Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at The British Podcast Awards, 4th Best True Crime Podcast by The Week, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50 and iTunes Top 25.
EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY-NINE
This is Part Three of Ten of The Soho Strangler. Five months later, the murder of Soho prostitute ‘French Fifi’ was forgotten. On Thursday 16th April 1936, the body of 43-year-old French national Jeanne-Marie Cotton was found dead in her flat. Initially mistaken for an accident or natural causes, a more in-depth-investigation would prove it to be murder, only no-one had noticed the shocking similarities between the mysterious death of Marie Cotton and French Fifi, just two streets south.
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THE LOCATION
As many photos of the case are copyright protected by greedy news organisations, to view them, take a peek at my entirely legal social media accounts - Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.
The location is marked with a black exclamation mark (!) above the words 'Golden Square'. To use the map, click it. If you want to see the other murder maps, access them by clicking here.
SOURCES: This case was researched using some of the sources below. Murder of Jeanne Marie Cousins at Lexington Street, Soho, on 16 April, 1936 https://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/r/C1257748
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT OF THE EPISODE: The morning of Friday 17th April 1936 was deathly still, as a damp fog hung. Drenched in sober silence, a small crowd bowed their heads, as down the staircase and through the street-door of 47 Lexington Street, two men in mournful suits carried a black wooden coffin into the back of a black waiting van. Like a rabid virus, word had quickly spread across Soho that Jeanne-Marie Cotton had been murdered; strangled in her own flat, with her own scarf, in a motiveless attack by an unknown killer. And although some of the crowd said a prayer for this quiet little lady, others only came to giggle and gorp, as keen to gossip to their pals - until more details were released - their half-baked theories would be ceaseless. Fuelling the fire, that day Marie’s murder was headline news in many national papers. Hastily recycling any salacious titbits (whether fact or false) to get the scoop, many like the Daily Mail and the Leicester Evening Mail both went with ‘Beautiful woman murdered in Soho’ – as its faster and cheaper to copy and paste from a press release, rather than to dispatch a reporter to ‘do their job’ – and having already connected a few of the dots – the Nottingham Evening Post went with ‘Second Beauty Slain in London’. The story of ‘French Fifi’ was as dead and buried as her body, but now they had a reason to remember her; ‘New Flat Riddle for Scotland Yard’, ‘Is there a link with stocking crime?’, ‘Both victims strangled and French’. Overnight, the unremarkable deaths of two forgotten women had gained notoriety, but only because their murders had sex, death, mystery, and a faceless killer who stalked in the shadows. Focussed on speed rather than accuracy, the press bastardised the facts; ‘fingerprints of killer found at murder’, only they actually belonged to the first PC on the scene; ‘Police took away a bloodstained door’, which was wrong as the pool of blood about her nose hadn’t splashed nor spread; and ‘£14 found in cupboard’, which was false as according to Carlo “nothing was missing”, not even a penny. The very next day, the Evening Standard quoted Superintendent Walter Hambrook as stating: “this case cannot be associated with the ordinary class or murder”, which – in the minds of the newspapers and its readers - put the deaths of Marie Cotton and ‘French Fifi’ upon a pedestal, above any other. The problem was… he never said those words, as many details published in the press were twists on truths or all-out lies. But if you print it, it becomes fact, and the more you repeat it, it becomes proof. The death of ‘Marie Cotton’ would have been as unremarkable as it was forgotten… …and yet, as the gossip brewed, a myth about ‘a strangler in Soho’ began to stir. As the word ‘murder’ rippled with unstoppable speed about the West End, as often happens, theories as to the culprit spread and the usual bigoted band of society’s villains were blamed; like gays, Jews, foreigners, bohemians, the insane and the disabled - choosing to believe it was ‘them’ and never ‘us’. Every witness had a theory as to who had done it, but like the crime-scene, the police were methodical. Although Josephine Pouliquen would state “I feel certain she was murdered by Mr Lanza, he is a brute and often kicked Madame Cotton… as did Remo”. Carlo Lanza was seen by many reliable independent witnesses at work during the hours she died. As was Remo, his son, who found her body. As well as Dintis her lover, who Dorothy described as “a dangerous man”, his movements were accounted for. Last seen alive by her lodger, Dorothy Neri - who was having sex in her room, a few feet away, with her ‘Jewish’ boyfriend Braham Alban when Marie was murdered – neither were suspected as culprits. And as her ex-husband was dead and the mysterious ‘Mr Cohen’ could not be proven to even exist, the Police toyed with other theories, such as a chance encounter, a secret in her past, a failed burglary, or that – living on the same floor as a Soho prostitute – that her death was a case of mistaken identity. All were examined but dismissed, as the Police had a prime suspect… …someone who had a method, a motive, and a reason to kill. It’s hard to pin down who he was as he riddled his life with so many lies. To some he said he was from Yorkshire, but to others, that he was from Norfolk. He said he was an orphan, only his mum was still alive, and his dad had only just died. And although many called him ‘Jimmy’, ‘Graham’ and ‘Peter Graham’ – three aliases he was known to use to hide his crimes - his real name was James Allen Hall. Born in 1907 in Shelton, a parish 12 miles south of Norwich, his father was an Inn keeper, his mother was a housewife, he had one older sister called Dora, and – to keep the coffers coming in – a lodger. Branded as ‘unruly’ and ‘selfish’, what sparked his aggression is unknown, as although educated, he would stumble into petty thievery to fund a lifestyle of drink, fashion and sexual experimentation. On an unknown date in the late 1920s, James married May, making her Mrs May Janet Hall. How they met and why they wed is a mystery, as with misery pervading their home - for reasons of his own - he only married her to hide the truth, and drinking heavily, he often assaulted her. In 1931, May applied for a divorce, but before her solicitors could issue him with the papers, he had already fled to London. Being ‘on the run’, James worked as assistant clerk to his father at the Southgate Burial Board in North London, processing monies for the plots and gravestones of the recently bereaved. In early 1933, his father died, and by the May, he had fraudulently cashed two cheques totalling £59 (or £4500 today). As was his habit when things got hot, before he could he arrested, he fled leaving his widowed mother to fend for herself. He hunkered down in lodging houses, he hid under aliases, he racked-up debts and being booted out for misbehaviour, lewd acts and drunkenness, he always left a trail of destruction. Drink, sex, violence, and money – four words which were hardly the calling card of The Soho Strangler; a killer so calm and controlled that he never left a single witness or piece of evidence as to his identity. But then again, maybe as a fledgling killer finding his feet… …his lack of capture was as much down to luck, as it was to his cunning. In the spring of 1935, James worked as a clerk at Denard Manufacturing, a gown manufacturer at 65 Margaret Street in nearby Fitzrovia. On 3rd October 1935, having interviewed twenty applicants for an intern role – all being young slim boys - he hired 18-year-old Donald Ross, the one he fancied most. Donald would state “I wasn’t corrupted until I met Hall”, but as homosexuality was still illegal, maybe he was defending himself, protecting his reputation or laying the blame on the police’s key suspect. Having dated for three weeks – with trips to the cinema, drinks at known gay pubs and playing billiards – they began dating. Staying at James’ lodging at The Trafalgar at 37 Craven Terrace, “I agreed (to stay) and slept with him in one bed… he did not attempt to interfere with me”, Donald would state. But with the landlady objecting to two men sharing a bed, James went in search of a new lodging. On 15th November 1935, James spotted an advert in a newsagent’s window: ‘single room, £1 7s a week plus room cleaned and sheets washed, J Lanza, 47 Lexington Street’. It was affordable, discrete and – with Soho having a long-history of tolerance towards homosexuals – this could be their little love-nest. Moving in the next day, this small front room was furnished with a dresser, a table, a bucket as a toilet (with the feted stinking waste tipped into the communal cesspit out back each day), and a thick double mattress with fresh bedsheets every two weeks. It was comfortable. And although they had to a share a bathroom, Donald would state “we did not get food in the house” as they had no access to kitchen. According to those who were there, James Hall the lodger got on well with Jeanne-Marie Cotton the landlady; she was quiet and didn‘t bother them, he paid on time and rarely spoke to her. Donald would state “I never heard him have any quarrels with her, nor did I ever hear him threaten her in any way”. As a moral woman who didn’t like his immoral ways, in private to Dorothy she would openly call them ‘Nancy boys’, just as in private to Donald, he would lambast her as ‘the bitch on Lexington Street’. It was no secret that they weren’t on friendly terms, but that was hardly a solid motive to murder her. As suspects go - compared to Carlo her violent partner, Dintis her absconding lover, or the mysterious ‘Mr Cohen’, a man so threatening that he made her physically shake – James Hall hardly fits the bill. He could be The Soho Strangler given that he lived near or with each victim – although others did too; given that he had a history of violence against woman – but only against his wife; and given that he used aliases and short-term lodgings – and yet, who wouldn’t if they were on the run for cheque fraud? If he was The Soho Strangler; maybe these murders were merely failed robberies, maybe he did them in a drunken haze, maybe he had a split personality, maybe they weren’t sexually assaulted as James was gay, or maybe, it’s just a coincidence that both victims were small mid-forties French brunettes? James was the most unlikely suspect in the search for The Soho Strangler; as he wasn’t punter, a pimp, a ponce, a white slaver, a gang member, a foreigner, a stranger, or (the press’s chief suspect) a Jew. And yet, the Police hadn’t got it wrong… …they weren’t searching for a serial strangler stalking Soho’s sex-workers - as no-one even knew that one existed - they were simply seeking the most likely suspect in the murder of Jeanne-Marie Cotton… ….and that was James Allen Hall. James was a despicable man; a violent drunk, a selfish thug, and the kind of callous thief who had no qualms about stealing funeral funds from bereaved widows, and - as the police would suspect – an arrogant man who could take the life of innocent person over something entirely pointless and trivial. Barely any of which made it into the press, as being gay – an outcast who was blamed for corrupting society – his real crime was his sexuality, as every detail of his life was tagged with the words; ‘lewd’, ‘depraved’, ‘sick’ and ‘disgusting’. Although if we were to ask French Fifi or Marie Cotton what deeds their staunchly heterosexual partners or punters did to them, I’m sure ‘foul’ would be a fine word. Sadly, this was a reflection of the era, as the police investigation also focussed heavily on James’ sexual activities, even though The Soho Strangler killings – of both Fifi and Marie – had no sexual motive. When 18-year-old Donald Ross was interviewed about his relationship with 28-year-old James Hall, the Police flagged buggery, masturbation and added “there is abundant evidence to prove that Hall is a sodomite”. Implying that he was coerced, Donald would state “after going to Lexington Street with Hall, he had an unnatural connection with me on several occasions and used a tube of Vaseline”. A few days after they had moved in, James invited a kilted solider back to the room. Donald would state “I saw them both in bed. Hall said to me ‘I have brought a lady home tonight for a treat’…”, the kilted soldier was naked. “I saw Hall and the solider holding and rubbing each other’s persons. Hall asked me to get in bed, but I refused”, later “I got into bed with them. Hall caught hold of my person and rubbed it. After this, I went to sleep. This was the first time that Hall had been indecent to me”. With their sexual exploration becoming ever regular, “on subsequent nights, Hall masturbated me and himself… and he had an unnatural connection with me up my back passage about half a dozen times”. At first, Marie let their passions slide, as the sounds of man-on-man sex permeated the partition wall. But unhappy with their noises, she asked them to stop or she would ask them to leave, and they did. “I never heard them argue”, Donald would state. But as these ‘foul sex acts’ and ‘sadistic orgies’ - as the press would describe them - began again, tensions arose between the landlady and the lodger. It may not seem likely that James was The Soho Strangler, but regarded as ‘a deviant’, it took no leap for society to assume that any ‘gay sadist’ had an appetite for ‘strangulation’… even of a women. So, putting The Soho Strangler aside for a second, was James Hall a killer… …or as Marie’s murder had no other suspects, Fifi’s had gone unsolved, and with the press’ readers feverishly baying for ‘blood’, had the Police simply bagged themselves a very convenient scapegoat? The dispute between landlady and lodger occurred over a rather minor matter of morals and hygiene. A few days before 30th January 1936, while Marie was cleaning James’ room (as per their agreement), she spotted “stains on the bed linen caused by excreta, semen and Vaseline”, owing to gay anal sex. Not wanting to cause any fuss, she left a note. Donald would state: “Mrs Lanza spoke to me about this matter. (She) was not upset with me, and as far as I know, she was not unpleasant with Mr Hall”. Dates vary, but on Saturday 8th February, James quit the lodging. And as a very literal ‘dirty protest’ against his landlady’s intolerance – her nose wrinkling in disgust each time he called his boy ‘darling’ or ‘sweetheart’ - James took the half-full bucket of pee and plop, and tipped it over the fresh sheets. Returning hours later, Marie was hit by the stench of rotting shit and the feverish buzzing of flies, as several litres of steaming human waste soaked the sheets, the mattress and the floorboards below. Angry and disgusted, finding both men lodging at Winnie MacDonald’s house in Oakley Square, Marie showed Winnie, Donald’s sister, the festering mattress dumped by the cesspit. She didn’t want a fight or to take this any further, what she wanted was £2 and 10s as her rightful compensation for damages. Confronted by Winnie, with James refusing to pay Marie a penny, Winnie took charge; she booted him out of her house, she ordered her little brother Donald back to Edinburgh (which he was “more than happy to do”), and – to help Marie get the money she was owed - she gave her James’ work address. Aided by her new lodger, Dorothy Neri, on Tuesday 17th March 1936 at 6pm, Marie ascended the stairs to the third floor of 65 Margaret Street in Fitzrovia, where James worked at Denard Manufacturing. As the office was shut, she slipped a note under the door, which he later said “annoyed him”. Hoping to resolve it amicably and eventually face-to-face, they communicated by letter. But as James had no intention of paying, treating her request with distain, it had a become a game of cat and mouse. Thursday 19th March, James wrote “Dear Madam. I am sorry that I was not able to call, but business made this impossible. As regards this evening I have already made my plans… perhaps you could call me tomorrow night at 6pm, when I shall be in, but to call before that time will be of no use as I shall be out on business. Hoping this will be convenient. Yours faithfully. J Hall”. She called, but he was out. Saturday 21st March, “Dear Madam. If you let me know the amount, I will see what I can do in the next few days. I enclose an envelope for your reply, as it is useless to keep calling. As soon as I hear from you, I will give the matter my immediate attention. Yours faithfully. J Hall”. She did, only he didn’t. Sunday 22nd March, Marie replied “Dear Mr Hall… owing to your own arrangements, I have lost two evenings work. I shall not waste more time over this matter…” and having already threatened to “take it further”, on Thursday 26th March, she wrote “Dear Mr Hall. Seeing you have not kept to your word, will you kindly call and see me as soon as you can… if not I shall take it to court. Mrs J Lanza”. For anyone else, a soiled mattress would amount to a minor misdemeanour and a paltry fine. But as he was on the run from one set of solicitors seeking to issue him a divorce petition for ‘violent conduct’ and a second set for the criminal charge of embezzlement, any court action risked his imminent arrest. Unwisely having chosen to pay her nothing, on Thursday 9th April - the same day that Marie was shaken by the fear of the mysterious Jew who hunted her, known only as ‘Mr Cohen’ – Marie & Dorothy handed in an application for the summons of James Hall at Great Marlborough Street Police Court. With the legal wheels now in motion, on Friday 10th, Saturday 11th and Tuesday 14th April, just two days before her death, Marie & Dorothy visited his work. Again, as he was out (or possibly hiding), they made anyone who was passing aware of his ‘filthy habits’ and ’bed debts’, ruining his reputation. “She asked my advice”, said Sydney Cohen, a ladies’ tailor on the same floor, “I told her to go to the police”, which she did. As not only was the soiling of a mattress a criminal act, so was homosexual sex. Thursday 16th April 1936 was Marie Cotton’s last day alive. From 7am onwards, she was seen by several witnesses having an unremarkable day, with her last seen at 5:15pm, when Dorothy took a bath, and left Marie washing and cleaning in her unlocked kitchen. From 9am to 5pm, James would state he was at work, half a mile north-west on Margaret Street and a ten-minute walk from Lexington Street. Her time of death was between 5:30 and 7:30pm, but no-one saw him on Lexington Street at all that night, and yet, he was never more than a few streets away. At 6:40pm, Leonard Theyes met James at the Angel & Crown pub on Warwick Street in St James, and from that point onwards, he was seen at several pubs, until he returned to his lodging at The Trafalgar. Those who drank with him said, he seemed his normal self; not upset, dishevelled, fearful or anxious. In truth, there was nothing suspicious about James’ actions on the day of the murder… …and yet, the following day smacks of a man living in fear. The morning of Friday 17th April 1936 was deathly still. As a damp fog hung low and an excitable crowd hung their heads in silence, a small black coffin was mournfully carried into the back of a black van. At about the same time, James opened the doors of Denard Manufacturing before anyone was even in, and wrote himself four cheques, in the name of his employer, totalling £13 14s and 6d (£1100 today). With the cheques cashed, James fled, his employer was alerted, CID issued a description, posters were put up seeking a ‘ruddy-faced 28-year-old wanted for fraud’ and – having found Leonard Theyes in his list of ‘known associates’, as James had written to him whilst serving in Wandsworth Prison – on the 24th April, James was tracked down to The Sutherland Public House on Vigo Street, and was arrested. But did he flee because of the court summonses, or because he was guilty of murder? On 29th June 1936, James Allen Hall was tried at The Old Bailey. Found guilty, he was sentenced to 12-months hard-labour… for six counts of embezzlement. Delayed for three months, the inquest into the death of Jeanne-Marie Cotton was resumed on 9th June 1936 at Westminster Coroner’s Court. With her cause of death certified as ‘ligature strangulation’ Dr John Taylor, the pathologist stated “strangulation could not have been self-inflicted”. with police divisional surgeon Dr Charles Burney confirming “there was no suggestion of her having been hanged”. Police had identified “two indentations on the side of the bed and cigarette ash which pointed strongly to someone having entered the flat who knew her”. But with no fingerprints, no witnesses, no clues and no confession by the Police’s prime suspect – although Superintendent Walter Hambrook would state “Hall gave a most unfavourable impression in the mind of the jury. Nothing, however, is capable of proof against anybody so far as murder is concerned and the crime is a complete mystery”. The Coroner, Mr Ingleby Oddie would conclude “the only person against whom it may be said she had a grievance, and who may be said to have had a grievance against her is Hall. His grievance against her is not a very serious one, and hers against him is not a very grave one … that provides a very inadequate motive”. And with the evidence slim and circumstantial, the inquest was closed, James was dismissed, and the death of Jeanne Marie-Cotton was listed as “murder by persons or persons unknown”. No longer deemed a viable suspect, James Allen Hall was returned to Wandsworth Prison to complete his sentence for fraud, and he was later arrested for another offence ‘indecency… on a man’. (Out). With two women murdered, over five months across a few streets, in similar circumstances and with no clear motive or suspects, the Police were at a loss and many accused them of grasping at straws. With no answers to the question ‘how safe are we?’, a panic began to spread, as the sinister idea of a serial killer stalking Soho’s streets had been planted in the eye of the public, the press and its readers. In its day, Jack the Ripper was not an instant sensation, as some of his early victims were dismissed as merely unremarkable events or one-off incidents of fallen women, many of whom would be forgotten. And yet, all it took was ‘a panic’, ‘another murder’ and a ‘name’ for the pieces to be put together. Three streets east and three weeks after the murder of Marie Cotton, The Soho Strangler would strike again; this time, another prostitute in Soho, strangled to death by an unseen stranger, in her own bed. But whereas, although the deaths of Fifi & Marie were initially mistaken for a suicide and an accident owing to how serene the crime-scene seemed, this next attack could not be confused with anything but a horrifying murder, as the walls, floor and door was saturated and dripping in his victim’s blood. Had the killer lost his usual cool and composure, had his mania given him a taste for blood, or with the press having almost ignored his two previous murders, did this serial-killer crave a public‘s attention? By May 1936, only one man was on the people’s lips… …and his name was ’The Soho Strangler’. Part Five of Ten of The Soho Strangler 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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Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at The British Podcast Awards, 4th Best True Crime Podcast by The Week, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50 and iTunes Top 25.
EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY-EIGHT:
This is Part Two of Two of The Soho Strangler. Having discovered the body of 41-year-old prostitute 'French Fifi' in her bedroom, the police surgeon had determined that that her death was "most probably a suicide" given all the evidence placed before him. But what it a suicide, or was this the first fledgling killing by The Soho Strangler.
CLICK HERE to download the Murder Mile podcast via iTunes and to receive the latest episodes, click "subscribe". You can listen to it by clicking PLAY on the embedded media player below.
THE LOCATION
As many photos of the case are copyright protected by greedy news organisations, to view them, take a peek at my entirely legal social media accounts - Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.
The location is marked with a mustard yellow exclamation mark (!) above the words 'Piccadilly Circus'. To use the map, click it. If you want to see the other murder maps, access them by clicking here.
SOURCES: This case was researched using some of the sources below. COURT RECORDS: Josephine Martin ('French Fifi') found murdered at Archer Street, W, on Monday 4th November 1935 https://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/r/C1257744
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT OF THE EPISODE: The suicide of French Fifi was a shock, but not shocking; there was no rush and no fuss, just sadness. Felicite would state “I made a cup of tea and I took it to the bedroom, the door was half open. I saw madame on her back with her feet on the floor and with one shoe and stocking off. I thought she had too much to drink. I said ‘madam, here’s your tea’. I touched her hand. She was dead and cold…”. Descending to The Globe Club on the first floor, in broken English, Felicite stammered “madame dead, madame dead”, as hysterical as anyone who had found their friend of 15 years, deceased. Seeing her distress, Charles Bull the manager, Joseph Phillips the doorkeeper and Lance George an actor entered the bedroom of Flat 1 on the third floor of 3-4 Archer Street, and saw her body, at peace, on the bed. With Soho being a place synonymous with sex, the suicide of a prostitute was not an uncommon sight, given the stresses of their lives; a hopeless never-ending cycle of drink, debt, depression and abuse. As expected; Charles Bull alerted a constable, PC Hill secured the scene and summoned a doctor, Dr Re of Frith Street pronounced ‘life as extinct’, and – as her cause of death had to be determined, as suicide was still a criminal offence – the CID of Vine Street were called in, with the investigation headed up by Divisional Detective Inspector John Edwards and Chief Superintendent Walter Hambrook. The crime scene was assessed methodically. The door to Flat 1 was examined by a locksmith who determined there was no tampering, no damage and no signs of break-in. The flat had three keys, one for Fifi, one for her maid and one for the landlady – Vera Richards, all of which were accounted for, with Fifi’s found in a new handbag in the bedroom. With the light-switches to the hallway and the bedroom in the ‘on’ position, a shilling in the meter but both light-bulbs off, it was assumed she had died with the lights on, only for the money to run out. As a spotlessly clean flat, it was clear what had been touched since the maid had left 36 hours prior; the ashtray contained several stubs of spent cigarettes (of differing brands) belonging to herself and the men she may have entertained that evening; as well as one plate, one knife, one fork and one cup, all used for a last meal before bed, with an oily pan on the hob and a pot of tea half drunk and cold. Found days later, witnesses came forward and pieced together her last known possible movements; a chat with the doorman at Mac’s Club on Great Windmill Street at 2am and a black coffee at The Old Friar’s café in Ham Yard, before she left and headed one street east to Archer Street. Both confirm, she was alone and seemed a little lonely, but she didn’t seem harassed, and no-one was following her. Speaking to her friends, no-one recalled anything suspicious in the days prior; no threats, no stalking and no unusual levels of assault for this struggling sex-worker with debts to several local businesses. Speaking to the building’s tenants proved equally as fruitless, as with both clubs (The Globe and Cairo) closed, the communal street-door was locked at midnight, the second floor was vacant and the fourth floor flats were uninhabited, all the police could rely on was the account of Millie, next door in Flat 2. At 1am, “I passed her door”, Millie would state “and I noticed her hall-light was on. This was unusual. I shouted to her but got no reply”. At 2am, in a taxi, “I came back with a friend”, William Charles-Hill known as ‘John Cow’, “he spent the night, we stayed up till about 4:30am and we heard nothing”. In the bedroom, there were no signs of disturbance; her coat was on the chair, the drawers were shut, her ornaments were on the dresser, her radio was where it sat (as determined by the slight bleaching of sunlight) and the curtains were open roughly 12 inches, meaning that at the time of her death, her bed and her body was illuminated by either a single bulb above, or the street-lights on a timed circuit. Had this been an assault, a sense of panic and fear would have pervaded the room, but it was calm. Her body was positioned as expected; as having sat on the bed’s edge to remove her stocking, she had tied it about her neck and fallen backwards, leaving her feet on the floor and her head on the pillow. Her clothes were neat and undisturbed; her brown tweed skirt still fastened with a safety pin, her underwear – blue silk cami-knickers, a pair of woollen knickers and a white woollen vest – hadn’t been interfered with, and off her white linen and satin suspender belt was a fake silk stocking on her right leg fastened with two clips, as off her left leg, a stocking had been unclipped and carefully rolled down without a tear, run or rip, as she then placed her blue court shoe under her bed. Tied twice about her neck, those who found her body didn’t see the stocking, as it was concealed by a grey woollen jumper. As seen in traumatic deaths, often the deceased dies with their last expression etched on their face – a hint of shock, fear or tears - where-as Fifi’s face was the epitome of peace, like her pain had erased. By the night’s end, she looked as she had at the start; her lips rouged in red, her eyelids brushed black, her short brown bob kept in place with a set of Kirkby grips, and her “claw-like” fingernails unbroken. With no suicide note found (which is not unusual), her mood was determined by the detritus of worry on her bedside dresser; Post Office receipts to send her lover Jimmy a few pounds to aid his recovery from heroin addiction, and her final fine, bail bond and court summons for the crime of prostitution. At 1:50pm, Divisional Police Surgeon Charles Burney undertook a preliminary examination of the body in situ, ensuring it was neither touched nor moved to preserve any evidence, no matter how small. The stocking was tied twice about her neck using a ‘half hitch’ knot, a common but carefully considered load-bearing knot which - once she had started to lose consciousness (which would have occurred early given her low blood pressure) - she would need a knot which retained its position as her hands and body went limp. Dr Burney would state that with a few of her hairs and her grey jumper’s tassel tangled within “it is possible that it was caught in the knot while she was standing or sitting up”. It was tied by a right hander, Fifi was right-handed and she had died clutching the stocking in her right hand. Initially, her cause of death was most likely ‘asphyxia’, she had been dead for ‘8 to 10 hours’ putting her time of death at between 4am and 6am although “rigor mortis is delayed in cases of sudden death”, and asked for a suspected motive, Dr Burney would state “it was probably a case of suicide”. But when asked how certain he was, he would state “it was fifty-fifty”. The Police thought it was a suicide, the evidence suggested it was a suicide, the Police Surgeon had implied it was a suicide, and with very little to suggest otherwise, only an autopsy would find the truth. By 6pm, as the body of Josephine Martin was removed to Westminster mortuary, the press had begun sniffing about the death of a prostitute in the seedy underbelly of the West End. (News vendor) “Extra! Extra! Read all about it… Italy’s big push in Abyssinia” was the headline in the Daily Telegraph, as the Second Italo-Ethiopian War raged on. With a British election looming, the Evening Standard went with “New MPs announced” and – as the tabloid moto is “if it bleeds it leads” – the press were salivating over the grisly murders of Dr Buck Ruxton; a crime so savage, that having mutilated their bodies into so many pieces, the press had dubbed him ‘the Savage Surgeon’ and his crimes as ‘the Jigsaw murders’. The death of ‘French Fifi’ was deemed so unimportant that these small articles reporting the case were hidden deep in the newspapers, and they would have been binned had it not been a slow news day. Keen to play up the salacious angles, the press slathered over any fact to make this dull story drip with intrigue; that she was “French”, “unmarried” and a “prostitute”. They drooled over every detail about the stocking, the flat and her habits. They added their own flourishes like “artificial respiration was tried in vain” which was untrue. They did anything to make it exciting, as suicides don’t sell papers. In the Daily Herald dated the 5th November 1935, her death made front-page news; “Woman’s Death Mystery in West End Flat. Strangled by her own stocking. Scotland Yard officers investigating the death mystery of a woman in a Soho flat had not ruled out the possibility that she had been murdered”. The autopsy to determine her cause of death was still taking place… …and yet, this detail was enough of a ‘seed’ to plant a ‘hint’ of a mystery of a ‘possible murder’. With the public only able to get their “facts’ from newspapers, by the time that witnesses to Fifi’s last sightings were unearthed, their details had already been sullied by what they had read. Interviewed days after her death, the doorman and the café owner were deemed reliable witnesses, although it couldn’t be determined if they had actually seen her on the night of her death, or hours to days prior. Witness statements are notoriously flawed, often being riddled with elaboration, confusion, fibs, false facts and downright lies, as everyone has their own reason to aid an investigation. Some may be good Samaritans simply keen to do what is right, whereas others are in it for fame, spite or personal gain. Head Waiter at the Criterion in Piccadilly stated he saw ‘French Fifi’ with two women in the Grill Room at 3:30am. This turned out to be a different French brunette, as by that point, she was already dead. Taxi-driver Charles Branch confirmed in his logbook that at 1:30am on the night in question, he picked up a small woman from 3-4 Archer Street, drove her to Caledonian Road near King’s Cross, where she waited for a man, he drove them back to her address and they both entered via the street door. He stated, “owing to her mannerisms, it struck me at the time that something was wrong”. Police would determine that she had climbed the stairs to the third floor and entered her flat with the man. Only this woman was Millie, Fifi’s neighbour in Flat 2 and the man was Millie’s friend William Charles Hill. And then there was Sydney Bloom, a Jewish seller of contraception to prostitutes in the West End who had volunteered information that between 9:15pm and 10pm he saw Fifi on Glasshouse Street with a man. But being “an incorrigible rogue” with nine convictions for larceny, he had “offered his assistance to the police” having first informed them of his own “impending trial”, a tit-for-tat scam he had done several times prior. Discounting his sighting, Sydney Bloom was sentenced to four months hard labour. As with newspapers, witnesses can be unreliable for a variety of reasons, as not everything in print is a cast iron fact and (being littered with omissions, opinion and bias) It’s hard to tell what the truth is. In the investigation into the death of Josephine Martin, known as ‘French Fifi’… … the police would rely on the most infallible piece of evidence - her autopsy. On Tuesday 5th November 1935 at 11:30am, the autopsy began at Westminster Mortuary, conducted by the Home Office pathologist Sir Bernard Spilsbury, in the presence of the Police surgeon Dr Charles Burney and Divisional Detective Inspector John Edwards. In it, the following was agreed: Time of death: “difficult to determine as the heating was meter-powered and the window was partially open making the room temperature inconsistent… the body was rigid and putrefactive gases were felt beneath the skin…” therefore this would place her time of death nearer to the hours of 1am and 3am. Condition: “the deceased was healthy with no natural disease to account for her death”, she was small and often sickly but “she was well developed and could have put up a good resistance” to an attack. Sexual motive: with no torn clothing, no bruises to the thighs and no semen inside her vagina, “there is no indication of any recent act of sexual intercourse, or any attempt at the time of her death”. Bruising: “some recent and old bruises, but nothing within the last day”, but later found hidden amidst the purple swelling of her neck was a fresh bruise to her left jaw. Although, given the abuse they often endure, the Police would state “try find a West End prostitute who does not have bruises to her neck”. Digestion: in her kitchen, she had made a last meal for one, but with her stomach only containing “a brown liquid” (most likely the tea) and “tomato or apple skin” (not found in the flat), with no trace of a fried egg in her gastric juices, either she ate them earlier that night, or someone else ate the eggs? Both doctors confirmed that her cause of death was “asphyxia by strangulation” - as her larynx was crushed, her tongue swollen, her eyes protruded from their sockets and she had wet herself. But Sir Bernard would query “if she had died by ligature strangulation, I’d have expected to see more lividity”. Her face was ‘at peace’ when she died, but “that is no guide as to whether it was murder or suicide”. Having been photographed, the stocking was removed and sent to the laboratory. Twisted taut, bound twice and tied tightly about her neck, the stocking had been fastened with a half hitch knot under her right ear, suggesting it had been secured by a right-handed person, like Fifi. And although the suddenness of the unconsciousness could account for the lack of scratches or struggle, Sir Bernard would comment “she had either died or was at the point of death when the ligature was tied… after the hand was removed from the neck, she gave a gasp or two, the bloodstained mucus in the airways was then inhaled, vomit got into the airway and then the stocking was passed around her neck twice, tied in a half hitch and held for a while”. When found, the ligature was tight and secure. Of that, Sir Bernard would quip “I have never known a woman to strangle herself with her own hand”. Partially obscured by the stocking and its ensuing swollen wounds, bruises were observed; four fingers to the right of her neck and a thumb mark to the left. Larger than her own, their origin impossible was to date for a prostitute who had recently been attacked by “a foreigner who got hold of her throat”. At the back of her bloodied mouth having bitten her tongue, her dental plate (of four teeth mounted on Vulcanite) was found shattered into three pieces. Possibly linked to the bruise on her jaw, Sir Bernard would state “in my opinion, the breaking of the dental plate is indicative of murder”. And with “haemorrhages in the bladder, intestines and rectum” a knee had been pressed hard on the abdomen. With so-many variables – like; were her injuries the result of two different assaults on the same or separate nights, an assault which led to her suicide, or an attack which led to her murder - although Dr Spilsbury was emphatic “this was a homicide”, Dr Burney was torn, as “this could still be a suicide”. The two experts would debate this for the next three weeks, leaving Detective Inspector Edwards to conclude his report of the 9th November 1935, “the whole circumstances of the case are mysterious”. The Police needed ‘time’ to compile the ‘evidence’ to find the ‘truth’… They had several possible suspects: Henry V Martin, her ex-husband by a (possible) ‘marriage of convenience’ was later traced to America, having not seen her in more than a decade. Albert Mechanique, her brother had an alibi for the night of her death and – although dubbed ‘a common criminal’ who was ‘always in debt’ - it made no sense for Albert to murder his sister, as she had been financially supporting him for the last few months. Even though an anonymous letter to the Police branded French Albert “as a rascal… and a ponce”. As for her lovers? Caesar Mary was in Brussels with an alibi, and – although he stated “it was Fifi who put me away” – he wasn’t angry, upset and - after his deportation - he never made any threats against her. As for Jimmy Orr, he arrived at Caldicott Hall in Nuneaton two days earlier to begin his drug detox, and he didn’t leave the premises – as confirmed by his doctors – until he was made aware of her death. With no regular clients and those she was in debt-to being pals, the Police interviewed hundreds of witnesses, suspects and anyone with a history of violence against prostitutes, but they came up blank. The public fed them their suspicions – usually ex-lovers and former friends in the hope of getting them into trouble – as well as usual bigoted band of society’s villains who were blamed for everything simply because they were different; such as foreigners, gays, Jews, bohemians, the insane and the disabled. With nothing new to say, the Police went quiet… …and with nothing new to report, the Press into overdrive. 6th November, the Daily Herald, “Silk Stocking Riddle Baffles Police. Nearly two days after the discovery of the body… Scotland Yard are unable to state how she died… acquaintances of ‘French Fifi told us they had always feared that “sooner or later she’d be killed by some man”. The source of that quote was never found, and by then her death was still listed as a suicide, but then suicides don’t sell papers. The Herald incorrectly wrote; “…detectives believe that robbery was the motive… friends declare ‘Fifi’ had large sums of money in her flat” - which was untrue as she was broke and only 1p was found. The Evening Standard also declared “£9 Gone from Stocking of Dead Woman”, and although “she kept her money in the heel of her left stocking”; it’s impossible to say how much she earned or what happened to it; whether spent, stolen, sent it to Jimmy (and subsequently lost) or – as the Police suspected – “it is possible that it may have been stolen by those who found her body”, most of whom were criminals. Awaiting the outcome of the autopsy; the press wrote about ‘plain-clothed officers patrolling Soho’, ‘suspicious men being followed’ and unverified quotes by mystery sources about ‘imminent arrests’. But as the days of radio silence turned into weeks with no solid facts, the Press needed to find a fresh angle to keep their readers interested, some of which was been born out of a tiny nugget of truth. The Press had already decided two things; one that she had been murdered, and two, “as the police intensified their search of scores of cafes and nightclubs in the West End…” in an “intensive combing of the underworld”, that her murderer must be local, working-class, possibly foreign and a criminal. One day after her death, the Daily Herald declared “(we) understand that the woman was believed to have given evidence which this year had led to a sensational court case”. Of course, there is record of a court case, no mention of it in her police file and not one single newspaper reported this “sensational court case” in the months prior to her death - but if you print it, people will believe it to be a fact. On 27th November 1935, The People stated “Death of ‘French Fifi’ baffles yard… was she the victim of a gang of white slavers… some believe she made statements which led to their arrests”. Now this was true with Cesar Mary, but as a French prostitute, there is no evidence she was ever trafficked. On the 1st December 1935, the Sunday Pictorial, a sleazy tabloid rag raised the stakes higher; “French Fifi was White Slaver. Murdered by Gang Because She Knew Too Much”. Which there was no proof of, but given that she was dead, they could print whatever they liked, even if it was entirely false. It read; “French Fifi had an amazing career in the underworld which the police are now fully aware” - this was a lie. “She is said to have been an agent of a gang of white slave traffickers” - she wasn’t. “For months, Scotland Yard has been waging war on marriages of conveniences” - this was true, although her only known link was a suspiciously short marriage, and “some days before French Fifi was found murdered a Scotland Yard inspector called to see her to obtain information about gang members… the gang had communicated with her, for letters from one of its members were found in the flat… ’French Fifi’ had undoubtably paid the penalty for knowing too much” – not a single shred of which could be proven. Sadly, for simple-minded readers of such tabloid trash who couldn’t comprehend that a newspaper’s role is as much to inform as it is to entertain, a simple fact had entirely passed them by. if Fifi was a white slaver, why was she so poor, why did she work alone, and why did she still sell her body for sex? Part of this misinformation is down to their need to sell salacious stories, as well as the Police’s attitude during the investigation; as although solid statements were given, the report claims “…her associates are prostitutes and criminals which has made it difficult to get truthful and coherent statements”, she is repeatedly described not as “the victim” but as “the dead prostitute”, and – with robbery suggested as a possible motive – the ensuing attack was blamed on her, as “she was getting old, fat and ugly”. After three weeks of deliberation, Sir Bernard Spilsbury and Dr Charles Burney resolved their findings into the autopsy of Josephine Martin, alias ‘French Fifi’. Re-opened on Tuesday 26th November 1935 at 2pm, the inquest into her death was held at Westminster Coroner’s Court, by Mr Ingleby Oddie. With several witnesses giving evidence, including; her friends Freda Miller, Clara Bennett & Lilly Hayes, her neighbour Millicent Warren and Home Office pathologist Sir Bernard Spilsbury, the inquest was concluded the same day, with the coroner declaring her death as a “wilful murder by person of persons unknown”, although the pathologists would state this is a likelihood of probability, not a cast iron fact. With no suspects to be questioned and no eyewitnesses to her murder, both the investigation and the inquest were closed, as every possible avenue had been exhausted, resulting in no charges nor arrests. Just like Jack the Ripper - three miles east and almost fifty years earlier - the murderer of ‘French Fifi’ had fled unseen, leaving no clues as to his motive or his identity. Having vanished into thin air, it was as if he didn’t exist. And with this death initially mistaken for a suicide, no-one knew that this was the first fledgling killing by a serial killer who stalked the sex-workers of West London’s red-light district. By 1935, the Soho Strangler was nothing, being barely a whisper on the breeze. But with his killing spree just beginning, soon this man would become a monster, a sadistic slayer who would unleash terror on the streets, making him as infamous (in his day) as Jack the Ripper… and then, be forgotten. Part Three of the Soho Strangler 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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EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY-SEVEN:
This is Part One of Two of The Soho Strangler. On Monday 4th November 1935, at roughly noon, the body of 41—year-old Josephine Martin, a Soho prostitute known as ‘French Fifi’ was found by her maid in her own bed, having asphyxiated herself using her own stocking. Wracked with debts and depression, her death was noted as “possibly a suicide”… when in fact, it was the first killing by The Soho Strangler.
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THE LOCATION
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SOURCES: This case was researched using some of the sources below. COURT RECORDS: Josephine Martin ('French Fifi') found murdered at Archer Street, W, on Monday 4th November 1935 https://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/r/C1257744
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT OF THE EPISODE: (1880s sounds). News vendor: “Extra! Extra! Read all about it. Jack the Ripper baffles Scotland Yard”. 1888, Whitechapel, home to East London’s sex-trade; a sinister shadow stalked its dark brooding alleys brutally slaying a slew of so-called ‘fallen’ women in a viscous spree over just a few streets. Fleeing unseen and leaving no clues, the mystery of Jack the Ripper’s identity and motive fuelled a burgeoning tabloid media baying for blood in print, making his killings as infamous today as they were back then. Jack the Ripper was the first spree-killer of his kind… but he wasn’t the last. (1930s sounds). News vendor: “Extra! Extra! Read all about it. Soho Strangler baffles Scotland Yard”. 1935, Soho, almost fifty years later and three miles west, an unseen slayer stalked the fog-wreathed streets of West London’s red-light district. Four woman – all poor, all foreign, all linked to the sex trade and all unnervingly similar in life or looks – were strangled alone in their beds, with escalating ferocity. Dubbed ‘The Soho Strangler’, this lone maniac terrorised these few streets, leaving women in fear, the police at a loss, and – with no witnesses or clues - even today, all four murders remain unsolved. Syndicated worldwide, newspapers from London to Lisbon, Chicago to Karachi fed off the fever of his killing-spree; it made Soho a byword for terror, the Strangler a sadist to be feared and it bestowed a notoriety on his four unfortunate victims - ‘French Fifi’. Marie Cotton, ‘Dutch Leah’ and ‘French Marie’. The Soho Strangler was once the Jack the Ripper of his era… …but with fascists on the rise, Nazis seizing power and a ‘real’ horror looming on the horizon, death would soon come (not to a few, but) to hundreds in Soho and millions across the world. And although, both of these cases were strangely similar, one remained infamous as the other was entirely forgotten. Limitless books have tried to solve the riddle of the Ripper killings, but what stalls every investigation is the lack of evidence, as most of the documents were lost, stolen or inaccurately regurgitated by a tabloid press focussed on speed and not accuracy. 135 years on, it’s unlikely that it will ever be solved… …and yet, in the case of The Soho Strangler, we have everything, from court records to police files, autopsy reports, witness statements, coroner’s inquests and full histories of his victims and suspects. Told in full for the very first time, this is the true story of Britain’s long-forgotten serial-killer… …The Soho Strangler. (Music swells) Archer Street, Soho; the seedy heart of the West End’s theatre and sex-trade is a cramped little slit between Piccadilly Circus, Shaftesbury Avenue and Old Compton Street. Riddled with jazz joints, jizz parlours, pubs, clubs and brothels, it hummed with the sordid bustle and stench of booze and sex. Monday 4th November 1935, just shy of noon, elderly French maid Felicite Plaisant strolled into 3-4 Archer Street. Passing the Windmill (Soho’s infamous burlesque club), the street-door was unlocked as usual, as she ascended the staircase. The Cairo Club in the basement and the Globe Club on the first floor were silent except for the scrubbing of cleaners prepping for the late-night trade, with the second floor currently vacant, and the third and four floors sublet to four sex-workers in four single flats. As a prostitute’s maid, Felicite worked a twelve-hour shift for a modest wage of £1 per week. Her job; to make the bed, to wash the sheets, to empty the ash-tray, to ensure the room was spick-and-span, and to generally be invisible to any good or nervous clients, and yet visible to those who were bad. On the third-floor, she unlocked the door to Flat 1, seeing no movement beyond its frosted glass. With the hall often silent at this hour, Felicite crept in, as her employer – 41-year-old French prostitute Mrs Josephine Martin, known as ‘French Fifi’ – slept till mid-afternoon, having worked from 5pm to 3am. Nothing seemed out of place or wrong; the rug had rucked up (as it always did) when madame opened the door, several cigarette butts littered the ashtray, and a half-eaten meal of eggs and tea adorned the kitchen table, but - pretty much – the flat was as she had left it thirty-six hours earlier. With no client seen, through a slightly ajar curtain, she saw ‘Fifi’ alone on the bed, fully dressed and flaked out. As per usual, Felicite popped a kettle on the hob to make them both a cuppa for the long day ahead. Felicite would state: “I took it to the bedroom… she was lying on her back with her feet on the floor and with one shoe and stocking off. I put the tea on the dressing table… I caught hold of her hand, I shook it, and said ‘here’s your tea madam’. Her hand was stiff and cold. I then realised she was dead”. Having taken her own life, using her own stocking to cease her own breath, her passing marked the sad and tragic end to the turbulent life of a good woman who only wanted to be loved. Sickness, loss and depression had pock-marked her final years, only for her to succumb to a very lonely suicide. The death of ‘French Fifi’ was as unremarkable as it was forgotten… …and yet, unbeknownst to the world, it was the first fledgling killing of the Soho Strangler. Long before she hid behind her alias, ‘French Fifi’ was born Josephine Mechanique on the 22nd of July 1894 in Paris; the eldest of two siblings with an older brother Albert. Raised by Russian Jews in a French suburb, the family frequently moved to flee their persecution as immigrants. And given her chaotic upbringing, it was no surprise that wherever she fled to, Josephine was always desperate to find love. Seen as softly spoken and sensitive, she was described as “a good girl who kept her family well”, “a quiet soul who seldom spoke to anyone”, and a “woman who doesn’t just fall in love, she becomes besotted and will do anything for the person she adores”. Being ‘easy on the eye’, Josephine was a petite and slightly plump brunette, with her hair in a bob, long fingernails and a set of ruby red lips. In 1901, for reasons unknown, seven-year-old Josephine was brought to England, leaving behind her mother, but followed one year later by 16-year-old Albert who would live off Leicester Square and worked as teacher at an Oxford Street dance school. Working alongside her tailor father in the French parts of Soho, she was educated and knew the streets well, but her English would always be broken. Aged 14, in 1910, she returned to Paris, only her true home held nothing but horror for the young girl. According to James Orr, a later lover of Josephine’s: “some man became acquainted with her”. Being so besotted by him that she did as he bayed “he put her on the streets”; a little girl forced to sell her virginity to seedy strangers in Rue Pigalle, the dark and dangerous streets of Paris’ red-light district. Made pregnant by a man who had pimped her out and ponced off her illegal earnings, her illegitimate child was born in secret, adopted under a false name, and she never saw her only child ever again. By the end of the First World War and after four years as a prostitute, ‘Fifi’ moved back to London; although it is uncertain if she fled or was trafficked by French pimps as part of the ‘white slave trade’. Either way, from this point on, her life was no longer her own. In September 1919 at Marylebone Registry Office, barely months after her return to Soho, 24-year-old Josephine Mechanique married British citizen Henry V Martin, a waiter at the nearby Trocadero. I wish I could tell you that she found love and lived happily ever after, but she didn’t. It’s likely this was a marriage of convenience, possibly paid for by her pimps, so her newly established British citizenship would make it impossible to deport her for crimes she would commit to pay off her debts to her pimps. After just six months, Josephine and Henry split and he promptly moved to America to start a new life for himself, possibly funded by the small wage he was paid for an afternoon’s work. She rarely spoke of him again, but retained his surname and the wedding ring, which would gift her some respectability. That same year, being sick with loneliness, Josephine fell for Cesar Mary, a serial philanderer who worked at the Belgian Consulate in Belgravia. Wooing her with fine words and gifting her a good life – of a nice flat, fancy furs and lavish cocktail parties - he fulfilled her dreams. So besotted was Josephine, that on her right thigh, she’d tattooed an unfortunate epitaph, it read - ‘To my Cesar, forever till I die’. Only with his love a cruel sham, it’s likely his legitimate job was a ruse to hide his illicit affairs and – as was a familiar trick employed by the white slave trade – he gave her everything, only to take it away. Living in poverty but fuelled by the hope of a return to ‘the good life’, as ‘French Fifi’, Josephine would be forced to pay her way, with an ever-escalating fee to her pimps, which she could never pay off. In short, she was trapped in a circle of sex and debt… …and yet, although little and quiet, Josephine had a fiery temper when things got a little too hot. In 1923, after three years living under Cesar’s rule, she packed up her belongings, moved in with her brother Albert, and – doing something as brave as it was foolish – following her arrest for prostitution, she appeared at Bow Street Police Court as witness for the prosecution against Cesar. Found guilty of ‘living off her immoral earnings’ he was sentenced to one month’s hard labour and – as an illegal alien – on 6th September 1927, he was deported back to Belgium, later stating “it was Fifi who put me away”. It is said that she never saw Cesar ever again. But as ‘white slavers’ rely on aliases, lies and alibis… …none of what has been said can ever be proven. By 1927, after 17 years as a prostitute, all ‘French Fifi’ knew was sex. Shielded by a nom-de-plume, her alias gave a hint of the exotic to her working-class punters, but it also shrouded her truth in a mystery. As a well-known and well-liked figure in Soho’s sex-district; she plied her trade on Glasshouse Street (a short thoroughfare from Piccadilly Circus to the eastern edge of Regent Street); she always dressed elegantly in fine furs, neat make-up and discrete but affordable jewellery; she was always polite, often alone, but blessed with many friends who were prostitutes, they escorted one another for protection. Post-Cesar, it is unknown whether she had a pimp, but as Soho’s prostitution rackets were ran by a slew of foreign criminals - whether French pimps like Roger Vernon and the Marseille Collective, Red Max and the Iron Gang, or Maltese gangsters like the Messina Brothers and the Vassallo Gang – until the day of her death, Josephine would amass 74 convictions for prostitution and brothel-keeping. ‘French Fifi’ was a professional prostitute, who ate well, lived an okay life and earned a modest wage… …and yet, that year would ignite a tragic downfall which would end with her lonely suicide. In 1928 - buckled by cramps, bleeding and dizzy spells - 34-year-old Josephine was rushed to Middlesex Hospital, as cancer was spotted on her womb. Given an emergency hysterectomy which saved her life, although she remained under medical care, it would plague her with pains for the rest of her days. Her maid would state “Madam was always sick…”; cursed by sharp pains in her back, hot flushes to her face, dysentery, fever, shortness of breath, and a blood pressure so low she often passed out. Discharged after three months, she went straight back to work, all broken and withdrawn. On the 9th November 1933, Josephine moved into Flat 1 on the third floor of 3-4 Archer Street in Soho, between the Lyric Theatre and The Windmill; a busy side-street chock-full of musicians, dancers and actors, as well as pubs and clubs supplying a passing trade of drunks with ready cash and raging boners. Split into a sitting-room, a bedroom, a kitchen and a bathroom, Vera Richards the landlady liked her French tenant as she “always kept a spotlessly clean flat” and “only once was late with her £2 rent”. For Josephine, her professionalism was a matter of pride; her dresses were stylish, her fur coats were neat, her make-up was subtle and her stockings never had a rip or a run. To her French maid, 72-year-old widow Felicite, she was always kind, caring and never failed to pay her wage, even if she was short. By 1935, her last year alive, times were hard for Josephine. Described as “tight with money and always sober”, where-as once this exquisite French beauty with a doll-like frame, searing blue eyes and pouting red lips had her pick of the ten-or-so clients a night that her sultry Parisienne murmur lured in, now – cracked, faded and often bedridden for days on end – this middle-aged, lightly-greying, slightly pudgy woman struggled to muster three drunks, at best four. According to Millie, a friend and fellow sex-worker “she didn’t have a type, she slept with anyone, Chinese, even coloureds”, and earning (if it was her own) an okay wage of £4 to £6 per night depending on the weather, “she had no regular callers, that I know of, and no-one came back for a second time”. As a teetotaller, her limited funds rarely covered her out-goings. With her looks as her money-maker, although her long-fingernails were neat and painted, the dental-plate of her false teeth was old, she owed debts to a dressmaker, she had hocked her furs meaning she was paying £2 weekly to wear her own clothes, and – except for her wedding band to Henry Martin – she had pawned all of her jewellery. The Police report would state “there is no doubt that she was heavily in debt and was living a hand-to-mouth existence”, as – of the debts that we know of – by the time of her death, she owned £106 4s and 6d, roughly £8,352 today, just shy of the average annual wage in 1935. But her debt wasn’t a silly lady struggling to look pretty, as being “a good girl who kept her family well”, she supported her brother Albert and his wife for months, and often bailed him out of prison, when he needed her most. Always frugal, she wasn’t a spender, a lush or a squanderer, it was compassion which was her curse, as fuelled by a longing to be loved “she became besotted and would do anything for those she adores”. In the summer of 1932, at the Lyon’s Corner House tearoom in Piccadilly, Josephine met 29-year-old James Orr known as ‘Jimmy’, a car dealer from Chicago whose handsome looks had got him bit-parts in the movies. What blossomed was love, real love, to a good man who loved her back, and although her life as a convicted prostitute may have put some men off, Jimmy loved Josephine no matter what. It could have been something wonderful… only Jimmy had a demon – heroin. Cursed with the sickness of addiction, although not a drug-user herself, Josephine loved this man who was decent, kind and through his struggle she supported him through poverty, pain and torment to try and save his soul. All she wanted was to be loved… and yet, love would be denied her. By the autumn of 1935, as the nights drew longer and punters grew fewer, as a 41-year-old slightly portly lady with no savings, few family, a recurring sickness, a burden of debt and unable to move on as she was legally-wed, after quarter of a century in sex-work, her tawdry little life was to be her lot. Felicite would state “I have not heard her threaten to commit suicide… but almost daily she’d complain about things being ‘none too good’ but it was a regular remark in conversation… she was fed-up”. On Friday 18th October 1935, two weeks before her death, Josephine appeared at Great Marlborough Street Police Court on her final charge of prostitution. As was easiest, she pleaded guilty and paid the 40s fine to the court’s jailer - PC Frederick Pragnall. At her inquest, he would state “she seemed very depressed, she said ‘I’m fed up with this life. I’ve a good mind to finish it. I’m sick of it all’”. Stuck in a vicious cycle of sickness, debt and loneliness, her unremittingly empty life was hard, getting harder… …and – worse still – it was dangerous. For prostitutes, violence is an all-too-common part of daily life. One week before her conviction for prostitution, Millie, her neighbour in Flat 2 “heard a quarrel in her room and I knocked on the wall”. Later, Josephine admitted “I had a struggle with a foreigner who got hold of my throat”. But for Millie “it was quite usual for Fifi to have rows with the men she brought home. She would demand more than the agreed price, refuse to undress and was always in a hurry to get the man out of her flat”. She was last assaulted four days before her death. On Thursday 31st October at roughly 9:30pm, Millie heard Fifi shout ‘come on, give me the money first’, as the foreign ‘bilk’ as she would call him, tried to get the sex without paying. “I banged on the wall and the noise stopped”. The next day, barely shaken, Josephine showed Millie the bruises to her arms (seen at her autopsy) and stated she wasn’t afraid. It was said that she could handle herself when she had to… …and too often, she had to. Having been robbed and burgled more times than she could recall, “she would never take her stocking off in front of a man and she very seldom undressed before him”, not just to speed up the sex, but “she always kept her money in the heel of her left stocking”, as witnessed by her maid and friends. ‘French Fifi’ was tiny and tough, but maybe that last attack was an attack too far for a fed-up woman? Saturday 2nd November 1935 was her penultimate day alive, and with it came a tidal wave of emotions. Having seen and supported Jimmy every day for the last two years, as much as she would miss him for the next three months, she helped him get into Caldicote Hall, a home for ‘inebriates and drug addicts’. Without a quibble, she paid his bills, made him meals, gifted him an allowance and would sacrifice her own needs by sending him “to get clean”, 91 miles north-west in the Midlands town of Nuneaton. That day, she so wanted to kiss him and wish him goodbye, but having left his hotel, it was not to be. The rest of her day was an ordinary as any other, only her mood was predictably melancholic. The night was cold and glum, as a bitter wind whistled down Archer Street. But drizzle aside, between 9pm and 11pm, ‘Fifi’ picked up three men (unseen by Felicite) and being quick and quiet “they only stayed for 10 minutes”, with the £2 and 5s she made being posted to Jimmy, and a 2s tip for her maid. Having changed the sheets and left the flat pretty much as she would find it 36 hours later, at roughly midnight, as Felicite exited the door, Fifi’s last words to her were “Goodnight, I’ll see you on Monday”. Of course, she wouldn’t… as she would take her own life. At 12:30am, she met Millie at the Continental Café on Shaftesbury Avenue and lamented her loss as her lover was gone. At 1:15am, she handed her brother 6s as she often did to keep him out of debt, and from 1:30am to 6am, she stayed with her friend Frieda, smoking cigarettes and eating pies. That night, they planned to meet up again later, only this would be the last sighting alive of ‘French Fifi’. The last 18 hours of her life will always be a mystery. At 5:30pm, Frieda called Fifi’s phone in her flat, “she sounded happy and said she’d see me later” as they often escorted each other on their patches; Frieda on Green Street and Fifi on Glasshouse Street. As agreed, Frieda waited for her pal at their pre-planned place and time, only oddly, Fifi never arrived. Interviewed days later, there were a few possible sightings of Fifi, only the details cannot be verified. Between 9:15pm and 10pm, Sydney Bloom, a Jewish seller of contraception to prostitutes in the West End said he saw Fifi “on her patch and get off with a client”. At 9:20pm, Millie in Flat 2 heard Fifi shout ‘I can’t see the money, you haven’t put it down’, they briefly row and the man left. At 2am, James Weller, doorman at Mac’s Club at 41 Great Windmill Street, a road west of Fifi’s flat said “she wanted to come in… I said no, as woman can’t come in unless escorted by a gentleman”, they had a laugh and “she seemed normal and then left”. And seeing her turn left into Ham Yard, Beatrice, the owner of the Olde Friars Café at 16 Ham Yard served her semi-regular customer a black coffee. According to Beatrice “she sat alone, her arms were folded, no-one spoke to her, and I thought she looked really tired”. If those dates and times were right, at a little after 2am, one street east, she entered 3-4 Archer Street. Only nobody saw her, and - with the clubs closed and the tenants out - nobody heard her. (Out) Alerted by her maid Felicite Plaisant, at 1:50pm Divisional Detective Inspector John Edwards and Police Surgeon Charles Burney conducted an in-situ examination of the body and the scene. With every door and window locked and in good working order, there were no signs of a break-in. With no hint of a robbery, a disturbance or a struggle, foul play was not suspected. And with a half-eaten meal for one of fried eggs and a pot of tea on the kitchen table, it looked like she had dined alone and went to bed. With the lights out and the curtains still partially drawn, even at night the bedroom would have been lit by the streetlamps outside and the flats opposite, revealing the cold dead body of ‘Fifi’ on her bed. Lying on her back and fully clothed as if she was merely dozing, her face was described as ‘peaceful’, like her pain had been taken away. As on her dresser, lay painful reminders of her sad little life; Post Office receipts to fund Jimmy’s recovery, and a recent court summons for the crime of prostitution. As if her suicide was a last-minute decision; her hair was still tidy, her clothes weren’t disarranged, her fingernails were unbroken, and – as she only did when she was alone – she had removed the stocking from her left leg, she had unclipped it and carefully rolled it down so didn’t have a tear, a rip or a run. Keen to find peace, she wrapped it twice about her neck, tied a half-hitch knot to take the load and as she pulled it tight, her low blood pressure made her to pass-out and the stocking stopped her breath. With rigor mortis delayed by sudden trauma, her time of death was established as 8 to 10 hours prior, and with no recent bruising, Dr Burney concluded “it was probably a case of suicide”. Released by the coroner Mr Inglby Oddie, four days later her body was buried, paid by a Jewish charitable organisation. By the evening, a few local papers reported the death by suicide of a Soho prostitute known as ‘French Fifi’. Only, being hastily written by tabloid hacks, many were short and inaccurate, as if nobody cared. The suicide of ‘French Fifi’ was as unremarkable as it was to be forgotten… … and yet, unbeknownst to the world, it was the first fledgling killing of the Soho Strangler. 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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