In a case that has left a quiet seaside town reeling, prosecutors painted a harrowing picture this week at Brighton Crown Court: a devoted grandfather figure, fresh from a school drop-off and a casual breakfast with his stepdaughter, unleashing a savage attack that claimed the lives of a young couple and orphaned their four children. Derek Martin, 67, a retired handyman from Moulsecoomb in Brighton, stands accused of the murders of Chloe Bashford, 30, and her husband Josh, 33 – parents to four young kids who once saw him as a pillar of stability.

The trial, now in its second week, hinges not on whether Martin killed the couple – he has admitted as much – but on his claim of diminished responsibility, rooted in a battle with severe depression. As jurors sifted through gruesome evidence, including CCTV footage of Chloe’s final, unsuspecting moments with her stepfather, the courtroom fell silent. What began as an ordinary Friday morning on June 9, 2023, spiraled into one of East Sussex’s most shocking domestic tragedies, exposing the fragile line between familial love and lethal resentment.

A Family Bound by Routine and Resentment

Chloe Bashford, a vibrant hairdresser with a quick smile and a knack for juggling motherhood and work, had known Derek Martin since childhood. He married her mother, Elaine Sturges, when Chloe was just a girl, stepping in as the family’s handyman hero – fixing leaky roofs, driving the kids to school, and even tagging along on weekend outings. Even after Martin and Sturges divorced years ago, the bond lingered. Chloe still called him “Stepdad” in affectionate texts, and he remained a fixture in her life, helping with chores at the family’s modest terraced home in Newhaven, a working-class enclave overlooking the English Channel.

Josh Bashford, a 33-year-old warehouse worker with a passion for classic cars, fit seamlessly into this extended family tapestry. The couple, married for several years, shared a chaotic but joyful life with their four children – ages ranging from toddlers to preteens at the time. Neighbors described the Bashfords as the picture of suburban normalcy: barbecues in the backyard, school plays, and the occasional takeout night. Martin, often seen puttering around their garden or ferrying the kids in his battered van, was the unofficial patriarch. “He was like a grandad to them,” Chloe’s eldest son later told investigators, his voice cracking in a statement read to the court. “Easy to be around… but he had a bad temper. Could switch up quick.”

Beneath the surface, however, fissures were forming. Martin, a widower in his later years after another brief marriage, confided to friends about mounting debts – credit card bills piling up from years of quietly subsidizing family whims. “Money, money, money,” he would mutter, according to police interviews. He felt “used,” prosecutors say, a sentiment that festered amid constant requests for cash or rides. Chloe, juggling salon shifts and childcare, leaned on him heavily; Josh, ever the optimist, chatted with Martin about potential car upgrades, oblivious to the storm brewing.

Psychiatric evaluations, presented early in the trial, painted Martin as a man unraveling. Five experts – three for the prosecution, two for the defense – unanimously diagnosed him with a depressive disorder at the time of the killings. Symptoms included chronic fatigue, paranoia about finances, and auditory hallucinations whispering doubts. “He heard voices telling him he was worthless,” one report noted. But opinions diverged on severity: Prosecutors argue the depression didn’t substantially impair his judgment, pointing to Martin’s calculated post-attack cleanup as evidence of lucidity. The defense counters that it triggered an uncontrollable “flip,” transforming a mild argument into carnage.

The Fatal Friday: From Breakfast to Bloodbath

The prosecution’s opening statements, delivered by King’s Counsel Julian Evans, methodically reconstructed June 9, 2023, using Martin’s own words from police videos, forensic reports, and now-infamous CCTV clips. It was a day like any other – until it wasn’t.

The morning unfolded with deceptive warmth. Martin arrived at the Bashford home around 8 a.m., as usual, to help with the school run. Chloe, dressed in jeans and a casual hoodie, bundled the youngest two into the car, while the older kids grabbed backpacks. Surveillance footage from a nearby carvery in Peacehaven captured the poignant prelude: Chloe and Martin pulling into the parking lot at 9:15 a.m., arm-in-arm like old pals. She ordered eggs on toast; he opted for a full English. They chatted animatedly – about the kids’ upcoming half-term plans, prosecutors say – oblivious to the doom just hours away. “She looked happy,” Evans told the jury, his voice steady but grave. “No sign of tension. Just a mum and her stepdad, sharing a bite before the day ahead.”

By 11 a.m., they were back at the Newhaven house. Martin busied himself cleaning windows, a routine favor. Josh, meanwhile, clocked out early from his warehouse job in nearby Lewes, excited to test-drive a used Ford Mondeo with Martin later that afternoon. Chloe texted a friend at noon: “Stepdad’s here helping out. Kids are sorted. Off to salon soon x.” It was the last message she’d send.

What sparked the explosion remains murky, but Martin’s confession fills the gaps. Around 12:15 p.m., as Chloe scrolled her phone in the living room, conversation turned to money – a perennial sore spot. “She kept going on about it,” Martin later told detectives, his voice flat in the interview tape played to jurors. “How I needed to sort the bills, lend more for the car. I just… snapped.” Grabbing a claw hammer from his toolbox, he struck her once on the crown of her head – a blow that cracked her skull but didn’t immediately fell her. As she staggered, dazed and bleeding, Martin fetched a 10-inch kitchen knife from the drawer. What followed was a frenzy: eight deep stabs to her back and abdomen, two piercing her lungs and heart. Chloe collapsed in a pool of her own blood, dead by 12:18 p.m.

Josh’s arrival four minutes later sealed the tragedy. Pulling into the driveway at 12:20 p.m., he entered the front door whistling a tune from the radio. Martin, knife in hand, lurked behind it like a shadow. “He saw me straight away,” Martin recounted. “Ran upstairs screaming.” The chase thundered through the house: Josh barricaded himself in the master bedroom, but Martin shouldered the door open. Four thrusts to the chest and stomach followed – wounds that severed arteries and collapsed a lung. As Josh gasped on the bed, Martin looped a leather belt around his neck, cinching it tight until the struggles ceased. Time of death: approximately 12:25 p.m.

The violence was over in under 10 minutes, but Martin’s aftermath was methodical. He wiped down surfaces, swapped his bloodied shirt for a spare from Josh’s closet, and unscrewed the bedroom door handles to “trap” the scene – a detail prosecutors flag as proof of intent to delay discovery. He yanked the Ring doorbell camera from the porch, later found smashed in a dumpster. By 2:30 p.m., composure regained, he drove to collect the two youngest from primary school, then met the older pair at Costa Coffee in Peacehaven. Over muffins and milkshakes, he spun a web of lies: “Mum and Dad had a big row. They’re sorting it out.” The eldest, then 11, eyed him suspiciously but said nothing.

From there, Martin ferried the kids to his ex-wife’s terraced home in Brighton, pulling over en route to hurl Chloe’s iPhone into roadside bushes – a device that held incriminating texts about debts. At Elaine Sturges’ doorstep around 5 p.m., he handed over the children with a forced smile. Minutes later, his phone buzzed with a message from her: “Where are Chloe and Josh?” His reply, read aloud in court, chilled the room: “Elaine I’m so sorry, I can’t believe what I’ve done. I know everyone hates me anyway especially the boys. I hate myself anyway and please, please look after the children really well. I’m just about to walk into the police station then that’s my days over and good job too… Don’t take the children home x.”

True to his word, Martin strode into Brighton Central Police Station at 7:02 p.m., hands trembling but voice clear: “I’ve murdered two people.” Officers, stunned, rushed forensics to the Newhaven address. The bodies were found locked behind those tampered doors, the house reeking of bleach and betrayal.

The Trial: Madness or Malice?

Brighton Crown Court, a squat brick building off the bustling A23, has seen its share of seaside scandals – from smuggling rings to pub brawls. But the Martin case has drawn national headlines, with reporters from The Sun and BBC crowding the public gallery. Presided over by Judge Dame Justine Thornton, the proceedings are projected to wrap in three weeks, with Martin’s fate resting on a single question: Did his depression “substantially impair” his actions?

Prosecutor Julian Evans KC, a veteran of high-profile domestics, methodically dismantled the defense’s narrative. “There is no dispute Derek Martin killed Chloe and Joshua Bashford,” he opened on October 6. “Both attacks took place inside their home, in quick succession. Chloe first, then Josh upon his return. The hammer blow, the stabs, the strangulation – these were not the acts of a man lost in fog, but of one fueled by rage.” Evans highlighted Martin’s post-murder savvy: impersonating Chloe via her unlocked phone to nix a daughter’s sleepover (“Mum said not today”), and his calm drive to McDonald’s with the kids beforehand. “He thought ahead. Planned concealment. That’s mens rea – guilty mind – in spades.”

The defense, led by Nigel Lickley KC, counters with Martin’s psyche as the true culprit. Five shrinks agree on the diagnosis: major depressive disorder, exacerbated by isolation and financial strain. Hallucinations plagued him – voices mocking his “uselessness,” Evans conceded, but argued they didn’t erase free will. Lickley, in cross-examinations, elicited Martin’s raw interview footage: “I’d just had enough. Constant ‘money, go out, go out.’ I don’t know why I grabbed the hammer… it was like someone else.” The eldest Bashford boy’s testimony added layers: Martin as “grandfather figure” who “switched up” over slights, once smashing a mug in a petty spat.

Family reactions have been a study in grief’s spectrum. Elaine Sturges, 62, Chloe’s mother and Martin’s ex, issued a statement through police: “Derek was family once. Now he’s destroyed us. Those babies lost everything in minutes.” She described the drop-off: kids chattering about cartoons, Martin stone-faced, vanishing into the dusk. Chloe’s siblings, tight-lipped, attended day one, dabbing eyes as the CCTV rolled – that breakfast clip, timestamped 9:17 a.m., now a viral ghost in tabloids.

The children, shielded by anonymity laws, are in foster care with Sturges, piecing together therapy sessions and questions like “Why did Grandad hurt Mummy?” Social services reports, partially unsealed, note behavioral regressions – bedwetting, nightmares – hallmarks of trauma’s long shadow.

Broader Shadows: Domestic Violence’s Hidden Toll

Martin’s case isn’t isolated; it underscores a grim UK statistic: one woman killed by a partner or ex every three days, per ONS data. But this twists the script – a stepfather’s betrayal, cloaked in grandfatherly guise. Experts like Dr. Sarah Jarvis, a forensic psychologist consulting on similar trials, told reporters outside court: “Depression can amplify grievances into explosions, but the law demands proof it overrode intent. Here, the cleanup suggests calculation amid chaos.”

As the jury – seven women, five men, all locals – deliberates evidence piles (blood spatter analysis, knife trajectories, Martin’s antidepressant logs), Newhaven mourns quietly. A makeshift memorial at the Bashford home – wilted lilies, teddy bears, a scrawled “We Miss You” – fades under salt air. Josh’s Mondeo dreams, Chloe’s salon chair: erased in a hammer’s swing.

If convicted of murder, Martin faces life. Manslaughter? A decade, perhaps less with good behavior. But for the four kids, justice is a hollow word. Their world shattered over breakfast – a meal now synonymous with loss.