Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at British Podcast Awards 2018, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian's Podcast of the Week and iTunes Top 25. Subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Acast, Stitcher and all podcast platforms.

Prison tattoos. What do they mean?

In most Western prisons, getting a prison done inside is both illegal and unsanitary, as inmates don’t have access to the proper equipment so they make do using a variety of household objects such as staples, paperclips and lighters, with an improvised black ink made from pen ink, but also such noxious substances as melted plastic, soot, shampoo and melted Styrofoam cups. Yikes.  All of which can cause infections, skin irritation, blood poisoning and death.

The most common tattoos are these:

Cobwebs: a small black cobweb tattooed on the elbow signifies a prison sentence, the design suggests the prisoner has been resting on his/her elbow for so long a spider has made a web there and it is implied that the length of the web signifies the length of the sentence. Although surely it would be more appropriate to have a tattoo of a spider’s web on their arse or maybe even their genitals?

Teardrop: a familiar tattoo is a teardrop under the eye. But which eye is important. Under the right eye, a teardrop can (depending on the prison) suggests that they’ve committed a murder (with the number of tears indicating how many people they’ve killed), that a fellow inmate, family member or gang cohort has been murdered and they are seeking revenge, or (if the teardrop is an outline only) it signifies an attempted murder.

Where-as a teardrop under the left eye signifies that the prisoner is or was previously owned by a convict, that they were someone’s bitch and that they were raped in prison. That said, some female prisoners have a tear-drop tattoo to symbolise their kinship with a spouse on the outside, or simply to express a loss of a loved one. What started as a very clear message of what the tear-drop means, has since changed a lot. Therefore, as different prisons alternate the meaning, a tear-drop tattoo could mean the death of a gang member in one prison and that you’ve been someone’s bitch elsewhere… which must be confusing. If it was me, I’d have a tattoo which reads “I’m doing six years for stealing a copper’s Guinness… no bum-sex, thank you”.

Dots: Small dots on the hands or around the eyes have different significance. A small single dot under the eye is sometimes known as the “jail dot” and signifies one ex-convict to another in a discrete way, as the dot could easily be confused with a freckle or paint fleck, if you don’t know what you’re looking for. It could also mean “hi, I’m a new parent with a small toddler and a paint set”, so be careful. Two dots side-by-side represents a sibling/relative/loved-one who is also incarcerated, or is dead (similar to the tear-drop, but more subtle). Although, a dot between the thumb and fore-finger of both hands indicates entering prison and leaving prison – time served.

Three dots shaped like a triangle either has Christian symbolism representing the Holy Trinity (a tattoo that surely all priests have) or an affiliation to gang-life. Four dots shaped like a square, usually around the knuckles, can mean ACAB (All Coppers Are Bastards), a tattoo for monosyllabic morons who blame the Police for rudely interrupting their criminal careers by catching them. Bad Police! How dare they! Five dots (with four in a square shape and one in the centre) represents time served in prison – the middle dot being the prisoner and the wider the dots, the longer the sentence.

Think of prison tat’s like the prison version of Linkd-In (call it Inkd In, if you will - hahahaha); they should tattoo their prison skills on their arms; a spoon signifies “I can cook”, a lawnmower means “I don’t grass”, and a hot-dog means “my butt-hole is big enough to smuggle in a whole half pound of sausage meat”. Which is always useful, if you’re having a bar-bee-que.

Playing cards: these are popular in Russia, it can mean that the person likes gambling, or treats life like it’s a gamble, or as each deck has its own meaning – hearts means they’re looking for love, spades for thieves, clubs for rapists and sex-pests, and diamonds for stoolpigeons and informants (obviously, these tattoos are done by force, not by choice) – which really does mean, if you have any of these tattoos, your life really will be a gamble.

And there’s Barbed Wire: again, this symbolises a prison sentence with each thorn representing a year inside, or barbed wire across the forehead means a life sentence without parole... and that for the rest of your life outside of prison, you’re going to have to explain that to everyone you meet, until you get so bored, you kill them, just to get back into prison… and then have to get a longer tattoo.

Let’s dispel a few prison tattoo misconceptions:

Stars behind the ear: if a female prisoner has a number of stars behind her ear, it is usually thought to mean that the number of stars represents how many children she currently has in care. But it isn’t. It was a tacky fashion in 1980’s/90’s, which is supposed to mean hope, ambition or loss, but (to be honest, like most tattoos) it can mean whatever you want it to mean.

Swallow Tattoo: some people believe a swallow tattoo represents a prison sentence with the length of the swallow’s tail denoting the time served, but this is untrue. Originally this was a symbol used by sailors to denote a successful voyage, a tour of duty, and in the 17th 18th and 19th century, one swallow meant they had travelled 5000 nautical miles, two swallows meant 10,000 nautical miles, etc.

And if you ever see a prisoner with a tattoo marked with two small but jagged letters like two lightening strikes, shaped like an ‘SS’, usually 7mm long and placed 20cm above the elbow towards the armpit, that is a symbol of the Waffen-SS and indicates that they have Nazi sympathies. Nice. Alternatively, to show they’re a racist, they could just tattoo on their arm “I am a c**t”, although I guess SS saves on ink and (if they ever decide to stop being massive arse-candle, they could pretend that SS stands for Solid Stools (suggesting they’re a sufferer of constipation).

Of course, some of these tattoos are done, not to have any specific meaning, but simply because the person thinks they look nice. But they don’t. They look shit. They might as well get a tattoo of a dog doing a massive dump as its steaming turd spells their name. Or just wipe some dog-shit on their arms and have done with it. Next week I plan to set-up a tattoo parlour called Dodgy Doggy Bum-Nugget Tattoos, if you’re keen, I can only do designs which are brown, smelly and smudgey.

If you found this interesting? Check out the Mini Mile episodes of the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast, or click on the link below to listen to an episode.

Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a writer, crime historian, podcaster and tour-guide who runs Murder Mile Walks, a guided tour of Soho’s most notorious murder cases, hailed as “one of the top ten curious, quirky, unusual and different things to do in London”, nominated "one of the best true-crime  podcasts at the British Podcast Awards 2018", and featuring 12 murderers, including 3 serial killers, across 15 locations, totaling 50 deaths, over just a one mile walk

Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at British Podcast Awards 2018, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian's Podcast of the Week and iTunes Top 25. Subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Acast, Stitcher and all podcast platforms.

This week: decomposition, what happens when a human body decomposes?

Basically, we are nothing but sacks of meat, blood, bone and water, and (excluding any man-made parts like false teeth, new hips and fake tits) the human body is entirely recyclable, we’re a biological miracle and (unlike in our daily lives) our body is the only part of us which does pollute or contaminate our world once we’re gone… thanks to decomposition. Hmm, a sobering thought.

So what is decomposition? Before we begin, if you’re eating? Stop. Say “tata” to that Bakewell tart, otherwise you’re about to say “howdy” to last night’s hummus. You have been warned.
 
Decomposition is the natural process in which (in this case, a human body) is broken down into its core chemical components as part of nature’s biological cycle. Once a human body has died and brain death has occurred, as the body can no longer biologically support itself, decomposition begins within roughly four minutes, and follows four stages; autolysis, bloating, active decay and skeletonization.

Stage #1: Autolysis, also known as self-digestion; this is when the circulation of our blood and oxygen ceases, and being unable to expel any toxins or waste, an excess of carbon dioxide builds up, causing our internal organs to become highly acidic, and as the cell membranes split, they release enzymes which digest our body from the inside out. Nice.

Stage #2: Bloating, as our internal organs are devoured by enzymes, a sulphurous bacteria leaks from our intestinal tract and begins a process of causing the body to effectively melt down, which is called putrefaction. Within the 36 hours; the neck, head, shoulders and stomach turn green and discoloured. Then, as bacterial gas rapidly increases, the face and eyes start to protrude as the face bloats, and the body swells to almost double its size. Next, as the hair falls out, fingernails recede and the skin blisters and marbles, the body finally turns a blackish-green as it reaches…

Stage #3: Active Decay: at this point, the body will begin to drain itself of what is known as ‘purge fluid’ – the liquefied waste of our own innards, which will seep from the mouth, nose, anus, or any orifice, as organs, muscles and skin begin to liquefy – in a process known as liquefaction. As most of the body’s soft organs and flesh are digested; hair, bones and cartilage remain. Part of this active decay comes from flies and larvae, who enter the body through exposed orifices and open wounds, and each fly can lay an average of 250 eggs which hatch into maggots within a day.

And finally, Stage #4: Skeletonization: the slowest part of decomposition, as - with the body having melted down into a liquid form which seeps into the ground - with nothing else for the enzymes to feed on, our skeletons are reduced to dry husks of calcium and enamel, and the decomposition slows, so the only factor of what speed it decays is the environment itself.

Mmm, suddenly necrophilia seems like a viable dating options. Am I right? Am I right? Skin slippage, liquefaction and purification? Yeah, what’s not to like? Dennis Nilsen was right. There are some absolute hotties, who are all single and available, and they’re right under my feet. Hot!
 
So - not that I’m over-eager to take my new deceased date to Nando’s, to wine her, to diner her, to mop up the juices and get her home for a romantic little kiss before she completely dissolved - how long does it take for a human body to fully decompose? This is the timeline after death:

1 to 3 days — the internal organs begin to decompose.
3 to 5 days — the body bloats and the purge fluid leaks.
8-10 days — the body turns from green to red to black as the internal organs liquefy.
After several weeks, the nails and teeth fall out. After one month, the body starts to liquefy and the process of skeletalisation begins. Of course, the rate of decomposition entirely depends on factors such as clothing, body mass, burial site, weather, temperature, drugs, alcohol, illness, moisture, acidity of the soil and wildlife and insect population, to name but a few. But, if left alone, in summer, a human body in a temperate and exposed location can be reduced to bones in just nine days.

Note to self, at Nando’s, seat sweet seeping Susan near an open window, preferably by an insect zapper and not to near to the grill. Hmm, do you think it’s insensitive to buy her flowers?
 
And finally (ah the end is in sight, you’ll be pleased to know, as you stare at that Bakewell Tart wishing you’d scoffed it before you started this podcast), we ask the question; which parts of the human body decomposes the slowest?

So, you’ll probably say the bones? Maybe the teeth too, as calcium and enamel are incredibly tough and durable substances, right? And you’d be right, they are one of the last body parts to decompose. And for forensics teams, this is invaluable for aging and sexing (no, not that way) a corpse, as the pelvis, the skull, the thigh bones and especially the jaw bone which is incredibly dense, these are usually one of the final body parts to decompose… but they’re not the last.

The last part of the human body to fully decompose is the prostate in men and the uterus in women; and accompanied by a thigh bone, a skull and a pelvis, these are one of the key factors in a pathologist accurately determining the age and sex of a corpse, even at the very last stages of decomposition. Hmm, second note to self, have a peek at her crotch and double check that Susan is a Susan and a Steve.

If you found this interesting? Check out the Mini Mile episodes of the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast, or click on the link below to listen to an episode.

Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a writer, crime historian, podcaster and tour-guide who runs Murder Mile Walks, a guided tour of Soho’s most notorious murder cases, hailed as “one of the top ten curious, quirky, unusual and different things to do in London”, nominated "one of the best true-crime  podcasts at the British Podcast Awards 2018", and featuring 12 murderers, including 3 serial killers, across 15 locations, totaling 50 deaths, over just a one mile walk

Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at British Podcast Awards 2018, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian's Podcast of the Week and iTunes Top 25. Subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Acast, Stitcher and all podcast platforms.

Right! Let’s learn more about some infamous murderers and serial killers on a more social level. This week: food, what do convicted killers enjoy eating… when they’re not gnawing on dismembered limbs or nibbling on hacked-off haunches?

You may think? Why do we need to know this? Food – like everything else in life – is something that (unless we’re literally hours away from starving to death) we deliberately choose a meal which we not only enjoy the look, taste and smell of, but it comforts us by reminding us of happier times, perhaps in warm memories from our childhood, and it gives other people an insight into how we see ourselves and (more importantly) how we want other people to see us.

For example:
Fred West, the Cromwell Street murderer, was a very plain and unimaginative eater, raised on a simple country diet of meat and vegetables for most dinners, and would always reject anything with a hint of spice or flavouring, right into his adulthood, often referring to curry as “muck”.

Myra Hindley: Very little is known about Hindley’s favourite foods prior to meeting Ian Brady, but her mother always insisted that she had a side portion of chips with every meal as Hindley was a notoriously picky eater - perhaps brought on by being bullied over (what she considered to be) her wide-hips, with kids giving her the nickname “Square Arse”. Having met Brady, her tastes copied his and they’d often dine on French or Chinese food. During her incarceration at Holloway Prison, Hindley paid (in cigarettes) a Jamaican prisoner to cook her a traditional West Indian meal once a week.

Ian Brady: In his earlier years, he had simple tastes; fish & chips in a trucker’s café, black pudding & chips after a few drinks, with steak being a specific treat, but as his reading habits evolved so did his desire to appear more cultured, so he’d often eat French, German or Oriental cuisine – with Chinese food in 1960’s Manchester still being seen new and exciting. After his arrest, his diet was limited according to what Ashworth Psychiatric Hospital would provide, but whilst on self-imposed hunger-strike, Brady would sneakily eat toast with butter and packet soup made with boiling water.

Harold Shipman: Although not a particularly fussy eater, Shipman ate a very normal diet consisting of Weetabix for breakfast, sandwiches and fruit for lunch, and with his evening meal, he often had four slices of brown bread (as he strongly believed that “food should be very carbohydrate oriented”) and as Primrose (his wife) was a good cook, he enjoyed her Beef Wellington and was a fan of curries, all of which would be consumed with the vegetables he grew in his back garden.

Dennis Nilsen, the “kindly killer”, who treated many homeless boys to one last meal (usually pork chops or an omelette) before he shagged and slaughtered them, having trained as an Army chef in 1st Battalion the Royal Fusiliers and served as a cook at the Al Mansoura Prison in Aden, South Yemen, it was here (according to colleagues at the Job Centre) that he learned to make a “mean curry”. That said, although he ate well, his tastes remained uncomplicated… unlike his love life.

And also; Levi Bellfield – The Bus Stop Killer who was convicted of killing school girl Millie Dowler, went through phases of being fat and lean, so when he wasn’t working out, he gorged on junk food especially his favourite - Kentucky Fried Chicken. Jeremy Bamber – The White House Farm murderer – who brutally murdered his adoptive family, liked nothing more than a bacon sandwich and a coffee, and Ian Huntley, the much-hated Soham murder who murdered schoolgirls Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman, had simple tastes, hating spicy food and preferring to live on a diet of chips and chocolate.

And for our overseas readers…

Ed Gein (the Wisconsin grave-robber, murderer and necrophile) wasn’t much of a cook; as being a single man who lived alone with his dead mother, his farmstead had no electricity or running water, and his cupboards contained little more than the basics of canned goods, oatmeal and bread, with his main source of nutrition being potatoes and the rabbits he hunted.

Of those American serial killers who were executed on Death Row, when asked what their final meal would be (and they could literally order anything, within reason), this is what they ordered:

Aileen Wuornos had "a simple cup of black coffee". John Wayne Gacy - the killer clown ordered "12 deep-fried shrimp, a big bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken (as he used to run a KFC) with French fries and a pound of strawberries". Ted Bundy declined a final meal so was given a standard dinner of medium rare steak, over-easy eggs, hash browns, toast, milk, coffee, juice and a bowl of jelly, none of which he ate. Timothy McVeigh - "The Oklahoma Bomber", ate "two tubs of chocolate & mint ice-cream". Velma Barfield ate "a bag of Cheez Doodles and a can of Coca-Cola". Teresa Lewis ate "two fried chicken breasts, buttered beans, chocolate cake and a can of Dr Pepper" (which – ironically for someone on Death Row - has the slogan says "what's the worst that can happen?")

And Ronnie Threadgill requested "a baked chicken, mashed potato with gravy, vegetables, sweet peas, bread, tea, water and punch". But this simple request was denied?  Why? Because when Lawrence Russell Brewer ordered his final Death Row meal, he asked for “two chicken fried steaks smothered in gravy with sliced onions; a triple meat bacon cheeseburger; a cheese omelet; a large bowl of fried okra; one pound of barbecue meat with half a loaf of white bread; three fajitas; a Meat Lovers pizza; three root beers; one pint of vanilla ice cream; and a slab of peanut butter fudge with crushed peanuts. His final meal request was granted, but when it arrived, he refused to eat the meal. Since that day, Texas has denied all special requests for final meals on Death Row.

And as for military maniacs, dictators and despots?

People may mock Adolf Hitler for being a vegetarian, but he didn’t decide to not eat animals on moral grounds, instead he believed that a meat-free diet could cure his chronic flatulence, which plagued him since a boy, hence he was always trying new herbal remedies, which his famously quack-ish doctor Theodore Morrell tried to cure him of, once using extract of Bulgarian peasants' faeces. Being notoriously paranoid, Hitler had a fifteen strong team of female food tasters on hand at all times, and - only after they had survived a full 45 minutes after tasting his meal - would he allow any food to be served. Oddly, many serial killers and mass-murderers also suffer with stomach troubles.

Idi Amin: Uganda's infamous dictator adored a simple goat stew, but his life was shrouded in a cloud of cannibalism after he was quoted saying “I don’t like human flesh… it’s too salty”, and was cited by the cook who supposedly prepared him a human cadaver which was reputedly stuffed with rice and flambeed in gin. But then Idi Amin was an odd man, it is reported that he was so obsessed with HRH The Queen (and why wouldn’t you be) that he once sent her a letter asking for a pair of her knickers.

Nicolae Ceausescu: Whilst being hosted by other leaders, the former Romanian dictator would only drink raw vegetable juice through a straw and avoided all solids, but whilst relaxing at home he loved nothing more than a chicken stew, made with breast, beak, feet, the whole lot. Ceausescu was notoriously paranoid and travelled with a chemist and a fully functioning food testing laboratory.

Benito Mussolini: Coming from peasant stock, the Italian dictator loved nothing more than a big bowl of raw chopped garlic. So much so that his wife couldn’t sleep next to him after he’d eaten his favourite dish as the aroma was too overpowering. During WW2, a Nazi doctor examined Mussolini a declared that he was "dangerously constipated", meaning his stools were as likely to move forward as his tanks. Way-hey, a little joke about the Italian army there.

And finally, Colonel Gaddafi: A big fan of couscous and camel meat, Gaddafi was famously flatulent, as recounted by BBC journalist John Simpson, who said "I listened (to the recording of the interview). There was absolutely no doubt about it. The personal microphone which we had pinned on [Gaddafi] had picked it up very clearly. The passage of wind lasted for about ten minutes of our half-hour interview. [Gaddafi] would rise up a little in his seat, the thunder would roll for fifteen or twenty seconds at a time, and then he would sink back into his seat with a pleased expression on his face".

And there you go; that was everything you need to know about maniacs, dictators, their food and their bot-bot flaffy-woofs woofs. You’re welcome. Parp!

If you found this interesting? Check out the Mini Mile episodes of the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast, or click on the link below to listen to an episode.

Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a writer, crime historian, podcaster and tour-guide who runs Murder Mile Walks, a guided tour of Soho’s most notorious murder cases, hailed as “one of the top ten curious, quirky, unusual and different things to do in London”, nominated "one of the best true-crime  podcasts at the British Podcast Awards 2018", and featuring 12 murderers, including 3 serial killers, across 15 locations, totaling 50 deaths, over just a one mile walk

Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at British Podcast Awards 2018, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian's Podcast of the Week and iTunes Top 25. Subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Acast, Stitcher and all podcast platforms.

Ever wanted to read a really mundane letter written by the Moors Murderer Ian Brady? Well, you're in luck. It may seem trivial but by reading these seemingly dull letters, you actually get a greater insight into who they are... or (more importantly) who they think they are.

Before we begin, I feel I need to add some background on the Moors Murderer Ian Brady (for those who are unaware of him) as it’ll put this letter in an entirely different context. Between 1963 and 1965,Ian Brady, along with his girlfriend Myra Hindley kidnapped, tortured, raped and murdered five young children, between the ages of 10 and 17, and buried their bodies in shallow graves on the desolate wiles of Saddleworth Moor. After his arrest and conviction, Brady never expressed any regret or remorse for his actions, and even taunted the victim’s parents with knowledge of their child’s cruel death and the possible location of their shallow graves, which he never revealed.

So, it seems almost bizarre, that in a letter dated 11th January 2001, whilst incarcerated in Ashworth Psychiatric Prison, Ian Brady corresponded with an unidentified schoolboy called Thomas, who Brady appears to have taken under his wing and has given him some important advice on life.

"Dear Thomas. Thank you for your letters. Now I want you to read this letter very carefully to ensure you fully understand the important point I intend to make. I’ve told you repeatedly in previous letters, that crime is a mug’s game and that you can earn more by training for a skilled job, as you are presently doing, getting good results from your courses and exams, which I tried to assist you with…

If you find life boring and dull in the ordinary world, imagine what it’s like in prison. If you could you would lose any interest in crime and criminals. Try imagining sitting in a cell for forty years, while your friends outside are enjoying themselves. I get the feeling that you have written to other prisoners and if they have let you to believe that crime is an intellectual occupation, they are lying simply to comfort themselves.

As for me, well my example says it all, I’m already a dead man walking. What’s to be admired about having death as a sole occupation? What’s even interesting about that? I am weak now, and also have the flu, so I’m losing all interest in the outside world, and have nothing left to teach you or anyone else, except the futility of crime. So I’m beginning to say goodbye to all the people I write to, including you. I enjoyed our letters and the many intelligent questions you asked, and hope you guide your interests in a more positive direction. My life was over, long ago. It has no relevance for me, as I’ll never see it again…

It is also important to realise that your innocent letters to me would get you into a great deal of trouble if certain people outside found out about it. That alone could ruin your life. Understand? Destroy all my letters and remember the good advice I’ve given. There’s no need to answer this letter. I wish you all the best. Thanks for writing. Best wishes. Ian”.

Oddly, even as he gives advice, his tone is self-pitying, narcissistic and (although he mentions that crime is a mug’s game) he never expresses regret, shame, pity or empathises with his victims or their families, and is entirely self-absorbed by his own needs.

If you found this interesting? Check out the Mini Mile episodes of the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast, or click on the link below to listen to an episode.

Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a writer, crime historian, podcaster and tour-guide who runs Murder Mile Walks, a guided tour of Soho’s most notorious murder cases, hailed as “one of the top ten curious, quirky, unusual and different things to do in London”, nominated "one of the best true-crime  podcasts at the British Podcast Awards 2018", and featuring 12 murderers, including 3 serial killers, across 15 locations, totaling 50 deaths, over just a one mile walk

Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at British Podcast Awards 2018, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian's Podcast of the Week and iTunes Top 25. Subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Acast, Stitcher and all podcast platforms.

EPISODE SEVENTY-EIGHT:
On Saturday 9th September 1944, in the basement of 79 Gloucester Road (South Kensington), convicted fraudster John George Haigh would murder his first victim – a successful businessman, entrepreneur and his closest friend - William Donald “Mac” McSwan. And although his body would never be found, Johnny Haigh’s first murder would be far from perfect. This is the location of The Goat Tavern where John George Haigh met William Donald McSwan... before murdering him.

• Date: Saturday 9th September 1944
• Location: The Goat Tavern, 3A Kensington High Street (meeting place)
• Victims: 6 (although he would confess to nine)
• Culprit: John George Haigh

CLICK HERE to download the Murder Mile podcast via iTunes and to receive the latest episodes, click "subscribe". You can listen to it by clicking PLAY on the embedded media player below.

THE LOCATION
As many photos of the case are copyright protected by greedy news organisations, to view them, take a peek at my entirely legal social media accounts - Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.

I've added the location of The Goat Tavern at 3A Kensington High Road with a green dot, and the location of 79 Gloucester Road where the murder of William Donald McSwan took place where the yellow dot is. To use the map, click it. If you want to see the other murder maps, such as Soho, King's Cross, Paddington or the Reg Christie locations, you access them by clicking here.

Two little videos for you to enjoy with this episode; on the left is The Goat Tavern at 3A Kensington High Street where John George Haigh met with his old pal William Donald McSwan for a meal, and on the right is the front of 79 Gloucester Road in South Kensington where (just a few hours later) he would murder "Mac" McSwan and later dispose of his body.

I've also posted some photos to aid your "enjoyment" of the episode. These photos were taken by myself (copyright Murder Mile) or granted under Government License 3.0, where applicable.

Credits: The Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast was researched, written and recorded by Michael J Buchanan-Dunne, with the sounds recorded on location (where possible), and the music written and performed by Erik Stein & Jon Boux of Cult With No Name. ​​Additional music was written and performed as used under the Creative Common Agreement 4.0.

SOURCES: This series was researched using the original declassified police files held at the National Archives, the Metropolitan Archives, the Wellcome Collection, the Crime Museum, etc.

MUSIC: 

• Spirits of the Dead by Aakash Gandhi (intro)
• Winsome Lose Some by Cult With No Name (Credits)
• All This Spite (Comes At A Price) By Cult With No Name
• Piano Blue by Cult With No Name
• Maitre D’Day by Cult With No Name
• Money’s Gone by Cult With No Name
• Leoforos Alexandras by Dan Boden
• Apprehensive At Best by Biz Baz Studios
  
• Gaia in Fog by Dan Boden
  
• Space Hunter by Quincas Moriera

SOUNDS:

• Clay in Water - https://freesound.org/people/ayamahambho/sounds/115350/
• Fizzy Tablet - https://freesound.org/people/Archos/sounds/433811/
• Space Drone - https://freesound.org/people/ztitchez/sounds/370754/
• Drone Soundscape - https://freesound.org/people/JarredGibb/sounds/219056/
• Drones - https://freesound.org/people/Trebblofang/sounds/172672/
• Lucid Drone - https://freesound.org/people/decembered/sounds/42761/
• Drone - https://freesound.org/people/JarredGibb/sounds/243728/
• Annoying Drone - https://freesound.org/people/AlienXXX/sounds/444488/
• Ticking Clock - https://freesound.org/people/straget/sounds/405423/
• Bubbling Sulphur - https://freesound.org/people/LukeIRL/sounds/176127/
• Hydrophone Bridge - https://freesound.org/people/klankbeeld/sounds/261666/
• Bamboo Stick in Wind - https://freesound.org/people/klankbeeld/sounds/245092/
• Hydrophone Sand Dunes - https://freesound.org/people/klankbeeld/sounds/249634/

TRANSCRIPT OF THE EPISODE: PART TWO OF SULPHURIC.

As much as little Johnny Haigh loved machinery and chemistry, he loathed the zinc-plater in the prison workshop, as with a backlog of pans to plate, it was his pride at stake, but as a small stoic man who never let emotions sully his day, with little more than a frown and a huff, he set about fixing the fault.

The usual culprit was the woefully-antiquated electromagnetic bell, a laughably basic battery easily a few decades beyond being obsolete, consisting of a zinc electrode in a copper-lined bath of sulphuric acid. Cracking open the ceramic case, Johnny cautiously waited for the caustic cloud of sulphur dioxide to settle for fear of being blistered, burned or blinded, but reaching in to swap-out the worn electrode, from the thick condensation on the ceramic case’s ceiling fell a single drop of acid. (tsssss sound)

“Ah, good Lord”, Haigh exclaimed in the foulest words the God-fearing boy would ever utter, as the tiny toxic drip burned his skin, smoking and searing, as (feeding off his limb’s abundant liquid) the acid slowly ate away at his finger’s flesh. Swiftly dunking his scorched digit in cold water, as the intense pain ceased, Johnny thought “Thank heavens it was only a drop”. But what if it wasn’t?

The mouse was already dead, being small and skinny, its lifeless body lay within a whisker of a field of juicy berries, but trapped inside the prison’s grey walls, it starved to death… and Johnny sympathised.

Corpus Delicti was a ludicrous idea as although the law decreed that “without a body, there can be no crime”, it’s almost impossible to make a body completely disappear. But ‘almost’ means it ‘is’ possible.

Holding the cold little mouse by its limp tail, Johnny carefully placed it in a glass jar (Haigh) “thank you my friend, thank you” he bid one of God’s creatures in a fond farewell, and as he dipped a ladle in the battery’s ceramic case and filled the jar to the brim with sulphuric acid, the dead mouse began to fizz, bubble, smoke and boil until the transparent fluid was nothing but a cloudy black broth.

Johnny stirred it a bit but felt no resistance, so tipping the sizzling glass into the sink, amongst the dark fizzing stew were no hair, skin, bones or teeth. Within minutes, the little mouse had been reduced to an unrecognisable gloop and as its viscous remains slid down the drain and out into the sewer, it was gone forever, as if the mouse had never existed. (Interstitial*) But a mouse is just a mouse.

On 17th September 1943, John George Haigh was released from Lincoln prison; a dreadful little place chock-full of perverts, ponces and pilferers, and although – shamefully – his last stretch inside was due to him pinching a fridge, yes his licence forbade any acts of criminality, but never again would he risk his freedom… well not for anything so petty. No, this time, Johnny had money and murder on his mind.

By early 1944, having left the half-way house on St James Street (which was tormentingly close to Pall Mall, Buckingham Palace and The Ritz), Johnny worked hard, earned an honest wage and lived in the Crawley home of his old pal Allan Stephens. Times were tough; the economy was bleak, rationing was strict, law-abiding bods freely bought goods on the black-market and the Nazis were poised just eighty miles from the English coast – and yet, unwilling to make a mistake, Johnny had gone straight.

Hardly cutting the figure of an entrepreneur, his aspirations had taken a backseat, as being a penniless nobody who dressed in threadbare suits, it was impossible to lure a moneyed mark to their death.

He knew Allan, of course, but why should he murder Allan? Yes, he liked him, his wife and their young daughter Barbara who (let’s not beat about the bush) was besotted by Johnny, and yes Allan had some assets (a home, a workshop and a storeroom on Leopold Road), but his small income didn’t amount to much, so setting aside their friendship, yes he could kill Allan, but what would be the point?

Shortly after the D-Day Landings, with the tide of war still uncertain, as Allan struggled to make-ends-meet, Johnny did the decent thing for his old pal and moved out. Clutching nothing but three cheap suits, a few pounds and a half-finished book of ration coupons, Johnny was all alone. And as a small, thin but charming little chap who didn’t curse, argue or fight, and had hurt no-one, little Johnny Haigh – the murder virgin – had to take a giant leap from being a petty swindler to a cold-blooded killer.

But knowing no-one, his first victim would be an old friend, whose death would be far from perfect.
So unnerving are the similarities that Johnny Haigh and “Mac” McSwan could have been brothers…

Born two years and two weeks apart, William Donald McSwan was the only child of Donald & Amy, a clerk and a housewife; thirty-three years old, married a few months but faithful to their old age.

Both raised as Protestants, Mac adopted his parent’s Presbyterian faith having devoted his life to the Lord and shunning all extravagances, so living a simple life, the McSwan’s were always neat, clean and frugal. And although they never socialised, as a tight knit but introverted family, they never wished to offend anyone, all Donald & Amy ever wanted was to serve God and to do the best for their son.

As a bright but easily-distracted boy, Mac won a scholarship to Eton, a prestigious boarding school for academically gifted boys, where he excelled in science and religion. But just like Johnny, Mac cut quite a solitary figure and being sensitive, timid and shy, although his achievement pleased his proud parents, he missed his mum and longed for the days when he could come home.

Johnny & Mac were similar in so many way - height, weight, size and age; they both had boyish looks, a sweet nature, a childlike innocence and were tied (by choice) to their parent’s reins; they disliked dancing, were afraid of the dark, rarely drank and were practically celibate; with a love of science, a passion for engineering, a desire to become an entrepreneur and a deep-seated frustration that they might never reach their true potential. And although the two men wouldn’t meet for a few decades; where-as Johnny would become the older, wiser and more-worldly brother, being almost mouse-like, although Mac had business sense, as the little brother Johnny never had, Mac remained in his shadow.

It was almost as if - from the moment they were born - that fate was guiding them together; they were two sweet but sensitive boys with no siblings or close friends who would become like brothers; and yet, as one became rich, the other became poor; one would be infamous, the other would be invisible; one would stay alive as the other would die; and as one was buried, the other would never be found.

Soon the killer would meet his first victim, but just like Johnny, Mac harboured a guilty secret.

As a very practically-minded adult, Mac was physically and socially awkward; a skinny pigeon-chested mess of clumsy suits, insipid ties and tweed waistcoats, like a relic of the wrong era. Burdened by a long ill-fitting face, his features resembled a little boy with a costume-box playing at being a grown-up; with bushy “stuck-on” eyebrows, a “painted on” smile of just the top teeth, a little moustache like it was held in place by a bit of coat-hanger and a thick mop of brown hair, side-parted by his mum.

Everything about him seemed mismatched; his dimpled chin resembled a feeble attempt to be rugged, his neat row of pocket-pens were sullied by the ruddy complexion of an exasperated man, his nervous jerky motions belied a softly-spoken voice which (in a busy room) would be little more than a whisper, and set in a haunted face were two sad little eyes, adept at hiding his lies, for fear of being found out.

In 1932, aged 21, Mac sought his independence. Just like The Haigh’s, his folks dreamed that their boy would marry a good woman and maybe have babies. Thankfully, he lacked Johnny’s selfish callousness which cruelly saw him dump a young wife and child to further his own fortunes, but as a shy kindly man who love seemed to elude, marriage was not an option. So to give him his freedom, Mac moved into a shared house at 86 Tatchbrook Street in Pimlico, a few doors down from the family home.

Only Mac would never marry…

Two years later, after a short courtship, Mac got engaged to a lovely lady from Clacton called Dorothy Bailey; he liked her, she liked him, but neither loved the other, and although they remained good friends, the engagement lasted just a week. Mac wanted love, but it was a love which was forbidden.

Frowned-on by his faith, outlawed by the courts and (possibly but not improbably) discretely disguised from his doting parents, for almost all of his adult life, Mac kept his sexuality a secret.

London’s West End in the 1930’s was a place where – although illegal and punishable by prison – in and around Soho it hosted The Cave of the Golden Calf (London’s first gay pub), The Caravan (London’s first gay club) and waitresses at the Lyon’s Corner House Tearoom in Piccadilly Circus reserved a section for homosexuals, which was known as the Lily Pond. So being gay was no biggie. Out was out.

Only for a sweetie as socially-awkward as Mac who dressed down, looked odd and often mumbled, meeting someone new was always hard, as being both incredibly shy and illegally gay, as a prosperous landlord, a successful businessman, an engineer and an employer, Mac had a lot more than most men to lose, so his freedom didn’t awaken his sexuality - if anything - it supressed it.

So being shy, throughout his life, his best-friends would always be his mum, his dad and Johnny.

William Donald McSwan was a true entrepreneur; bright but easily bored, private but productive, quiet but creative, who said very little but could turn his hand to any business and make it a success.

In 1934, 25 year old Mac opened his first pinball machine parlour in Westminster under the name of Mac’s Automatics and – being small but profitable – it spawned several more in Shepherd’s Bush and Waltham Green, where in December 1935, he would hire a charming ex-con called Johnny Haigh; his trusted friend, his surrogate sibling, his kindred spirit, his confidante and (much later) his killer.

In Interview Room Three of Chelsea Police Station, Johnny sat in the smoky sweaty box surrounded by Webb, Symes and Barrett, boasting with a cocky casualness about how easily he had killed his friend…

(Haigh) “William Donald McSwan, or Mac to me, I met in the Goat Tavern public house on Kensington High Street, from there we went to 79 Gloucester Road, where in the basement (which I had rented) I hit him over the head with a cosh. He was dead within five minutes or so. I put him in a forty gallon tank and disposed of him with acid, as before, I tipped the sludge down a manhole”.

…and although he had practiced (maybe not the luring, the trapping or the killing, but a small part of the disposal) on a dead mouse - contrary to Johnny’s gloating - his murder of Mac was far from perfect.

In 1935, when Johnny met Mac, the two strikingly-similar men struck-up a close bond, and seeing his struggling pal in need of help, Mac became the one constant in Johnny’s turbulent life, as a friendly face and an honest employer, but as the purveyor of three pinball parlours, Mac was only small-fry.

In 1944, by the time Johnny left had Lincoln prison - having learned two Latin words, made a mouse vanish and concocted a ludicrous plan to murder for money – Mac - his oldest pal, his longest employer and his surrogate sibling had blossomed from a frustrated youth into a successful entrepreneur.

With Mac’s Automatics having boomed from three to thirty pinball parlours - even though, as a strict Presbyterian who didn’t live a lavish life, never flashed the cash, lived frugally in a small rented flat and didn’t look like he had two farthings to rub together, Johnny salivated at the wealthy businessman his old pal had become. As Mac (who rarely ever had more than a few pounds in his wallet) also owned a fleet of cars, a sweet-shop in Mitcham, his own company called McSwan Engineering (with a lucrative war-time contract), four homes (In Beckenham, Raynes Park and Wimbledon) which he owned and rented out, as well as seven bank accounts with savings and securities worth £1100. In today’s money, the assets of 33 year old William Donald McSwan would be worth almost a quarter of a million pounds.

By contrast, in Johnny’s bank account, he had just twenty-six.

But 1944 was a year of great uncertainty for Mac, as although he had always been a quiet, cautious and law-abiding man, who lived with the Lord in his heart, his life would take a very unusual turn.

For whatever reason, during the last year of his life, just like Johnny in his moment of crisis, Mac had committed three petty crimes, including the theft of a box of lipsticks and a US Army torch. He served no prison time and received a small fine, but used four different addresses to evade his parole.

That May, Mac moved into an all-male all-gay house at 22 Kempsford Gardens in Earl’s Court, and although it felt secure, it was far from safe, as the landlord was suspected of gross indecency and his co-tenant was convicted of pimping-out rent boys, one of whom was a fair-haired teenager who Mac (who had no siblings) claimed was his nephew. If caught, he could lose everything.

One month later, as the D-Day Landings saw miles of petrified men massacred, keen for fresh cannon-fodder, the rules of conscription were changed. Although he had already registered as a Conscientious Objector, with his reserved occupation revoked (which was the real reason his pinball company made aircraft parts), Mac would be ordered to fight, but as a painfully shy pacifist who wouldn’t last a single second in war and whose own father was still haunted by the trauma, night-terrors and tremors having been conscripted in World War One, Mac had failed to attend his call-up and now he was a deserter.

Fearing arrest, Mac was poised to flee… thankfully he had a good friend like Johnny. (Interstitial*)
(Chelsea) William Donald McSwan was the perfect mark; an intensely-private recluse with everything to lose and nowhere to go, who only trusted his parents and his close pal, and whose assets were easy-pickings for a convicted fraudster and skilful forger who had mastered his victim’s handwriting.

(Haigh) “I took his watch, his Identity card and any odds and ends before putting him in the tank”, and although, when shown the signature he had forged, Johnny flippantly quipped “Yes, I signed McSwan’s name. I remember I didn’t make a good job of the signature, instead of Donald, I wrote Ponald”.

Spelling was never his strong suit, so as his first two convictions had occurred having hastily misspelled the victim’s name and the town of Guildford, he should have learned his lesson but he didn’t. And yet, as the first of his six (supposedly) perfect murders, the spelling wouldn’t be his biggest mistake. (End)

Being like brothers, just as Mac had been Johnny’s rock during his years in and out of prison, now his closest pal could return the favour. As a recent convict, parolee and deserter, Mac was scared and feared arrest, but was soothed by an old hand in a new world, as he looked to Johnny as his older wiser brother. To lower his profile, Mac sold his pinball business and settled a few unresolved affairs. Eager to find a discrete but profitable venture to dip into while he lay incommunicado, every day Mac & Johnny met to discuss the things which fuelled their passion like gadgets, patents and inventions.

In a few short months, Johnny had ingratiated himself into every detail of Mac’s life, so welcome was his presence felt, that – although shy recluses who rarely went out – Mac’s parents, Donald & Amy treated Johnny to take tea with them in their rented top-floor flat at 45 Claverton Street in Pimlico.

He liked The McSwan’s, he liked them a lot; as a happily-married, deeply-religious and recently retired couple who chose worship over wealth and would do anything for their only child; they reminded him of his own parents; their clothes were neat, their home was sparse and they lived a frugal existence on a meagre pension of 22 shillings a week. To Johnny, they looked like they didn’t have two farthings to rub together, but to Donald & Amy, they had everything – their family and their faith.

Sensing their fear for their son, as the authorities closed in, he reassured The McSwan’s that he would do his very best to protect their boy… but in truth, Johnny was planning his murder. (*Interstitial)

On Friday 1st September 1944, to lend his crime the air of middle-class respectability, Johnny had Allan Stephen’s besotted daughter, Barbara - who worked cheap, fast and whose spelling was flawless - mock up a set of business cards and letterhead in the name of Union Group Engineering; a name easy to confuse with Allan’s own business, the Union Road Tool & Garage Company, also based in Crawley.

On Tuesday 5th, at Taylor Lovegrove & Co, an estate agents at 79 Gloucester Road in South Kensington; Johnny leased a small, secluded but self-contained basement under their offices for what he described as “experimental work for a Government contract”. He paid by cheque (spending £7 of the £26 he had left, to ensure it didn’t bounce) and secured the tenancy, starting that day, using his own letterhead.

On Thursday 7th, from East London chemical supplier Canning & Co, he ordered a gallon of hydrochloric acid and twenty gallons of sulphuric; two everyday chemicals for an engineering firm doing war-time work for the military. He paid £3 and 15 shillings by cheque, confirmed it on his own letterhead, but listed his address (not at 79 Gloucester Road) but as the War Emergency Liaison Centre at the nearby Onslow Court Hotel, and signed it - J Haigh, Technical Liaison Officer. It was delivered the next day.

With his preparations precise, his patience exemplary and his grand plan vastly superior to anything ever conceived, although he was a murder virgin, Johnny knew that its execution would be perfection.

On Saturday 9th at 6pm, Johnny invited his old pal and potential business partner for a meal at their regular pub, The Goat Tavern on Kensington High Street. Not one person (from the landlord to the locals) witnessed them, but why would they? They were just two mild-mannered men, in a busy pub, chatting about ventures, inventions, gadgets and Johnny’s new company.

As a teetotal, Johnny nursed a small sherry, but eager to cheer-up his down-in-the-dumps chum, he treated Mac to a few wines, and as a slight man who rarely drank, it didn’t take much to get him tipsy.

The expense of Mac’s murder had really eaten into Johnny’s savings, with just a pitiful £15 left, in one month, he would be bankrupt. But having wormed his way into his old pal’s life, heart and (soon) his pockets, his future looked rosy (which was lucky) as Johnny had spied himself a new sports car.

At 8pm they left; the walk was short, their mood was good and the street was busy, but no-one spotted the two men as (side-by-side, smiling and slightly sozzled) Johnny led Mac via the more discrete back-door in Stanhope Mews, down the steps and into his secluded basement at 79 Gloucester Road.

William Donald McSwan was never seen again, as his body would vanish completely…

…but the death and disposal of Mac didn’t happen exactly how Johnny described it in his confession.  

Back in Chelsea Police Station, as little Johnny Haigh cockily crowed about his “six perfect murders” to his captive audience of Webb, Barrett and Symes, the three coppers stayed silent, as they listened and jotted-down his every boastful word, compiling a statement which they could check and correct later.

(Haigh) “William Donald McSwan met me at The Goat Tavern, and from there we went to the basement, which I had rented. I hit him on the head with a cosh. He was dead within five minutes or so. I put him in a forty gallon tank of acid and disposed of the sludge down a manhole”.
He made it sound so simple, so precise and so superior, but in truth, the murder virgin hadn’t a clue.

The basement at 79 Gloucester Road was small but secure; three unfurnished rooms with thick brick walls, a concrete ceiling, a blocked-off stairs to the offices above, two locked doors and no windows. It was empty, except for a few pinball machine parts, a length of lead pipe, a rusty hand-axe, a manhole cover to the main drain, a Winchester of hydrochloric acid and two ten-gallon carboys of sulphuric.

(Haigh) “I hit him on the head with a cosh”, and yet, with his description vague and shifting in different statements from a table leg, to a lead pipe, to an axe, as no cosh was ever found, it’s likely that being so focussed on the money, the most important thing Johnny forgot to bring was a murder weapon.

(Haigh) “He was dead within five minutes or so”, for which we can only take his word, but five minutes is a long time, and although a blunt force – which can cause a smashed skull, a bleeding brain, swelling, spasms, paralysis and a slow and agonising death - makes Johnny sound callous, it also suggests that he was inept, either being too weak to whack hard, too feeble to finish him off, or maybe he missed?

(Haigh) “Eventually I stood up and was appalled by the presence of a corpse on my hands”. So appalled was Johnny, that – whether alive, dead or dying - he stripped Mac of his personal possessions; a watch, a wallet, his ID, his ration-books and any “odd and ends” as he put it. (Haigh). “I left the question of dealing with the corpse till the following day and then went home”, where he slept soundly.

(Haigh) “I awoke and contemplated the action I had taken. I wondered how it was possible for me to have done something from which I would normally shrink”. In fact, Johnny was so remorseful having committed his first murder, that he woke late, had brunch and sauntered into a car showroom.

(Haigh) “I returned to the basement and realised I had to do something about the body. The question of disposal did not arise until after that evening. Then the method appeared obvious”. Which we know was a lie, as - using his own letterhead and chequebook - he had ordered the acid two days before.

As perfect murders go, it wasn’t great; having had to improvise a murder weapon which had only semi-successfully dispatched his victim, he soon realised that he had forgotten something equally vital.

(Haigh) “When I returned to the basement, I had to find a drum in which to place the body”, just like the glass jar in which he once dissolved a mouse, only bigger. “This was not difficult: I found one which had been used as a water butt in St Stephen’s churchyard”, stealing the forty gallon steel drum from a house of God. “To transport it back, I borrowed a handcart from a builder’s yard”, and all the while probably whistling nonchalantly and saying “oh, don’t mind me, I’m only going to dissolve a corpse”.

Back in the basement “I put McSwan into the drum”, which was no mean-feat as (with no hint of either of his victims having been hacked-apart) for a small weedy man to fit a five foot eight inch body into a three foot steel drum, he must have rolled it onto its side, hog-tied the body and slid it in back-first leaving the feet and hands poking out the top, and (all the while) praying that weather-worn drum was rust-free, water-tight and had enough space for the body and at least twenty gallons of acid.

(Haigh) “I then considered the problem of getting the acid out of the carboy”. Having blindly ordered enough acid to do the job, although the Winchester of hydrochloric arrived in a one-gallon glass bottle with handles which only weighed 6lbs, the two ten-gallon carboys of sulphuric had to be delivered by two burly men in a truck, as each full bottle weighed 165lbs, heavier than little Johnny Haigh.

(Haigh) “This was something which hadn’t occurred to me. I had to do it by bucket”. Forgetting that, just four years before, a single drop had singed his finger, but still he slopped twenty gallons of highly corrosive acid by hand, with no gloves, no apron and no mask. And as it had before, as the fat reacted with the acids, the body began to fizz, bubble and smoke…

…but a dead mouse has almost no fat, where-as (although skinny) Mac had fat in an abundance. So as his flesh was stripped, his fluids boiled and the acids superheated the violently shaking drum, a thick soupy cloud of noxious gas and human vapours enveloped the airless and windowless basement.

(Haigh) “I hadn’t thought to prepare for the fumes. I was badly choked and had to go out for fresh air”. So coughing his lungs out and gasping for breath, Johnny dashed-out into the quiet of Stanhope Mews, luckily seen by no-one but followed by a caustic fog of sulphur and the deathly stench of boiling fat.

And yet, as the first of his six (supposedly) perfect murders, if you ignore his awful spelling, the lack of a weapon, a steel drum, a set of gloves and a gas-mask, even this wasn’t be his biggest mistake.

(Haigh) “Eventually the job was done and I left the basement, locking the door behind me”. Unlike the mouse which was destroyed in twenty minutes, it took two full days until Mac was gone.

Having given the dark fizzing broth a stir with a stick, (Haigh) “Subsequently, I poured the sludge down a manhole”, conveniently situated in the basement, “if anything remained, it will now be in whichever sewer flows into the sea”. And as he tipped the thick black gloop - which was once his pal - into a dark festering hole, he flushed the last remnants of their friendship down the drain. (Haigh) “I experienced no remorse after the killing. None”. (End, Interstitial*)

With the dirty deed done, Johnny Haigh, the one-time murderer (and budding serial-killer) had the carboys collected, the steel drum destroyed, the basement vacated and having arrogantly celebrated Mac’s murder by scrawling a small cross in his diary, he set about weaving an entirely believable story that the McSwan’s only son (who feared arrest and often talked of fleeing) was now in hiding.

(Haigh) “I had known his mother and father for some time, I explained that he had gone off to avoid his “call up” and wrote a number of letters purporting to come from him, explaining the details of the disposition of the assets, which were to follow”. As a convicted fraudster and forger, this would prove no problem, as he had Mac’s ID, his signature, several forged letters, a fool-proof plan and – best of all – the complete and total trust of his victim’s parents.

Between 1944 and 1949, John George Haigh befriended six wealthy persons, starting with William Donald McSwan, he assumed his identity, inherited his estate and drained his assets; all six victims would mysteriously vanish and almost no-one would notice. But Johnny had overlooked one small detail, which would prove to be his biggest mistake…

…William Donald McSwan, the prosperous landlord, successful businessman, engineer and employer didn’t have a single penny or asset to his name. In fact, even with forged legal papers, whether dead or alive, Mac was worth nothing. (Interstitial* fizzing to fade out)

OUTRO: Friends. Thank you so much for listening to Murder Mile. That was part two of Sulphuric; the true story of John George Haigh, with the third part of six continuing next week. A big thank you to my new Patreon supporters who are – Jonny Rex, Stephanie Thomas, Clara Hughes, Victoria Neilsen and Helen Woodley – with a special thank you to my beautiful girlfriend Eva Green whose rather sexy plea clearly worked a treat, and (as always) a big thank you to everyone who has liked, shared, commented and reviewed this small independent podcast. It’s very much appreciated.

Murder Mile was researched, written & performed by myself, with the main musical themes written and performed by Erik Stein & Jon Boux of Cult With No Name. Thank you for listening and sleep well.

*** LEGAL DISCLAIMER ***
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 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, therefore mistakes will be made. As stated at the beginning of each episode (and as is clear by the way it is presented) Murder Mile 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. It is not a full representation of the case, the people or the investigation in its entirety, and therefore should not be taken as such. It is also often (for the sake of clarity and drama) presented from a single person's perspective, usually (but not exclusively) the victim's, therefore it will contain a certain level of bias to get across this single perspective, which may not be the overall opinion of those involved or associated.
*** LEGAL DISCLAIMER ***

Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a writer, crime historian, podcaster and tour-guide who runs Murder Mile Walks, a guided tour of Soho’s most notorious murder cases, hailed as “one of the top ten curious, quirky, unusual and different things to do in London”, nominated "one of the best true-crime  podcasts at the British Podcast Awards 2018", one of The Telegraph's top five true-crime podcasts and featuring 12 murderers, including 3 serial killers, across 15 locations, totaling 50 deaths, over just a one mile walk

Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at British Podcast Awards 2018, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian's Podcast of the Week and iTunes Top 25. Subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Acast, Stitcher and all podcast platforms.

The disposal of human remains; what burns, what doesn’t and at what temperatures?

When a human body is legally incinerated at a crematorium, the body is placed in a casket (usually, but not always, made from a combustible material). Now there are many factors which determine how long it takes to completely incinerate a human body - height, weight, density, fat/muscle ratio – but the average cadaver usually takes roughly two hours at 1000 celcius to be totally destroyed. That said, the body isn’t just burned, it actually goes through a period of being chemically broken-down into its component parts.

First stage; the intense heat dries the body of its liquids (as the human body comprises of 60% fluid, with some parts like the brain and lungs as much as 90%), burning the hair and skin, which contracts and chars the muscles, it vaporises the soft tissue and converts the bone into a brittle dry powdered calcium. The bodies emit very obvious smells like charred flesh, boiled fat and the methane which a decomposing body expels, but there are no smells when it is burned in a crematorium as the flames and smoke destroy any gases and each crematorium has an exhaust system to remove any noxious vapours. (A bit of kit I could certainly do with). If the body isn’t completely destroyed after two to three hours, a secondary afterburner at a higher temperature is used to complete the task.

Hair will always burn first, as it is on the surface and is dry and brittle. The lungs, brain and other internal organs (which comprise mostly of water) dry up, shrivel and burn. Where-as bone won’t burn, as even after all of its fluid is depleted, the bone still remains in-tact, although it will be dry, brittle and can crumble into a dust. Likewise, teeth (which are the only external part of our skeleton) won’t burn, but they will become brittle, and will need assistance to be completely destroyed.

To aide this, the crematorium technician will remove and crush the skeletal remains with a long hoe-like rod, removing any foreign objects like nails, screws and hinges from the casket (using a magnet and a large seize), with any obvious objects like false teeth, prosthetics, implants, jewellery and any pacemakers (because the battery inside them will cause them to explode) being removed prior to cremation. Finally, the bone fragments are placed inside a cremulator which is a large mixer with metal balls which assist in crushing the bones into a fine pasty white ash.

After cremation, an average sized adult cadaver is usually reduced to between three to seven pounds of ash (which is kind of ironic given that many of us are seven pounds in weight when we are born). After cremation, no trace of DNA exists and no (current) identification can be made.

So, if you’re a murderer, you have a body to destroy and you don’t have access to a crematorium, sadly the average home oven only reaches temperatures of 250 degrees Celsius, which will destroy the body eventually, but it will take days, if not weeks… and it’ll stink to high heaven, a bit like pork scratchings. Yummy. Therefore I’d recommend making a bonfire, as temperatures vastly exceed 1000 degree Celsius, and - as you will see in my recent episode on Emily Beilby Kaye – a simple log-fire can completely destroy a thigh or a human head within a few hours. Nice.

Of course, I hate to be serious but please remember that murder is illegal, so if you are planning to kill your fat-headed tiny-penised or saggy-vulva’d boss, please… please… remember to do it in Soho (where I run Murder Mile Walks), or somewhere in the West End (where the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast is based) and make sure their death is sad and funny. Thank you.

If you found this interesting? Check out the Mini Mile episodes of the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast, or click on the link below to listen to an episode.

Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a writer, crime historian, podcaster and tour-guide who runs Murder Mile Walks, a guided tour of Soho’s most notorious murder cases, hailed as “one of the top ten curious, quirky, unusual and different things to do in London”, nominated "one of the best true-crime  podcasts at the British Podcast Awards 2018", and featuring 12 murderers, including 3 serial killers, across 15 locations, totaling 50 deaths, over just a one mile walk

Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at British Podcast Awards 2018, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian's Podcast of the Week and iTunes Top 25. Subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Acast, Stitcher and all podcast platforms.

What was the shortest ever prison sentence in British legal history… for a convicted murderer?

This is the infamous case of Rex vrs Dudley & Stephens, which changed British common law forever, by (effectively) stating that cannibalism could not be used as a valid legal defence to commit murder.

On 19th May 1884, a 52 foot yacht called the Mignonette set sail from Southampton (on the south coast of England) for Sydney (in Australia) hoping to make the rather foolhardy 15000-mile voyage in an undersized leisure boat with an vastly inexperienced crew consisting of Tom Dudley the captain; Edwin Stephens; Edmund Brooks and Richard Parker, the cabin boy; who was a 17 year old orphan with no sea-going experience.

Seven weeks into their voyages, on 5th July, 1,600 miles northwest of the Cape of Good Hope, as they neared the windswept the peninsula of South Africa, whilst the crew slept, the gale-force winds battered and disabled the vessel and as the Mignonette sank, the four-man crew sailed away to safety in a flimsy 13 foot lifeboat, with only two small tins of turnips to feed them and no fresh water.

Twelve days later, having eaten both tins of turnips and devoured a passing 3lb sea-turtle, which had barely enough meat on it to feed the ravenous crew and with them all feeling weak and unwell from the lack of fresh water, 17 year old cabin boy Richard Parker started to drift in an out of consciousness.

Having previously drawn straws to see who would bravely sacrifice themselves as a meal to save the others from a certain death, in a moral argument which raged on for many days (and certainly many sleepless nights), by 24th July, with Parker believed to be in a coma and being the only crew member without a family, Captain Dudley and Stephens made the decision to sacrifice the unconscious orphan boy. The idea being that, as they had ran out of urine and had no other safe liquids left to drink (as drinking sea-water can be fatal), as he wasn’t dead yet, his flowing blood would still be fresh and nutritional enough to drink, and his meat would be plentiful enough to feed them for weeks to come.

So, with Brooks supposedly taking no part in this deathly decision, having said a prayer, as Stephens held the boy's legs, Captain Dudley pushed his penknife into Parker's jugular vein, killing him quickly, and syphoning off his steadily seeping flow of blood into an empty turnip tin. Oddly, as much as he was disgusted at boy’s death, Brooks allegedly devoured more meat than Stephens.

On 29th July, five days after Parker’s death, the three crew-members were picked up by the German vessel - Montezuma – and by 6th September, they had arrived back in England. As was regulations, Captain Dudley made a full statement admitting they had eaten Parker to save their lives, they listed the death as a “shipping loss”, which he was legally required to do under the terms of the Merchant Shipping Act, and both the Board of Trade and the Home Office had no plans to arrest them.

But having heard the details of the case, that the orphan boy was not dead but dying, and that his death was hastened by the starving crew to feed themselves, this stepped over the line from being an “acceptable loss to shipping” to being “a murder” and the customs officer of the Falmouth Harbour Police Sergeant James Laverty obtained a warrant for their arrest.

Legally, had Richard Parker died of natural causes (which was highly likely) and the crew had eaten his corpse to stay alive, that would have been perfectly acceptable in the eyes of the law, but as the unconscious boy was still alive, even though he was unlikely to recover, Dudley and Stephens had committed murder. And even though, without his blood or meat, they may all have died, they were tried as murderers.

The case became a public sensation and everyone was on the side of the three survivors, even Richard Parker’s own brother, who was a seaman himself, shook their hands in court and forgave them. As Brooks had not agreed or taken part in the boy’s death, he was found not guilty, but – with necessity not being allowed as a legal defence - Captain Dudley and Edwin Stephens were found guilty, charged with the boy’s murder and were sentenced to death…but following a public uproar, the Crown granted them both a full pardon and they served just six months in prison for the murder of Richard Parker.

So, here’s my top tip; if you’re stuck on a lifeboat, you’re hungry and you need someone to die so you can full your belly, you’re going to have to wait. Sorry. Or (as with necrophilia), why not get them to sign a consent form before they die, then stick their meat on a spit, roast it and serve it with lettuce, chilli sauce and peppers in a pitta bread? Therefore that consent form will be less of a donor card, and more of a doner card. Whey-hey, thank you, I’m also available for children’s parties, weddings and bar-mitzvah’s.

If you found this interesting? Check out the Mini Mile episodes of the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast, or click on the link below to listen to an episode.

Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a writer, crime historian, podcaster and tour-guide who runs Murder Mile Walks, a guided tour of Soho’s most notorious murder cases, hailed as “one of the top ten curious, quirky, unusual and different things to do in London”, nominated "one of the best true-crime  podcasts at the British Podcast Awards 2018", and featuring 12 murderers, including 3 serial killers, across 15 locations, totaling 50 deaths, over just a one mile walk

Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at British Podcast Awards 2018, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian's Podcast of the Week and iTunes Top 25. Subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Acast, Stitcher and all podcast platforms.

What can forensics tell from the pattern of blood at a crime-scene?

Known as BPA, blood pattern analysis invaluable tool for any crime-scene investigator, as although (as we saw in Mini Mile #9) although you can semi-successfully clean-up a crime-scene, you can’t tamper with the laws of physics. So by understanding at what speed, height, distance and angle the blood travels, and how it impacts with a surface, that can help an investigator to establish what crime took place, the sequence of events, the position of those involved, and to confirm or deny an eye-witness’s, victim’s and perpetrator’s description of the events.

There are eight primary blood patterns.

#1 A Single Drop: A single drop of blood, falling vertically and forming an evenly spread spherical shape shows that the victim was standing and motionless at the time they bled, with the blood stain being more tear-drop shaped, the greater the victim moves. Although the higher the blood falls the larger the stain should be, the width of the stain can’t tell you what height it fell from, as this also depends on the quantity of the blood and the surface it fell onto, as absorbent surfaces (like carpet or clothing) create smaller stains, but flat or rough textured surfaces (like tile, wood and stone) can distort the shape and create its own spray, known as satellite stains.

#2 Impact Spatter. When a victim is violently struck, the force of the blow results in the expulsion of blood droplets from the injury, at speed, from a height and at an angle, but as the blood droplets are propelled through the air, they will disperse into even smaller droplets and become more scattered the further they are propelled from a single point of impact. And as before, each droplet will land in a specific way (from a tear-drop shape to a long thin streak) which tells where the point of impact was. If the impact spatter is interrupted, this will show where a person or object was at that moment as instead of blood-droplets, there will be a void.

#3 Cast-Off Stains. These occur when a blood-stained object is cast aside, just like when you shake-off the rainwater from a soaked umbrella, the speed and angle of your wrist flicking off the excess water will produce a very distinctive pattern. If a perpetrator throws aside a bloodied knife, the excess blood cast off the object will produce a pattern of its own, usually a linear or curved shape, giving you a rough location, and the smaller and less dense the impact spatter, the further away it was cast.

#4 Transfer Bloodstains. This is when a bloodied surface comes into contact with a second surface (whether clothing, a person or weapon) that creates an unnatural smear or smudge, which unlike a single drop, impact spatter or cast-off stain is very unique, showing you what speed, height and direction of transfer occurred, and like impact spatter, the further the smear, the less dense the blood stain. And if the object was stationary, sometimes an imprint of the original object can be left on the secondary source; such as fingerprints, pattern of the material, and also fibres.

#5 Projected Pattern. Sometimes called arterial spray, this is caused by pressurised blood discharging from a tear or rupture of one of the body’s main arteries (carotid, radial, femoral, brachial, temporal and the aorta, although spray from the aorta is less likely, owing to its position in the chest cavity). Like impact spatter, the distance from the victim to the surface is defined by the size and density of blood droplets in the scatter pattern, but with the ruptured artery still pumping blood at high pressure, the impact spatter will be expelled in episodic spurts, which will continue well after the victim has ran, fallen or been moved, with the amount of blood, dependant on the size of the wound.

#6 Pool Stains. These occur when blood accumulates onto a surface from a wound or ruptured artery, forming a pool of blood. If they have accumulated and formed satellite stains (smaller droplets which have splashed outside of the pool) or a trough shape in the centre, this can suggest blood has dripped steadily and continually from a height. A flat accumulation suggests they dripped from a lower height. And an unusual void in the blood pool can suggest the victim was motionless when they were bleeding, but has since moved or had been moved. The quantity of the blood can also suggest how much blood was lost and whether they were alive or dead at the time.

#7 Insect Stains. For flies, a bloody crime-scene is like a buffet, and as they feed on blood and human tissues, they also excrete small circular stains, which appear to be blood spots, but are actually the regurgitation and excretion of food, known as flyspeck. Flyspeck and the presence of insects can help determine a time of death, as a flies biology is as accurate as physics.

And finally, #8 Expiration Stains. These occur when the victim has an injury to his/her mouth, lungs or respiratory tract, and being diluted by saliva and mucus, they are expelled from the mouth as a fine mist, but (unlike impact spatter) they can only be seen if the victim’s mouth/nose is on or near another surface. Expiration stains can help determine if and when the victim was last alive.

If you found this interesting? Check out the Mini Mile episodes of the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast, or click on the link below to listen to an episode.

Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a writer, crime historian, podcaster and tour-guide who runs Murder Mile Walks, a guided tour of Soho’s most notorious murder cases, hailed as “one of the top ten curious, quirky, unusual and different things to do in London”, nominated "one of the best true-crime  podcasts at the British Podcast Awards 2018", and featuring 12 murderers, including 3 serial killers, across 15 locations, totaling 50 deaths, over just a one mile walk

Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at British Podcast Awards 2018, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian's Podcast of the Week and iTunes Top 25. Subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Acast, Stitcher and all podcast platforms.

Rigor Mortis, what is it and how does it help pathologists to determine a person’s “time of death”? Before, we understand rigor mortis, we need to determine what is death?

There are three stages before death can be determined; respiratory, cardiac and neural; once a human body goes into respiratory arrest, the lungs stop and oxygen is no longer produced; once a human body goes into cardiac arrest, the heart stops, and that oxygen rich blood can no longer be pumped to the vital organs which keep us alive, including the brain. Brain cells can die if they are deprived of oxygen for more than three minutes, and once the brain is dead, the person is dead.

Rigor Mortis is just one of several stages which pathologists use to determine a time of death, including decomposition, which we’ll focus on next week, but these are the first four:

#1 Pallor Mortis (which in Latin literally means “paleness of death”), it’s where the skin rapidly becomes whiter or paler, owing to a lack of blood circulating through the body’s capillaries, it begins within first 15-25 minutes of death and can last up to two hours, but how pale a person becomes does not denote how long they’ve been dead, as all skin-tones are different.

#2 Algor Mortis (which in Latin means “coldness of death”), where owing to a lack of fresh warm blood circulating, the body begins to cool in a slow and steady decline. Excluding external factors such as clothing, disease, drugs, alcohol and the environment, the human body has an average rectal temperature of 36.9 Celsius / 98.4F, but after death, this reduces by an average of 2 degrees Celsius in the first hour and 1 degree for every hour after that, until the body matches or nears the ambient temperature of its environment. The only time the body temperature naturally changes is during decomposition, when (owing to chemical changes in the body) the temperature increases.

#3 Rigor Mortis; (which in Latin means “stiffness of death”), this is the rigidity of different parts of the body caused by a chemical change in the muscles, rigor mortis can occur after 2-4 hours, it reaches maximum rigidity after 12 hours and slowly dissipates over the next 72 hours, until rigidity has ceased. The face and the neck are affected first, then the limbs, with the eye and mouth muscles often opening and becoming fixed after death, which gives corpses a shocked or haunted expression.

And #4 Livor Mortis (Latin means “blueish colour of death”), this is when (as the heart is no longer circulating the blood) gravity causes the heavier red blood cells to sink to the lowest part of the body, this begins in the first 20-30 minutes after death but isn’t visible until two hours later, with the size and the discoloration of the patches reaching its maximum 8-12 hours after death.

So, although Rigor Mortis is vital for pathologists, it’s really a combination of these four factors (Pallor Mortis - paleness, Algor Mortis - coldness, Rigor Mortis – stiffness and Livor Moris – colour) which can help determine a time of death, as well as at what state of digestion the victim’s last meal is in their stomach, whether the optic fluid in the eye had begun to dry, the elasticity of the skin, which different microbes remain in the victim’s mouth, the coagulation of the blood (for very recent deaths), and the different flies or larvae which have begun to feed or gestate in the body.

Yummy. And if you were listening to that, whilst part way through a lovely meal? If you haven’t put your knife and fork down yet, I wouldn’t tuck back in for at least another ten minutes, if I were you.

If you found this interesting? Check out the Mini Mile episodes of the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast, or click on the link below to listen to an episode.

Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a writer, crime historian, podcaster and tour-guide who runs Murder Mile Walks, a guided tour of Soho’s most notorious murder cases, hailed as “one of the top ten curious, quirky, unusual and different things to do in London”, nominated "one of the best true-crime  podcasts at the British Podcast Awards 2018", and featuring 12 murderers, including 3 serial killers, across 15 locations, totaling 50 deaths, over just a one mile walk

Nominated BEST TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at British Podcast Awards 2018, The Telegraph's Top Five True-Crime Podcasts, The Guardian's Podcast of the Week and iTunes Top 25. Subscribe via iTunes, Spotify, Acast, Stitcher and all podcast platforms.

This week: necrophilia, what is it, and what defines a necrophile?

As you’ll remember, John Reginald Halliday Christie from our previous multi-part series The Other Side of 10 Rillington Place was a necrophile as he engaged in sexual intercourse with the recently deceased bodies of his victims, but what constitutes necrophilia? Does it have to involve full penetrative sex, or can it be masturbation, groping, or simply a desire to sleep with the dead. And, are you a necrophile if the person you are in bed with, dies during sex? (I’m asking for a friend, honest).
 
According to the World Health Organisation, necrophilia (also known as necrophilism, necrolagnia and my favourite term necrocoitus) is an attraction, a fantasy, an intense sexual arousal or a sexual act involving the corpses of dead human beings, with the form of sexual contact ranging from penile and vaginal intercourse to anal intercourse, oral sex or masturbation of, or in the presence of, a corpse.

Legally, most countries don’t have clear guidance on necrophilia, as it’s quite a rare form of paraphilia, so (in most countries) necrophilia is only considered an illegal act as it involves the disturbing of a body or the burial ground, which in almost every culture is illegal, but because the dead cannot give consent to the sex act, necrophilia is considered non-consensual sex, and therefore it is illegal.

Of course, one option could be to get the soon-to-be deceased to sign a consent form before they pop their clogs, although that would be less of a donor card, and more of a boner card. Whay-hay.

So, what makes a person a necrophile? Clinically a necrophile is a person who has an uncontrollable desire to sleep with dead bodies, but legally they do not become a necrophile until they have interfered with its burial and engaged in any sexual act with a corpse. So, is it still necrophilia if you’re having sex with someone and they die during sex? No, as long as they died owing to natural causes, legally that is classified as “death by misadventure”, but is only considered necrophilia if you willingly continue the sex act knowing the other person is dead. (Phew).

So, how can you diagnose a necrophile? Clinically a person must experience a minimum of six months of intense and recurring sexual urges or fantasies involving corpses, with a significant change in their mood, behaviour or actions across this period. Necrophiles are most likely but not exclusively, heterosexual men between the ages or twenty and fifty (oh dear), who often seek out jobs in hospitals, undertakers, graveyards or mortuaries to gain a greater access to dead bodies (oh come on, that was work experience, for school, okay), and – as their desire manifests - necrophiles would often get their sexual partners to lie incredibly still and silent whilst they have intercourse with them (as with Ted Bundy), some may make their partner or prostitutes wear white make-up as if they were dead during sex, or (in the case of Dennis Nilsen) he would dress himself up as a corpse, lay still and watch himself as he masturbated in front of the mirror, all of which happened years before his first murder and his first sexual experience with a corpse. In rare cases (as with Jeffrey Dahmer) they may also engage in cannibalism (which is like, eating one end of a chicken wrap, and shagging the other end, I’m guessing).

In 1989, Dr Jonathan Rosman & Dr Phillip Resnick published ‘a sexual attraction to corpses: a psychiatric review’ in which they conducted a study of 122 confirmed necrophiles; in total, 92% were male, 8% were female, and 57% had regular access to corpses in their jobs. Often necrophiles have a poor self-esteem due to significant loss/ rejection or a fear of rejection and (interestingly) have a fear of death, but transcend this fear by developing a living relationship, routine and/or sexual fantasy with the corpse. In Dennis Nilsen’s case, the sex acts were as important as washing, dressing and bathing the corpse, as well as propping the dead body up in an armchair and watching TV with them.

Of those necrophiles interviewed, 68% said they were motivated by a desire to be unrejected by their former partner, 21% by a need for a reunion with a lost partner; only 15% claimed they had a sexual attraction to dead people; 15% said it was due to feelings of loneliness and isolation; and only 12% by a desire to remedy low self-esteem by expressing power over a corpse.

In Dennis Nilsen’s case, he stated that his necrophilia began following the death of his beloved grandfather, who Nilsen adored and claimed that his life was empty when (as a fisherman) his grandfather would be away at sea for weeks on end. One day, when he was five, Nilsen’s mother announced that his grandfather has come home, and when young Nilsen excitedly ran into the bedroom, he saw that the man he loved most in the world was dead. The body had been laid out as part of the family’s religious beliefs and there he said, he wasn’t afraid, but that he felt a strange sense of love for this dead body. Later in life, feeling like an outsider, who was rejected and abandoned by his family and subsequent boyfriends, when Nilsen murdered his first victim – Stephen Holmes – he stated “I had finally acquired a new kind of flat mate”, someone who would never leave him, hurt him, or reject him.

Interestingly, Dennis Nilsen claimed to only have had penetrative anal sex with one victim, and he didn’t enjoy it, instead he engaged in Intercrural sex which is non-penetrative sex, in which a male places the penis between his partner's thighs (often with lubrication) and thrusts to create friction. How romantic.

Legally, only two countries have laws which expressly make it illegal to engage in a sexual act with a corpse, and that’s South Africa and the United Kingdom (God, damn it), which under the UK Sexual Offences Act 2003, carries a two year prison sentence. Prior to 2003 in the UK, necrophilia was not illegal and the act of exposing a naked corpse in public which was only classed as a public nuisance.

In most countries, necrophilia is not (expressly) mentioned in its laws, but there are laws which forbid the disturbing of a grave or interfering with a dead body.

Strangely, in Brazil it is illegal to “abuse a corpse… or the ashes”, in New Zealand it’s illegal to engage in “misconduct with human remains”, in Sweden it’s illegal to “abuse a corpse or a grave”, in India it’s only illegal to disturb the burial ground, and in the USA, there is no federal law which covers this, but each state has their own legislation – in Washington necrophilia is a Felony, but in Texas it’s only a misdemeanor – say no more). And yet, you’ll be pleased to know, there are no laws governing sex with a corpse in New Mexico, Nebraska, Vermont, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana and North Carolina.

That was pleasant. Hmm, I think I need to book a holiday for myself and my “friend” (as he’s looking a little bit pale). Now where to go? Hmm, I hear North Carolina’s nice.

If you found this interesting? Check out the Mini Mile episodes of the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast, or click on the link below to listen to an episode.

Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a writer, crime historian, podcaster and tour-guide who runs Murder Mile Walks, a guided tour of Soho’s most notorious murder cases, hailed as “one of the top ten curious, quirky, unusual and different things to do in London”, nominated "one of the best true-crime  podcasts at the British Podcast Awards 2018", and featuring 12 murderers, including 3 serial killers, across 15 locations, totaling 50 deaths, over just a one mile walk