
They divorced in 1990. Linda told a friend she remembers him turning up at the divorce court in a suit but with oil and grime under his fingernails.
'I don't know why I ever let him touch me,' she said.
Whiting has contacted her only once in the last seven years. He wrote from prison to apologise after he was jailed for the 1995 abduction, claiming: 'I don't know why I did it.'
In the meantime he appears not to have had any lasting relationships with women.
The one thing that did consume Whiting was motorracing.
He prepared his old Jaguar for banger-racing at Smallfield Raceway, near Crawley. If only he had been any good at it. Fellow racer Dave Purser said: 'Cars were his life then. All he really talked about was racing, but he was never going to be a champion.
'I remember he had a bloody annoying laugh. It was a bit like the noise Hannibal Lecter makes in Silence of the Lambs when he's talking about eating liver. It was scary, and annoying.'
By the late-1990s Whiting virtually lived for his fortnightly meeting with the Gatwick Players racing team.
Because of his surname, he was nicknamed the Flying Fish - an uncustomary mark of recognition which he was thrilled to have emblazoned on his car. Perhaps if Whiting had seen the chequered flag more often (no one can remember him winning) his life might have taken a different turn. Against all odds, maybe he could even have formed a proper relationship with one of the young women who came along to cheer.
But failure, mediocrity and inadequacy continued to beckon him.
Practically every day, you could find Whiting whiling away his life in the restaurant area of his local chip shop. Same table (seven), same meal (burger and two mugs of tea).
Only one thing other than motor racing aroused Whiting's passion, and it would become tragically clear what that was.
He never forgot the excitement of those 90 minutes with his first victim. It would doubtless give him a rare sense of achievement to know that this attractive teenager still bears the mental scars today, and is terrified by the realisation that she could easily have become a murder victim.
It is not difficult to imagine him playing the scenes over and over in his mind, like someone flicking through a set of pornographic photographs, conjuring up different scenarios, different endings.
Soon, his sick yearnings would become reality again. In 1997, when he finished his prison sentence at Cambridgeshire's Littlehey jail, he told the warder who held the door open for him: 'I won't be coming back.'
If it was meant as a pledge that he was going to go straight, it would almost have been admirable. But detectives firmly believe he meant only that he would not be caught next time.
The white, Transit-style van that Whiting bought six days before Sarah's abduction had been kitted out in the back with a plywood lining and partition.
The removal man who previously owned it installed the lining to protect furniture. Whiting left it there so forensic evidence from any encounters with children in the back could be ditched with the wood when removed, which he did within hours of killing Sarah. He also hosed out the back.
When, next day, he tried to drive off in the van, police were watching. The choice was to stop him immediately or try to follow - and risk losing both him and the van. The van, it transpired, still containedvirtually all the forensic evidence-that would later put Whiting behind bars for life.
Stopping it that evening, Detective Sergeant Steve Wagstaff believes, was 'the best decision I ever made'.
But even now, no one except Whiting knows for certain what happened inside this sick, mobile tomb during the last few minutes of Sarah's life, and perhaps it is kinder that way.
It seems something in his twisted mind told him that if he did not kill his victim this time, he would be going straight back to jail.
His solution was to smother her and quickly bury her in a field. His only remorse afterwards was that he got caught.
Published by Associated Newspapers Ltd
Part of the Daily Mail, The Mail on Sunday & Metro Media Group

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