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Welcome to the Murder Mile true-crime podcast and audio guided walk of London's most infamous and often forgotten murder cases, set within one square mile of the West End.
EPISODE SIXTY-TWO (part two)
This is a PART TWO of a TWO part special on the murder of Michael Barry Porter; a twenty-three year old scaffolder from King’s Cross, who was brutally murdered in a disreputable West End club, and yet, strangely, almost none of the forty witnesses could identify his killer. This is the investigation.
CRIME SCENE PHOTOS:
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Ep62b – The Rosendale Murder Part 2 (the investigation)
DISCLAIMER: This is part two of a two-part episode. If you haven’t listened to part one of Episode 62: The Rosendale Murder, I strongly suggest you do that first, otherwise you will be very confused.
SCRIPT: Welcome to Murder Mile; a true-crime podcast and audio guided walk featuring many of London’s untold, unsolved and long-forgotten murders, all set within London’s West End.
Today’s episode is the final part of a two part special on Michael Barry Porter; a 23 year old scaffolder, brutally murdered at the notorious Rose n Dale club, and although there was very little evidence and not one single eye-witness could identify his killer, the Police would bring a killer to justice.
Murder Mile is researched using the original police files. It contains moments of satire, shock and grisly details, and as a dramatisation of the real events, it may also feature loud and realistic sounds, so that no matter where you listen to this podcast, you’ll feel like you’re actually there.
My name is Michael, I am your tour-guide and this is Murder Mile.
Episode 62: The Rosendale Murder - Part Two (The Investigation).
Today I’m standing by the Regent’s canal in Haggerston, E8; two miles west of the Islington tunnel where the body of Sebastiano Magnanini was tied to a shopping trolley and dumped in a watery grave, two miles west of Battlebridge Basin where the hacked-up bits of Paul Fields were fished-out by two boys and barely quarter of a mile east of Broadway Market where (bobbing along in the stagnant water) were found the dismembered body-parts of Gemma McCluskie - coming soon to Murder Mile.
That’s three bodies in sixteen bits and all on one small stretch of the Regent’s Canal, which is about average for this place, as recently, when the canal was drained, amongst the submerged detritus (like beer cans, old prams, mucky mags and fag packets, as well as pretentious trash like humus hampers, falafel wrappers, artisan breads in the shape Marcel Pruste’s arsehole and wanky wicker baskets full of gluten-free vegan pizzas made by hairy-handed homeless-looking bearded hipster yetis - “BEARD”), divers also found a stash of guns, knives, grenades, an unexploded WW2 bomb and six open safes.
But in 1971, the Police weren’t here to find a corpse, they were here to find a killer.
Strangely, not one single eye-witness had uttered his name, but Detective Chief Inspector William Peel and his Murder Squad detectives were close to capturing a known felon who murdered Mickey Porter.
As it was here, on the Regent’s canal in Haggerston on 25th October 1971, one month after the murder, that Police uncovered a key piece of evidence which brought a killer to justice. (Interstitial)
This was an incredibly complicated case, expertly handled by the Police, but made even more difficult by the vagueness and lies of some witness statements, so let’s recap on what they knew for certain.
On Sunday 26th September 1971, at 12:57am, in the Rose n Dale club at 9 Newport Place, Michael Porter, known to his pals as “Mickey” was stabbed in the back with a single-bladed knife, shot three times in the neck, back and groin with a .22 calibre pistol and died at the bottom of the stairwell.
Consisting of a small single-room on one floor, the Rose n Dale club was forty feet long by fifteen feet wide (six feet at its thinnest), it was all open-plan, with seating on the outside and no hidden corners, columns or booths; the lighting was dim, the music was loud and “last orders” had been called.
Standing in the corner near the kitchen, it started as a fight between four men; two were six foot tall, two were five foot eight; one wore a maroon velvet jacket, one a light beige sweater, one a white flowered shirt and one was Mickey, with two women (a streaked blonde and a redhead) stood nearby.
For whatever reason, Mickey slashed a pale man in a maroon jacket across the left cheek with a broken glass. In retaliation, Mickey was stabbed once, slashed once and shot three times; once by the kitchen, once on the first-floor landing and twice down the stairs, blood stains and shell casings corroborate this, as well as two .22 calibre bullet fragments which nicked the thumb of Albert Griffiths, the club’s co-owner. Mickey Porter died at the scene and his unidentified assailant fled, leaving a trail of blood.
Forensics teams found three distinct blood groups – type O, type A (positive) and type A (negative) - on the walls, door, floor and stairwell, and yet, having bled profusely, only the type A positive blood was found on the pavement outside of numbers 9, 7 and 3 Newport Place. Mickey Porter was type O.
At the time of the murder, there were roughly thirty-five patrons and four staff on the first floor, with no-one in the second-floor club above or the ground-floor shop below. With the only access being via Newport Place, everyone entered via the black street door, which (even when the club was open) the door was always locked, with a single set of keys, held by Albert.
And as a private member’s club, with everyone having been personally vetted by Albert, all thirty-five patrons either arrived as couples or larger groups, there were no singles or strangers and although everyone had to sign-in; some didn’t, some weren’t members and some gave false names.
Of those forty witnesses; some fled, some stayed and others gave statements which were either vague, wrong or untrue; no knife, no gun and no culprit was found, and no-one - in any of the three hundred plus statements by eye-witnesses – identified the killer. But why?
Through experience, the Police knew that eye-witness testimony is notoriously unreliable, as although memory is only 30% accurate, the human eye sees less than 5% of what is in our field of vision, with the remainder interpreted by the brain, and the same can be said the for rest of our senses.
Witnesses may see identical things in different ways, for example; blonde hair may be fair, white, light, mousey or auburn, based on the brightness and the colour of the lights; a person may be five eight, five ten or even six feet tall, but without a tape measure we can’t be accurate, opting for a ‘best guess’ based on who they’re standing near; and a maroon velvet jacket could just as easily be a red blazer, a burgundy cardigan or a dark top, based entirely on the wealth or limits of a witness’s vocabulary.
These different depictions could describe the same person, or someone different, so having witnessed a shocking event, in near dark conditions, for a split second, and being asked to recall it hours, days or weeks later, it’s not surprising that so many eye-witness statements were vague, confused or wrong.
And yet, some witnesses deliberately gave false statements, and the Police knew this as a fact.
Through the dogged determination of Detective Chief Inspector Peel and his fastidious Murder Squad detectives, by painstakingly double-checking even the tiniest detail, re-interviewing each witness and cross-referencing every statement, they wheedled out the truth from the lies, and in an utterly baffling and truly complicated case, their persistence paid off, and a killer was caught.
The Police quickly ruled out the following witnesses; the staff comprised of Albert (who was on the door), Sara (who was serving sandwiches), Denise (who was behind the bar) and Marcia (the waitress); as well as other innocent bystanders such as Dave the Tout, Lenny Fields, Lew the Jew, Dancing Charlie, Scotch Bobbie, Little Ted, Carole & Monica, Kerri Lane the pianist, Playboy Roy, his wife Coral, their friend Iris, his brother Terry and his wife Carol, Mr & Mrs Harwood, Peter Goody, Jackie Hunt, Susan Cash and Peter & Sheila Kennedy. John Reilly’s statements were proved to be an honest account of the night and (excluding the minor argument he had with his brother Matt, outside in Newport Place) he was stood with his sister-in-law Marilyn by bar at the farthest point from the incident itself.
Which left the Police with eight viable suspects: all but one of whom had prior criminal convictions, all of whom lied or misled the Police and some of whom had refused to give statements, they were; Matt Reilly, John & Ann Kavanagh, Charlie Snookes, Ian Doran, Terry Haynes, Barbara Ali and June Lawrence.
So who had lied and why?
Having driven to the club in a red Wolsey, Mickey’s friends John & Ann Kavanagh and Charlie Snookes initially stated (cross-fade) “We did not go to a club called the Rose n Dale. In fact, I have never been to a club called the Rose n Dale”, “I was not there this evening, nor was my husband or Charlie. In fact, I have never heard of the club before”, “I’ve never been to the Rose n Dale, in fact, I don’t know where it is exactly”. The problem was, having adhered to the rules of the club, in the leather bound book just inside the door, all three had signed in as guests and members, using their real names.
When re-interviewed by the Police, they confirmed (cross-fade) “I saw him lying on the stairs, moaning and groaning”, “I knew he was hurt but I didn’t know he was hurt so bad. I squeezed past with Ann and Snooke and got into the car where we sat and watched”. When asked why they’d lied; Charlie gave no excuse, neither did John, and Ann later said “I told lies before as I didn’t want to get involved”.
The Kavanagh’s and Charlie Snookes were ruled out as suspects, as their actions, timings and location were corroborated by others in the club, and none of them fitted the descriptions of the four men and two women being sought by the Police, but their statements did clarify the sighting of someone else.
Matt Riley; having initially refused to give a statement, Matt later stated “I didn’t see Mickey all night, in fact, I didn’t even know he was there”. A statement contradicted by five people including his own brother, who said “I recognised a man called Mickey Porter standing with Johnny Kavanagh and Ann, they were about four feet away”. Later, although Matt denied seeing his pal Mickey bleeding to death on the stairs, “I grabbed my wife, and me and John joined the queue for the stairs… I saw a man who I can’t describe lying face down on the floor”, but his brother also contradicted this, saying “I saw Mickey lying on the stairs, I bent down and looked at his face, and saw his eyes were staring, Matt was with me, he said to his wife “come on, let’s go”, we stepped over Mickey and left the club”.
And although - for whatever reason - he failed to tell the truth, with the Police asking each witness to clarify what they were wearing that night, six-foot tall fair-haired Matt said he wore a “yellow flowered shirt”. Meaning that of the four men, in the corner, by the kitchen, involved in the fight, Matt was one.
So why did he lie? Nobody knows.
What the Police knew was that he was unarmed, uninjured and involved, but whether the argument with his brother just moments earlier was related to the murder itself (clips - “leave me alone, I can handle it”,“I’m your brother, stick with your family, not your friends”) is unknown. Others have suggested that Matt was trying to broker a peace between Mickey Porter and his killer (clip - “forget about it, let’s have a drink”). So as Matt doesn’t match the description of either man, Matt was ruled out as a suspect.
Which left the Police with four viable suspects; two men and two women.
It was a simple process of elimination based on the facts given by both the witnesses and the suspects; Barbara Ali and June Lawrence were stood by the cigarette machine, barely three feet from the fight, the stabbing and the shooting. Both claimed “we went to the club by ourselves, we saw very little and left together” and that “we didn’t know anyone else in the club”, but the Police knew that was a lie.
When questioned about the night, Barbara confirmed she wore a mauve jumper, a pink mini-skirt and had blonde streaked hair, and June was a redhead wearing a white woollen jumper, blue hot pants and grey knee-length boots – which perfectly fit the description of the women seen fleeing the club.
Which left just two men; both described as five foot eight and early twenties, one wore a light dog’s tooth patterned shirt (and what was described as a “light beige sweater”) and one was a pale man in a maroon velvet jacket, who bled profusely from a stab wound the left cheek, and both were missing.
And although one of the wanted men signed into the member’s book as “Davies” (which the Police knew was not his real name), the other signed-in as Terry Haynes (which was). And as a five foot eight, fair haired, 18 year old plumbers’ mate, dressed in a snazzy yellow shirt with a dogs tooth pattern and a fawn pullover, Terry was also one of the four men.
Which left the Police with one viable suspect.
But with Barbara & June unwilling to talk, Terry having fled and the suspect’s type A positive blood splattered inside the club, outside of numbers 9, 7 and 3 Newport Place, on a broken wine glass (which Mickey had used to slash open his left cheek) and on the clothing of the murder victim himself, as his name was barely mentioned in any witness statement, the Police knew him only as ‘Mr Jennings’.
Only his name wasn’t ‘Mr Jennings’, or even ‘Davies’, it was Ian Doran; a 22 year old, five foot eight, second-hand car dealer, dressed in a maroon velvet jacket, black trousers and polo neck, colours which accentuated his pale and profusely bleeding complexion, who had arrived and left with Terry Haynes (his cousin), Barbara Ali & June Lawrence (his half-sisters), and as a known felon who was dangerous, violent, easily riled and armed with a .22 calibre gun, now he was on the run.
So how was a killer caught and convicted? With no smoking gun, the Murder Squad Detectives relied on the smallest of details, all cross-referenced and double-checked; who was where, who wore what and how could they prove it. What follows is the most accurate account of what happened that night.
At 12:15am on Sunday 26th September 1971, having parked-up his black Ford Mustang in nearby Little Newport Street; Ian, Terry, Barbara and June entered the Rose n Dale club at 9 Newport Place, witnessed by Albert, and although Ian signed-in as ‘Davies’, the others signed-in as themselves.
It was an ordinary night and the foursome were out for fun, but - described by the Police as ruthless, paranoid and volatile - even on a nice night out, Ian was carrying a gun.
As a child of below average intelligence, Ian Doran was wild, angry and uncontrollable; expelled from school once, sent to borstal twice and raised amongst a family of petty thieves, Ian was convicted of shoplifting aged 13, car theft aged 15 and burglary aged 16, with 11 convictions by age 23, including a firearms offence. For half of his life he had been a criminal, and he was only twenty-three. Unable to hold down a steady job, Ian dreamed of being an infamous gangster who was respected and feared; living the fast life with snazzy clothes, sports cars, easy money and armed with a .22 calibre Beretta.
It was pure coincidence that Mickey Porter and Ian Doran were both in the Rose n Dale that night, and as a tiny one-roomed club with nowhere to hide, being too proud to leave and too arrogant to back down, it is believed that Matt unsuccessfully tried to broker a peace between the two fuming men.
At 12:50am, (“last orders”) with tempers rising (“leave me alone, I can handle it”) and keen to keep his baby brother out of trouble (“stick with your family, not your friends”), Matt & John Reilly were ushered outside by Albert, into Newport Place, to settle their differences, but with the club’s patrons distracted by the siblings stand-off, although June heard Mickey say to Ian “forget about it, let’s have a drink”, what happened during those crucial few moments will never be known.
Was it sparked by a look, a word or a mistimed nudge? Or (being drunk, angry and paranoid) did Ian Doran simply misinterpret the well-meaning offer of a friendly drink from Mickey Porter; a man who many described as a “flash git” who “rubbed people up the wrong way” and had the scars to prove it.
At 12:57am, with the last drinks served, the pianist wrapping up, the patrons picking up their coats and Sara serving the final sarnies, from across the bar Mickey Porter dashed, broken glass in hand yelling “you can have it now you c**t”, his scream muffled by loud music, hubbub and high-jinx.
Clutching the sharp shard in his balled up fist, Mickey slashed Ian across the left cheek, missing his eye by half an inch and – cutting to the bone - split open a two inch gash, which bled a rapid stream of type A (rhesus positive) blood, down Ian’s pale face onto his maroon velvet jacket. Situated in a tight dark corner, farthest from the bar and the piano (where – singing a last song - most eyes were facing), much of the action was obscured by Mickey’s back, but seen (in full) by Barbara and June.
Seething at his assailant, from his waistband Ian pulled a loaded .22 calibre Italian Beretta, wildly fired off an un-aimed single shot from hip-height, hitting Mickey to the left of his groin, splitting his pelvis and embedded the bullet in his left thigh, as the crotch of his fawn corduroy trousers ran red. And as the spent .22 calibre shell ejected, landing under the nearest stool, although the hubbub in the busy club slowly subsided, with the bang muffled by sweaty bodies and soft furnishings, most witnesses were unsure of what they had heard, whether a firework, a cap-gun or a champagne cork.
Shot once, still standing (with the pain masked by 13 whiskies) and a bloodied and furious Ian Doran raising his Beretta once more, Mickey Porter tried to flee, but his path was blocked by Terry Haynes.
Terry would state “I saw a man charging me with a broken glass in his hand, it was Porter, he was like a wild man. I had a penknife in my pocket, I opened it, pushed my arm out and ducked my head”, implying it was self-defence. Except, the autopsy proved different, as not only did Mickey have a one inch defensive wound to his right middle finger, but having been stabbed in the back, not the stomach or chest, it’s more than likely that Mickey was stabbed by Terry as he turned or ran away.
Seeing Mickey flee, Ian fired again, caring not a jot if he shot an innocent, as his second bullet narrowly missed his half-sisters Barbara, June and his cousin Terry, but as Mickey fled via the first floor door, a small hole ripped open in his back, fracturing his 8th rib, splitting the bullet into several lethally sharp projectiles; one tore through his right lung, one split open his stomach, and two exited Mickey’s torso, embedding into the base of Albert’s thumb, ejecting a shell casing by the door and spraying the multi-coloured wall and door with two types of blood – type A (rhesus negative) and type O.
As Mickey staggered downstairs; his pelvis shattered, his lung collapsed, his chest full of blood, Ian fired again… but missed, and as a third shell ejected onto the 9th step, being a few inches from freedom, as Mickey yanked the handle, the black front door wouldn’t budge… it was locked.
Seeing he was trapped, the last thing Mickey saw was Ian Doran, thundering downstairs; his pale face bloody, his eyes wild, a loaded Beretta outstretched, as with a loud bang and a muzzle flash, a bullet ripped through his neck, his oesophagus and embedded in the base of his heart. Mickey collapsed on the spot, a fourth shell by his head and the wall splattered with type A (positive) blood and type O.
As the petrified patrons feared for their lives, Lew unlocked the door, and amongst a sea of sweaty bodies, Ian Doran fled, swiftly followed by Terry, Barbara and June; the bulk of the eye-witnesses too confused, shocked or terrified to accurately recall what they seen… and in the panic, a killer escaped.
But Detective Chief Inspector William Peel and his Murder Squad detectives would find him.
Dashing down Newport Place, Ian profusely bled his type A (rhesus positive) blood along the pavement outside numbers 9, 7 and 3, and having parked up in Little Newport Street, at the back of Leicester Square, he dived into his black Ford Mustang; Terry in the front, Barbara and June in the back, as witnessed by Charles Harwood who exclaimed to his wife Winifred “look at that man sitting in the car with his face all bleeding, how can he drive like that with a handkerchief to his face?”
As the car sped away, Barbara saw Terry “wiping blood off a knife with a hanky”, which she described as “a small black single edged blade, with a coat of arms on it, the kind you buy at a seaside town”.
Police were on the look-out for a left-hand drive black Ford Mustang and all hospitals for a “man in a maroon jacket cut across the left cheek, a man in dog’s tooth shirt, a streaked blonde and a red-headed woman”.
Insistent that all evidence be destroyed, Ian dropped Terry off in King’s Cross, told him to destroy a stash of bullets at his home, and fearing Ian’s wrath, Terry did as Ian demanded and disappeared.
Safely ensconced at Barbara’s mum’s house at Gopsall Street in Haggerston, Ian tried to lay low, but rapidly losing blood, Barbara said “I thought he was dying”, so with his getaway car hidden, “I dragged him over to the van and put him in. I was frightened. I wanted him to go to the hospital”.
Driven to nearby St Leonard’s Hospital, in a tiny dilapidated Ford Thames van, barely big enough for two people, having falsely claimed to be “Mr Jennings”, at 2:14am, Dr Mark O’Keck tended to the v-shaped wound on Ian’s cheek. Having dressed it, stitched it and removed all the glass fragments – with Ian being aggressive and Barbara clearly nervous - having taken a sample of Ian’s blood to test for infection, feeling suspicious of the pair, Dr O’Keck handed the small vial of blood to the police.
But having discharged himself, a few hours later, Ian Doran had vanished.
At his command, all of the evidence was destroyed; June scrubbed away his blood stains at 40 Gopsall Street, Ian brother’s Stephen sold the black Ford Mustang, and Barbara slung the maroon velvet jacket into a bin at Dunstan Road, with the black .22 Italian Beretta dumped in the Regent’s Canal.
Ian was gone, Terry was gone, the evidence was gone, and the investigation should have stalled…
…but fear can be a powerful motivator, it can make people do stupid and highly illegal things, it can cause people to lie to the Police, but (when lives are threatened) it can also make liars tell the truth.
On Monday 27th September 1971, the day after Ian had vanished, Barbara handed an envelope to her trusted pal Teresa Bromiley; it contained two front-door keys, insurance details for a Ford Mustang, a driving licence in the name of Frank Richard Huggett (an alias of Ian Doran), and although Teresa never asked why, Barbara said “if anything should happen to me, hand these to the police”, to which Teresa said “see you tomorrow”, and Barbara nervously stuttered “yes, if I haven’t been shot”.
On 7th October 1971, having been interrogated twice, Barbara Ali and June Lawrence were arrested and charged with impeding the arrest of a wanted man. Even though June had scrubbed the living room with bleach, forensics teams found a large quantity of dried type A (rhesus positive) blood, an incredibly rare group, which matched the heavy bloodstaining in the Ford Mustang (traced to a new owner), the Ford Thames van (found stripped and dumped by the Regent’s canal) and the vial marked ‘Mr Jennings’ taken at St Leonard’s hospital, as well as outside of numbers 9, 7 and 3 Newport Place, inside the Rose n Dale club, and on clothing of Mickey Porter.
Although Ian’s maroon velvet jacket was never found, after 21 days searching a short stretch of the Regent’s canal between Kingsland Road and Haggerston Road, Police divers found two revolvers, 16 rounds of .45 calibre bullets, one 12 bore shotgun and a .22 calibre Italian Beretta pistol, wrapped (as Barbara described) in a white and blue cloth; with only two live rounds left in the six-shot clip.
With enough evidence to convict, all that was missing were the culprits - Ian Doran and Terry Haynes.
After a week in hiding out in Wellingborough, with a man’s murder weighing heavy on the boy’s mind, on 2nd October 1971 at 11:55pm, 18 year old Terry Haynes handed himself in to Detective Chief Inspector Peel; he made a full confession, admitted the knife had been destroyed, and having found a single drop of Mickey Porter’s blood on his left shoe, the only detail Terry refused to give (“I don’t want to, I’m frightened”) was one the Police already knew – the name of Mickey’s killer. (ENDING)
After an anonymous tip-off, on 20th December 1971, Ian Doran was arrested by Glasgow Police, as part of a four-man team who robbed several banks (supposedly) to fund an extreme left-wing group, except most of the cash, Ian splashed out, on living the high-life as a wannabe gangster. And as predicted, described by the Police as ruthless, paranoid and volatile, during one robbery, a masked assailant fired a loaded shotgun, with no aim or warning, narrowly missing an innocent bystander.
Ian Doran was found guilty at Glasgow High Court on 20th March 1972 and sentenced to 25 years for armed robbery. On 12th April 1972, Police took a sample of his type A (rhesus positive) blood, and when Detective Chief Inspector Peel charged Ian Doran with murder, and asked if he did it, Ian Doran cockily stated “Yes I did, you know all about it, that’s why I had to leave London”.
Tried at the Old Bailey; Barbara Ali, June Lawrence and Stephen Doran were found guilty of impeding the apprehension of a man wanted for murder and sentenced to three years’ probation. Terry Haynes was found guilty of unlawful wounding and given a two year conditional discharge, and having pleaded “not guilty” to murder but “guilty” to manslaughter on the grounds of provocation, Ian Doran was sentenced to an additional ten years and three months in Wormwood Scrubs prison.
His sentence would have expired in 2007, he died in 2003, aged 54.
The murder of Mickey Porter in the Rose n Dale club was a complicated case, made next to impossible by a lack of prints, weapons, motive or credible witnesses, and yet, it was solved by the fastidious work of Detective Chief Inspector Peel and his Murder Squad detectives, who relied not on big clues, but thousands of tiny ones, which may have seemed insignificant, but they led to the arrest of a killer.
OUTRO: Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for listening to Murder Mile.
That was the final part of the Rosendale Murder, but there will be loads more single-part Murder Mile episodes starting next week. Don’t forget, if you’re a murky miler, to stay tuned for extra goodies after the break.
A huge thank you goes out to my new Patreon supporters, who are Simon Lewis and Vickii (two I’s), and a thank you to everyone who has been on my Murder Mile Walk recently, it’s lovely to meet listeners in person and to get a chance to show you murder sights you will only ever hear about on the podcast.
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.
Credits: The Murder Mile 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.
The music featured in this episode include:
Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a writer, crime historian, podcaster and tour-guide who runs Murder Mile Walks, a guided tor 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 75 deaths, over just a one mile walk
Michael J Buchanan-Dunne is a crime writer, podcaster & tour guide of Murder Mile Walks, hailed as one of the best "quirky curious & unusual things to do in London".
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