Triple nominated at the True Crime Awards and nominated Best British True-Crime Podcast at the British Podcast Awards, also hailed as 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, 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.
Their final commune at 1C Peckford Place in Brixton, SW9 - @Googlemaps2025 / June 2023
Welcome to the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast and audio guided walk of London's most infamous and often forgotten murder cases, all set within and beyond London's West End.
EPISODE TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY:
On Friday 25th of October 2013 at 11:15am, charity workers aided by the police coordinated the escape of several followers from a flat in Brixton. Some of the women had been held for 30+ years, one for her entire life, but they didn't see themselves as hostages, as having began living life in the commune under a political belief, they didn't realise it had become a cult, under the control of their leader 'Comrade Bala' and a God-machine called JACKIE.
THE LOCATION:
The location is marked with a bright green 'P' south east of the river just by the words 'Dulwich Village'. To use the map, click it. If you want to see the other maps, click here.
SOURCES: a selection sourced from the news archives:
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: Ep290 – A God called JACKIE Welcome to Murder Mile. Today, I’m standing on Houghton Street in Holborn, WC2; four streets south of the workplace of the ‘slaughtered spinster’, two streets west of the ‘savaged prince’, two street east of the brutal life of the baker’s wife, and one street north of the deadliest ticket to salvation - coming soon to Murder Mile. At the back of the Royal Courts of Justice sits the London School of Economics and Political Science, also known as The LSE. Founded in 1895 by the Fabian Society, the LSE has a stunning list of alumni to make even the most prestigious university weep; having spawned lawyers, CEOs, billionaires and Nobel laureates; pop stars like Mick Jagger, unlucky interns like Monica Lewinsky, and once in a blue moon, a terrorist; as well as some of the world’s most influential presidents and prime ministers.. but not any British ones, as the biggest factory for farming out the worst shitheads and bastards is Eton. Back in the 1960s and 1970s, LSE was a hotbed of political protest, as with the Cold War warming up, a protracted war raging in Vietnam and the country awash with unemployment, strikes and corruption (not unlike today), the politically minded were fizzing with new ideologies being fuelled by old rhetoric. In 1973, among the infamous sit-ins and shutdowns, a splinter group of students became disillusioned and disenfranchised with the inaction they were witnessing, and under the “guidance” of their leader ‘Comrade Bala’, they started a radical commune. It began as a belief that Britain was a fascist state… …and yet, it ended as a cruel cult ruled over by a petty tin-pot dictator. My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 290: A God called JACKIE. Sian Davies began her life far from any political turmoil or the makings of a cult. Born in 1952 in Aberaeron, Wales, her upbringing was peaceful and privileged being a doctor’s daughter, and unlike many of her friends, she never went without food, clothes or toys being blessed with a loving family. It was said she had it all, “beauty, brains, confidence”, until tragedy struck. Aged 16, her father Alun took his own life. His death not only shocked the town, but was devastating to Sian whose best friend said “after that she became intense and withdrawn… she didn't share her feelings, not really, and that's why I think she was vulnerable, because she kept things inside her”. Focussed on her education, perhaps as a distraction from the hollow pain she couldn’t express, having achieved her A ‘Levels at Cheltenham Ladies College, in 1970 she began a law degree at Aberystwyth University, and again excelling, in 1973, she began her post-grad at the London School of Economics. She had everything going for her, and yet, something was missing in her life. 1973 was a turbulent year, with Britain gripped by a recession, strikes, riots and protests. As often happens when things seem to collapse; the people react by looking for a new order or an old regime. In the 1970s, the London School of Economics was a hotbed of politics, and with Sian and her cousin Eleri Morgan becoming involved in left wing communism, although some said Sian was “strong and difficult to be easily influenced", becoming radicalised, her best friend Sally stated “it was like a robot was talking to me… she kept telling me that the end of the world would come from the East and that we'd all be destroyed”, as the Chinese Red Army would come to save Britain from spectre of fascism. She talked like a Communist, she dressed in a grey Maoist suit, she listened to Chinese State radio and began recruiting for the Workers' Institute of Marxism-Leninism-Mao Zedong Thought. She graduated LSE in 1975, aged 23, and although she was destined for success, she severed all ties with her family. The group’s leader was 35-year-old Aravindan Balakrishnan. Being 13 years her senior, ‘Comrade Bala’ was said to be charismatic, intelligent and wise beyond his years. As a devout Maoist, he shaped her mind, he gave her strength and – stuck in a spiral of depression and loss – he gave her life meaning. But still grieving her father, was that what she was missing - a father figure? Born in 1940 in Mayyanad, India, a turbulent village in the British-controlled state of Kerala during the first years of the Second World War, as the son of a British Navy clerk, Bala’s first memories were of the anti-imperialist protests of the Indian Independence Movement, and later raised in Singapore, he said he had witnessed “cruelty, killing and torture by the British… especially to people who had helped the British fight the Japanese”, and although a citizen, he saw his adopted country as a fascist state. In 1963, with Singapore becoming a state of Malaysia, granted a passport, Bala moved to Britain. Little is known of his life in 1960s London, but in 1971, he married Chandra, a Tanzanian history student. To the authorities, Bala was a little voice in a raging riot of rhetoric. As the country quaked and burned, he took part in student protests, the two-month sit-in at the LSE, and at his lectures, he opened his speeches with the clenched fist salute to the Chinese revolution. Having been a senior member of the British Communist Party since its foundation in 1968, those who attended his speeches described him as “a slim and handsome Maoist”, neatly dressed in a pressed shit and thick glasses, and “as a brilliant mind who was approachable and charming”, he was political, but had the demeanour of a Holy Man. In an era when the lost sought radical change, Bala was unique… …yet, underneath something powerful and dark was brewing. Through his words, his mission was political. But as the self-appointed leader of the Workers' Institute of Marxism-Leninism-Mao Zedong Thought, his loyal followers (like Sian and Eleri) would see him as a free thinker not a mini dictator. To them, it made sense that he dismissed opposing voices as ‘spies’, that police sirens was psychological warfare used against them, that mass-murderers like Stalin, Pol Pot and Saddam Hussein were Gods, and in 1974, when the British Communist Party expelled him, that this wasn’t the old order rejecting his new ideas, as he was dismissed “for his cultish behaviour”. It was an indoctrination right from the start, to the point where he often said “follow me, I am Christ”. The commune was built on the lie that his wife’s disabled sister who suffered severe epilepsy had only 3 months to live, but having “developed her mind”, she would still be alive more than 40 years later. To outsiders, it’s easy to dismiss those who follow cult leaders as weak or stupid, but Bala’s followers were far from it. Sian Davies was training to be a lawyer, Josephine Herivel was an award-winning violinist, Aishah Abdul Wahab had won a university scholarship, Oh Kar Eng was a Malaysian nurse, and they were all bright and exceptional in their own right. But struggling with depression and seeing Bala as their ‘life support’, cut off from their loved ones, many found a new family in the commune. In October 1976, in a cornershop at 140 Acre Lane in Brixton, South London, they opened the Mao Zedong Memorial Centre in tribute to the Chinese revolutionary leader above which they lived, and a bookshop called ‘The Worker’s Institute of Marxism’. With its shelves filled with books on Stalin, Lenin, Marx and Mao, inside it was painted in the bright red and yellow colours of the Communist flag, its banners read ‘uphold the dictatorship of the proletariat’ and outside, Mao’s portrait faced the street. It barely made a penny, but then it wasn’t supposed to be a temple to consumerism, it was to educate the masses. Inside, thirteen members of the commune slept on hard mattresses on the floor, they ate simply on fish and rice, and to survive, when they weren’t running the bookshop or listening to Bala’s lectures, followers were expected to work a full-time job and hand over their wages to the commune. Everyone had to… except Bala. As a brilliant businesswoman, Sian was key to the commune’s success, she paid most of the bills having been coerced into handing over £10,000 to cover their costs, she organised their rota and worked as the chauffeur to Comrade Bala. For her, this wasn’t a cult, but a political movement, and although he had bragged that the bookshop "has taken the British fascist state by storm", even though it hadn’t, by plotting to overthrow the Singaporean leader and raising their little red books as the Queen’s Silver Jubilee motorcade drove by, suspicious of their true motives, the police kept them under surveillance. To outsiders, Bala’s commune was a secretive and potentially dangerous ideology, and its followers were there of their own accord, and being educated women, they weren’t hostages but communists. On the 4th of March 1978 at 5:30am, Police raided the commune looking for drugs and weapons. Bala’s newsletter reported it as “well over 200 police… made a raid with riot shields and dogs, and arrested nine people… with six women comrades physically assaulted, their heads being banged against the wall… they were strip searched by policemen while rape threats and other sexual taunts were made against them. They were called ‘nigger lovers’ while being hit, their arms and legs were twisted to torture them and terrorise them… with one of the fascist police criminals, aghast at the fighting spirit of these women communists, spoke for the rest of his cohorts by openly boasting: ‘I am perfectly within my rights to break your arm. This is a fascist state! I am a member of the National Front!’”. It was reported very differently by the press and the police, so which was true may never be known. But no drugs or weapons were found, no charges of assault were brought against any officers, and at London Crown Court; six women were found guilty of obstructing and assaulting the police but were given conditional discharges, Sian was sentenced to 14 days in Holloway prison, and although Bala nearly lost the sight in his right eye by being hit, he served six months in prison for assaulting the Police. The raid caused a stink; it got the commune press attention and the arrests made them notorious, but with the bookshop out of business, police surveillance ramping up and several members of the group (including Sian’s cousin Eleri) having fled, what remained of the commune disappeared underground… …and in its dark isolation, the political group they once were was replaced by a cruel cult. No-one knows they’re in a cult, until they’ve escaped it and they finally see the truth. Upon Bala’s release from prison, the commune vanished. To Sian and the other six female followers, Bala told them that the raid by the British fascist state was to stop them from speaking the truth, that the government was afraid of them, and being watched, they must be silent, but ready to rise again. Key to every cult is silence and isolation. Like the others, Sian was smart, so they didn’t see themselves as being indoctrinated by a cult leader and a mini dictator, but that he was keeping their minds pure. To them, the fascist state poisons its people with propaganda, so to stay strong, they must reject it. Their new commune was a 3 storey Victorian terraced house at 60 Shakespeare Road in nearby Herne Hill, paid for by the followers having handed over their savings and sold their homes to fund the cause. As true believers, they isolated themselves from all friends or family who were – supposedly - already slaves to the fascist state, with all neighbours described as ‘ugly dirty whites’ who were all covert spies. Inside, the seven women and one man lived behind closed windows and locked doors, with no visitors and no phone. Television was banned, radio was outlawed, newspapers were forbidden, they only read the approved Communist texts they knew they could trust, as each day, for 3 to 4 hours, Comrade Bala had them stand in a circle and listen to his lectures, which they hung on like the word of God. If they got sick, that wasn’t due to an illness, but the Western bourgeois decadence they’d consumed, and with him claiming the NHS (National Health Service) stood for ‘Never Help Self’, his disciples truly believed that the doctors would poison them, but only Bala could heal them by purifying their minds. And yet it wasn’t just the mental torture they endured, much of it was psychological and physical. As a leader, their leader, the only days they could celebrate were his conception and his birth, where they sung songs to celebrate his existence. As a great man, their great man, they attributed significant world events on those days to his (and only his) creation providing evidence of his greatness. And as a God, their God, they said “he is nature and nature is him, he controls the sun, moon, winds and fire”. He was all-knowing, all powerful, and they all obeyed his rules being told he could read their minds. Under the guise of keeping them pure, but in truth, to keep them under his control, each women was forced to write an ‘explicit’ diary of their most intimate secrets and sexual experiences, and to punish them, he would read it aloud to the group, when he felt a beating with a fist or a belt wasn’t enough. You may ask, why didn’t they run? But after years of indoctrination, they believed him. After a decade of fear, every siren was psychological torture, every passerby was a spy and every policeman was part of a death squad sent to kill them. But although Bala said his supernatural powers would protect them, he couldn’t if they ever left the safety of the commune, as if they did, they’d spontaneously combust. Trapped, they were paranoid, terrified, reliant on him, and as if to dehumanise them further (or simply to satisfy his needs), when he sent his wife away on a supposed mission for the cause, some of the women he had sex with, but many he assaulted or raped being made to wait “as if by appointment”. After years, these women were physically and psychologically broken, just shells of their former selves, but with Bala growing older and frailer, fearing he could be overthrown at any moment - even with his supposed supernatural powers – he concocted a force they should be afraid of, a God called JACKIE. ‘JACKIE’ which stood for Jehovah, Allah, Christ, Krishna and Immortal Easwaren wasn’t a God, but “an electronic satellite warfare machine built by the Chinese Communist Party and the People’s Liberation Army”, and as an invisible entity of ultimate power, they were told it was so powerful, “it can pull your head out from your body”, and if any of his followers displeased him, bad things would happened. In 1985, he claimed that JACKIE triggered the Mexico earthquake because one of the women had lied. It was her fault, and buying a TV to witness it, that night she wept at the 5000 deaths she had caused. In 1986, Space Shuttle Challenger exploded as ‘one of them was hassling him’. And the 1995 Kobe earthquake was provoked when they answered the door to a pizza boy who went to the wrong house. Through disobedience, they believed they had murdered thousands if not millions, and yet amidst the paranoid fear under the dictatorship of this cruel cult leader, in 1983, having got pregnant by Bala… …a baby girl was born. She was born Prem Maopinduzi Davies, a name chosen by Bala being the Hindu word for love, a tribute to Mao, the Swahili word for revolution and her mother’s surname, only he called her ‘Project Prem’. She would be raised as the purest kind of soldier to the cause, not a child to be hugged or even loved. Lied to her whole life, Prem was told that her father was a freedom fighter and her mother was dead. Denied everything a child needs; she never went to school, she never had a friend, she didn’t have any toys and she rarely saw daylight. Every day, ‘Project Prem’ cooked, cleaned and listened to Bala’s lectures, as nightly, she was ordered to write a diary of everything she did or thought, which Bala read. Repeatedly slapped and beaten for disobedience, she had no experience of the world, and although she often sat watching the neighbour’s children play in the street, she couldn’t join them, as she feared being beaten, arrested or shot by death squads, causing a crash, or that she’d spontaneously combust. She later said, “I was bullied, tormented, humiliated, isolated and degraded. I lived in constant fear”. She often cried for hours being trapped in what she called ‘The Dark Tower’. Being lonely, she spoke only to the bathroom taps. And being malnourished through poor food and a lack of daylight, this little girl developed diabetes, depression and (having walked no more than a few feet at a time) her muscles were weak having never properly developed. And yet, by reading the few non-Communist books that Bala allow - Harry Potter, and The Lord of the Rings – her eyes were open and her brain was a sponge. By July 1996, Sian had been a disciple, a follower and a hostage for 23 years, Prem was 13, and being desperate to escape but not knowing how, and too terrified to do so, a neighbour in Shakespeare Road said “I saw a woman holding notes up to the window, only I couldn’t read it”. Her cousin Eleri Morgan who had fled the commune received a call from her, and said “I believed she had a breakdown”. But with Bala having tied Sian up to stop her from fleeing or screaming, Prem said “I saw that she was ill”. Sian was beyond broken, and although she pleaded, the help she needed would never come. On the Christmas Eve of 1996, outside of the cult’s commune at 60 Shakespeare Road, Sian was found collapsed in a bloody heap, her neck broken, having fallen from the second floor bathroom window. It was uncertain if she fell trying to escape, tried to take her own life, or was pushed for disobedience. In a rare breaking of the rules, an ambulance was called, but after seven months in a coma, she died. Her family were lied to being told she was travelling in India, Bala lied to the inquest which was left with an open verdict, the cult’s followers were told “the CIA controlled her mind because she wore Levi’s jeans”, and Prem later said, “I never even knew who my mother was until after she had died”. That should have been her impetus to run, but being terrified of Bala and JACKIE, Prem was trapped, Across the next eight years, little things like being late with his dinner supposedly led to a hurricane in Honduras in 1998, a Mexican mudslide in 1999, the Concorde air-crash in 2000, 9/11 in 2001 and the 7/7 attacks in 2005, and having been indoctrinated since birth, she knew no better, but she was bright. In 2004, one of the last six cult members, Oh Kar Eng the Malaysian nurse mysteriously died of a stroke having “hit her head on a cupboard”. Again, her loved ones were lied to, the police were not informed, and being cremated, the ashes of this women who – for years had been raped by Bala - were hidden. Two were dead, at least ten had fled, and now 22-year-old Prem, who was growing wiser, bolder and had secretly renamed herself as Rosie had found the strength the others had lost in their need to flee. The August bank holiday of 2005 was the most courageous day of her life. Fighting her fears, she thought of leaving, but oddly JACKIE’s mind control didn’t stop her. She packed a bag, but no earthquakes were reported on the news. Out of the back door, she cautiously stepped terrified that she would burst in flames as Bala had decreed, but she didn’t. And as she stiffy walked on aching legs 3 miles south into an alien landscape she had no experience of, she wasn’t shot by death squads or arrested by spies, but aided by a passerby, she entered Streatham Police Station. She was safe, and this should have been her salvation, but it wasn’t. The Police contacted Bala and had him pick her up. It wasn’t a conspiracy by the state, but indifference, as being short-staffed on a public holiday, the part-time duty officer believed that Prem was just a runaway from a difficult home and not a hostage from a cult ruled by a rapist and a god called JACKIE. Returned home, with the cult moving to another commune where they weren’t known, it would take another eight years of isolation and fear before Prem found the courage to leave, but this time… …with the help of a cult member and two good people who saw her as the victim she truly was. Prem later said “if I’d been forced to stay much longer, I would have died, either by diabetes or suicide. I was so ill, I was fainting. I didn’t want to be treated like an animal any more”, so aided by Josephine (who’d become her mother after Sian’s death), memorising a phone number for a helpline for victims of abuse, in secret, as Bala and his wife Chandra watched Neighbours, they spoke to Gerard Stocks & Yvonne Hall of the Palm Cove Society, and with the Metropolitan Police, they organised their rescue. On Friday 25th of October 2013 at 11:15am, “we made sure that (Bala & Chandra) were nowhere near”, and having watched them head off to the shops, the charity swooped, the police searched the flat, and the women were taken to a place of safety having been prisoners for more than 30 years. (out) After a three-week trial held at Southwark Crown Court in November 2015, Bala was found guilty of five counts of indecent assault, four counts of rape, two counts of actual bodily harm, and the cruelty and false imprisonment of Prem - who DNA would prove – was his child. He pleaded ‘not guilty’, but Prem’s testimony proved incontrovertible, as well as the stacks of diaries he had forced the women to write since the 1970s, with one diary confirming that aged just four, Prem was beaten 63 times. Unsurprisingly diagnosed with a narcissistic personality disorder, 76-year-old Bala was sentenced to 23 years in prison. In court, he bragged that JACKIE could make the lawyer unconscious, but it didn’t, and although Bala claimed to be immortal, on 8th of April 2022, he died at HMP Dartmoor aged 81. As a consequence of this case, the government introduced an Anti-Slavery Bill, but after years of fear, paranoia and indoctrination, some of his followers refused to see him as the evil man he truly was. In court, his wife Chandra and his devoted follower Josephine stood by him, declared him innocent and claimed he’d been framed by the British fascist state, and although Josephine is still preaching his ways and is fighting to clear his name, like some of the cult, she was diagnosed with Stockholm Syndrome. Of those who survived, Aisha moved into sheltered housing in Leeds and volunteers in a charity shop, and Prem, who legally changed her named to Katy Morgan-Davies has spoken openly about her life in the cult, sharing her experiences in the hope of helping others trapped by faith, coercion and violence. Having studied English and maths at college, and hoping to pursue a career in politics, Katy remains happy having moved into a supported flat of her own, she’s strong having received the treatment she needed for her diabetes and muscles, and now living her life as a free woman, she lives without fear, she is making friends, and although she misses her mother Sian, she is embracing her biological family. Katy said “I forgive them all, because to be angry and full of hatred is never the solution. So I believe in what Nelson Mandela said that if you hold onto that anger and hatred, then you are still in prison”. 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 BRITISH TRUE-CRIME PODCAST, 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, 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.
EPISODE TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-NINE:
This is Part Two of Two of The Chalk Pit Murder. On Thursday 28th of November 1946, Australian politician Thomas Ley enlisted four good people to help him trap a bad man who terrorised women. As a simple plan with no law broken and nobody hurt, it was a gentlemanly reaction to a dastardly crime by a criminal who they felt deserved worse. Only what began as a good deed by four decent and moral people, soon descended into deceit and death.
THE LOCATION:
The location is marked with a gold/brown symbol of a 'P' just under the words 'Hyde Park' and 'Kensington'. To use the map, click it. If you want to see the other maps, click here.
SOURCES: a selection sourced from the news archives:
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: As the basement door of 5 Beaufort Gardens slammed shut and Wolseley drove off, facing two burly men on either side of the passageway and the scowling grimace of Thomas Ley, John Mudie muttered “I know what this is about”. At least he thought he did, just like the co-conspirators (Lawrence Smith, Mrs Bruce, John Buckingham, and his son John Junior the chauffeur) who had lured this man here. As a strong ex-soldier, Mudie knew he was outmanned so didn’t struggle as Buckingham threw a sack over his head and Smith bound his ankles and arms with 12-foot of rope. Muttering “you’re stifling me”, to scare him, Buckingham joked “you’re breathing your last”, not knowing that this was the truth. Buckingham recalled “Mudie was scared” as the aim was for the man (Ley claimed was terrorising Mrs Brook and her daughter) to sign the confession, to take the money, be on a flight and never to return, as they dragged Mudie to a small windowless office and dumped him in a chair with a pen and paper. If he moved, they pulled him back. If he screamed, they gagged him with a green odd-smelling cloth. And if he didn’t sign it, he was threatened with a beating, even though “no-one would get hurt”. But that was a lie, as soon he would be dead with his strangled body buried in a chalk pit far from London. At 7:05pm, barely five minutes after Mudie was lured in, with his services no longer needed, Ley gave Buckingham an envelope of £200 as he left, and said “don’t contact or phone me again”. At the Crown & Sceptre pub opposite, they each got a cut - £30 for Mrs Bruce, £25 for Junior and the rest for himself – as they raised a toast to a job well done. These three morally decent people truly believed they had done the right thing, as in their minds, two women had been saved and a bad man had been caught… …but, the real ‘bad man’ was Thomas Ley. Born on the 28th of October 1880 in the English city of Bath, Thomas John Ley was one of four children to Henry & Elizabeth. But with his father dying when he was two, aged 6, they emigrated to Australia. Throughout his early years, he was hailed as a bastion of moral decency being a teetotaller with strong Christian values, a father of three boys and married to his wife Emily who fought for Women’s suffrage, and was seen as a hallmark of success having risen from a junior clerk to a solicitor to the Supreme Court, MP for Hurstville, Minister for Justice in Sydney and seen as a future Prime Minister of Australia. To the people, he was moral and trusted. But in real life, his friends, lovers and enemies would describe him as being “a man with a brilliant brain”, but “insanely jealous” of others to the point of paranoia. As he rose up the political ranks, several deaths dogged his career. During the 1925 campaign to be MP for Barton, it was claimed he had tried to bribe his opponent - Frederick McDonald – with a £2000 share in a property at Sydney's Kings Cross if he withdrew from the ballot. Ley won the election, the story got leaked, and on the 15th of April 1926 having contested the results, McDonald mysteriously vanished and his body never found. Ley denied any involvement, and yet the suspicion had bedded in. In 1927, having built the legal firm ‘Ley, Andrews & Co’, several businesses he was engaged with (like as Australasian Oil Fields and S.O.S Prickly Pear Poisons) were under scrutiny for irregularity. One critic was the politician Hyman Goldstein, a meticulous man who was famed for taking early morning walks and was all-but-blind without his glasses, but on the 3rd of September 1928, his broken body was found at the base of Coogee Cliff also known as ‘Suicide Point’, with his glasses missing and no suicide note. And when Keith Greedor, a vocal opponent of Ley’s was appointed to investigate these alleged dodgy deals, while travelling to Newcastle by boat, Greedor mysteriously fell overboard and drowned. There was no evidence to link Ley to any of these suspicious deaths which were listed as ‘possible suicides’, but as Minister for Justice, he had the paid goons to make it happen and the power to make it vanish. By 1928, with his name synonymous with scandal, suffering an abject election defeat, this so-called family man left his wife in Australia, and having kept an affair secret for years, Ley and his housekeeper turned mistress (whose husband had also died in mysterious circumstances) emigrated to England. It could have been a fresh start, as here his name wasn’t mud. But in 1931, he promoted a fraudulent £1 million Derby sweepstake, in 1940 his son was sentenced to 3 years for forgery on his behalf, his real estate dealings were said to be “dubious” and he was convicted of war-time black marketeering. Again, to those who didn’t know him, he was a respected solicitor and ex-Minster for Justice who was moral and trusted. When in truth, he was a ruthless narcissist who used his past to hide his crimes. On Thursday 28th of November 1946 at 7pm, in a way similar to those earlier suspected ‘suicides’, he coerced four co-conspirators (having been fed a lie) to lure an innocent man to a place he didn’t belong; where no-one knew he was going, where no-one would see him vanish and where his death would be listed as self-inflicted. Once inside the basement door of 5 Beaufort Gardens, Mudie was as good as dead. But as Ley never got his hands dirty, being a 66-year-old 18 stone lump with Asthma… …he needed someone fit and strong to do the unthinkable. Having been tied up and gagged, terrified and with a false confession for him to sign, what happened in that small windowless office will never be known. When Buckingham left at 7:05pm, he went to the Crown & Sceptre pub where Mrs Bruce & John Junior joined him for a drink, as witnessed by others. When questioned, Ley said he left the flat two hours earlier, went to the Liberal Club to watch a game of snooker, had dinner alone at the Cumberland Grill at 7:20pm (the time that Mudie was murdered), returned home by 11:30pm and noticed nothing strange, yet not a single witness could recall him. He also said the £550 he withdrew in untraceable £1 notes was for furnishings as his flat was being rebuilt. When the police searched 5 Beaufort Gardens two weeks later, the building was still in a state of chaos as builders were thick into renovations; it was strewn with dust and rubble, there were no fingerprints belonging to Mudie, Smith or Buckingham, the door locks had been changed, and there were no rope marks or any beams or hooks where he could have been hung for the 15 minutes it took him to die. Ley’s secretary said she had found 20 cigarette butts on her office floor the next morning, all being of the brand Player’s, but she had disposed of them, as she naturally thought they were just rubbish. As for the fourth co-conspirator, Lawrence Smith, he admitted his part in luring Mudie to the flat, but after Buckingham had left, he stated “Ley stood in the hall for ten minutes, he seemed to be waiting for someone”, then hearing a bell, “Ley said ‘alright, you can go now”. Smith was given an envelope of cash, he left via the basement door, got in the hired 8hp Ford and was back at work by Monday. When Smith asked, Ley said “everything went alright and Mudie had been dropped off at Wimbledon”. That second man was never seen, and Detectives confirmed that it would have taken either two men to carry the corpse of John Mudie to the car, or a large man to drag or to carry him in a fireman’s lift. Smith denied any involvement in the disposal of the body, but we know that he prepared it. Following Ley’s instructions, on Monday 25th of November, four days before the murder, Smith hired the 8hp Ford saloon for the week, not just the day they drove it to and from the Reigate Hill Hotel. On Wednesday 27th, one day before the murder and the body’s disposal, as the storm clouds loomed and the rains began to pour making the clay soil boggy, at 4:30pm, two local gardeners - Fred Smith & Clifford Tamplin – saw a man in the chalk pit widening the hole of the old latrine trench with a pickaxe. Being dusk, the sun had set and the man was shining a torch, but it was as they cycled up Slines Oak Lane to the pit’s entrance that the man – 5 foot 6, early 30s, medium build, dark hair – realising he’d been seen, sprinted to a car hidden by the bushes, and trying twice to reverse it, he sped away. With their suspicions raised, they noted “it was a new-ish dark 8hp Ford, licence plate FGP101”, but as all he was doing was digging a hole, they thought nothing of it until the murder appeared in the papers. His fear and incompetence at merely preparing the hole for the body could be a reason why the police and the pathologists couldn’t tell if it was a suicide or a murder as the disposal was incomplete? Maybe he’d been paid to bury the body, but having been disturbed by another passerby, in panic, he fled? The co-conspirators (and possibly Lawrence Smith too) had been fed a lie by Thomas Ley… …but if it was a lie, why did Ley want John Mudie murdered? The co-conspirators would admit they didn’t know Mrs Brook, the victim of the rape and blackmail who Ley, as her solicitor was protecting. But what he deliberately hid from them was the truth - she wasn’t just a co-director of Connaught Properties, she was also his mistress. As his ex-housekeeper, Evelyn Byron Brook known as Maggie, had moved to England in 1928 with Ley and her daughter June. Maggie & Ley’s relationship had been turbulent for years, and with her nerves frayed, she had relied on sleeping pills to get by as Ley had claimed to love her, yet she stated “he was insanely jealous… he didn’t like me having any friends, and during a quarrel with my daughter, he pulled a revolver on us”. To get away from him, Maggie moved into her own flat at 14 West Cromwell Road, yet it was around the time that he became impotent, that his jealousy spiralled out of control. For years, with his libido broken, he accused this 66-year-old widow who just wanted a quiet life of having sexually-explicit and tempestuous affairs with four younger men and spreading rumours that “being old she can’t keep up”. In June 1946, doing a good deed for her daughter (Jean) who was in hospital for an operation, Maggie housesat for her at 3 Homefield Road in Wimbledon as she was one of its lodgers; one of whom was a 35-year-old ex-soldier who was handsome, fair-haired, blue-eyed and knew how to chat to a lady. John Mudie had lived there for six weeks, so when Mrs Evans, the landlady introduced him to Maggie, he greeted her, they spoke for a minute, and that was it. Getting a new job at the Reigate Hill Hotel, although she said she found him attractive stating “well, he won’t be single for long with such beautiful eyes”, he left two days later, and they never saw each other or communicated in anyway ever again. And why would they? When the Police questioned Mrs Brook, she said “I have never told Ley that I have been blackmailed”. Mudie who was described as “a quiet and clean living man” stated in letters to Ley’s solicitors that he hadn’t received any cheques, and when the Police examined both of their bank accounts “we couldn’t find a single hint of blackmail, nor any improper liaisons between Mudie, Mrs Brook or her daughter”. Initially, Ley’s lie had been a ruse to ruin Mudie’s reputation believing he was one of four men having an alleged affair with Maggie, but the further Ley believed it, the more his paranoia made it real. Just like the rape story used to poison his co-conspirator’s minds and make them believe their actions were morally right, it didn’t happen. As a possessive man, who (even when they lived apart) demanded on knowing where she was, who she was with, and every night repeatedly called her to check if she was in, he claimed he heard her having sex in her flat with Arthur Barron, her own daughter’s husband. He was deluded, irrational, paranoid and possessive, but the more he built upon the story that Maggie had been blackmailed and raped by John Mudie, the more it became a reality. The co-conspirators believed his lies because he believed his lies, and that the only way to stop Mudie was to murder him. On Thursday 3rd of December, Smith & Buckingham met at the Crown & Sceptre, and with none of the co-conspirators attributing a body found in a chalk pit to John Mudie, they were none the wiser. Over a pint, Smith told Buckingham “the old man was very pleased with the way things went. Mudie signed the confession, he was given £500 and is out of the country”. It was a job well done. But ten days later, being told “he didn’t make the flight, Mudie’s gone missing”, they were told to speak to no one. They were worried that Mudie would blab, unaware that he was lying dead on a mortuary slab. Ley was getting twitchy, and this was no coincidence, as by the 3rd of December Joseph Mudie (John’s brother) had identified the body, by the 5th of December Police had searched the room at the Reigate Hill Hotel, and interviewing Ley at his flat on the 7th, being shown the solicitor’s letter, Detective Sergeant Shoobridge bluntly stated “John Mudie has been found dead, and I am making enquiries”. With Smith still foreman of the renovations in Ley’s flat, he had ample time to eviscerate any evidence of a crime, a victim or any culprits, but there were other pieces of evidence it wasn’t so easy to destroy. In the solicitor’s letter, DS Shoobridge noticed a line which caught his attention, it read “Mrs Brook directed us to send the cheques to her in your care”. He checked this, she didn’t, and could prove it. Staff at the Reigate Hill Hotel also noted that Mudie had been offered a job at a fancy cocktail party in London by a wealthy widow who was chauffeur-driven in a Rolls Royce or a Wolseley. They all saw it, and they all chatted about it, as that kind of thing doesn’t happen every day, and with Mudie feeling that this was the good piece of luck he needed, he cancelled a date with his girlfriend Euphemia McGill. To be thorough, the Police also checked every phone call and guest that Mudie had received in the months he’d worked there; one call on the day of the murder was later discovered to have been made by the chauffeur to let Mudie know that the widow was running late, and one guest was Thomas Ley. We know this, because there were witnesses. In August 1946, three months prior, Mudie entered the hotel’s kitchen and said to William Healey the vegetable cook “I want you to witness something, I’ll explain later”. Said to be nervous and uneasy, Mudie led him into the Tapestry Room where two men in suits accused him of forging cheques. Able to prove his innocence and that this was a miscommunication, one of the men (Tom Barron, the father of Mrs Brook’s son-in-law) apologised for the inconvenience and stated “the matter was settled”. The other man we know was Thomas Ley, because he handed William his business card, which he kept. That’s why Ley didn’t want Mudie to see his face until he was inside his flat and it was too late to run, (door slam) “I know what this is about”. Mudie was innocent, Mrs Brook wasn’t a victim and this had all been proven beyond a shred of doubt, but as a plan concocted by a demented and paranoid mind… …the biggest lie by Thomas Ley was the crime itself. In the windowless office of the empty basement at 5 Beaufort Gardens, Mudie had been tied up with 12 foot of rope, far too much to restrain one man but sufficient enough to bind him and hang him. With a suspicion of foul play in this suspected suicide, a second autopsy was conducted by Home Office pathologist Dr Keith Simpson who spotted two bruises to the frontal portion of the brain, and his intestines (being dark with the appearance of velvet) pointed to some kind of violence to the stomach. Consulting Dr Francis Camps, Dr Simpson had three issues with the ‘suicide’ hypothesis; first, that the noose was tied with a half hitch commonly used to secure items rather than a hangman’s knot; second, there were no hooks or beams to hang a rope from anywhere in the basement or chalk pit; and third, that elevated carbon monoxide levels proved that Mudie had taken 15 minute to die by asphyxia, yet if hung, most persons would be unconscious in one minute and dead in two even with an inferior knot. His death had been slow and protracted. With his clean shoes proving he hadn’t touched any soil and a V-shaped strangulation mark from his chin to his ears and up the midline of his skull matching the rope, as it had taken him far too long to die, it was as if he had been hung, and again, and again. Dr Simpson stated “the marks were caused by the upwards pull of a rope”, as if someone strong and fit (like Smith) had hung him using his hands while he was seated, and taking him close to death, he only stopped to do it again, as if Mudie was being forced to confess for something he hadn’t done. It was a deliberately brutal and painful death, but this wasn’t the wound that killed him. Underneath the rope burn on his neck, obscured by purple bruises, pinprick haemorrhages and a state of decomposition, a very faint line of constriction was found. Unlike those made by the noose, these were lower, deeper and had crushed the windpipe as it was tightened by someone stood behind him. With the confession signed, he was strangled to death, carried to the boot of the Ford, driven to the chalk pit, dragged to the pre-dug grave causing his clothes and the noose to ruck up around his neck, the rope was then cut with a blunt blade as if it was to be destroyed, but being disturbed by a passerby, this nervous assassin had fled, leaving a pick axe and a body half buried to be mistaken for a suicide. The evidence proved this wasn’t a suicide, it was unmistakably a murder. The Police’s prime suspect was Thomas Ley, the solicitor, politician and Sydney’s ex-Minister of Justice, but being a 66-year-old 18 stone asthmatic and diabetic who had difficulty standing up, let alone carrying a body, said to be a “brilliant brain” who had four suspicious deaths linked to him, they knew he had co-conspirators? But who were they, and where were they? The investigation was proving problematic as any evidence linking Ley to Mudie’s murder had been erased; the flat had been renovated, the hire car had been valeted, every Rolls Royce was ruled out, every Wolseley was still being checked, and with a phone-call made by the wealthy widow’s chauffeur to Mudie on the day of his death, the caller didn’t seem like a hired killer, just a moral family man. Knowing Ley’s penchant for lies, the Police suspected that his co-conspirators were merely paid pawns in a ploy to kidnap Mudie for whatever reason but not to kill him, so they decided to smoke them out. On Saturday 14th of December, two weeks after the body was found, John Buckingham Senior opened a copy of the Daily Mirror and read a small article, it read “Chalkpit Riddle of a hanged man is puzzling Surrey police… John McMain Mudie, 35 was found hanged in Woldingham Common… police want to know what happened to him after he left the Reigate Hill Hotel”, and next to it was a photo of Mudie. It was to be a simple plan with no laws broken and nobody hurt, but the man they had lured was dead. For their crimes, they risked being charged with kidnapping and possibly as accessories to murder, but as three law-abiding moral citizens who had only taken part in this ploy to trap a ‘bad man’ because they had been hoodwinked into believing a lie about two women being terrorised by a blackmailer, that day, John Buckingham, John Junior and Mrs Lillian Bruce all voluntarily attended Scotland Yard. Stating to the sergeant “we’ve come to tell you about the body found in a chalk pit”, they each gave a statement which was verified as accurate, stating “we thought we were stopping a dirty blackmailer”. With Smith identified by the gardeners who had seen him at the chalk pit, and with enough evidence to arrest Ley, on the 28th of December 1946 at Chelsea police station, Thomas Ley, Lawrence Smith and John Buckingham Senior were charged with the murder of John McMain Mudie. (Out) In a four-week trial held at the Old Bailey, Mrs Bruce and John Junior proved to be reliable witnesses for the prosecution, and having turned King’s Evidence, Buckingham Senior was dropped as a suspect. As predicted, Ley and Smith both pleaded ‘not guilty’ to murder, and although Smith remained mostly silent, Ley (who looked ill and pale) was described as “defensive, antagonistic and rude”, that’s when he could be bothered to turn up. In cross-examination, he denied knowing the co-conspirators, giving them money, approving the plan, being at Beaufort Gardens that night, and when asked why Mudie had been bought to his flat, Ley stated his innocence which no-one believed, and retorted, “I have no idea… but people who accept £200 for kidnapping a man are quite capable of framing someone else”. The jury deliberated for less than an hour, and on the 24th of March 1947, with Ley & Smith found guilty of murder, Justice Goddard sentenced them to death. To the court, Ley arrogantly exclaimed “I am not surprised at the verdict after the allegations of jealousy and suchlike nonsense. I am perfectly innocent”, and seeing himself as the victim he described it as “an injustice” and “totally unwarranted”. Their executions were set for the 8th of May 1947, but on appeal, Smith’s sentence was commuted to life. As for Ley, with two psychiatrists diagnosing him as a possible paranoid schizophrenic, he was declared insane and was sent to Broadmoor Asylum, becoming its richest and most illustrious prisoner. Barely two months later, on 24th of July 1947, having suffered a stroke, Thomas Ley died at Broadmoor leaving his estate to his wife and three sons. Asked before his death “did you suspect Mudie of being in a relationship with Mrs Brook”, he replied “never”, and yet, Mudie’s confession was never found. 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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Entrance to the Chalk Pit today @Googlemaps2025 May2019
Welcome to the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast and audio guided walk of London's most infamous and often forgotten murder cases, all set within and beyond London's West End.
EPISODE TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-EIGHT:
On Thursday 28th of November 1946, Australian politician Thomas Ley enlisted four good people to help him trap a bad man who terrorised women. As a simple plan with no law broken and nobody hurt, it was a gentlemanly reaction to a dastardly crime by a criminal who they felt deserved worse. Only what began as a good deed by four decent and moral people, soon descended into deceit and death.
THE LOCATION:
The location is marked with a brown gold of a 'P' just by the words 'Kensington'. To use the map, click it. If you want to see the other maps, click here.
SOURCES: a selection sourced from the news archives:
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: Welcome to Murder Mile. Today, I’m standing in Beaufort Gardens in Knightsbridge, SW3; four streets west of the gay panic, three roads south of the killing of Churchill’s superspy, four streets south of the unsolved assassination of Countess Lubienska, and two roads north of the London cannibal - coming soon to Murder Mile. 5 Beaufort Gardens is one of 46 impressively grand five-storey townhouses worth £10 million-a-piece. Previously being a delightful des’ res’ to many a fop-haired dandy in a top hat and a dashing ‘tache, most are now merely tax write-offs for a faceless conglomerate of baddies, bankers and bastards. But the building’s front is not what’s of interest, as behind is its less glamourous rear end. Set just off the exclusive Brompton Road, Brompton Place is a painfully thin mews which rarely sees daylight and is barely big enough to park a van. As a service entrance for contractors and cleaners, it’s featureless and flat with crumbling paint and a series of vague doors leading to the bowels of these grand houses. On Thursday 28th of November 1946, the ground floor, first floor and basement were being extensively renovated by a troop of burly builders at the behest of its owner, the Australian politician Thomas Ley. With the Police unable or unwilling to assist, as a solicitor, he enlisted four good people to help him trap a bad man who terrorised women. It would be a simple plan with no law broken and nobody hurt. It was a gentlemanly reaction to a dastardly crime by a criminal who they felt deserved worse. Only what began as a good deed by four decent and moral people, soon descended into deceit and death. My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 288: The Chalk Pit Murder – Part One. Saturday 30th of November 1946 at 4pm. After days of rain, with the storm finally passing, 16-year-old Tom Coombs was out collecting firewood on Slines Oak Road near Woldingham in Surrey, an isolated country lane surrounded by wide fields, high hedges and few houses for as far as the eye could see. Entering the old chalk pit, a recently decommissioned British Army rifle range, the ground was sludgy as the thick grey clay stuck to his boots. It was slippery as he descended the hill, but this wasn’t what made him to stop. “it looked like a bundle of rags… a dummy, with its legs sticking out of the trench”. Alerting his father, with a dead body found, the police were dispatched. Barely a year since the war had ended, detectives had seen many-a-scene such as this, as with soldiers coming home traumatised to find their families dead and their jobs gone, suicide was all too common. The man was in his mid-30s, handsome, fair-haired, blue-eyed, 5 foot 7 inches tall and 10 stone, with an autopsy later conducted by Dr Eric Gardner showing no signs of disease or natural death. Dressed in a neat but well-worn tweed overcoat, blue shirt and tie, with grey jacket, trousers and waistcoat, he was clean shaven as if looking for work, yet somehow he’d ended up here, 18 miles from London. Dead for two days, without disturbing the body, Detective Superintendents Roberts and King searched his pockets; £27 in notes and coins ruled out a robbery, a book titled ‘100 Cocktails’ suggested he had been or was going to a party as he had five packs of Players cigarettes with two still full, there was no suicide note which isn’t uncommon as gripped by depression the only thought he may have had was his death, as well as a comb, a pencil, a bus ticket from Reigate to somewhere but here and his ID card. His name was John Mudie, and that’s all they knew about him for now. It had all the hallmarks of a suicide; a noose made of ply Jute had been tied around his neck, his face was purple, his eyes bloodshot, and his organs and skin dotted with pinprick haemorrhages. He was fit and strong, and with no defensive wounds nor alcohol or drugs in his blood, lynching was ruled out. It had hints of sadomasochism, as green (odd smelling) cloth was entwined with the noose possibly to prevent rubbing, his trousers were unbuttoned, he wore no underpants, and there was evidence of seminal fluid at his crotch, but why would someone travel somewhere so remote for a sexual thrill? Dr Keith Simpson, the Home Office pathologist later stated ”this is a case of death by hanging… but whether homicidal or suicidal, I cannot say”, as there were several things which didn’t make sense. The body was found in a 6 foot long by 1 foot and 7 inch wide trench, previously used by troops as a latrine, but an axe found nearby showed it had recently been used to widen the grave. It was the right size for him, but the detectives had never seen an incidence of a suicidal man digging his own grave. It wasn’t impossible, just odd. As were the asphyxiation marks around his neck which proved it took him 15 minutes to die, and yet, with the trench being at the base of a barren hill, the only trees in sight were too small to hold his weight, and at the nearest buildings - a pumping station and a Engineer’s cottage 100 feet away – the owners saw and heard nothing and there was no evidence of any hanging. It didn’t seem like a murder, but the Police knew that someone else had to be involved, maybe it was a sex game which went wrong, or someone had found him hanging, panicked and tried to bury him. They knew this; as after his death, the rope had been cut into four pieces; it was impossible for him to have hung himself in or near the trench as rigor mortis had begun to set in before he was laid there; it had rained for days making the grey clay soil boggy yet his brown canvas shoes were neat and clean; and with mud smears on the front of his clothes, somebody had dragged him, possibly from the road. The police and the pathologists were stumped, it looked like a suicide, but they couldn’t confirm where it had happened or how. It wasn’t a robbery, a lynching or an assault, yet it didn’t look like a murder. The only way to discover the truth was to trace the victim’s last steps before he ended up dead. But who was he? Born on the 1st of July 1911 in the Scottish county of Fife, John McMain Mudie known as Jack was the middle child of five siblings who was described as “quiet and inoffensive”. Said to be handsome with soft fair hair and beautiful eyes, he had an easy way with the ladies, but was always faithful to his wife. Enlisted as a Corporal in the Royal Army Medical Corps, he served in Italy and Libya, his military record described him as “exemplary… well-balanced and happy”, but burdened by flat feet, he didn’t fight in any large scale conflicts, and therefore he had no injuries and didn’t suffer from shell shock or nerves. Those who knew him said “he was the last person to have an enemy” and “he wasn’t a sexual pervert”. In July 1942, aged 31, he married his sweetheart Jean and they had a son, and although he dreamed of building a nice little home for his family, while he was serving overseas, Jean met another man, she got pregnant, and although John tried to take her back, his heart was broken and the couple split. He was devasted, but as his brother would later state, “he was upset, but not the kind to take his life”. He tried his best to keep the family together, and even got a job as a debt collector at Pearl Assurance, but in April 1946 his wife left him taking the kids to Glasgow, and a month later, he moved to London. By all accounts, he was honest, decent and he didn’t have a criminal record. But then again, the post-war years were tough for everyone. In July, he got his first job as a cellarman at the Dog & Fox pub in Wimbledon, where the bar manager Arthur Rouse described him as “quiet, not particularly bright but industrious”, and said “Mudie was badly in need of work… he had very little money and out of the £1 10s a week he earned here, he paid 27s 6d for a bed in a boarding house” at 3 Homefield Road a few streets away, “and he saved 3s a week by having a cup of tea at work”, he was so broke he hardly ate. After four weeks, he resigned as a better paying job as a barman in Reigate came up, and although £50 in stock had gone missing from the pub, said to be a decent fellow, they couldn’t prove it was him. In June 1946, he started work at the Reigate Hill Hotel, where – as a professional barman - he was liked and trusted by the bosses, the staff and the customers. He lived on-site, he earned a good wage, he didn’t gamble, he was always happy, and his only vice was as a heavy smoker of Player’s cigarettes. Five months later, on his day off, instead of taking his girlfriend Euphemia McGill to the cinema… …he seems to have dug a grave and then hung himself in an isolated chalk pit in Surrey. Investigating his last known movements, Detective Sergeant Frederick Shoobridge searched his room at the Reigate Hill Hotel. It was small, sparse with few possessions and nothing was expensive or fancy. He found nothing sinister or out of the ordinary, only a bog-standard letter from a firm of solicitors. Dated the 25th of July 1946 and sent to his last lodging at 3 Homefield Road in Wimbledon, it read “Dear Sir. On 19th of June 1946, our clients Connaught Properties sent to you a letter addressed to Mrs Byron Brook, one of their directors…”, asking for the return of some company cheques, “unless they are returned, our instructions are to proceed with recovery. Yours faithfully. Denton, Hall & Burgin”. The letter was written at their client’s behest, Mr Thomas Ley, a portly and out-of-shape 65-year old former Australian politician, solicitor and the Managing Director of Connaught Properties. Interviewed at his office at 5 Beaufort Gardens which was thick with builders, apologising for the noise, Mr Ley confirmed that the cheques hadn’t been returned, that Mudie hadn’t replied to his last letter and he was in the process of taking it to court. It was a minor civil matter being dealt with by his legal team. And with that, the investigation hit a brick wall. The police couldn’t find a reason why John Mudie had either hung himself, or why anyone would assist in his death. With no crime committed, it seemed like a simple miscommunication which had either been exacerbated or resolved by Mudie’s suicide… …yet, DS Shoobridge had stumbled upon a tale of blackmail, kidnapping and deception. Thomas Ley was impressive. Often misreferred to as Sir Thomas Ley, he was a political heavyweight who many in 1920s Australia saw as a future Prime Minister. As a Christian who was married and had two sons, he met his wife while she was fighting for women’s suffrage, as a teetotaller the public’s nickname for him was Lemonade Ley, and as a solicitor to the Supreme Court of New South Wales and MP for Hurstville, he rose through the ranks to become Minister for Justice in the State of Sydney and was elected as Nationalist Party of Australia member in the House of Representatives. But following his defeat in the 1928 election, Ley returned to England where he was born and set up his business. As a solicitor and co-director of Connaught Properties with Mrs Bryon Brook, who had previously lived with her daughter Jean in the same lodging house as John Mudie, with the Police unable (or unwilling) to intervene and with Mudie refusing to reply to the letters, Ley had concocted a gentlemanly reaction to this dastardly crime. It wasn’t legal and he risked a lot, but as he was too fat and sick to do it alone, if it was done right Mudie would be punished, Mrs Brook would get justice and no-one would get hurt. He needed four willing co-conspirators who would bend the law to do what was morally right. First was John William Buckingham, the 43-year-old owner of a car hire firm with access to stately-looking Wolseley saloon, vital to the plan. He had a minor conviction for theft 15 years earlier and had been clean ever since, and was described as a tall “all-in wrestler” who was “brutal looking with a cauliflower ear”, and would be there if Mudie got rough, as Ley had seen him be “violent and nasty”. Like the others, Buckingham was moral and had never done anything like this before, but hearing that “two ladies were being blackmailed, Ley wanted to get something on Mudie” – proof of his crimes. Second was Lawrence John Smith, he had no criminal record and only knew Thomas Ley, as being a 28-year-old joiner, since May he had been foreman of construction at the flat at 5 Beaufort Gardens. He was tall, strong and he being morally decent, he was appalled that Mudie was a blackmailer and weeks earlier “Ley had found Mrs Brook in a distressed state, as if she had been interfered with“. They would all be paid for their services in luring this blackmailer into the open, but for Smith, it wasn’t about the money, but “getting the brute who raped the old lady” to face justice. Mudie sickened them. He seemed so quiet, but the tales Ley told of his depravity – “he had sex with the daughter, then the mother, now they’re in a state of nerves” – only made them sicker, but they weren’t here to hurt him. Ley insisted “there’s to be no rough stuff… all you’ve got to do is get him to my office, and I’ll do the rest. He knows me so he can’t see me until then, otherwise he won’t come”. But how to lure him out? From what Ley had told them, Mudie was a charmer, he liked the ladies and was short on money. This wouldn’t be a honeytrap, but a money-trap, as the third co-conspirator was Lilian Florence Bruce, a 66-year-old married cook and housekeeper from Putney, who although a lower middle-class women, by wearing a nice dress, a fancy fur coat, some jewels, and her hair and make-up done, as an attractive older lady with the heirs and graces of a well-to-do woman, she could easily pass as a wealthy widow. Like the others, Mrs Bruce was moral and decent, a woman who had made a good life for herself with her bus driver husband, but knew she was doing right to stop Mudie from terrorising other women. Buckingham & Smith were the muscle if Mudie got nasty, Mrs Bruce was the bait to lure Mudie to London, and the Wolseley saloon (which Mrs Bruce owned) was the deception, but a posh lady doesn’t drive her own car. Needing someone they trusted, Buckingham’s son, John Junior was enlisted having been a chauffeur and driven that car many times before, and like his dad, he knew he was doing right. He even had a chauffeur’s uniform, a peaked cap, a valid licence and the right insurance to drive it. The plan was simple; on the day in question, the car would drive Mudie to the rear door of the flat, the chauffeur would lead them both into the passageway, she would make an excuse, return to the car and the chauffeur would drive her away. Smith & Buckingham would tie Mudie up in Ley’s office, make him sign the confession, and being given money and a plane ticket, he would be forced to leave the country with an assurance that he was never bother Mrs Brook or her daughter, and would never come back. As Ley said, “no laws were to be broken, and no-one was to be hurt”… …but somehow, somewhere, it all went horribly wrong. The autopsy of John McMain Mudie was conducted at Weybridge Hospital, the morning after his body was found in the chalk pit. His cause of death was “asphyxia from strangulation when suspended by a rope round the neck” consistent with suicide. But unlike with most hangings “there had been no drop”. A V-shaped strangulation mark beginning under his chin, rising passed his ears and ending up the midline of his skull proved that Mudie had been suspended for at least 15 minutes before he died by asphyxia, but someone had then cut him down, and dragged and (possibly) driven him to his freshly cut grave. After his death, “there was evidence of some rough handling, as shown by bruises on the head, hip and collar. He was dragged by his clothes, probably by the braces, he was flung down the hill fracturing two ribs and puncturing the skin on the blackthorns… and was pulled head-first into the trench”. Only then was the rope cut. But the rope wasn’t only a noose. With no defensive wounds and his right hand still in his pocket, this 12-foot long piece of ply jute which had later rucked up around his neck had also been used to tie him up. So how could he hang himself, if his hands were bound by his side? Someone had bound him, and with the green (odd smelling) cloth, they had gagged him. They knew this wasn’t a suicide, but was it a murder? The surveillance on Mudie by Smith & Buckingham went without a hitch, and keeping their distance, they weren’t seen or suspected. On 18th of November, 10 days prior, with the plan set, Ley withdrew £250 and then a further £300 in £1 notes to be paid once the blackmailer was delivered to Ley’s flat. With John as her chauffeur, under the alias of a wealthy widow, Mrs Bruce arrived at the Reigate Hill Hotel where she got acquainted with the barman, John Mudie, and on her second visit, she invited him on his day-off to be barman at a little cocktail soiree she was hosting her posh 5-storey townhouse in Knightsbridge. They agreed a fee, and he’d be picked up on Thursday 28th of November at 5:30pm. It was easy, he suspected nothing and as Ley had insisted, no one was hurt and no laws were broken. Everyone was nervous that day, but were buoyed by the knowledge they were doing what was right. At 4pm, Smith & Buckingham got to Ley’s flat at 5 Beaufort Gardens to finalise the plans, Buckingham was given a Yale key for the backdoor on Brompton Place to be handed to John Junior, and in a small 8hp Ford saloon that Smith had rented days before, they drove to the hotel to keep tabs on Mudie. That night, without warning, he had cancelled a date at the cinema with his girlfriend Euphemia McGill, and it was clear that Mudie was broke, as he had tried to sell an £80 wrist watch to a customer. Picking up the suitably attired Mrs Bruce at 5pm as planned, the rather grand-looking Wolseley saloon drive up to the hotel at a little after 5:30pm, as a lady must always be late. And dressed in a tweed overcoat, blue shirt and tie, a grey suit and waistcoat, and brown canvas shoes, he was neat and freshly shaven as if he was going to an interview, unaware that he was wearing the clothes he would die in. As expected, with the bait set, Mudie was eagerly waiting at the kerb when the car pulled up. Grinning at the good fortune before him, the chauffeur tipped his cap “good evening Sir”, opened the rear door and on the plush leather seats he sat next to this supposedly wealthy widow dressed in jewels and fur. In his pockets was a 3d bus ticket from an earlier trip to Reigate, £27 in notes and coins having sold a bracelet, as a heavy smoker he had three part-smoked packs of Player’s cigarettes, and believing that he was going to be working as a barman at the lady’s posh soiree, he had a book titled ‘100 Cocktails’. He thought he was being led to a job, Mrs Bruce believed he was being lured to sign a confession, but as the Wolseley followed the Ford at a distance, neither knew that he was being led to his death, as in the backseat, Mrs Bruce and Mudie made small talk. He spoke about growing up in Fife, his military service, his wife and child who he still loved, and how although he rarely saw them, he missed them. For Mrs Bruce and John Junior, it took a herculean effort to hide their true feelings at this blackmailer and rapist of women, who sat there with not a care in the world nor any hint of remorse at his crimes. If anything, he came across as kind and pleasant, but as Ley had forewarned them, it was all a façade. On route, needing extra cigarettes, they pulled up to a pub in Putney, and although as they shared a pint which Mudie paid for, even they thought “he didn’t seem like a bad person”, but they had been told how evil and devious he was, and his charm was how he had conned Mrs Brooks and her daughter. So, soon the confession would be signed, two women would be safe, and that was all that mattered. At just before 7pm, Smith & Buckingham arrived at 5 Beaufort Gardens parking the car out of sight and telling Ley “they’re almost here”. Entering the ground floor, at the rear of the passageway was an office where Ley stood beside a chair, a desk, a piece of paper and a pen for the confession, to the left of the back door was Buckingham silently waiting, as to the right was Smith holding 12 feet of rope. And just out of sight, they heard the Wolseley pull-up into Brompton Place. (Out) Every piece of the plan had worked like clockwork, Mudie was here and he wasn’t suspicious. Having been a barman at many private functions, he was used to entering via the tradesman’s entrance, and with this being an expensive townhouse, his only fear was whether he would do a good enough job. He didn’t quibble that the mews was unlit, that he saw no one else, that the ground floor was under construction, or that above the door, a sign read ‘Old Air Raid Shelter’, as barely a year after the war had ended, regardless of their status, every street was dark and dirty having been reduced to rubble. As rehearsed the chauffeur opened the car door letting out Mrs Bruce & Mudie. He unlocked the back door to 5 Beaufort Gardens with the key, and Mrs Bruce ushered Mudie inside. Armed with her excuse, “Johnny, I want to speak to you”, she left Mudie in the passageway, and that’s when he saw them. As the back door slammed shut and Mrs Bruce was swiftly driven away, what stood before Mudie and his escape was the imposing frames of Smith and Buckingham, at the end of the passageway was Ley, and instantly recognising him, Mudie was said to have muttered “you think you’ve got me, do you?”. The trap had worked, a blackmailer was caught, a rapist would be exiled, and his confession was just minutes away. Justice had been done… or so the co-conspirators had thought. In truth, John Mudie was innocent of extortion, theft, blackmail or rape, and he barely knew Mrs Brook or her daughter. Their morals had driven them to believe a lie, they had lured an innocent man to a flat, and within days his strangled body would be found in a chalk pit… having left the real blackmailer to walk free. The concluding part of The Chalk Pit Murder 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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65a Aylesbury Street in Neasden, @Googlemaps2025 April 2019
Welcome to the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast and audio guided walk of London's most infamous and often forgotten murder cases, all set within and beyond London's West End.
EPISODE TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-SEVEN: On Tuesday 6th of September 2022, 71-year-old Susan Hawkey was last seen entering her flat on Aylesbury Street in Neasden. Nobody saw her, nobody heard her, and – although vulnerable and afraid - no-one was looking out for her. And yet, the quiet isolation of her flat aided her brutal torture and murder by a pack of brainless thugs.
THE LOCATION:
The location is marked with a green symbol of a 'P' just by the words 'Preston' at the far north. To use the map, click it. If you want to see the other maps, click here.
SOURCES: this is just a selection from various sources:
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: Welcome to Murder Mile, Today, I’m standing on Aylesbury Street in Neasden, NW10; four roads north of Jemma Mitchell’s hire car, five roads west of the Grey Man’s last stand, three roads east of the home of the Little Drummer boy’s last victim, and a short walk from the widow buried in the wall - coming soon to murder Mile. Nestled amidst an industrial sprawl of roads and factories, Aylesbury Street consists of two rows of two-storey semi-detached council houses built to provide cheap homes in the post-war years. With almost every square inch made on concrete, brick or tarmac, this area is the kind of urban hell hole where the pungent aroma of dog turds provides a Satnav home for drunks staggering from the pub. 65a Aylesbury Street was a little home no different to any other. Split into two flats and separated by a black front door, as a shut-in who her neighbours barely knew, the occupier of the ground floor flat was hardly seen beyond her daily trips to the Post Office or off-licence and few people knew her name. On Tuesday 6th of September 2022, 71-year-old Susan Hawkey was last seen entering her flat. Nobody saw her, nobody heard her, and – although vulnerable and afraid - no-one was looking out for her. And yet, the quiet isolation of her flat aided her brutal torture and murder by a pack of brainless thugs. My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 287: The PIN Heads. As an unkempt and sullen recluse, it’s easy to see how many who lived around her may have dismissed her as a nobody, but the Susan they saw wasn’t the real Susan who once lived and was loved. Born on the 23rd of September 1951, for Susan and her parents, having seen it grow from a village on the outskirts of London to a bustling modern conurbation as part of the ever-expanding city, Willesden and Neasden was the place she called home, and she would always call it home for the rest of her life. In 1939, as the war loomed, just two miles south-west at 61 High Road in Willesden, it was here that 19-year-old shop assistant Madge Heaton (Susan’s mother) and 20-year-old railway porter Lawrence Hawkey (Susan’s father) once lived. With him being enlisted to give his life to fight for his country and a real risk that these two young lovers may never see each other again, in October 1939, they married. Unlike so many millions, miraculously they survived, but tragedy would strike before Susan was born. In June 1949, Madge & Lawrence Hawkey welcomed into the world twin daughters, Jean & Sylvia, two beautiful baby girls who would make their family happy. But that same month, they also buried them, as neither girl survived, and these grieving parents were left with empty cots and a hole in the hearts. Conceived six months later, the arrival of Susan Anne Hawkey created such a strong unbreakable bond between her parents and their only child that she strived to do them proud, and she did just that. Said to be "generous, intelligent and hardworking", with a good head for maths, she became a well-liked bank clerk at several high street branches, advising its elderly and its most vulnerable customers on the best ways to save and keeping them safe by reminding them “don’t write down your PIN number”. Being barely five foot tall with bright blue eyes, a soft voice and a kind smile, Susan could be mistaken for a pushover, but said to be feisty and forthright, she always stood up for herself as well as others. Across the decades, she never caused any problems, she didn’t fall out with any friends or neighbours, and being unmarried with no children, she remained closer to her parents as they got older and frailer. Her life was simple but satisfying; a nine-to-five job, a regular routine, some savings to fall back on, a holiday once a year, and the love of her parents. That was her life. But as before, tragedy would strike. In June 2004, her father died. Fifteen months later, so did her mother. Heartbroken, all Susan had left was her work to occupy her, but with retirement approaching and with her life shattered, by the start of the 2010s, everything she knew was gone; her job and her parents, as well as the smile on her face and the cheeky twinkle in her eyes. Growing ever more depressed, she refused help from distant family, and talking to no-one, she became ever more insular and isolated. The brick walls and the black door of her little council flat at 65a Aylesbury Street became a barrier, as she blocked out the world to prevent any more pain and misery from breaking her further. She had no phone, she didn’t reply to letters, and no friends ever visited her. She knew no-one. Neighbours would later state “I saw her once or twice. She smiled, but I rarely waved back”, "I knew of her, but never met her”, “she kept to herself, she was quiet and rarely came out”, and she was so isolated, one neighbour would later say “I thought her house was empty. It’s sad, I didn’t even know her name". This proud women was gone, replaced by a shambling wreck; her hair was messy, her hygiene was poor, her blue eyes were cracked red with her lovely smile gone, and although this frugal woman had a work pension, a state pension and £16,000 in her bank account, she never bought any new clothes. As an alcoholic, every day at the same time, dressed in a tatty red duffle coat, a pair of dirty Ugg boots and pulling her canvas shopping trolley behind her, she withdrew money from the Post Office on the corner of Neasden Lane and Braemar Avenue, then headed to Star Wines, her regular off-licence to buy the same three bottles of cheap plonk and a stack of unpalatable frozen meals for one. And seeing and talking to no-one in the ten minute she was out, she closed her door on the world once again. Inside, her flat was choked with rubbish, as midst her lonely mess, this frail vulnerable pensioner sat in her pink armchair, drowning her sorrows, gorging on cheap food and watching her television, alone. Seeing her as nothing but a drunk, it’s clear why so many neighbours ignored her… …but someone was watching her, having become the target of an evil twosome. To an outsider, the tropical island of Saint Vincent and the Grenadines known as SVG may seem idyllic, but with poverty, drugs and crime endemic, it’s is the second most dangerous place in the Caribbean. This was the home of Chelsea Grant and Xyaire Howard, two pathetic greedy wastrels who wanted all the best things in life – fast cars, designer clothes, the latest phones - but were unwilling to put in the effort or hours to earn it. They only cared about themselves, and were willing to hurt others to get it. Born in 1999 in Edinboro, a crime-ridden town on the outskirts of the capital of Kingstown, 24-year-old Xyaire Howard started out as someone who wanted to do something with his life having gone to SVG Community College and had a child with his partner. But as less of a leader and more of a follower, being a heavy drug user who was addicted to smoking strong skunk, getting stoned became his goal. Looking like a thin and spindly weasel of a man who was described as “shifty, deceptive, monosyllabic and always licked his lips when he was nervous”, in 2021, Howard came to the UK (supposedly) looking for work even though he was on a six-month tourist visa, but instead he illegally overstayed his permit. At a party, a few months later, he met 28-year-old Chelsea Grant from Ottley Hall north of Kingstown, a “domineering and aggressive” women, five years older and easily twice his size who was the epitome of greed. She had convictions for fraud and assault, with two kids who she abandoned in SVG when she too came to the UK and overstayed her tourist visa. Baffling, this 20-stone women later claimed she came here to join the Royal Navy, but ended up (ironically) as a ‘carer’ in an old people’s home. That night, being sex-obsessed, they both had intercourse, and sharing a fatuous love of drink, drugs, tacky gold jewelry and wearing designer brands, they acted like stupid little kids with no responsibility, and – often unable (and more likely unwilling) to pay their rent as they were to lazy to work for it and always blew anything they earned – they moved-in together into a cheap rented flat at Pit House on Press Road in Neasden, just one street from the Post Office and Star Wines which Susan visited daily… … and just two streets from her lonely and isolated flat. For these selfish work-shy lay-abouts, they had decided that they best way to earn was to take. And unwilling to put in the effort, they opted for steal from the weakest, frailest and most vulnerable. As a 71-year-old depressed alcoholic, who was unsteady on her feet, didn’t have a mobile phone, spoke to no-one and followed the same route every day, she would be a push over for these two cowards. On Wednesday 27th of July 2022, having watched her withdraw cash from the Post Office on Braemar Avenue and wheel away her canvas trolley towards the off-licence, they snatched her handbag and ran. Anyone else would have been shaken, but being little, feisty and financially savvy having been an bank clerk for years, she immediately had access to her account frozen, so all they got was some cash. That night they celebrated their little score of about £100, by getting drunk, stoned and having sex, resulting in another baby, who – possibly like the other three – they would both abandon and ignore. Susan might have brushed the attack off as a one-off, but as an easy target, they would attack again. A month later, on Monday 22nd of August, in broad daylight (as she never went out after dark), they stalked her and ripped her bag off her shoulder with such force it knocked her to the ground, and being concussed, before she could freeze the account, Howard & Grant had made a few transactions of some drink, some Rizlas, some tobacco, some phone cards to call home and a Big Mac meal for two. Again, being savvy, as she hadn’t written down her PIN number in her diary which was inside her bag, they couldn’t withdraw any cash, but this didn’t stop their greed as their despicable crimes escalated. The next day, the bank card hadn’t been stopped, it’s uncertain why but maybe having hit her head, all Susan wanted to do was go back to the comfort of her pink armchair, pull up her duvet and sleep. Inside her lonely little flat, she felt safe, only she wasn’t as in her handbag was also her house keys. Nobody noticed as Howard & Grant sidled up this quiet residential street with cruel intentions. With the front garden of 65a Aylesbury Street being overgrown with weeds, no-one saw them at her door. Their plan was simple, get the PIN number, whether by robbery or force, she was an old women after all. And being drunk and stoned, they weren’t exactly silent. Being a runt and a Heffer, they clumsily barged in. But being feisty and alert to their stumbling, Susan grabbed a hammer, stood her ground and fighting them both off, again they got away with nothing and ran as the frail old lady cursed them. She was alone and afraid, but unwilling to back down as this was her home. She didn’t call the Police so they were unaware that any crime had taken place, but she had told her neighbours (so they didn’t become targets to) and she notified the Housing Association so they could replace her door locks. That should have been the end of the story, as the cowardly twosome fled with nothing… …but seeing her account balance, Howard bragged to a pal on Instagram, “Yo, I copped a card bro. 16k is on this t’ing”. They wanted her money, all of it, but what they didn’t have was her PIN number. Tuesday 6th of September. A heat wave had passed and although still hot, Susan shuffled in her red duffle coat and Ugg boots, as her trolley clinked with three wine bottles for £10. She hadn’t smiled in years, and with her sullen face still bruised from the attack just two weeks earlier, she thought she was safe at home, only she wasn’t. CCTV captured Howard & Grant at 1:38pm on Neasden Lane, but instead of stalking her, they dithered, pacing the neighbouring streets and discretely passing her isolated flat for almost 90 minutes. No-one saw them approach or heard them enter, so what happened within the flat can never be truly known. Having peeped through the window, it’s likely they saw her slumped in her armchair, a duvet up to her neck, a meal-for-one carton and an empty wine bottle by her side, snoozing in front of the telly. This time they were quiet as they crept in, using the same key, as the Housing Association had failed to replace the locks in the two weeks since, so she had no idea that pure evil had entered her home. Wounds to her arms, face and chest would prove that she tried to fight back, but she overpowered by the fists of either this 20-stone lump, a skinny stoned thug, or both. Deep abrasions to her wrists show she was bound using his bootlace, but by tearing bedsheets, she was tightly tied at her hands and feet so she couldn’t move, and with a roll of parcel tape, her mouth was gagged and her eyelids taped shut. Unable to see or scream, Susan was repeatedly punched as the television muffled any sounds as her swollen and bruised face was battered again and again. Alone and frightened, her killer or killers must have seen that Susan wouldn’t give up her PIN number, so that’s when they stripped her. Ripping any shred of dignity from this proud woman; they sliced her pyjama top up the front, cutting open her bra and exposing her breasts, and pulled off her pyjama bottoms and her knickers, exposing her genitals. None of the neighbours heard any of this, but it’s likely they laughed as they abused and humiliated her, loving every moment, as they didn’t see her as a person, only as an obstacle to a four digit number. It’s impossible to know the pain and terror Susan felt as they beat her black and blue, as they degraded her, and even - as the evidence would later suggest – that Zyaire Howard may even have raped her. Susan was smart, she knew her PIN number wasn’t worth dying for, so at some point, she gave it up. She gave up the fight, she would wait for them to leave, she would cancel the card and she would live. At least, that’s what she thought. In court, the prosecution would state “there was a clear intention of ensuring she couldn’t interfere with the ability to access the funds in her bank account”, and although they both blamed each other, with Grant claiming she was at home and Howard saying “she was fine when I left her”, which is a lie? Susan couldn’t move or scream, but out of pure greed, one if not both of them put a jumper over her head so they couldn’t see the terror in her eyes, and with a strip of black fabric, they strangled her with so much force, it broke the hyoid bone in her neck. Whether they waited to watch her die is unknown, but having thrown the duvet over her, they left her in front of the telly as if she was sleeping. As an isolated shut-in, no-one would come looking for her and no-one would report her missing. Before her body was even cold, this evil twosome took her bank card and with glee went on a spending spree, knowing full well that the late Susan Hawkey wouldn’t be found for days, maybe even weeks. Moments after her murder, Howard walked into Post Office, the shoelace still missing from his boots, and using the PIN number, he withdrew the maximum daily allowance of cash on her card. The next day, they did it again, and again, and from the 7th to the 26th of September, over the next three weeks, there wasn’t a single second of mourning or regret, as this sick and twisted couple went shopping. Totalling 146 purchases, the stolen card went unchecked at Timberland, Clarkes, H&M, Adidas, TK Max, Poundland, Primark, Sports Direct. John Lewis, Michael Kors and Puma, with them splashing out on watches, speakers, telephones, designer clothes, sunglasses, hats, perfumes, handbags and a new television. They repeatedly returned to Westfield in Shepherd’s Bush, paying for the bus trips and taxis on the card, they withdrew cash to buy skunk, and ate many burgers at the McDonald’s in Wembley. They sent a little money back home to their children, but most of it was blown on crap, and at no point did the bank spot any fraudulent purchases, even though, Susan followed the same routine every day. By the 19th of September, with the £16000 Susan had in savings now depleted to £3434 and falling, they both used their new phones to search “what do pensioners get paid?", and “benefits for over 70s” as they knew her date of birth, and wanted to know when her pension was paid in and how much. That same day, two weeks after Susan’s murder, sometime during the night and with the skunk making them paranoid, again using their own phones, they searched 65 different variations of “is a dead body a strong smell?" and ‘if someone is killed do the police tell the bank?’. It was clearly on their minds, as during that night, CCTV would show Howard walking down Aylesbury Street with a torch in his hand. The summer had been hot, Susan’s heating was on and being hidden under a 12 tog duvet for the last 15 days, by the 21st of September at 3am, Howard had begun searching for protective overalls, rubber gloves and a face respirator to ensure the stench of decomposition didn’t make him choke. In court, he would claim “it was for a job on a building site, but I overslept and was sacked”. But that was a lie. In the end, they didn’t dispose of the body, as being too lazy, they just left her to rot. Howard & Grant got everything they wanted, but with balance depleting, the bickering had begun, and later on, so did the blame game. Zyaire Howard refused to talk, so being a self-pitying blabber, all we have is Chelsea Grant’s version of events, which paints her as an innocent victim of coercion. The prosecutor stated that Grant was “greedy and ruthless”, which she denied claiming “I’ve looked after elderly people and never tied them up or anything or encouraged Xyaire to do that. I should have stopped him. I didn’t and that’s something I can’t change’. And although she accused him of pressuring her into going on the shopping sprees (as the CCTV shows no coercion as she grins at every purchase), or assaulting her stating “he hit me, I had spotting. I told him I think you’ve killed the baby”, but it was her who had prior convictions for fraud, assault and was said to be “domineering and aggressive”. No-one will ever know the truth, except we know that they each played a part in Susan’s death. At about midday on Monday the 26th of September, 20 days after she was last seen alive, a neighbour realised that Susan’s bins hadn’t been put out for about two and a half weeks, and notified the police. Forcing entry, the first thing they saw was the flies, the first thing they inhaled was the smell, and with a mouldy meal-for-one by her side and this hoarder’s room littered with empty wine bottles, they had initially thought that another old forgotten shut-in had died of a heart attack in front of the television, but as they removed the duvet, it revealed the harrowing story of torture, murder and possibly rape. Detective Chief Inspector Neil Rawlinson headed up the investigation, stating “an elderly vulnerable woman appears to have targeted and the circumstances of her murder are particularly tragic”, as this was clearly not just a robbery or a sadistic torture, because a key piece of evidence drew his attention. On the floor, amongst the litter, detectives found a wrapper and a used condom. The wrapper bore Howard’s fingerprints and inside was also his semen, but the condom itself (which was opened in that room) was speckled with three very distinct traces of DNA; Howard’s, Susan’s and Grant’s. Grant’s defence team would claim, her DNA got on the condom as Zyaire rarely showered, they had sex regularly and – even more bafflingly - “it was transferred onto the condom by a fly”. Yes, a fly. But surely there are only three likely scenarios that suit the evidence and they are all horrific; that either Howard raped Susan; that Grant & Howard had sex and forced Susan to watch, or that they did both? The arrest of Howard & Grant couldn’t have come quick enough, and even though the hunt for Susan’s murderers was reported in the press, their callous greed didn’t stop until every last penny was spent. On Wednesday 28th, two days after her body was found, detectives visited every shop where Susan’s card was used. In Wembley, they had secured the CCTV at Poundland, Primark and Money Exchange with each purchase clearly made by a skinny runt with dreadlocks, a gold chain, jeans, a Russell athletic sweater and Timberland boots, and a big Heffer wearing Caribbean style Quadrille and a headdress. Entering the McDonalds at 482 High Road where the suspects had dined using the card several times before, the detectives blinked, unable to believe their eyes, as exiting the restaurant was the two they had seen on the footage, wearing the same clothes, and gorging their greedy fat faces on junk food. At the Park Lane bus stop, marked as Stop CL, Howard & Grant were stopped and searched, and finding £1600 in cash in his pocket (withdrawn prior to the Police ordering the account frozen) and Susan’s stolen bank card in Grant’s handbag, they were both arrested for Susan Hawkey’s murder. (End) Beginning on 4th of September 2023 in Court 2 of the Old Bailey before Judge Judy Khan KC, the five week trial saw Chelsea Grant and Xyaire Howard put forward a cutthroat defence in which they acted as if they were both innocent, as if both were forced the other, and as if neither were at all to blame. Both appearing via Videolink from their respective prisons, Grant pleaded not guilty to three counts of robbery while Howard denied two but admitted to one, with both admitting to two counts of fraud. Howard gave little evidence to prove his innocence, and although Grant had written a letter explaining that her remorse was genuine, the Judge dismissed it stating "your only regret is you were caught". On 25th of October 2023, after two days of deliberation, Zyaire Howard was found guilty of two counts of robbery, attempted robbery, fraud and murder, being sentenced to life for a minimum of 31 years. Chelsea Grant was sentenced to 15 years in prison for three counts of robbery, one count of attempted robbery and fraud, but even though the prosecution had proven “it would have taken two of them to hold Susan down”, the jury were unable to accept this, and Chelsea Grant was cleared of her murder. Summing up, Judge Judy Khan KC stated of Zyaire Howard (as the only person on trial that day who the jury accepted was responsible for Susan’s murder) “you terrorised Ms Hawkey and subjected her to humiliation and degradation to access her money. It was a calculated and callous act, a killing motivated by greed”. And with neither being legally in the country, they will both be deported back to SVG once their prison sentences are served in full, costing the British tax-payer £61000 a year, each. Susan Hawkey was a good women, honest and decent, who had experienced much trauma in her life, and not wanting to be hurt, she had earned the right to be left alone and unbothered, as she wished. Conversely, Chelsea Grant & Xyaire Howard are pure scum, selfish nasty bastards who abused and terrorised a vulnerable pensioner, then tortured and murdered her, and all for a four digit PIN number. 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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