KIDNAPPED BY MUM’S KILLER, THEN RAISED BY HIS FAMILY

Dread stirred in the pit of my stomach, like I was walking down a dark alley in the middle of the night and could sense a predator hot on my heels.

But, aged 15, I wasn’t dashing down a back street.

My smiley Uncle John was spinning me around the dance floor at his son’s wedding.

Uncle John was my dad Don’s favourite brother. A father-of-four, and a grandpa, he coached kids’ sports games, taught Sunday school and was a Scout leader. But he gave me the creeps. Luckily, living a six-hour drive away, we hardly saw him.

My parents had no clue of his crimes

One night, soon after the wedding, I was sitting by the phone waiting for my friend to call. It was around 9pm and Dad and my