Peter Sullivan spent nearly four decades behind bars for a crime he did not commit. Now, as he steps into a world that has transformed in ways he could never have imagined, his story shines a harsh light on the realities faced by those wrongfully imprisoned—and the limitations of the justice system’s efforts to make amends.
When Sullivan was convicted in 1987 for the murder of 21-year-old Diane Sindall in Birkenhead, Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister, the Berlin Wall still stood, and the internet was unheard of in everyday life. According to BBC News, Sullivan’s ordeal began with a shocking accusation: he was charged and later condemned to life in some of Britain’s toughest prisons, earning tabloid monikers like “The Beast of Birkenhead” and “The Mersey Ripper.” His only connection to the crime, as he recalls, was a casual mention in a pub: “apparently there’s been a murder.”
For 14,000 days—almost 38 years—Sullivan maintained his innocence. His conviction was finally quashed in May 2025, after new DNA testing of preserved semen samples identified another, unknown man. The Court of Appeal’s decision brought Sullivan his freedom at age 68, but not a sense of closure. “I’ve lost everything,” he told BBC News. “I lost all my freedom, I lost my mother since I’ve been in prison, I’ve lost my father. It hurts because I wasn’t there for them.”
Emerging into a world unrecognizable from the one he left, Sullivan’s adjustment has been both bewildering and bittersweet. Everyday tasks—like navigating self-checkouts or using a smartphone to book a doctor’s appointment—are new and sometimes daunting. “Instead of having a cheque book, you’ve got it on your phone,” he remarked, marveling at the pace of technological change. Even simple routines are haunted by the past; on one morning, he found himself sitting on his bed, subconsciously waiting for a prison officer to lock him back in his cell. “You’ve got to be at your door at a certain time, otherwise the officers will go off at you. I was just sitting there thinking, ‘What am I doing?’” he reflected.
But Sullivan’s optimism persists, even as he faces the daunting challenge of rebuilding a life interrupted for nearly four decades. He dreams of modest pleasures—like watching Liverpool play at Anfield for the first time since his arrest in 1986—and yearns for something more elusive: an apology and answers. “That’s all I want, an apology [and to understand] the reason why they’ve done this to me,” he said. “I can’t carry on with my life if I can’t get an answer off them.”
Merseyside Police, when asked if they would apologize, did not offer a direct response. Instead, the force stated, “The force regrets that there has been a grave miscarriage of justice in this case.” They added that “there would be little benefit to be gained for a review of this matter today” due to changes in investigative techniques and legal standards over the past 40 years. However, the Independent Office for Police Conduct (IOPC) is now investigating Sullivan’s allegations that officers beat him and threatened to link him to other crimes if he failed to confess to the murder.
While Sullivan’s release has brought relief and hope, it has also raised pressing questions about compensation for those wrongfully convicted. In England and Wales, the government’s statutory compensation scheme caps payments at £1.3 million for people jailed more than a decade—a figure increased only slightly from £1 million earlier in 2025. For those imprisoned less than a decade, the cap is £650,000. Sullivan’s solicitor, Sarah Myatt, who has represented him for over 20 years, is now guiding him through the lengthy and complex process of applying for compensation. “It is a long process. We are helping him with that and representing him in terms of his application. How long that will take? I just don’t know at this stage. But it’s certainly not a quick process,” she told BBC News.
Yet, for Sullivan, no sum can truly compensate for the years lost. “There’s not a figure that you could say that would be enough for losing 38 years of your life,” Myatt emphasized. “No amount will be enough. It just won’t.”
The struggle for justice and compensation is not unique to Sullivan. Andrew Malkinson, who spent 17 years in prison for a crime he always denied, has become a vocal campaigner for reforming the compensation system. Malkinson described the government’s cap on payouts as “insulting,” highlighting the series of complications and delays that often confront the wrongfully convicted. “I’ll keep fighting to abolish this cruel and arbitrary cap, along with the brutal rules currently denying compensation to the vast majority of wrongfully convicted people,” he vowed. Earlier this year, Malkinson received a “significant” six-figure interim payment from the government, though the exact amount was not disclosed.
These caps and delays stand in stark contrast to the compensation awarded in other countries. In the United States, for example, a federal jury in Buffalo, New York, recently awarded $80 million to the estate of Darryl Boyd, a man wrongfully convicted of a 1976 murder. Boyd, one of the “Buffalo Five,” spent nearly 25 years in prison before his conviction was vacated in 2021. According to the Associated Press, Boyd’s lawsuit alleged that police and prosecutors withheld evidence and coerced witnesses. After his release, he struggled with PTSD, anxiety, and substance abuse, and died of cancer in 2023 before the trial concluded. His attorney, Ross Firsenbaum, remarked, “He lost his whole adult life to this wrongful conviction. The jury heard just how many years he was suffering in maximum security prison. All the terrible things you assume happen in prison, happened in prison.” Erie County has called the $80 million verdict “egregious” and plans to appeal.
Boyd’s case is not isolated. Other members of the Buffalo Five have received significant settlements or verdicts, including John Walker Jr., who won a $28 million verdict against the county earlier this year. While the sums in the U.S. may be larger, the pain and loss experienced by the wrongfully convicted on both sides of the Atlantic are strikingly similar.
Back in the UK, Sullivan’s future remains uncertain. He is not eligible for the state help given to guilty prisoners released on parole, such as housing or living expenses. Instead, he is left to piece together a new life with only the hope of eventual compensation and the support of those who believe in his innocence. Many see him as a “millionaire in waiting,” but for Sullivan, the journey is about far more than money. “All I want to do now is get on with my own life and carry on as I was before, and live my time out now,” he said quietly.
Sullivan’s story, like those of Malkinson and Boyd, is a powerful reminder that while justice may be served in the end, the scars of wrongful conviction run deep—and that no amount of money can truly restore what has been lost.
