As her attacker drew out the blood-smeared lock-knife again, Nichola Hirst knew she was very close to death.

Any hope for mercy she clung to disappeared with Noel Dooley's calm tone.

"I have got to kill you because you can identify me."

Again and again the six-inch blade arced downwards into her body, piercing her chest and puncturing the lungs which desperately gasped for air.

"All you bitches are the same," Dooley told her as he focused on finishing the job at hand. "Die bitch, die."

The 27-year-old prostitute, who had been working Bradford's streets for 18 months, seemed to accept her fate, crying back to him: "I am dying. You don't have to stab me any more. Just give me time to die."

But incredibly, Miss Hirst summoned the strength to fight back, thrusting out her slashed limbs at the dark-clothed figure. One kick connected with the knife, jolting it backwards and opening a small gash in Dooley's head.

Undeterred, he slashed out again and again, only halting once he was satisfied his murderous task had been completed.

The scruffy, unshaven attacker stood panting with the effort of his labours before finally turning and disappearing into the blackened, rabbit-warren streets of Listerhills. Three times he had returned to Miss Hirst's crumpled, bloody body to 'finish the job'. This time he was sure she was dead.

The attack had been prolonged, ferocious, and coupled with Dooley's cold determination for death, made it sickeningly horrific.

Dooley saw killing this woman as a necessary task which stood between him and freedom; she simply could not live to tell her awful tale.

Earlier that evening, he had approached her, like any other punter as she stood at her usual spot in Listerhills' red light district.

Having agreed a £20 fee for 'business', Dooley ushered her towards a secluded industrial yard by Norcroft Street.

But as she reached into her bag for a condom, Dooley suddenly produced the foot-long lock-knife and demanded her money. Before she could act, he ordered her to undo her top, get onto her knees and carry out a sex act.

The terrified woman tried desperately to call 999 on her mobile phone as Dooley clutched the cold metal blade against her throat. The electronic bleep of the dialling tone gave away her plan and only stoked the flames of Dooley's anger.

Somehow, Miss Hirst managed to struggle from his grasp and made a dash for freedom between two nearby buildings. She would have heard Dooley's heavy footsteps closing in on her before feeling his hand close around her mouth and the knife stab into her back for the first time.

Dooley shoved his victim on to her hands and knees like an animal, plunging the blade into her another 20 times. Throughout the attack he coldly ignored her desperate pleas for mercy and for life.

Miss Hirst's horrific wounds caused her to pass out, but when she regained consciousness, Dooley was nowhere to be seen and her mobile phone lay in pieces in front of her.

Frantically, she fumbled to reassemble the handset and call for help.

But Dooley was just yards away and, after spotting her signs of life, he doubled back and grabbed the phone from her.

Again, he thrust the knife into her exposed back until she managed to bite his hand, roll on to her back and kick out at him in a last ditch effort to fight him off. At one point, the jabbing blade became stuck in her shoe.

Dooley freed it and plunged it again into her chest, puncturing her lung and causing her to pass out for the second time.

Believing his victim had finally given up her brave fight for life, Dooley turned his back and began walking away.

But the pitiful sound of Miss Hirst's moans told Dooley that his task was not over. He strode back to the bloody body and knifed her several more times before sprinting away.

As Robert Smith QC, prosecuting told the court: "At that time Miss Hirst laid completely still, knowing that if she moved once more, he would return to stab her again and she would have certainly died."

When she was sure Dooley had gone, Miss Hirst dragged herself to the nearby roadside where she weakly called for help before collapsing.

She recalls: "The only reason I lived was because the person who found me knew me and he said if I wasn't to breathe for myself, then I should breathe for my little son.

"If it hadn't have been for him reminding me to live for my five-year-old son, I would have given up."