Liz Lamb, formerly a journalist with The Northern Echo, was one of the key witnesses in the murder inquiry.

This is the article she wrote in 2004, 14 years after Ann Heron was murdered, about her memories of the day

IT was baking hot. Not just another summer's day, but the warmest of the year, the sort of day when the sun beats down relentlessly, the roads start to melt into puddles of tar and even the air seems to burn the back of your throat.

Determined not to spend the afternoon indoors, my friend and her parents planned a day trip to Skinningrove, on the Cleveland coast.

It was August 3, 1990. An insignificant day, but one that every year since has made us look back and remember.

I had just turned 14 and was on a six-week summer break from Hummersknott Comprehensive, in Darlington. We hoped to spend most of the day at the coast, but it was late in the afternoon before we eventually set off in the car.

I remember my friend Isobel's parents were cross with each other because we had wasted most of the day and were heading to the beach far too late for it to be enjoyed fully.

They were sitting in the front of the yellow Golf we were travelling in, arguing as we approached Aeolian House, a white building set back from the road in its own grounds.

My friend and I were in the back, looking out of the window, but not paying too much attention to our surroundings. It was a route we had travelled many times before - and it was too hot to be bothered.

Just as we passed the entrance to the house, a dark blue Sierra-type car came tearing out of the driveway and on to the road behind us.

It was travelling at such speed it appeared to come out of nowhere. Shocked, we watched as it swerved around our Volkswagen on to the opposite side of the road, with no regard for oncoming traffic.

I recall looking behind me after hearing the sound of the screeching tyres on the road and saw the driver, a man with tanned skin and dark brown hair, which was cut short on the top and long at the sides. I could not see anyone else in the car, just the driver clinging grimly to the wheel.

Isobel's mother, Marion, shouted at her husband to be careful and to "look out for the madman".

Then, as quickly as he had driven on to the road, he was gone. We watched as the car accelerated away towards Middleton St George, soon becoming a blue dot on the horizon.

I remember my friend's father calling the man an idiot. But cutting someone up on the road was not unusual, and we carried on our journey. With the joys of the seaside beckoning, the near-miss was soon forgotten.

It was not until the next day, when we heard that a woman had been murdered at about the same time, we realised the significance of what we had seen.

Fourteen years later, my recollection of that day is hazy. I am not alone.

My mother recalls Isobel's parents complaining they had to call the police several times with the information before anyone came out to interview us. Isobel believes the police arrived more or less straightaway.

She recalls the driver of the car, who the police have never traced, as having a moustache, but I am adamant to this day he did not.

It is chilling to think that the man driving that car could have been the person who killed Ann Heron.