“In December ’85 I was convicted of murdering my boyfriend, Trevor Armitage, who was 33. I met him six months earlier when I was 16 and a prostitute. He was a client. I was 17 at the time of the offence and now I am 24.”
So began a letter that arrived at my home in North London in September 1992 with an HMP Drake Hall prison stamp. It was from Emma Humphreys, a woman I came to
