Naturally, we often wondered what Chris and Peta’s final resting place was like. With Dad retiring, my parents discussed at some length the possibility of flying over to Guatemala, but not only was the journey going to be expensive, the officials at the Foreign & Commonwealth Office discouraged them from making such a trip. It was felt that the cemetery and their crude, basic graves would be a disheartening and distressing experience.
They were right! In spring 1984 (some six years after they had died), a work colleague of my mother asked a clergyman friend, Pastor Garry McClure, who was living in Guatemala, to take some photographs of Chris and Peta’s graves in Puerto Barrios Cemetery to post back to us. When the internet is so intertwined in all our lives today and photos from the remotest parts of the earth can be sent to the other side of the world in seconds, it is hard to appreciate that we hadn’t seen any photographs. Like every facet of the case, it was another waiting game.
The first time the pastor visited the cemetery, the man who was in charge and had worked there for 17 years was on holiday and no one else knew where Chris and Peta’s plot numbers 58 and 59 were.
Pastor McClure wrote to us: ‘There is no plan or map of the cemetery. The head man has it all in his head.’
The second time he visited the cemetery, the man in charge was expecting his visit.
Pastor McClure wrote: ‘He remembered the graves because he had made crosses to put on them. He said he “always remembered important people and where they were buried. All foreigners are important!” He said “foreigners” means anyone not from Puerto Barrios. Well, he took me to the far corner of the cemetery – uphill and down dale, through high grass and into sunken holes until we found the crosses. That day it was 98 degrees in the shade. At 4pm, when I was there, not even a slight breeze was blowing. The sun was tremendous. It was on getting home, however, that I realised there was no film in my camera!
‘The third time was a charm. I went to the graveyard for another funeral and I accomplished my mission. The graves are in a sorry condition. Cleaning them would help but not much. They are in a part of the cemetery that the graves are irregular, placed helter skelter. One cross faces one way, the other cross another way. They are located in a hollow, which looks like it is close to water (swamp) during the rainy season. There is no path to this part of the cemetery… the last 60m one has to walk through high grasses, trying to avoid graves and bushes. The last part before arriving at the gravesite is steeply sloped. An older person would need a lot of help to get to these graves. Also, the names seem to be misspelt.’
The Guatemalan law stating that the bodies should remain in their original burial place for four years had now lapsed, so both families once again discussed moving Chris and Peta to the British Cemetery in Guatemala City, where the graves would be better looked after. They also discussed flying their remains back to the UK. However, after a lot of joint consultation, they decided against both of those ideas. Their bodies had already been exhumed once and it was felt that they should remain together where they were.
Life moves on, as indeed it should. After graduating with an English Literature degree from Lancaster University, I moved to London in 1982 to study for a Postgraduate Diploma in Journalism at City University and after a couple of years on local newspapers and a trade magazine, I became health and beauty editor at IPC’s Woman magazine.
Ten years on from the murders, through my second cousin Vivienne, I met my husband to-be, Ben, in 1987. At our wedding the following year in Wilmslow, Cheshire, Chris’s absence was very keenly felt by us all and we raised a toast to him and Peta at the wedding breakfast. Shortly after the arrival in 1990 of our first child, Alexandra, Ben and I moved out of London to live in Oxford. I commuted to London for six months, but losing someone close to you makes you appreciate life is brief and I wanted to spend as much time as possible with my newborn. It was only on becoming a mother myself that I fully appreciated just how devastating the loss of a dearly loved child is.
I gave up working in London and worked for our local newspaper, The Oxford Times before becoming a freelance journalist and PR consultant so I could work from home. We were fortunate to have two more children, Charlie in 1993 and Freya in 1996, whose presence brought great comfort not only to Ben and me but also Mum and Dad, and we made monthly trips up north so that they would feel fully involved as grandparents. It was always my dream to have three children – maybe subliminally, I was trying to replicate the family unit of five that I had had and lost. Our family felt full again but our loss of Chris was only ever a split second away from all our thoughts and despite the passing of the years, we never gave up hope of one day finding their killer.
In 1991, my mother again wrote to the Sacramento Police Department enquiring if there had been any further developments in the case and asking: ‘Has Boston been traced? Have Vince and Russell ever been questioned as to what happened on the boat? You will appreciate that, in spite of the passage of time, the extreme pain of such an inexplicable tragedy does not lessen and the desire to know what has happened is forever present.’
With the arrival of the internet, my father emailed Sacramento Police Department on 22 August 2001, outlining the details of the case and adding: ‘One big question that we had and still have is the whereabouts of Boston’s two children, aged in 1978 Vince (13) and Russell (12), who were known to be on the boat with my son and his girlfriend. We have received no news from you or Greater Manchester Police since 1981 when we learnt that Boston was arrested but subsequently released on a legal technicality for the abduction of one of his other children. We are enquiring as to whether there have been any developments in the case and whether you managed to take any further action? Trusting that this enquiry does not give you too much trouble to update but we would be very grateful for any news. Audrey and Charles Farmer.’
I still find it amazing that there is no trace of anger or bitterness in my father’s email. It is measured and almost apologetic in tone for causing the police extra work. Again, our enquiry was met with total silence.
Each birthday, Christmas, anniversary and family milestone brought back memories of Chris. The year 2004 was memorable because by then Chris had been dead longer than he had lived but still there was ‘a hole’ in our family, which nothing or no one could fill.
So, we came to live with the knowledge that Chris and Peta had been tortured and murdered and the strong conviction that Boston was responsible but with police forces on both sides of the Atlantic unwilling or unable to investigate further, we were powerless. It seemed the world had forgotten them but their families hadn’t and the question that continued to haunt us and the Framptons was: ‘Why… why did it happen?’ As if, of course, there can ever be a reason or excuse for such a heinous act.