Five time nominated BEST BRITISH TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at the True Crime Awards, Independent Podcast Award and The British Podcast Awards, and voted 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, Crime & Investigation Top 20 True-Crime Podcasts, also seen on BBC Radio, Sky News, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week.
EPISODE THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-THREE:
This is Part One of Two of ‘The Beast of Belvedere’ by Murder Mile UK True Crime. From April 1983 to July 1984, a series of sadistic sex attacks were perpetrated on women and young girls on trains or near train stations on three routes from Central London to the South-East of England and Kent, they were the Bexleyheath Line, the North Kent Line and the Dartford Loop. This prolific serial rapist never disguised his face, he attacked in broad daylight, and he stuck to the areas he knew so well. But who was he?
SOURCES: a selection sourced from various archives:
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: How did a prolific serial rapist evade capture for so long? Find out on Murder Mile. Today, I’m back at Charing Cross station, off The Strand, WC2; the same street as the last confirmed sighting of the Savaged Prince, just to the side of where the first possible victim of the Blackout Ripper said farewell to her pal, the station where German tourist Heidi Mnilk met her death as confessed to by Patrick MacKay, and where a bag of laundry in left luggage bled red - coming soon to Murder Mile. We don’t appreciate how clean and safe our modern trains are; being heated, well-lit and ventilated open-carriages with every angle covered by cameras and communication cords for our safety. I mean, yes, the standard commute is a horrific assault on the senses as the tone deaf play drum n bass via an annoyingly tinny speaker, the stench of ‘the great unwashed’ smells like a flatulent wet dog soaked in puke, every surface is spattered with an ominous sticky residue from any number of foods or orifices, and even a 10 minute journey requires you to be scrubbed with hot bleach, but it was once a lot worse. The design and layout of the train carriages we have to today are as a direct result of the terrifying and deadly incidents inflicted on the fellow passengers in our past, especially on the three train lines covering this network; the North Kent Line, the Bexleyheath Line and the dreaded Dartford Loop. As a busy series of train lines from Central London through the commuter belt of South-East London and into Kent, the Dartford Loop was built in 1866 to alleviate congestion as the city expanded, and it remains a vital part of this link today. Sadly, with so many failings in its design, it became synonymous with crime, and from April 1983 to July 1984, a series of sadistic sex attacks on women and young girls. This cowardly rapist would be nicknamed ‘The Beast of Belvedere’. But who was he? My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 333: ‘The Beast of Belvedere’ – Part One of Two. During the height of The Beast’s spree of attacks on lone women across the network, Yvonne Roberts, a journalist working for the Evening Standard published an article titled ‘if only men knew how it felt’. Ringing true with many lone female commuters, she wrote: “a woman sits in the middle of two seats on the Charing Cross to Dartford train, her bag clutched to her like a bullet proof shield”, her only real protection being sat opposite a strange man in a cramped and dimly-lit compartment of just six seats. “It is mid afternoon on a Monday. The man who attacked or raped 17 women on or near this line… has mentally mugged every woman traveller by robbing her of her sense of ease. Women, of course, are accustomed to feeling uncomfortable and just plain frightened on public transport”, as in 1982, the year before, there were 570 assaults and 3 rapes on the networks line in these closed carriages. In 1983, a government white paper on ‘Public Safety on London Transport’ was published, but with 97 of the 106 witnesses who gave evidence being men, its recommendations were less about a woman’s right to be safe, and more about the impact on cost and profitability. By May 1983, the Greater London Council had recommended the installation of CCTV cameras in just 33 of its 247 tube stations, with some cameras (providing grainy and unclear footage) only available in the larger train terminuses. It was a safety system implemented by men who didn’t understand a woman’s plight. Yvonne Roberts continued “…on the Dartford train, even the open carriage has eight communication cords”, a simple pull cord which alerts the driver to an incident (and the conductor, if the train has one, which many don’t). “The police have been surprised that none of the woman attacked tried to use them”, but as she rightly noted, “how can they when, with a knee to their throat or back, they are out of reach?”. Yet, it wasn’t just the train that was a woman’s greatest danger, but the station and her walk home. Unlike many serial rapists, ‘The Beast of Belvedere’ didn’t stick to a single train, time or route, as being fuelled by his base desires, he hunted for lone and vulnerable women; day and night, on quiet and busy trains, and not just across a single trainline, but three, as these antiquated rolling stocks trundled through tiny towns and suburban villages, many of which had few street lights and a lone constable. The Dartford Loop began at Charing Cross, Waterloo East or London Bridge, and called at Hither Green, Lee, Mottingham, New Eltham, Sidcup, Albany Park, Bexley and Crayford. The Bexleyheath Line called at Lewisham, Blackheath, Kidbrooke, Eltham, Falconwood, Welling, Bexleyheath and Barnehurst. The North Kent at Lewisham, Blackheath, Charlton, Woolwich, Arsenal, Abbey Wood, Belvedere, Erith and Slade Green. And with all lines terminating at Dartford, for many, these names may feel as unfamiliar as a foreign land, far from where you feel safe, but to this serial rapist, it was as comfortable as home. Saturday the 23rd of April 1983 was said to be the first attack in this 15-month spree. That evening, at roughly 9:30pm, with a slight chill in the air, the streets were quiet and secluded. On Lingfield Crescent was Falconwood station, a tiny brick-built building in a small suburban village on the Bexleyheath Line, illuminated by a single lamp which cast an ominous orange glow. To the east was the Falconwood housing estate, but in all other directions were vast expanses of green; like Oxleas Wood, Avery Hill, Eltham Park, Shepherdleas Park, and just above the railway line, Falconwood Field. The day was uneventful for most; snooker player Cliff Thorburn was celebrating a perfect 147 break, Spandau Ballet's pop song ‘True’ was heading to #1, and tests had proven Hitler's diaries to be fake. One hour after dusk, a 16 year-old girl, her name rightly left anonymous, entered Falconwood station. With the station master off-duty, the ticket office closed and porters only at larger terminuses, she walked left along the platform and sat on a bench, waiting a few minutes for the train to Blackheath. It was dark, cold, wreathed in shadows, and the only other passenger waiting was a man. As she sat silently, he slowly crept nearer. Standing directly behind her, he stared, breathing deep, then pounced. With one hand firmly clasped over her mouth to stop her screaming, he hissed “don’t make a noise, or I will put this knife into your neck”, as the sharp pinch of small blade drew a few drops of her blood. She froze in fear, terrified, her limbs barely mobile, as with her fate in his hands, he forced her off the end of the platform, down a slope onto the side of the rails, and under a bridge at the Rochester Way. On a grass bank, he made her lie down. He asked “what’s your age?”, but she was too afraid to say. He asked “are you a virgin?”, of which any answer risked horrific ramifications for this petrified girl, so saying “yes, I am”, he glared at her and barked ”no, you’re not, you’re a whore”. Ripping off her tights with force and punching her head to keep her silent, it was as her train pulled away that he raped her. Minutes later, he fled. She was so traumatised, even though he didn’t wear a disguise, her description of him was vague, being average height, build and look. There were no witnesses, no suspects, and as an era where rapes weren’t treated seriously and DNA was a pipe-dream, there was no crime scene. The investigation was short and perfunctory, but several details were clear; she didn’t know him, he knew the area well, and although this was the first attack in his spree, she clearly wasn’t his first victim. A month later, he attacked again. On Thursday 19th of May 1983, four miles north-east of Falconwood station and just shy of Erith station on the North Kent Line, a 31-year-old nurse was walking home from her shift at the Erith and District Hospital on Park Crescent. It was 2:55pm, broad daylight, and the school bells were about to sound. As a cut-through between Bexley Road to Fraser Road, known by locals, Birch Walk is a tight secluded alley way with an industrial area to the left, a road passing nearby and a thin wooded area to the right. Walking down Birch Walk, she later told the Police that she noticed a man, “after I walked a short way, something made me look back”, as she realised he was the same man who had passed her moments before. He was walking behind her, silently, quickly and with a definite purpose, she said “I remember the sound of a squeaking shoe” drawing closer. And then, as was his method, he silenced her mouth with his palm, he placed a short sharp blade to her throat, he barked “if you make a sound, I will kill you”, and having dragged her into the nearest bushes, as cars passed within ear shot, he raped her. Giving a fuller description, she told Police, he was “25 to 30, tall being 5 foot 11, lean and slim, with brown fair hair and brown eyes, and was unshaven”, and although a photofit was compiled, he didn’t match any known attackers, and it was uncertain if he was the same man as the Falconwood rapist. And yet, Birch Walk would have an ominous significance for his victims… …and ‘The Beast of Belvedere’. In those early months, the police had no idea that the first two attacks were connected, as he changed his days, times, locations, and attacked not just in or near train stations, but on the trains themselves. On Monday 6th of June 1983, just two weeks after his last attack, a 20-year-old woman had boarded a North Kent train at Dartford to see her mother who lived in Erith, not far from Birch Walk. Again, he wore no disguise. Again, he gagged her and threatened her with a small blade similar to a potato knife. But having boarded the train as it departed the Dartford station, and chosen this closed compartment of a smoking carriage where only one of the six seats were occupied by a lone woman, once inside, she couldn’t flee her attacker – as he pushed her down into the seat, and groped her breasts – as with the only exit being the door to the platform, if she screamed, no-one could come to her aid until the train stopped. But she did… and although he was strong, she kept fighting him off, shouting, kicking and punching until the train arrived at Erith, and before it had come to a stop, he flung open the door, and fled fast. With her description similar to the rape in Birch Walk, police knew they had a serial attacker in their midst, but a detail didn’t make sense; the train from Dartford to Erith took just five minutes, so either he was so stupid he didn’t realise, or (as detectives suspected) he knew the area exceptionally well. The carriages used were Bulleid & Maunsell BR Mark 1s, the same coaches where German tourist Heidi Mnilk was murdered a decade earlier in a suspected failed rape which resulted in her attacker (said to be Patrick MacKay) throwing her body from the train, which were infamously dubbed as ‘rape traps’. By the 80s, the Dartford Loop, Bexleyheath and North Kent lines were so notorious, many commuters avoided them, with the worst stations said to be Barnehurst, Bexleyheath, Welling and Falconwood. Even the South East Rail manager, Michael Woods said “I’m too scared to ride in them. I’d be happier in an open coach than risk being caught in one where I couldn’t get out”, and in 1987, with the Sunday Mirror stating “callously, British Rail refuses to scrap 63 single compartment carriages on South East routes, even though they have been condemned as hunting grounds for rapists and muggers”. Being described as “places of dread for lone women”, it would take a brutal murder for change to happen. On the 23rd of March 1988, 26-year-old Deborah Linsley boarded the 2:16pm train from Petts Wood in Kent to London Victoria. Traveling in a closed six-seater compartment, although 70 people were on the train, no-one could come to her aid as fighting off a potential rapist who was “scruffy, short, stocky, with dirty blond hair", he brutally stabbed her to death, and fled, as the train pulled into Penge East. It remains unsolved to this day, but it wasn’t ‘The Beast of Belvedere’, we know that for certain… …yet almost being caught didn’t stop this serial rapist from attacking again. On Tuesday 2nd of August 1983, two months after his last attack, a 25 year-old woman boarded a train at Charing Cross station, heading to Mottingham on the Dartford Loop. As it arrived at London Bridge, a man walked the platform, peering into every closed compartment, and as it pulled away, he boarded. In this six-seat closed compartment, he sat opposite her with no-one either side, and again, as was his method, he muffled her mouth, put a small blade to her neck, and hissed “I’m going to have some fun with you”, and as she sat frozen in fear, for the next five minutes, he kissed her and groped her breasts. The next stop was Hither Green, and with a few commuters on the platform, rather than running, risking being caught, he ordered her “kiss me, pretend we’re a courting couple”, and she obeyed. It was just a two-minute journey to the next stop, but during it, he raped her, and at Lee station, he fled. That was his fourth confirmed attack in as many months, and even though he never hid his face, he brazenly struck on busy trains in the day, and clearly knew the train routes and timetables, another detail stood out. It was only a 2 minute journey from Hither Green to Lee when he raped her, and although he’d ejaculated, they couldn’t accurately determine his blood group as he secreted no sperm. So who was he, as at that point, he was a mystery? A special rape squad was established at Belvedere Police station under Detective Superintendent Colin Hawkins, with a team of 50 detectives dedicated to hunting ‘the Beast of Belvedere’. They knew his face, his method, and the four-square miles he stalked his prey, and although well versed in tracking all kinds of criminals, a serial rapist was a different proposition, as too often, the victims just vanish. DS Hawkins told the press: “we have heard of woman being raped, but we have no firm information. The embarrassment and even shame can be shattering to a victim. They want to get home, fling off their clothes and bathe away the ‘dirt’ many of them feel. This destroys important forensic evidence which could be vital to the investigation and give an important lead to the rapist. We do not want another victim, but if it does happen, we urge them to come to us first”. And although they knew that a police officer was likely to be the last person a victim of sexual assault would seek out, “every care will be given and the victim helped by sympathetic and experienced police woman and doctors”. It was one of London’s biggest manhunts, it had to be, as with his attacks increasing in frequency, they were also becoming more violent, as DS Hawkins stated “he has attacked victims with a bottle causing head wounds, another had a broken jaw, and another was struck several times with a lump of wood. The man is strong, fit, a fast runner, and is believed to do heavy manual work”, but except for a brief description - late 20s, tall, slim, with brown fair hair, brown eyes, a toothy gap and an odd smell – he didn’t match any known rapist on the police’s database… and his spree showed no signs of ceasing. Wednesday the 7th of September 1983, one month after the last attack, he struck again. A 24-year-old woman sat alone in a six-seat closed carriage at Dartford station waiting for the 7:56pm train to depart for Charing Cross. She was alone, and the only way to exit the carriage was the door to the platform, but as the guard’s whistle blew to order the train to depart, a man jumped on board. Having perfected his method by picking a pretty young woman, slight and vulnerable, sat alone in a carriage from where she couldn’t get help even if she screamed and couldn’t escape, as the train left the station, he muffled her, stuck a knife to her neck, and hissed “shut up and you will be alright”, and remaining unseen until Abbey Wood station, he sexually assaulted her for the full 13 minute journey. Immediately, she alerted the Police, and with the compartment well lit, she built on his description; “26-ish, slim build, hair parted left to right, long pointed nose, a gold stud earing, a brown crew neck jumper, a red checked shirt, blue jeans and white trainers”, with a toothy grin and he smelled stale. In September 1983, the detectives at Belvedere, in co-ordination with the British Transport Police put up posters across the London, Kent and South-East rail networks featuring an updated photofit of ‘The Beast’. It was a simple ploy to embed his likeness into the eyes of any past or possible future victims… …and it worked. On Wednesday the 28th of September 1983, three weeks after his last attack, he struck again. A 36-year-old dental nurse, possibly leaving the Erith and District Hospital just as the 31-year-old nurse had done who he had attacked just four months before, being just 6:50pm and still daylight, she too used the short but slightly wooded cut-through at Birch Walk to make her way to Erith station. She told detectives “as soon as I saw him, I recognised him. I had a feeling that this was the same man that raped a nurse in Birch Walk earlier this year”, but with nowhere to run except to either end of this isolated alley, before she could, he grabbed her, whispered “don’t scream, I won’t hurt you. I only want to look at you”, and pushed her to the floor, forced her legs apart, and he indecently assaulted her. Barely minutes later, he fled, and with the nurse screaming loud, she was found by two women. The posters made women aware, only if they had seen them… …but his next victim had not. Friday the 14th of October 1983, two weeks after his last attack, was the start of half term. Next to Barnehurst train station on the Bexleyheath Line, just off Erith Road and a mile south of Birch Walk stood Bursted Woods, 12 hectares of untouched woodland with heavy foliage and dense bushes. At roughly 5pm, his youngest victim, a 14-year-old girl was walking her dog, as she usually did, not far from her home. It was daylight and other walkers were in ear-shot. As her dog ran ahead, possibly chasing a squirrel, as a man passed her, before she knew she was in any danger, as was his method; he muffled her mouth, put a blade to her neck, and said “don’t make any noise and I won’t hurt you”. In panic, she pushed his hand away, screaming. Grabbing her, he spat “make a move again and you’re dead”. But as she struggled to break free of his grip, he punched her hard in the face, knocking her down, and although he lifted her skirt, groping her genitals, he repeatedly tried to rape her, but failed. His description matched ‘The Beast of Belvedere’ with the girl adding that he had “a local accent”. The force he had used showed an escalation in his desperation, as Police feared “he may get more violent unless he is caught soon”. Even he would later say of this sexual assault, “I feel very distressed about what I have done to this girl. I know it should not have happened to any woman of any age, but to do it to a child is unforgiveable”. Yet, it didn’t stop his attacks on lone women, traumatising them forever. But was this him? Compiling the four photofits of the rapist seen attacking women in or near to stations across the three lines, as well as on the trains, the Daily Mirror queried “were four rapists on the loose”, as ‘The Beast’ was scruffy, tall, fair-haired and local with a gap tooth, but the others were short, wore glasses, had beady eyes and a heavily pockmarked face, not unlike the man seen leaving Heidi Mnilk’s carriage. So far, detectives could attribute him to the attack on a 16 year old in Falconwood, a 30 year old and a 36-year-old in Birch Walk, a 20-year-old and a 24-year-old on the Dartford train, a 25 year-old on a train near Mottingham, and now, a 14-year-old schoolgirl at Bursted Woods. But a man with a similar description, in the same timeframe and within those four square miles, had raped a 20-year-old at Foots Cray Meadows and a 16-year-old in Abbey Wood, with more in Albany Park and Lesness Woods. But was this him, or someone similar? One attack not attributed to ‘The Beast of Belvedere’ by himself was on Monday the 7th of November 1983, three weeks after his last, as a 23-year-old woman boarded the 10:32am to Dartford at Waterloo East. Again, he jumped into her empty carriage as it was departing, he sexually assaulted her, hopped off just minutes later at London Bridge, but this time, her “early 20s, scruffy and gap-toothed” attacker was said to have “sandy or gingery coloured hair”, and – for the first time ever – he stole her handbag. Had he started taking souvenirs, or had he committed so many attacks that he couldn’t recall them? The detectives were stuck and the investigation was slowly unravelling… …but they had already unearthed the biggest clue in their hunt for this serial rapist. On Wednesday the 6th of July 1983, in Lesnes Abbey Wood, 88 hectares of ancient woodland between Abbey Wood and Barnehurst stations near the town of Belvedere, a 16 year old girl was raped. Just a month later, on Thursday the 18th of August, again in broad daylight, a 30-year-old mother was raped in front of her 3-year-old son. Threatened with a knife, she was told he’d be stabbed if she screamed. Both attacks happened just 100 yards apart. And then, just after midnight on Tuesday 30th of August, two dog walkers heard a woman’s screams, their torches shined upon a man as he fled, and although the victim was never found, police flooded the area with more than 100 officers and sniffer dogs. Their plan was to flush him out, but he had already vanished. (End) PC Clifford Thomas was just a regular constable with the Belvedere police force assigned to search the woods armed with nothing but a truncheon and a torch, when he made a startling discovery. Under foot, as his heavy boots stood on a thick brush of holly leaves, something metal clinked underneath. The scene was fresh, having been vacated recently and used often, as with a sheet of corrugated iron covering the hole, when removed, it led to self-dug tunnel, 15 foot long by 3 foot wide. Said to be a “military style hideout”, the rapist had used it as he had lain in wait for his victims, hidden from view. Inside was everything a patient yet desperate attacker needed in his hunt for another woman to rape; a candle, a brush, a mug, tea bags, a jar of sugar, a stash of food, spare clothing, an air freshener, and a single mattress covered in polythene, where he had slept, and possibly attacked several victims. Police admitted it was luck that they had found it, yet being littered with empty beer cans and cigarette butts, as well as a blouse, stockings and knickers, forensic scientists could potentially identify him. It was an unnerving insight into the warped mind of this serial rapist, but it wasn’t his only hideout. A day later, over the road and 100 yards away, a second bunker was found. It was smaller, but given its position, detectives believed this was where he would run after his attacks, to flee from any witnesses, to hide from the police, but – as a sexual thrill - to spy with glee as his victims panicked and screamed. Detective Inspector Geoff Cooper stated “the man we are looking for is a danger to the public. We are very, very concerned”, and with the surrounding neighbourhood rightly terrified, everyone was on the look out for ‘The Beast of Belvedere’. But is this how a prolific serial rapist evaded capture for so long? Part two and the concluding part of ‘The Beast of Belvedere’ continues next week. The Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast has been researched using the original declassified police investigation files, court records, press reports and as many authentic sources as possible, which are freely available in the public domain, including eye-witness testimony, confessions, autopsy reports, first-hand accounts and independent investigation, where possible. But these documents are only as accurate as those recounting them and recording them, and are always incomplete or full of opinion rather than fact, therefore mistakes and misrepresentations can be made. As stated at the beginning of each episode (and as is clear by the way it is presented) Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast is a 'dramatisation' of the events and not a documentary, therefore a certain amount of dramatic licence, selective characterisation and story-telling (within logical reason and based on extensive research) has been taken to create a fuller picture. It is not a full and complete representation of the case, the people or the investigation, and therefore should not be taken as such. It is also often (for the sake of clarity, speed and the drama) presented from a single person's perspective, usually (but not exclusively) the victim's, and therefore it will contain a certain level of bias and opinion to get across this single perspective, which may not be the overall opinion of those involved or associated. Murder Mile is just one possible retelling of each case. Murder Mile does not set out to cause any harm or distress to those involved, and those who listen to the podcast or read the transcripts provided should be aware that by accessing anything created by Murder Mile (or any source related to any each) that they may discover some details about a person, an incident or the police investigation itself, that they were unaware of.
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Five time nominated BEST BRITISH TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at the True Crime Awards, Independent Podcast Award and The British Podcast Awards, and voted 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, Crime & Investigation Top 20 True-Crime Podcasts, also seen on BBC Radio, Sky News, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week.
Stanley Court, Woodfield Road, Ealing @Googlemaps 2026 Sept 2022
EP332: THE EALING CROSSBOW KILLER: On Wednesday the 20th of July 1988, at 8am, 36-year-old business executive Diana Mam exited her flat at Stanley Court. Dressed in a smart green suit and stockings, she placed her handbag and briefcase on the floor, and as she locked the door, she applied a final coat of lipstick, ready for a busy day ahead. Only she never made it to work, she never made it to her car, she didn’t even make it from her door. Who killed her and why?
SOURCES: a selection sourced from various archives:
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: How can a sadistic killing be both unsolved and (some say) solved? Find out on Murder Mile. Today, I’m standing on Woodfield Road in Ealing, W5; four streets north of the home of Alice Gross’s killer, five streets west of the brutal murder of Penny Bell, four streets north-west of the penultimate attack by The Beast and three streets south of the custard eating nonce - coming soon to Murder Mile. In a leafy enclave of Ealing near Montpelier Park sits Stanley Court, a block of 32 brown-bricked self-contained flats built in the 1930s to cater for West London bachelors. Back then, being fitted with a double bed, a modest kitchenette and a soft sofa for savouring one’s leisure time, the ambiance wasn’t sullied by the ear-shattering wail of ungrateful brats in need of a good slap, the feted stench of soiled nappies, and every surface spattered with all manner of bodily fluids and jam, as their sexless, broken and eternally knackered parents count the years until they can get out, flee, or just get divorced. Oh yes, tell me how having children is a ‘magical experience’, and when you’ve finished, tell your face. In 1988 though, with greater (and necessary) changes in equality laws, several professionals who lived at Stanley Court were women; career girls who eschewed marriage and babies for the independence to plough a furrow as a high-flying executive with their own flat, car and future. One woman was 36-year-old Diana Maw, a recruitment consultant who had done everything right in her life. She was well-liked, kind, popular, and had never made a single enemy. So, why would someone want her dead? My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 332: The Ealing Crossbow Killer. Diana could be summed-up by the platitudes her family and friends shared when told of her murder. It made no sense “as she was liked by everyone”, “she was a lovely woman”, “absolutely delightful”, “no-one had a bad word to say about her”. And this wasn’t a façade, as it was exactly who she was. Diana Stafford Maw was born on the 2nd of August 1951 in Newcastle upon Tyne in the north-east of England. Said to be a well-rounded girl who skilfully balanced every facet of her life, she was popular, sporty, caring and academic, she had no rough edges or abrasive tone, as for her, life was about living. Her passion for education, travel and success, as well as her bright personality, came from her parents. Married in the Scottish city of Dundee during the cataclysmic chaos of the Second World War, Diana was the only child of Sheila, a GP from the earthy industrial heartland of Blackburn in Lancashire, and Theodore Stafford (who she was named after) being a respected eye surgeon from Warwickshire. They were two doctors who shunned the wealth of a private practice and the calm safety of academia to provide care and compassion for the poorest communities during the post-war gloom and the early days of the National Health Service. She was given a great start in life, but unlike many who felt that being pampered or privileged was their birthright, she never became self-centred, or squandered it. Educated at Cheltenham College, a prestigious boarding school for girls, in 1969 aged 18, she won an exchange scholarship and (already having a thirst for travel) she spent the year being educated in New York, which expanded her mind further to opportunities, but also the life of others, both rich and poor. In 1972, she graduated from Oxford Polytechnic with a Higher National Diploma in Business Studies. Aged 21, being career-motivated, for 13 years she worked as a recruitment consultant for a wealth of high-end executive search agencies gaining a reputation as “a professional of the highest calibre”, until November 1986, when she became an executive at the Industrial Society at 3 Carlton House Terrace. Alaistair Graham, the society’s director said “Diana was held in high regard by everyone”. By her mid-30s, she was a high flying executive on a wage of £25,000 (about £85,000 today), she had a sports car, and her own flat in a desirable enclave in Ealing. It was the era of the Yuppies, the ‘young upcoming professionals’ with their red braces, Filofaxes, cocaine habits, mobile phones the size of bricks, and an arrogant belief (being the Wall Street mantra) that “greed is good”, but Diana wasn’t part of that ilk. What grounded Diana was her faith. Both parents were Quakers, and as a frequent churchgoer, she embraced those same values of compassion, justice and honesty, with a solid focus on helping others. Unlike the city boys who lived a life of bragging, jet-setting and getting STDs, Diana was a dedicated council member of The Shaftesbury Homes and Arethusa, one of Britian’s oldest charities helping the young and unemployed, where “Diana passionately wanted to encourage people working in the city to help those who did not have their advantages”. And when she wasn’t striving to better the lives of those she had never met before, she read books to the elderly at Chestnut Lodge old people’s home. As a strong and independent woman, she had made the best of both worlds; an amazing job, a strong family life, a solid moral compass, she was financially stable, happy and had a good circle of friends. It made no sense that anyone would want to hurt her… …so why did they? Said to be an “all-round sports woman”, Diana was keen but wasn’t competitive; she liked fell walking and tennis, she was a regular at Ealing golf club playing weekly with her friend Anne to improve her 36 handicap, and she was an honorary Oxford Blue at lacrosse, but it was all for health and happiness. In her spare time, she liked playing Bridge, going to the theatre, overseas travel and choral singing, which aren’t the kind of pastimes where she may make a bitter rival and end in a savage blood feud. Maybe someone was jealous? As her life was desirable, her car stylish and her clothes fashionable, she was attractive, beloved, and living in a luxury flat. It’s possible, as we know she wasn’t murdered for her money, as all of her estate of £181000, about half a million pounds today, went to her parents. In February 1988, five months before her death, she met Michael Stevens, a 37-year-old executive at a premium electronics company. Falling madly in love, and being described as ‘the perfect couple’, by May, Diana had put her £130,000 flat at Stanley Court up for sale, as had Michael, their offer had been accepted on a £300,000 Victorian house in exclusive Mount Avenue, and she was waiting to exchange. Her life was good, she was happy, and it was about to get even better… …only someone was watching her. Stanley Court is a four-storey apartment block just off Woodfield Road, a quiet residential street. Encircled by a u-shaped driveway where parking is for residents only, it stands isolated, off-set from the other buildings, and the only way to access the flats is via the communal door. A few weeks prior, two of the flats had been burgled, so with Diana as secretary of the management committee, to nip this in the bud, they had a security door fitted, so the flats could only be accessed by an entry phone. Obviously, that didn’t stop all the crime. On Sunday 12th of June 1988, five weeks before her murder, the window of Diana’s car was smashed and her briefcase stolen. Nothing of value was inside, except her Filofax, so with it more of an annoyance but easily replaceable, she thought nothing more of it. One evening, her phone rang, but the caller hung up just as she answered. It was probably kids messing around, she thought. Days later, it happened again, but this time, the caller remained silent, listening as her voice became more panicked as she asked who it was and what they wanted, but heard nothing. Again, days later, the calls came through at odd times of the night, waking her with a start, disturbing her with heavy breathing, and making her life a misery, as how could she sleep knowing someone was out to unsettle her. And then, when they did speak, twice they would threaten her, using her name. She told her friends, but never said who the caller was, if she knew them, or what they had said. If it was a prank, it wasn’t funny. If it was a prowler, why had they targeted her? If it was a robber, was it him who had stolen her Filofax, but why hadn’t they tried to extort money from her? And who would want to harm her anyway, as it was unlikely to be an ex-boyfriend as she was on good terms with all. If their aim was to unnerve her, it worked, as every time she left her flat, she felt as if she was watched; whether shopping by herself, walking to her car, or going to the cinema with her boyfriend, Michael. On Sunday the 10th of July, 10 days prior, she tried not let it upset her, as her parents were down from Sheffield. Unaware of her fear as she didn’t want to worry them, they had a wonderful day-out at the Royal Horticultural Gardens at Wisley, Surrey, they watched a performance of Aida (the tragic opera by Verdi) at Earls Court, and her mother Sheila recalled “Diana enjoyed it enormously. She was her normal happy self... I last spoke to her on Saturday before and she was as happy as she had ever been”. Then, the anonymous phone calls ceased, as had the supposed stalking… …but now her killer would take a fatal step. Wednesday the 20th of July 1988 was a typical British summer’s day; it was cool and drizzly. Diana was due to give a seminar that morning so that was on her mind when, and at 8am sharp, she left Flat 24 on the second floor. Dressed in a smart green suit and stockings, she placed her handbag and briefcase on the floor, and as she locked the door, she applied a final coat of lipstick, ready for a busy day ahead. Only she never made it to work, she never made it to her car, she didn’t even make it from her door. At 11:30am, three-and-a-half hours later, 15-year-old Ali Farnam exited the neighbouring flat, and as anyone would do, he didn’t expect the worst, but something innocent. Ali stated “I saw her lying on her side at the end of the corridor near the exit. I thought she had fainted and I could see that her face had gone a horrible grey colour. I was really scared so I went to get my friend”. He thought she’d fallen. “There was bits of make-up scattered all around her, and she was still holding a lipstick in her hand”. But when they returned, “there was hardly any blood. Just a tiny drop. I knew something was wrong. My friend said he thought she was dead but I didn’t believe it. We called the police straight away… I’ll always be haunted by what I saw… her lying there with an arrow sticking out of the side of her head”. The investigation was headed-up by Detective Superintendent Malcolm Hackett. The building was sealed off, the street was closed, house-to-house enquiries were conducted, officers with police dogs and metal detectors scoured the area, and forensics examined the scene. But there was not a single witness to her murder, to her murderer, and the murder weapon was never found. Her keys were by her body, but neither her flat nor car had been accessed. Her briefcase lay beside her unopened, yet the scattered lipstick, purse and letters had clearly come from her missing handbag. But the most baffling aspect of the crime wasn’t this pointless theft, but the method of killing itself. Sticking out from behind her left ear was a six-inch aluminium shafted crossbow bolt. All that could be seen was the plastic flight, as able to travel at 135mph, its steel tip had narrowly missed her skull and severed her spinal cord, buckling her legs underneath her, killing her instantly. With no bruising, no scrapes and no sign of struggle, she had been shot, robbed of an almost empty bag, and her killer fled. With the hallway window shut and no broken glass, the autopsy determined that Diana had been shot at close range, which made no sense, as a crossbow is used for shooting at a distance, not inches away. Ballistics determined that the weapon was a Barnett Trident handheld mini-crossbow, like a pistol, as used by amateur hunters or sportsmen. It was small enough to hide in a bag or jacket, and although its 75lb draw-weight prod made it one of the most powerful handheld crossbows, it’s almost silent. Police checked every seller in the UK, but although a lethal weapon, as shops weren’t legally required to record who bought what and when, with 100,000 sold in the country yearly, it was a fruitless task. Several theories were postulated as to who Diana’s killer could have been. Every known burglar was questioned, but with no signs of a break in, that was ruled out. With the new security door fitted weeks before, this should have limited the number of people who had access to Stanley Court, but it was left open from 7am to 9am daily, for the postman, milkman and builders. And with no doorman, witnesses and being before CCTV was standard, anyone could have entered. With the Police describing her killing as “a million-to-one shot”, some queried if this was the work of a professional assassin? Only Diana had no association with crime, and as Detective Malcolm Hacket later stated “it was the kind of toy which somebody would use for target practice… it is not the sort of weapon an intelligent man would use if he was planning a cold-blooded murder”, especially a hitman. Another theory the detective posed was “the crossbow was intended to threaten her, but discharged accidentally” as it had a hair-trigger, or “we are unable to say whether the bolt was used to stab her”, as above everything else, it looked like a basic robbery. But for what, as no money was missing? One month later, Diana’s handbag was found hidden in bushes on a footpath between Mount Avenue and Montpelier Park, a third of a mile from the crime scene, but nothing of any value was taken. On Thursday the 8th of September 1988 at 9pm, an appeal was broadcast on BBC’s Crimewatch, and an eyewitness came forward. The day before the murder, an unnamed ice-cream vendor spotted “a slightly built blonde young man” passing Stanley Court, carrying a mini crossbow in his leather jacket and a set of crossbow bolts in his hand. He was 19 to 21 years old, 5 foot 8, and had “cold hard eyes”. A photofit was sent to all Police boroughs, but who was he? Nobody knew. With no arrests or suspects, the coroner Dr John Barton asked that the body be held at Ealing Hospital for four more weeks “to give the killer a chance to come forward and say that it was an accident”, but as nobody did, Diana was buried in her family home town of Aughton. And with that, the case stalled. A memorial service was held on the 21st of June at St Peter’s Church in Ealing. In her honour, The Diana Maw Commemoration Fund was established to provide unemployed young people with training, as the most fitting way to remember her. But her boyfriend, Michael Stevens, struggled to come to terms with her murder, recalling “I’ve almost given up hope that the killer would be brought to justice… if someone knew something they would have come forward… more appeals aren’t going to help”. It was a motiveless crime on an unlikely victim by a sadistic culprit who remained unknown. Likely, they were the same person who had broken into her car, stole her briefcase, stalked her and terrorised her by phone, but none of that could ever be proven. Yet what baffled everyone most was the reason. Diana Maw was lovely, kind and caring, a woman madly in love, who had no enemies or rivals… …at least, that was what it seemed, as someone had been watching her. Released in UK cinemas on 15th of January 1988, Fatal Attraction starring Michael Douglas and Glenn Close introduced to the world the term ‘bunny boiler’, meaning a manipulative and vengeful ex-lover. Jane Frances Salveson was a 35-year-old design consultant from Brook Green near Hammersmith. Like Diana, they were smart, driven, successful and ambitious, but where as Diana was caring and loving who brought happiness to everyone, although tall, blonde and attractive, plagued by self-doubt and regularly attending group psychotherapy sessions, Jane was said to be jealous, selfish and possessive. In 1982, six years earlier, while on a sailing holiday on the Isle of Wight, she was introduced by a friend to a handsome business executive who had a £17000 yacht called Sodium on Hayling Island. They fell in love, became a couple, and planned to marry and move in together. His name was Michael Stevens. In May 1988, Michael broke up with Jane, and planned to move in with his new lover, Diana. Said to be “depressive, grief stricken” after the break up, anyone else would have let it go, but Jane couldn’t. In court, Janes’ solicitor, Brian Raymond said “she behaved in what she described as an undignified manner… but it should not, however, have been interpreted in the horrendous sinister way it was”. When questioned by Police, having voluntarily submitted herself to be interviewed four times, giving up her fingerprints and allowing the search of her flat twice – admittedly months after the murder - she admitted following the couple on dates to the cinema, but said she “made no direct approaches”. She also denied making the phone calls, or breaking into her car to steal her briefcase and Filofax. Investigating her further, detectives found out that she had posed as a buyer on several occasions to get into Diana’s flat at Stanley Court before the killing, and the house Diana was buying with Michael. On Monday 18th of July, two days before the murder, Jane withdrew money from two cash machines, with one on Haymarket in Piccadilly, perhaps for innocent reasons, or (as the detectives suspected) to conceal her purchase. That same day, a woman – described as “blonde, slim and attractive” - entered the London Trading Post sports shop at 52 Haymarket and bought a Barnett Trident mini crossbow with “a 75lb draw weight prod”, identical to the murder weapon, and a set of six-inch crossbow bolts. Staff remembered her as “crossbows are almost exclusively bought by men”… …the problem was, the suspect seen near Diana’s flat with the crossbow was a man. Jane vehemently denied threatening, stealing from or killing Diana, and although her solicitor retorted “her actions make her a sad woman. She was obsessive, but not a killer”, and yet the Police were rightly suspicious. On Wednesday 30th of November at Ealing Police Station, Jane took part in a ID parade of nine similarly looking woman in front of the three witnesses whose evidence could convict her. The sales assistant who sold the crossbow failed to pick her out, as did the store’s cleaner, yet the ice-cream vendor who said he’d seen “a slightly built blonde young man… with cold hard eyes” picked Jane out, having been asked by detectives about the man he’d seen, “could it have been a woman?”, at which he said ‘yes’. Jane Salveson was arrested that day, even though the evidence against her was purely circumstantial and seven compelling witnesses stated that at the time of Diana’s murder, “she was in a business meeting at the other end of town”, two of whom gave their statements a month before the ID parade. On the 1st of December 1988, at Ealing Magistrates Court, she denied murder, with her solicitor stating “she DID follow her former boyfriend and his girlfriend. But she NEVER threatened violence to either of them. It is a shameful behaviour which she bitterly regrets now… brought about by the break-up”. Committed for trial, her bail was rejected as detectives felt she was unstable, suicidal, and “there may be a very real fear for the safety of her ex-boyfriend at her hands”, and being held on remand at Holloway prison, her solicitor stated “for Jane Salveson to be accused of murder is a terrible mistake”. But on Thursday the 21st of April 1989, all that changed during a routine remand hearing. (End) With Jane bailed in February to a friend’s house on Shakespeare Road in Acton, Clare Reggiori, solicitor for the Crown Prosecution Service admitted “due to the complexity of the investigation, this case was far from clear cut… therefore, on the evidence available we cannot safely seek to convict Miss Salveson of murder”. Jane wasn’t in court, but by the end of the four-minute hearing, she had been acquitted. Her solicitor, Brian Raymond stated “there had been a gaping hole in the evidence” with “the Police becoming fixated by the idea that Miss Salveson was guilty… the real killer of Miss Maw is out there now. Miss Salveson was guilty of no more than being unlucky in love, and her life has been devastated”, adding “there was at least one person with a more potent motive for wishing ill towards Diana Maw”. Jane stated “I am immensely relieved that this ordeal is over and I can become a private person again. I never doubted that my innocence would be proven when all the facts were known”. But by this point, her life had been “irrevocably damaged for wrongful arrest” which no compensation could rectify. With no trial, no further arrests or other suspects, Jane was forced to quit her job, and friends stated “the trauma of the 10 month inquiry left her a recluse and needing psychiatric care… her reputation has been tarnished and she feels it may never recover”. Since 1989, she has not given any interviews. As for the police, whose investigation had serious flaws, rather than the lead detective taking the full responsibility for this abject failure, an unnamed spokesman said “no decision on whether to continue the investigation has taken place, but if new evidence came to light, Miss Salveson could be charged”. Yet the true victims were Diana whose brilliant life was cut short so tragically, her boyfriend Michael whose future with her was taken, and Diana’s grieving parents who stated “one hopes that justice has been done, but it won’t bring Diana back”, as above it all, “the tragedy is that our daughter is dead”. After almost four decades, the murder of Diana Maw remains unsolved… (Fake ending, music distorts). …only that isn’t where this story ends. Having been branded a ‘bunny boiler’ by the press, the Daily Mirror wrote “jilted lover Jane Salveson… denied being the prowler who has been haunting her ex-boyfriend”, and his new girlfriend, Joanna. On the 20th of July 1989, three months after the acquittal and on the one-year anniversary of Diana’s murder, an anonymous letter was sent to the press giving them sordid details about Michael’s life. Two weeks later, his home in Battersea was burgled, a window was smashed but nothing was stolen. Two week after that, damage occurred to his new girlfriend’s garden, and fearing that someone was out to do them harm, as they had begun to receive threatening phone calls at night, they moved out. In the first week of August 1989, Cowes week, Michael’s yacht called Sodium was burgled, and several personal items of his was stolen, including his camera, keys, cheque book, sunglasses, and his diary. And then, in June 1990, while Michael & Joanna were on their honeymoon, a suspected arson attack badly damaged their new three-storey house in Fulham, a fire which could have killed its occupants. Someone hated Michael, his new wife, his happy life, and they wanted them to be truly terrified. Jane Salveson was the primary suspect, with all three cases brought to trial. But again, on the charge of arson and burglary of his home, the CPS dropped the case owing to a lack of evidence. And as for the burglary of his yacht, although his stolen possessions were found in Jane’s flat, she said the diary, keys, sunglasses and chequebook came into her possession “when we exchanged property after our relationship ended”, that a mystery man had tried to frame her by selling her his camera, and again, that she couldn’t have committed the yacht’s burglary as several friends confirmed she was with them. Acquitted of all charges, Jane Salveson was released, and hasn’t been publicly heard of since. In court, her lawyer claimed “she’s felt victimised by the Police and their incessant involvement in every aspect of her life. This is a case that was unlikely to have been investigated with the vigour that it was and she feels bitter that she has borne the brunt of a very powerful and resourceful prosecution team”. And that is where the story truly ends. A sadistic killing which some say is unsolved and yet solved. So, who murdered Diana Maw; was it the jealous and possessive ex-girlfriend of her husband-to-be, or a mysterious unnamed stranger? The Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast has been researched using the original declassified police investigation files, court records, press reports and as many authentic sources as possible, which are freely available in the public domain, including eye-witness testimony, confessions, autopsy reports, first-hand accounts and independent investigation, where possible. But these documents are only as accurate as those recounting them and recording them, and are always incomplete or full of opinion rather than fact, therefore mistakes and misrepresentations can be made. As stated at the beginning of each episode (and as is clear by the way it is presented) Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast is a 'dramatisation' of the events and not a documentary, therefore a certain amount of dramatic licence, selective characterisation and story-telling (within logical reason and based on extensive research) has been taken to create a fuller picture. It is not a full and complete representation of the case, the people or the investigation, and therefore should not be taken as such. It is also often (for the sake of clarity, speed and the drama) presented from a single person's perspective, usually (but not exclusively) the victim's, and therefore it will contain a certain level of bias and opinion to get across this single perspective, which may not be the overall opinion of those involved or associated. Murder Mile is just one possible retelling of each case. Murder Mile does not set out to cause any harm or distress to those involved, and those who listen to the podcast or read the transcripts provided should be aware that by accessing anything created by Murder Mile (or any source related to any each) that they may discover some details about a person, an incident or the police investigation itself, that they were unaware of. 
Murder Mile UK True Crime is an in-depth, intensely research podcast using first hand accounts, court records, declassified police files and a wealth of reliable sources to bring you full and rich accounts of the lives, crimes and backgrounds of many of West London's unsolved murders:
As well as unearthing new angles on lesser known or infamous London-based murders; such as Tudor Simionov, Countess Teresa Łubieńska, Jane Andrews, Charlotte Flanagan, Joe Gynane, Peggy Richards, Peter Fasoli, Victor Castigador, Zakaria Bulhan, Emily Beilby Kaye, Daisy Edith Wallis, Glyndwr Michael, Tomasz Kocik, and John Sweeney to name a few, and a wealth of cases you won’t have heard before, and won’t hear anywhere else, as well as specialists pathologist Sir Bernard Spilsbury. PODCAST EPISODES:
Andre Mizelas, the celebrity hairstylist, Hyde Park, 1970
Bernard Michael Oliver, kidnapped by a pedophile gang?
Norman Rickard & Alan Vigar (The Twilight Sex Killings)
On Monday 19th of February 1962 at roughly 4pm, the body of Norman Edward Rickard was found in the basement flat at 264 Elgin Avenue in Maida Vale. He had been strangled, tied up and his body left in a wardrobe. Police believed it was gay sex gone wrong. But that same day, 23-year-old Alan Vigar was strangled, undressed, willingly been tied up and asphyxiated, what was believed to be part of this sex play. Only the press suspected this was the Twilight Sex Killer?
Jeanne Western, a prostitute mistakenly killed in a gangland hit
On Monday 12th of May 1975 at 2:40pm, a fire broke out on the first and second floors of 3 Peter Street in Soho, London, W1. Joseph Frendo, Alfred Paul Tabone & John Everett were tried for GBH, manslaughter and murder having deliberately set fire to the building with a petrol bomb.
Soho prostitute Jeanne Odette Juliette Western was mistakenly targeted as the witless gang had got the numbers on the doorbells wrong, and with both Jeanne and her maid, Pietrina Conzimu burning to death, they became the unwitting victims of a campaign of violence and terror between rival gang, one of whom was ‘The Syndicate’. Vice Girl Murders; Marina Monti & Racheal Applewhaite, 1987
Josef Balog "acquitted" of Margaret Cameron's murder,1969
On Tuesday 11th March 1969, a 52-year-old prostitute, Margaret Farlow Cameron, known as ‘Scotch Maggie’ went missing from her home at 3 Oxford Gardens near Notting Hill. Two days later, her semi-clad body was found inside a suitcase in an abandoned house at 140 Kensal Road. But who had killer her and why? Polish rag n bone man, Josef Balog was suspected, but acquitted of her murder. But what piece of evidence may have proven his guilt?
Emmy Werner, The Queen's Hotel, Bayswater, W2,
Gladys Hanrahan, murdered by Albert Butler, 1947, Regent's Park?
Freddie Mills celebrity boxer's murder or suicide, in Soho, 1967
Covering just 20 square miles of West London, Murder Mile gives into thrilling and heart-wrenching cases involving serial killers, assassinations, massacres, hitmen, torturers, drug dealers, cults, child killers, extortion, prostitution, gangland slayings, abortionists, poisoners, slavery, and personal tragedy.
Having garnered more than 3000+ five-star reviews, Murder Mile has been praised in the press as Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Crime & Investigation Channel's Top 20 True-Crime Podcasts, also seen on BBC Radio, Sky News, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week. Murder Mile has been the primary research on true crime podcasts Casefile, Morbid, My Favorite Murder, and Michael was also a consultant on highly acclaimed podcast series Bad Woman: The Blackout Ripper hosted by historian Hallie Rubenhold, author of 'The Five'. Murder Mile UK True Crime has had 15 million+ downloads and continues to grow year on year, as it maintains (and improves on) its quality in research, storytelling and sound design. It continually strives to be original, different and always bring the audience a podcast series they can’t hear anywhere else. Murder Mile is unique and its fans appreciate that. 
Murder Mile UK True Crime podcast is an in-depth and intensely research podcast using first hand accounts, court records, declassified police files and a wealth of reliable sources to bring you full and rich accounts of the lives, crimes and backgrounds such spree and serial killers as:
As well an unearthing new angles and evidence on infamous British murder cases; such as Gunther Podola, Emmy Werner, David Frooms, The Shoe Box Killer, Alice Gross, Andrezej Kunowski, Katerina Koneva, Emily Beilby Kaye, The Denmark Place Fire, The Bombing of the Admiral Duncan, Alfredo Zomparelli, Karl Gustav Hulton, and previously unsolved cases like 'The Night Porter', Gladys Hanrahan, ‘Fat Fred’, The Old Lady Killer, the Bayswater arsonist, the gay panic, and a wealth of cases you won’t have heard before, and won’t hear anywhere else, as well as specialists pathologist Sir Bernard Spilsbury. PODCAST EPISODES:
Gordon Cummings aka 'The Blackout Ripper'.
And what about the earlier murders he was suspected of Mabel Church and Edit Humphries.
John George Haigh 'The Acid Bath Murderer'
This a six part series researched using the declassified police investigation files and the court records, and is the most in-depth podcast series you will hear on this case.
Patrick MacKay ‘the Devil’s Disciple'
Peter Bryan the 'London Cannibal'
This series is primarily based off the Inquest papers into the care and treatment of Peter Bryan (September 2009) and contains details never released before.
John Reginald Christie of '10 Rillington Place'
Anthony Hardy 'The Camden Ripper'
This is a FOUR part series.
Dennis Nilsen 'The Muswell HIll Killer'
Alfred Whiteway 'The Thames Towpath Murderer'
Daniel Gonzales 'The Freddy Krueger killer'
The Soho Strangler (aka the second Jack the Ripper)
An unidentified London Serial Killer who murdered four women from 1935 to 1937; Josephine Martin (alias 'French Fifi'), Jeanne-Marie Cotton, Constance Hind (alias 'Dutch Leah'), and Lottie Asterley (alias 'French Marie') in similar ways. Dubbed 'The Soho Strangler' because his victims were strangled with stockings, an electrical flex, a scarf, or a copper wire, each murder had similarities in method, area and motive - not unlike Jack the Ripper, 48 years earlier and three miles east - and although one man was suspected (Norman Stephenson) it remains unsolved.
This is a ten part series researched using the declassified police investigation files and the court records, and this is the only full and complete telling of this case.
Covering just 20 square miles of West London, Murder Mile gives into thrilling and heart-wrenching cases involving serial killers, assassinations, massacres, hitmen, torturers, drug dealers, cults, child killers, extortion, prostitution, gangland slayings, abortionists, poisoners, slavery, and personal tragedy.
Having garnered more than 3000+ five-star reviews, Murder Mile has been praised in the press as Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Crime & Investigation Channel's Top 20 True-Crime Podcasts, also seen on BBC Radio, Sky News, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week. Murder Mile has been the primary research on true crime podcasts Casefile, Morbid, My Favorite Murder, and Michael was also a consultant on highly acclaimed podcast series Bad Woman: The Blackout Ripper hosted by historian Hallie Rubenhold, author of 'The Five'. Murder Mile UK True Crime has had 15 million+ downloads and continues to grow year on year, as it maintains (and improves on) its quality in research, storytelling and sound design. It continually strives to be original, different and always bring the audience a podcast series they can’t hear anywhere else. Murder Mile is unique and its fans appreciate that.
Five time nominated BEST BRITISH TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at the True Crime Awards, Independent Podcast Award and The British Podcast Awards, and voted 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, Crime & Investigation Top 20 True-Crime Podcasts, also seen on BBC Radio, Sky News, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week.
EPISODE THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY: On Monday 9th of November 1970 at 8:42am, the TR5 sports car of celebrity hairstylist Andre Mizelas pulled up on South Carriage Drive in Hyde Park, London. It was daylight, rush hour and he was surrounded by cars, cyclists and pedestrians. 40 minutes his body was found in the dr4iver’s seat with two bullets in his head. No-one saw of heard his murder. But who killed him and why?
SOURCES: a selection sourced from various archives:
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: Who gunned down a celebrity hairdresser in a London park, and why? Find out on Murder Mile. Today, I’m standing on South Carriage Drive in Hyde Park, W2; a short walk south of the real reason for the killing of Constable Jack William Avery, a light dawdle west of the suicide pact of Gladys Wilson and her love-crazed Polish lover, the same road as the bloody Hyde Park bombing, and one street north of the deranged diplomat and his deadly obsession with feet - coming soon to Murder Mile. South Carriage Drive is a quiet little cut-through running along the south side of Hyde Park; as used by taxi-drivers when they can’t be bothered to fleece the tourists by getting snared-up in traffic, cyclists whose giant arses look like they’ve swallowed their saddles whole, and a bastard of joggers (yes, that’s the collective noun) who do more stretching than running, more huffing than sprinting, more swigging of sports drinks than actual sweating, and whose bulge or crevice is as sweaty as a week-old sandwich left in the sun while wrapped in clingfilm, as they wheeze and stumble as a motivational app’ reassures them: “keep it up, you are great, no-one thinks you are a twat, Lycra looks great on a 21 stone hippo”. And although many are a heart attack waiting to happen, they aren’t the only deaths on this stretch. On Monday the 9th of November 1970 at 8:40am, 48-year-old celebrity hairdresser Andre Mizelas was driving his sports car to his Old Bond Street salon, when - as he often did - he took a detour down South Carriage Drive to avoid the rush hour traffic at Hyde Park Corner. Within seconds, he was dead. But who would want to brutally murder a Mayfair hairstylist and why? Was it a jealous rival, a business partner with a grudge, a case of mistaken identity, or a gangland hit over secret dodgy dealings? My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 330: The Slain Stylist. Andre’s life truly was a ‘rags to riches’ story. Born in Mile End Old Town on the 17th of April 1922, Andre was the eldest of two sons to Samuel & Sarah Mizelas, Jewish parents of Greek origin. As a rough, noisy and poverty strewn part of the East End of London, Andre was raised in a turbulent time seeing a rise in anti-Semitism and violent reprisals from Oswald Mosely’s ‘black shirt’ fascists as anti-immigrant sentiment swept across the city. For many boys, the only way to survive in such a cess pit of hate was with quick wits, fast fists and a switchblade razor, but Andre wasn’t big or tough. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t disguise his olive skin from the racists, and even as he adopted ‘Harry’ as his nickname, his surname of Mizelas summed him up perfectly, as it originated from the Yiddish word ‘meisel’ which means ‘small’ but also ‘little mouse’. Andre was a little mouse in a big house full of hungry cats, but what he lacked in size he gained in guts. On the 29th of March 1930, during the depth of the Great Depression, Andre’s baby brother ‘Bernie’ was born, and being eight years his junior, although always his little brother, the two were inseparable. For years, the family had lived at 56 Clark Street in Stepney, a working-class district surrounded by the deafening thrum of factories and the choking belch of caustic smoke, as although dark and dirty, they knew that the only way to climb out of the poverty trap was if you had a skill. Sarah his mother was a seamstress, Samuel his father was a tailor’s machinist, and keen to better themselves, in their back room was a worktable and a sewing machine where at night they worked, and Andre learned his trade. Sat behind a spinning spool of thread and bobbing needle, the small oval face of Andre sat for hours, his hair as neat as a pin, his suit immaculate, as he learned the value of professionalism and standards. In 1936, he left school, with his father keen that he become a tailor like him and his father before him, but hating the constant noise, he took the bold decision and told his dad “I want to be a hairdresser”. Many father’s of that era would have poured scorn on such a feminine profession, but seeing his son’s style, passion, and being several ranks higher than a common barber, Samuel not only supported his son, but funded his apprenticeship to learn his craft at ‘Le Jean’, a fancy stylists in London’s West End. His journey to fame and success had only just begun, yet every day, he would fight to make it right. In 1948, during the post-war boom, while working at the exclusive ‘Riche’ salon in Mayfair, Andre met a fellow stylist who worked at Claridge’s hotel. Bernard Greenford was a small, dark and dapper man, born in Essex and - like Andre - having spent his childhood in London, many knew him only as ‘Charlie’. They were so alike, it made sense to work together, only Bernard admitted “I didn’t have a passion. I was pushed into it… as a youth, I wanted to go to the South Sea Islands like Fiji, and signed up as a ship’s hairdresser”. He saw the world, served in the Nazy, and - like Andre - being medically discharged, he was earning an honest crust as a high-end stylist when the two friends decided to pool their savings and opened their first ladies hair salon at 20 Grafton Street in Mayfair, and ‘Andre Bernard’ was born. It worked perfectly, as Andre was the creative force, Bernard was the businessman, and with many a wealthy woman travelling across the country to have her hair teased by this ‘fashion wunderkind’, in 1953, Andre’s younger brother, Bernie – a man he whole heartedly trusted - began managing their expanding fleet of salons, as they opened in Liverpool, Wigan, Southport, Norwich, Chester and Bristol. In 1965, being a celebrity in his own right, Andre legally changed his middle name to Harry, and with his reputation growing far and wide, by 1967 and the height of the Swinging Sixties, business was so good that Andre Bernard went public, and as a limited company, they sold shares in their business. By 1970, with more than 20 salons, two more about to open and 400 staff, Andre the ‘little mouse’ had become a ‘big cheese’ in the fashion industry, with actresses like Julie Christie, many top models, and seven queens as his regular clients, attending his flagship salon at 10a Old Bond Street in Mayfair. And better still, his personal life was stable and good. Back in 1946, Andre had met and fallen in love with Betty Warburton, who like many women had been made a war-widow in her early 30s. They never married, as she never felt it necessary (and perhaps, was left a little traumatised as her last husband was tragically killed), so – never having children – the two (who everyone knew as Mr & Mrs Mizelas) moved into a stylish Regency style home at 29 St Mary Abbots Terrace in fashionable Kensington, where the would live happily together for the next 25 years. Fame made them regular guests at fancy soirees, Andre drove a brand-new Triumph TR5 sports car in red, they rented out their second home at 8 Lonsdale Square in Islington having converted it into flats, and holidayed several times a year at their tranquil little Quintas at Fazenda da Caravela in the Algarve. Business was booming and profits were up, so much so that in September 1970, it made sense for the infamous stylist but also Andre’s friend for 20 years, Vidal Sassoon, to be in high level talks to merge his more successful salon empire with Andre Bernard. Within a decade, Vidal Sassoon would be worth over $100 million annually ($300 million today), making Andre’s dream of going global, a reality. Before the year had ended, Andre would be gunned down in what looked like a professional ‘hit’… …but who would want a hairdresser with no known criminal connections, dead? It made no sense. It was either someone who truly hated him, had mistaken him for someone else, or would gain from his death? His brother, Bernie said “he knew lots of people, but did not have many close friends”, as being so focussed on success, he could be blunt. Yet many of his rich clients loved him so much, they made him executor of their estates, as Doris Baker did in 1967 even though her husband was still alive. Mistaken identity was unlikely, as with his face often in the newspapers being seen at a party draped over a famous actress, he was a name, he was known, and drove a car which even today turned heads. As a boss, he’d become a success by being tough, determined, and as everyone knew ”a man with an iron will in business affairs. If in his estimation, employees and executives had let him down, they were out”, and although hard, isn’t that what you expect from a successful person? Being cold and ruthless. In October 1957, 17-year-old Sheila Kaye refused to cut her shoulder-length dark-hair and was sacked as an apprentice at one of Andre’s salons. He said she looked like “the woman in a ‘keep death off the road’ poster’… it looked dirty, unkempt and out of shape”. She sued him for wrongful dismissal, and was awarded damages of £1 and 4s (about 4 days pay). She wasn’t the first employee whose feathers he ruffled, but would a disgruntled stylist hire a potential ‘hitman’ to whack out their demanding boss? One unnamed associate said “he was smooth, well dressed and too sure of himself. I didn’t like him”, as even his own brother had to admit “he was extremely confident of himself”, he lacked humility and “had a violent and sudden temper”. In May 1968, the board of Andre Bernard Ltd came to blows when Bernard Greenford sued Andre and their co-director Dame Patricia Hornsby-Smith over a libel claim that Andre had said he was “unfit to manage”. In 1969, the matter was settled in court, Bernard left the company, but retained 15% of the business. Not bad for a man who never wanted to be a stylist. There was no obvious animosity between Bernard and Andre, as after 20 years they had drifted apart. But if Bernard had hated Andre, wouldn’t his revenge have been more brutal? As Andre died in a fast efficient way, but if this was an emotionally charged killing, wouldn’t he have beaten him to death? Bernard Greenford was married to Linda, Sybil Burton’s half-sister who was actor Richard Burton’s first wife. In The Richard Burton Diaries, he states that in May 1969, “Bernard was being squeezed out by his snake-in-the-grass partner Andre… a sneaky jumped-up-jack of a fellow”, and Burton had loaned the company ‘substantial amounts’ when times were tight during their rapid expansion. But there was also talk that Bernard had quietly walked away from the business three years before, hence the libel. On Friday the 6th of November 1970, having come back from a holiday in the Algarve with Betty, Bernie and his brother’s wife, word came through that – after four months of talks - the hotly anticipated merger with Vidal Sassoon had collapsed, because of a “difference of opinion” between the two men. Described by an unnamed ex-associate as “a very tough, but unhappy man”, Bernie later recalled, that weekend, that Andre had said “I think that some time next year, I’ll pass the business over to you… perhaps then they’ll leave me alone”. Bernie was so shocked at the weariness in brother’s demeanour that he never asked who ‘they’ were, and with Andre clearly worried about something, or someone… …the next time they saw each other, that fact had gone with him to his grave. Monday the 9th of November 1970 was an ordinary day. Being the cusp of winter, the morning was glum and drizzly. With the air still stinking of gun powder after the flash-bang festivities of Guy Fawkes night, many papers bemoaned the dangers of fireworks and bon fires, and the chatter on the street was of the loss from circulation of the ten-shilling note, the debut of comedy series The Goodies that night, the troubles in Northern Ireland, floods in Pakistan, and rumblings in Ted Heath’s government. At 8am, as per usual, being a man of impeccable routine and timekeeping, Andre sat down to breakfast with his common-law wife Betty, enjoying orange juice, buttered toast, coffee, and a bowl of cereal. He was his normal self and in an okay mood as he kissed her goodbye, and at just before 8:30am, again as per usual, in his identifiable red Triumph TR5, he left his home at 29 St Mary Abbots Terrace. As a journey he had undertaken daily for more than two decades, this 3.6 mile trip to 10a Old Bond Street in Mayfair – his flagship salon surrounded by designers like Cartier, Hermès, Louis Vuitton and Gucci – with a travel time of roughly 33 minutes during a late rush-hour, he would arrive at 9am precisely. That morning, he took his usual route; left onto High Street Kensington, passed Holland Park, skirting passed Kensington Palace (the then-home of Princess Margaret), onto Kensington Road on the south side of Hyde Park, passed many foreign embassies, the Albert Memorial and the Royal Albert Hall, and at the junction of Exhibition Road, he turned left into Alexandra Gate as he entered Hyde Park. The time was just after 8:40am, and to avoid the snarl-up of traffic at Hyde Park Corner, after 1.4 miles and roughly 15 minutes, he turned right onto South Carriage Drive, travelling east towards Park Lane. Andre Mizelas, the celebrity hair-stylist was seconds from being murdered… but why, and who by? At about 8:42am, Andre’s TR5 trundled down South Carriage Drive at a slow but steady pace; it was day-time, during rush-hour, he was surrounded by cars, bicycles and strolling commuters in the heart of a major metropolitan city, and proceeding on a long straight road lined with trees and bushes on both sides, as he passed the bowling green to his left, it was then that his killer made his appearance. A cyclist behind the TR5 recalled “a man stepped out from the bushes to flag down the car. He stopped so suddenly that I had to break to avoid crashing into it”, and with the car‘s nearside wheels two feet from the kerb, it was parked so badly, cars had to steer to avoid it. Yet the killing, nobody saw or heard. Craning down as the TR5 was barely 4 feet high, with a 0.22 or 0.25 calibre pocket pistol – maybe a Beretta 950, a Raven P25, or a Colt Junior – the killer had leaned in and fired from a distance of four inches from inside the open passenger’s door, shooting Andre twice in the left forehead and temple. Police initially thought that the gun had a silencer, as none of the cars or pedestrians who were passing heard a shot, but ballistic tests proved that the car’s interior had muffled the bangs, maybe mistaken for a car back-firing, there was barely a flash, and the traffic sounds had eliminated any raised voices. Anyone passing may have thought this was merely two men engaged in a conversation, and not that a killing was taking place, which explains why no-one came to Andre’s aid, or saw the killer flee. For 40 minutes, the TR5 sat ‘badly parked’ on South Carriage Drive with its engine on and doors shut. Nobody stopped to see if the driver was okay, as with Andre slumped over the passenger’s seat, many motorists and passersby (who were engaged in their own affairs) may have assumed that the car was abandoned and empty. But it was an assumption which let killer to walk flee and evidence to vanish. (Sounds: cars passing, the passage of time, etc). At 9:25am, a cyclist (often mistaken for the one who swerved to avoid the car) cycled passed the TR5. Caroline Scarlett, an assistant librarian from West Kensington who was heading to Portman Square, recalled thinking it looked strange: “I rode on for five yards… I looked through the windscreen... I saw a man slumped in the driving seat. My first impression was that he had fallen asleep, so I cycled on”. With two entrance wounds to his left temple and forehead, no exit wounds to the right, and slumped on the passenger’s seat, Caroline didn’t see the blood on his grey hair and sheepskin coat, “so I thought he may be ill. I went back and looked. I can never forget the colour of his face, it looked absolute blue”. But even then, she wasn’t thinking this was a murder, or even that he was dead. Alerting two groundskeepers from the bowling green just 100 feet away, the first said “a girl came and told us that a car had stopped… a man looked ill and needed assistance”. He said “I knew at once he was dead. I’d seen enough bodies during the war”, but as he opened the car door to check, seeing the open bloody wounds to his head, even he didn’t think this was a murder, but a car accident. But how? At 9:53am, called to a possible ‘road accident’, PC Chris Drakes didn’t have a crime scene to secure, so he asked the groundskeepers to move the car as it was blocking traffic, and thereby inadvertently destroyed any fingerprints. He escorted Andre, who was barely alive, in an ambulance to St George’s hospital on the east side of Hyde Park, but at 10am, he was declared dead… and with CID informed about the bullet wounds to his skull, it was established as a murder, but the evidence was lost forever. The investigation was headed up by Detective Chief Superintendent Ivor Reynolds. As expected, the crime scene was a mess; as the car was moved, fingerprints erased and bloodstains smeared, any muddy footprints in the bushes had been trampled by gorping pedestrians as the street wasn’t sealed off for another hour, the car’s position had to be guessed from memory, and unaware that they’d witnessed a murder, many witnesses (some of whom were tourists) had vanished for good. Nobody heard the shots, nobody saw the killing, and nobody saw Andre’s killer. The area was searched with metal detectors and sniffer dogs, but nothing was found. 1000s of people were questioned at road blocks in Hyde Park with Andre’s TR5 in position with a sign on it which read ‘you must have seen this car?’, but very few recalled it. And with the Serpentine searched by divers, no gun matching the killer’s was found, so all forensics had was two crushed bullets from Andre’s skull, but no shell casings. It wasn’t a suicide, and as a murder, it made very little sense. If this was a car-jacking, why hadn’t they stolen his sports car? If this was a robbery, why hadn’t they taken his wallet, his gold watch, his rings, or his briefcase? If this was a grudge attack, why did the autopsy find “no marks of violence or a struggle”? If this was a pre-planned murder, why had they killed him in broad daylight, during rush-hour, and on a busy road, where (police estimated that) at least fifty cars pass every minute, let alone pedestrians and cyclists? And why kill him here, rather than behind the door of his home, on his street (which was an unlit isolated terrace), or in his own office? Appealing for witnesses, a 9 minute reconstruction was transmitted on LWT’s crime show ‘Police 5’, a precursor of BBC’s Crimewatch, as hosted by Shaw Taylor. And on the 23rd of November, two weeks after the killing, the first cyclist (often confused with Caroline Scarlett who found the body), who had swerved to avoid hitting Andre’s car, was stopped at the road block and volunteered her information. She didn’t realise it, as she didn’t know what she had witnessed, but she had seen the killer’s face. She remembered it vividly, as she almost collided with the rear of the TR5, and said that a man stepped from behind the bushes by the bowling green, and flagged down Andre’s car. He was in his 30s, 5 foot 9 inches tall, he had a thin face, a square jaw, thin lips, dark hair, a sallow complexion, and was of a Latin American or Mediterranean appearance, wearing a dark jacket, blue trousers, a polo-necked sweater, a peaked cap, and (even though the day was typically dark and gloomy) he wore sunglasses. He didn’t look like anyone that Andre’s friends, family, staff or business partners had seen… …but one thing was certain, Andre knew him. His brother, Bernie stated “Andre would never stop his car for a stranger, he had a fear of hitch-hikers”, but he would use those moments travelling to work to pick-up someone he knew to discuss business. So was this a meeting which ended in his death? No. Police confirmed that there was nothing out-of-the-ordinary about Andre’s routine that day, but the cyclist recalled seeing that very identifiable stranger in the same spot on South Carriage Drive, just a few days before, but that week, Andre had taken a different route by heading to Hyde Park Corner. As Andre had told his brother two days before his murder, “perhaps then they’ll leave me alone”. But who were ‘they’? A clue came in a meeting which never took place. Three days before his death, Andre had called Colin Findlay, the head of a private detective agency in Upper Norwood, South London. Colin said, “(Andre) told me he wanted strict surveillance put on two people”, he was calm and relaxed, he didn’t appear frightened or upset, “I said it wasn’t wise to discuss the matter on the telephone and said we should arrange to meet and talk it over fully. In the end, he agreed to telephone me”, on the day he was murdered, “so that we could meet some time later in the day… obviously, I now realise that it is a good possibility that his death is strongly connected with the two people he wanted me to observe”. Andre never said their names, or alluded to their occupations. But who were they, as it’s clear they must have benefitted from his killing? Everyone who had worked for him was questioned, and ruled out. Bernie, his brother was distraught and proven to be in Chester when he was shot. His co-director, Dame Patricia Hornsby-Smith had an solid alibi and wasn’t considered a viable suspect. And although he had sued Andre, his former partner Bernard Greenford’s 15% of the business would have been worth nothing with Andre dead, if it hadn’t been expertly managed by Bernie, his grieving brother, who steering Andre’s legacy into greater profit. (Voice) - “perhaps then they’ll leave me alone”. With Andre unmarried and childless, Betty his common-law wife inherited his personal estate of over £153,000, as decreed in a will dated four years before, with the remainder of his property left to his brother and his parents. She stated “after his death, I lost a life-long friend and had a breakdown”. (Voice) - “perhaps then they’ll leave me alone”. As for Vidal Sassoon, his friend of over 20-years, the collapse of the merger and Andre’s death neither benefitted nor hindered his business, and he spoke openly about his grief at losing a man he respected. (Voice) - “perhaps then they’ll leave me alone”. (End) Being short on facts and desperate to print any old twaddle, the tabloid press came up with a raft of silly theories which DCS Reynolds said “held no weight”, all of which only muddied the investigation. One was that he owed gangland boss Alfie Gerard £100,000 and was bumped off by Nicky his son, the hitman who would murder Alfredo Zomparelli in 1974, only he looks nothing like the photofit. Another was that, although he’d been with Betty for 25 years, Andre had an affair with a gangster’s wife and the killing was payback. But then why would Andre pull over his car for a mistresses’ jealous lover? The press also tried to link his killing to the unconnected murder of market research executive, James Cameron who was shot dead in his Islington home two weeks before. Four years later, they came up with a bullshit theory that “Mr Mizelas… was shot dead by a hired killer from abroad… the killer arrived in London… went to a safe deposit box in a West End hotel where a gun and ‘fee’ was waiting”, even though this again contradicts the fact that Andre would never stop his car for a stranger, and by driving a high-end sports car, he could easily have sped away down this straight road if he felt threatened. And they even tried to link it to a man who was found dead with a single head wound, having been shot with a 9mm bullet using a mysterious ‘walking stick gun’, in the same park, a few hundred yards away and almost exactly one year after Andre’s murder, but this was later ruled as ‘a tragic accident’. On the 24th of March 1971 at Westminster Coroner’s Court, DCS Ivor Reynolds who headed up the investigation stated that with no arrests made and - more importantly - no motive, “at this point of time we have no valid suspect”. And with that, there was no need for the jury to retire to consider their verdict, as coroner Dr Gavin Thurston ruled that Andre was “murdered by persons unknown”. Andre was buried on 3rd of February 1971 at Bushey Jewish Cemetery, and with it still a mystery who Andre had asked the private detective to keep surveillance on, and why, the case remains unsolved. The Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast has been researched using the original declassified police investigation files, court records, press reports and as many authentic sources as possible, which are freely available in the public domain, including eye-witness testimony, confessions, autopsy reports, first-hand accounts and independent investigation, where possible. But these documents are only as accurate as those recounting them and recording them, and are always incomplete or full of opinion rather than fact, therefore mistakes and misrepresentations can be made. As stated at the beginning of each episode (and as is clear by the way it is presented) Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast is a 'dramatisation' of the events and not a documentary, therefore a certain amount of dramatic licence, selective characterisation and story-telling (within logical reason and based on extensive research) has been taken to create a fuller picture. It is not a full and complete representation of the case, the people or the investigation, and therefore should not be taken as such. It is also often (for the sake of clarity, speed and the drama) presented from a single person's perspective, usually (but not exclusively) the victim's, and therefore it will contain a certain level of bias and opinion to get across this single perspective, which may not be the overall opinion of those involved or associated. Murder Mile is just one possible retelling of each case. Murder Mile does not set out to cause any harm or distress to those involved, and those who listen to the podcast or read the transcripts provided should be aware that by accessing anything created by Murder Mile (or any source related to any each) that they may discover some details about a person, an incident or the police investigation itself, that they were unaware of.
Five time nominated BEST BRITISH TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at the True Crime Awards, Independent Podcast Award and The British Podcast Awards, and voted 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, Crime & Investigation Top 20 True-Crime Podcasts, also seen on BBC Radio, Sky News, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week.
22 Coulter Road in Shepherd's Bush @Googlemaps2026 July2025
EP331: THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS: On Friday 7th of February 2025, single mother of four children, Victoria Adams invited homeless ex-con Apapale Adoum arrived to stay at her home at 2 Coulter Road in Shepherd’s Bush. The next day, he brutally murdered her. But what were both of their motives?
SOURCES: a selection sourced from various archives:
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UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: Why did a mother-of-four invite a violent ex-con to live in her home? Find out on Murder Mile. Today, I’m standing on Coulter Road in Shepherd’s Bush, W6; three streets east of where Reg Christie had his dog (Judy) put to death, two streets north of the sadistic rape and murder of 12-year-old Katerina Koneva, three streets south of the recent suitcase murders by a fame-obsessed ex-porn star, and four streets west of the maniac who terrorised an empty grave - coming soon to Murder Mile. Situated off Goldhawk Road in what is affectionately called Brackenbury Village (even though it’s not a village), Coulter Road consists of a very ordinary series of two storey terraces from the early Victorian era. Being flat-fronted except for a bow window on the ground floor, this gives everyone the chance to gorp inside to see what their neighbour is watching on telly and get a sense of who they truly are. In short, if it’s reality TV guff, they’re a bit thick, as they think all ‘celebrities’ must have Turkey teeth, a tan, fake tits and no brain; if it’s art, they’re a pretentious ponce in red trousers; if it’s news, they’re a bigot, a bore or a blatant racist depending on what channel they’re watching; and sport denotes a fat wheezing loser whose sole purpose in life is to drone on about what the players did wrong, having seen the offending clip fifty-two times from sixty-eight angles in slow-mo. Oh, isn’t hindsight great? But not everything we need to know about our neighbours can be gleaned within a single look. On Thursday 6th of February 2025, Victoria Adams, a single mother-of-four invited a homeless man to escape the bitter cold. Said to be a ‘good Samaritan’, she opened her heart to this fellow human who had recently been released from prison, and by the Friday, she had opened her doors to him. But by the Saturday, he had taken advantage of her warmth and generosity, and had brutally murdered her. But why did he sabotage this valuable act of kindness, and why did she invite him to stay? My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 331: The Kindness of Strangers. Life is difficult, it’s a struggle, and although many of us refuse to admit it, we need others to survive and with it being difficult to ask for help, we often only do so when our lives reach its lowest ebb. The ‘Good Samaritan’ was 37-year-old Victoria Adams, known to her friends and loved ones as ‘Vicky’. Little was reported about her upbringing, as with the trauma of her tragic death still fresh in their memories of those who grieved her, their grief rightly revolved about what they miss about her most. Her aunt Cathy tearfully told the press "Vicky tried to repay the kindness she’d been shown by others”, as a good deed can only be repaid if the recipient pays it forward to someone equally as in need, “but she paid for this with her life. She was a woman in her prime with her whole life in front of her”. It was a life of strife and struggle, but having been aided by others, this was possibly her chance to pay it back. Vicky was described as “very trusting, generous, caring and fun-loving”, a woman who wanted not the finer things in life, but what any person deserves; to be happy, to be loved, to be safe, and although in the reporting of her death, a husband or partner was never mentioned in the life of mother-of-four young children, those details may have been kept out of the press, and for good reason. Nobody wants the tabloids trawling thought the difficulties she had endured, or worse still, its readers making a slew of uneducated accusations about her circumstances, based on her name, her photo, or even less. It's little more than victim-blaming or victim-shaming, as if her actions were the reason for her death. What’s undeniable is that Vicky was vulnerable, someone who needed support, and yet instead, for her own reasons, she became a saviour to someone who she felt was worse off than her. Her younger sister, Sophie said “I was in shock… she was murdered in her own home by a man she barely knew, a man she was only trying to help. The hardest part is knowing she left behind four beautiful children. It breaks my heart to knew they will grow up without her. She didn’t deserve this, no-one does”… …and yet, her life would be taken by “one man’s selfish actions”. For just a short period of time, Vicky had lived in the upstairs flat of 22 Coulter Road in Shepherd’s Bush, a pleasant residential street in a decent neighbourhood where generations of families had lived since the 1860s. The flat was small and self-contained, perfect for a lone woman, where she may have hoped to rebuilt her life, as (given her circumstances) it was suggested that her children didn’t live with her. …but someone else soon would. Thursday 6th of February 2025 was a typical late-winter’s day; cold, drizzly and barely above freezing. Only Vicky truly knew why she went there, but that day, she headed to one of the several homeless charities in the area (maybe St Mungo’s, St Paul’s, Shelter, Crisis or Glass Door), where some of the most desperate queued up for life’s basics; like a warm meal, fresh water, clean socks and a safe place to sleep, being not just drunks and druggies, immigrants and the insane, but battered wives fleeing abuse, ex-soldiers forgotten by the state, and (all too often) prisoners who have served their sentence. The saviour and the homeless man were strangers. It was said that there they “met for the first time”, and the next day, having given him her address, holding a suitcase of his possessions, he came to stay. It may seen odd, even dangerous, that a vulnerable lone woman would invite a stranger, especially a man, who is also an ex-con whose history (including any possible crimes, drug habits and mental health issues) she was unaware of, to come and live in a small isolated flat behind a locked door, but she did. It’s something that happens to us all, a sense of charity and a need to help others; for some, it’ll mean a small monthly donation to built a well in a far-away village they’ll never visit, to others, they’ll give their time and energy to a cause which tugs at their heart strings - Vicky would help a homeless man. And although many lives have been changed by such positive altruism, it can come with many dangers. In 2016, nine years prior, 50-year-old Tracey Wilkinson of Stourbridge, a married woman with a good life, a nice house, a happy life and a 13-year-old son called Pierce, took pity when she saw 24-year-old Aaron Barley outside a supermarket huddled in a cardboard box. Knowing she could change his life, she drove him home, fed him, gave him a safe place to stay, and her husband, Peter, found him a job. It was a fresh start for a young drug-addict for whom life had run out of second chances, but as the judge later summed up “you abused (their) extraordinary kindness and generosity… you destroyed this family”. Having crept back in, and lain in wait, he launched a “violent, sustained assault involving severe force”, which Peter barely survived, but with Pierce stabbed 8 times and Tracey 17 times, both mother and son died in bloody agony. Aaron Barley was sentenced to life with a minimum of 30 years. Not all acts of kindness end in tragedy, but this did, and Vicky’s story would. But why did this lone and vulnerable female invite a dangerous male stranger into her home? Was it charity and compassion… …or an ulterior motive? Every story has a hero and a villain, regardless of whether it’s a film, a soap opera or a news story. The murder of Victoria Adams was no different, as the second it hit the headlines, it became politicised, a tool to beat those who are different, as if we (and our own kind) are entirely blameless of any crimes. In the early stages of the investigation, very little could be reported, so the press all rehashed the same basic facts and used similar headlines along the lines of ‘homeless man beat good mother to death’. Rightly, they highlighted her positives, being a kind and loving mother-of-four, but some also tweaked details to suit this agenda of showing how different they were by (in some cases) calling him a ‘tramp’, and her street as 'Millionaire's Row', when it wasn’t, as the average house price in London is £1 million. Under the headline were two photos; Vicky, whose kind face was that of an ordinary, tax-paying, law-abiding woman who – instantly – every reader knew they could relate to; and next to hers, her killer. His photo, even before the facts were known (and many of which were never reported) didn’t stop a torrent of uneducated bile from spewing forth from the bored knee-jerk reactionaries on social media who claim to be patriots, or foreign-funded news organisations with their own ‘dog-whistle’ agendas. All we could tell from his grumpy, scowling face was that he was a male in his late 30s and black, and even though almost every article regardless of it’s political leaning was mostly accurate, that didn’t stop the morons making their opinions known in the comments section, having not read a single word. On a popular news website, when he was named as Apapale Adoum, the comments read “not a very British name. No surprise… I could’ve guaranteed you that he wasn’t gonna be called Jonh!”, which was made all the more ironic having spelled ‘John’ wrong, with one even blaming Vicky for her killing, stating “what kind of a name is that, lady should have known better!”. And because he was black, some wrote “tell us again why diversity is our strength” and “more enrichment in our community?”. In the first week of 2025, the migrant boats crossing the English channel from France had become a hot potato, as used (and abused) by every political party. One year before, figures state that 36,000 people mostly from Afghanistan, Syria and Vietnam made the perilous journey in flimsy boats. In 2025, that increased by 16%, with roughly 50 on day one, 100 on day two and increasing to 250 on day three. It didn’t matter that Vicky’s killer wasn’t an immigrant, an asylum seeker or had never lived overseas, as having seen his photo, all that mattered was that he wasn’t white, and that’s all they had to know. One commenter wrote “another ‘guest’ of our government?” followed by angry emojis, another wrote “no immigration, no crime” as if there’s never been a white person in prison, one wrote “deport every last one of them” which would be easy as he born just a bus ride away from London, and – rattling the chains of another political hot potato, the government’s scheme to reduce the asylum backlog of refugees facing homelessness, by ordinary people offering up their spare rooms, especially to families of those from war-torn Ukraine – one commenter wrote “I ain’t letting no murderers in my bedroom”. Admittedly, some gave good advice; “we look after homeless people over winter but we are told never to invite them into our homes”, some turned it into a joke “strange way to go about looking for a step dad”, some pointed out “though not all homeless are thieves, drug addicts, psychopaths or sociopaths. Some are! The same as those who are religious, middle class and wealthy”. But it didn’t take long for the basic facts to be bastardised, with some sources claiming he was “a migrant from Chad, in Africa”. And as it always does, with every falsehood now a fact in the eyes of those who choose to believe it, with the so-called immigrant status of Vicky’s killer weaponised by those with an axe to grind, and with the truth about Apapale Adoum not being reported, it’s hard to blame the ignorant for their lies. So, who was he? On 12th of December 1986, five years after the Birmingham race riots, Wynton Apapale Adoum was born in Eastbourne, a seaside town on the English south coast – meaning he was British born and bred. As the eldest of two sons to a single-parent mother whose maiden name was Buffard (a name which has Middle English origins), he was educated at Wey Valley School in Weymouth, a very British seaside town in the picturesque county of Dorset, known for its stunning Jurassic coastline. Little is known of his early life being raised on a 1970s council estate called Littlemoor, and although it may seem idyllic and far from the crime of the big city, being a black youth in white village came with its own problems. In fact, the only time the family was mentioned in the local paper was when his brother went missing for several days, aged 12, but was later found safe and well, having ran away from home. But it wouldn’t be the last time that Apapale Adoum would make the headlines. With no known skills or job, on the 19th of July 2004, aged 18, his descent into drugs and violence was reported in the Dorset Echo: stating “Wynton Apapale Adoum… has denied threatening to kill a person and two counts of assault. But admitted damaging a door frame on the day of the alleged offences. He was granted bail on condition that he lives at a friend’s house in Bristol, does not contact any witnesses, does not drink alcohol or take any non-prescription drugs, and does not visit Weymouth, except to attend court”. Barely out of his teens, and already an angry messed-up boy who, often being high and drunk, was banned from his hometown owing to threats, intimidation, and prone to unprovoked acts of violence and with murder on his mind, Apapale Adoum was about to serve a stretch in prison, the first of many. The prosecutor, John Price KC, said during his trial for Vicky’s murder that “he had a history of violence against women”. Something it’s unlikely Vicky knew, as in 2018 he broke a woman’s jaw and gave her a black eye, and in 2024 he attacked two female prison officers, punching one and knocking her out. In court, he shouted furiously from the dock, denying claims that he was a woman beater, stating “I’m just violent. That’s my problem. I’m a bad man for that, don’t make me out to be a coward”, for which the judge had to send him back down to the cells at the Old Bailey, so he could calm himself down. See? With a little research rather than just reacting to the colour of his skin, those who commented on his crime didn’t need to fabricate his immigrant status in order to hate him, as he was already a nasty, violent man who should never have been allowed near any woman, ever again… …but he was. During the last week of January 2025, having been released from prison, Adoum was homeless, alone, and broke. This also meant that any anger management courses became voluntary, his counselling became as empty as his wallet, and the medication to cure his drug abuse was sketchy as his prospects. Upon release, his situation was bad, as it was for many prisoners that year. 13.1% of prisoner released in England in 2024 ended up homeless. 53% of all homeless persons have been in prison with 11% citing it as their last address. 67% of homeless ex-prisoners are more likely to reoffend, and with overcrowding and funding an issue, that year, 12% more prisoners were released. Many ex-prisoners become homeless owing to faults which aren’t their own. Some are only told of their release with little (if any) notice, so any accommodation cannot be planned. While inside, they are disqualified from council housing. Landlords are hesitant to rent to those with criminal records. Delays in Universal Credit leave ex-prisoners without funds for rent or deposits. Prison can worsen any trauma, mental health and addiction. Family ties and friendships are often severed. And the situation is so bad that some prisons issue homeless prisoners with a tent and a sleeping bag upon their release. Prison is a hard and unforgiving place, full of fear and danger. But for many, homelessness is worse. It’s so horrific – with it reported that in 2023, the UK saw a worrying rise of 12.2% in homeless deaths, - many former convicts deliberately reoffend, so they can return to the place they feel safe – prison. September 2024, an early-release scheme was initiated to free up space in our overcrowded prisons. Again, on paper, it ticked a lot of boxes so the bureaucrats could give themselves a pat on the back for a job well done, but with some prisoners released by mistake and others let out without electronic tags or a curfews, as before, with no accommodation planned, where were these prisoners to stay? Many would be homeless without the kindness of a Good Samaritan… ...but, why did Vicky invite this homeless stranger into her home? It seems odd, as she was a lone vulnerable female. It seems stranger still, given his history of violence against women, which (having supposedly just met him) she may not have known. But said to be “kind and trusting”, it was believed Vicky had "tried to repay the kindness she’d been shown by others”. Her neighbour, Ellie Scot, said the street as “peaceful… there’s never any trouble”, and although, just days later, an attempted murder occurred just a few streets away, the reason Vicky was said to be vulnerable was because of her drug use and having previously invited homeless people to stay. That could also be why her children weren’t there… and thankfully so, as this could have been a massacre. On Wednesday 5th of February, three days before her murder, and one day before (it is said) she had met Adoum at a local homeless shelter, neighbours saw three men shouting up at her first-floor flat, they argued, and at roughly 3am, another neighbour heard the “piercing screams of a woman”. As a lone vulnerable female, it is unexplained why she didn’t call the Police, her friends or family, as instead she went to the homeless shelter seeking someone who looked like he could protect her. It was never said why she was at a homeless shelter, maybe she was a Good Samaritan, a volunteer, or being in dire need, she was visiting a food bank? Both being drug users, that could be how they knew each other? And although this could seem strange to us, it may have seemed normal for Vicky. On Friday the 7th of February 2025, Apapale Adoum arrived (as planned) at the communal door of 22 Coulter Road in Shepherd’s Bush, and rang the bell to the upstairs flat. He was wearing the same clothes, he was hungry, in need of a bath, and carried his worldly possessions in a small suitcase. Prosecutor John Price KC said “Ms Adams allowed him to stay at her home as he had nowhere to live and thought he would offer her some protection from local drug dealers who were threatening her. She came to regret it, probably because he is by nature violently unpredictable and she may well have become frightened of him”, and realising her mistake, she wrote him a nice note asking him to leave. But where as she feared the violence of drug dealers, he feared being hungry and homeless. Sometime during the afternoon of Saturday the 8th, just one day after his arrival, being alone behind a locked door in an isolated flat with a large powerful man who refused to leave her home, Vicky was attacked in what was said to be ‘a blind rage’, as his unpredictable fury against women was unleashed. In her bedroom, the one place she should have felt safe, he entered with one just thought on his mind – her murder. Neighbours later reported hearing screams coming from the flat, but no-one came to her aid, as taking these weapons of death from her own kitchen; he slipped a black plastic bin-bag over her head, pushed her face into a pillow suffocating her, and with a wooden cooking mallet, “he bludgeoned her with severe force… inflicting 10 separate injuries to the back and side of the head”. Her death was horrific and swift, but his departure was not. Instead of fleeing, he left her body where she lay, growing ever cold until her blood coagulated around her. In the kitchen, he attempted to wash-up the mallet which was matted with her blood and hair. He then packed his suitcase, leaving it in the sitting room to collect later, and left, stealing her purse. But as premediated as this murder had been, one thing he had forgotten to steal – her house keys. Having drained her bank account and blown what little she had on cocaine, drink, trainers and junk food, the next day, Sunday 9th at 10:13pm, police were called to 22 Coulter Road as neighbours heard Adoum’s repeated attempts to break down the communal door. With two knives and a screwdriver found in his pockets, he was charged with two counts of possession of an offensive weapon, and even though Vicky’s body was found, at that point in the investigation, they couldn’t charge him with murder, so callously he asked about his suitcase, “am I going to get the rest of my stuff from upstairs?” On Tuesday 11th, three days later at Westminster Magistrates Court, Adoum pleaded ‘guilty’ to two counts of possession of an offensive weapon and was sentenced to 42 weeks’ imprisonment. He could have fled, and vanished at any time, but as the police’s only suspect in the murder of Vicky Adams and with the evidence against him mounting, his bail was denied and he was held at Wandsworth Prison. The investigation headed up by Detective Chief Inspectors Matt Denby and Ollie Stride was thorough, and with a timeline established and a careful forensic analysis of how Adoum was linked to Vicky’s death – including CCTV footage, traffic cameras, phone mast data and her bank statements which showed where he had spent her money during his spending spree – the most damning evidence was the bloodstains in her sink, the mallet which (although he had attempted to wash it, her DNA remained on it) being found inside his suitcase, as well as his fingerprints on the binbag used to suffocate her. On Thursday 5th of June 2025, almost exactly four months after they had met, Adoum was re-arrested on suspicion of her murder, and the very next day, he was formerly charged with that offence. (End) The three-week trial began at the Old Bailey on Tuesday 26th of August 2025 before Judge Nigel Lickley KC. Before the court, 39-year-old Wynton Apapale Adoum of no fixed address said he had prepared a statement which was said to include “derogatory comments about Victoria Adams”, and he wanted it read out “for the sake of appeasement for anyone who may be present”. And although his “various handwritten notes about what happened at the flat had been prepared”, they were never reported. That same day, pleading guilty to her murder, with the judge delaying his sentencing for two months to allow time for any appeals on grounds of his mental health, later found to be sane and fully aware of his actions, on Thursday 30th of October 2025, Adoum given a life sentence with a minimum term of 21 years, meaning he will not be eligible for parole until 2046. In his summing up, Judge Lickley told Adoum: "Ms Adams was murdered in her own home. She had taken you in and offered you shelter… but you betrayed her kindness and good nature… in an attack which was both brutal and savage". Detective Chief Inspector Matt Denby said: “I hope that Adoum’s admission of guilt and long sentence is a small reprieve for Victoria’s family and friends. It is a tragedy that she was killed by Adoum after offering him a place to stay, and showing him kindness during his time of need. She deserved better”. Yet, for her sister and aunt, they were left "numb and struggling to understand what happened". And that’s what happened. The truth is truly out there, but many will never find (or seek) it by making crude assumptions about a person or persons based on their name and photo. There was no need to fake any details to make Vicky more sympathetic, just as Adoum was a heinous man whose diabolical deeds as a villain (throughout his life) didn’t need to be inflated any further, as he was a poor excuse for a human being regardless of his ethnicity, and he didn’t deserve the kindness of strangers. The Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast has been researched using the original declassified police investigation files, court records, press reports and as many authentic sources as possible, which are freely available in the public domain, including eye-witness testimony, confessions, autopsy reports, first-hand accounts and independent investigation, where possible. But these documents are only as accurate as those recounting them and recording them, and are always incomplete or full of opinion rather than fact, therefore mistakes and misrepresentations can be made. As stated at the beginning of each episode (and as is clear by the way it is presented) Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast is a 'dramatisation' of the events and not a documentary, therefore a certain amount of dramatic licence, selective characterisation and story-telling (within logical reason and based on extensive research) has been taken to create a fuller picture. It is not a full and complete representation of the case, the people or the investigation, and therefore should not be taken as such. It is also often (for the sake of clarity, speed and the drama) presented from a single person's perspective, usually (but not exclusively) the victim's, and therefore it will contain a certain level of bias and opinion to get across this single perspective, which may not be the overall opinion of those involved or associated. Murder Mile is just one possible retelling of each case. Murder Mile does not set out to cause any harm or distress to those involved, and those who listen to the podcast or read the transcripts provided should be aware that by accessing anything created by Murder Mile (or any source related to any each) that they may discover some details about a person, an incident or the police investigation itself, that they were unaware of. |
AuthorMichael J Buchanan-Dunne is a crime writer, podcaster of Murder Mile UK True Crime and creator of true-crime TV series. 
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