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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.
On Saturday 18th June 1982 at 7:30am, the body of Roberto Calvi, the ex-Chairman of Banco Ambrosiano was found hanging under the north-side of Blackfriars Bridge. Having been sacked, with his bank having collapsed owing to a $1.4 billion dollar debt, which he had caused by illegal trade deals, it looked like a regular suicide. But was it?
As many photos of the case are copyright protected by greedy news organisations (and I don't want to be billed £300 for copyright infringement again), to view them, take a peek at my entirely legal social media accounts - Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.
I've added the location of the north-side of Blackfriars Bridge where Roberto Calvi was found marked with a red !. It's on the far right. To use the map, simply click it. If you want to see the other murder maps, such as King's Cross and Paddington, you access them by clicking here.
And for your enjoyment, here's two short videos. The first shows you the north-side of Blackfriars Bridge where Roberto Calvi's body was found, and the second marked 'tides' was shot at 7:30am, the time when Roberto's body was found, to show you the difference between the high and low tides of the River Thames which is vital to the story. These videos are only one minute long and is a link to youtube, so it won't eat up your data.
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.
Ep70 – Roberto Calvi: The Death of God’s Banker
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 about Roberto Calvi, a wealthy Italian financier with influential connections so deep within The Vatican that he was dubbed God’s Banker, and yet, so complex is the mystery surrounding his life, that even today it is still uncertain whether his death was a suicide or a murder.
Murder Mile is researched using authentic sources. 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 70: Roberto Calvi: The Death of God’s Banker.
Today I’m standing underneath Blackfriars Bridge, WC2; a wrought iron structure constructed in 1869 for traffic and pedestrians, which stretches 105 feet wide by 923 feet long, and is one of nine bridges over the tidal stretch of the River Thames between the Tower of London and the Houses of Parliament.
Situated two miles east of Soho, half-a-mile south of the Old Bailey and just a hop from the Oxo Tower and the Tate Modern, Blackfriars was named after the Dominican monastery which stood near this site between 1276 and 1538, and with ‘Black’ being a reference to the habits worn by the monks and ‘Friar’ deriving from the French word ‘Frere’ meaning brothers, hence this became Blackfriars Bridge.
Following the monastery’s destruction during the dissolution of the Church - just so bloated pasty and undercooked chicken-McNugget lookalike Henry VIII could play a barbarically realistic version of ‘Shag Marry Kill’ - Blackfriars is no longer a place of religious significance. Instead, 100 feet east is Blackfriars Station, where every day long-lines of soulless dead-eyed commuters trudge from door to desk, having injected six shots of neat caffeine into each eye, to stop their chins scraping along the floor, as they all mutter in unison “I hate my job, I hate my job”, and repeatedly stab a small-cocked voodoo doll of their boss made from a realistic mix of lads mags, old CVs, anal suppositories and dog-shit.
And although flanks of desk-bound drones escape their sad little lunch with the other losers by jogging, secretly hoping that if they twist an ankle, break a leg or hack-up a noxious lung they’ll be granted sick leave; as they run along the north-side of the Thames and under the steel beams of Blackfriars Bridge, they pass the site where the stress of a fellow office worker’s job drove him to death.
As it was here, on Saturday 18th June 1982, that the body of a mysterious banker called Roberto Calvi was found hanging, but was this a suicide or a murder? (Interstitial).
Giacomo & Maria Calvi were two strict Italian Catholics raised in Tremenico, a small village near the Swiss border. Born to rugged mountain folk who worked hard, lived simply and spent frugally, although the family’s modest little home overlooked the affluence of Lake Como, as a fiscally astute man Giacomo had become a successful manager at Banca Commerciale Italiana (one of Italy’s largest banks), and yet the couple renounced wealth, prestige and privilege, choosing to live a life which was simple, drab and austere - a stark contrast to the world Roberto would aspire to.
Having uprooted for work, Giacomo & Maria relocated sixty miles south to Milan, Italy’s second city. It truly was a culture shock for the conservative couple, moving from farmland to a financial capital, from livestock to the Stock Exchange, and from a commune of seventy people (mostly relatives) to a sprawling metropolis of seven million strangers. Milan was a city of excess, immortality and opulence. On 13th April 1920, it was here that their eldest son Roberto was born, surrounded by everything this wide-eyed boy would ever want in life – money, power and fame - and yet it was all cruelly denied.
Described as an arrogant loner who was obsessively secretive, Roberto was a bright but quarrelsome student who fought often and spent his time finding ever-more imaginative ways to make money to buy the finer things in life his tight-fisted parents had shunned – good food, fine art and fancy clothes.
Forced by his frugal mother to wear sensible but drab attire, Roberto adhered to the strict regime of his religious upbringing but secretly craved the trappings of success – expensive cars, five-star hotels and fine dining - and yet style never suited him, as being small and portly, even tailored suits hung off him like a sack of spuds and burdened by a bald head with dark tufts over his ears, his hair consisted of an unfashionable toothbrush moustache fixed in the middle of his wrinkled, stern and grumpy face.
From those formative years, he dreamed of wealth, but simply being rich would never be enough.
Roberto’s life was uncertain, as having dropped out of a law degree at Bocconi University and enlisted at Turin Military Academy where he rubbed shoulders with the Italian elite, being unable to join the Air Force owing to his chronic vertigo, in 1941 Second Lieutenant Calvi was sent to the Russian Front; a brutal experience where the ravages of poverty and hunger was etched into his brain forever.
With the war over, in 1945, Roberto became a clerk at Banca Commerciale Italiana, a stuffy provincial savings bank. He hated the work, the people and the rules, but seeing banking as his quickest route to wealth – having later been given a three-month trial at Banco Ambrosiano – the bank became his life.
Established in 1896, Banco Ambrosiano was a small savings bank built to provide financial services for Roman Catholic institutions, so central to its ethos was the Church that any prospective employees had to submit a Baptismal certificate of trust from their priest to prove that they were a good Catholic, but fifty years on, steeped in creaky old traditions, very little had changed. But Roberto saw promise.
Roberto rose quickly through the ranks; from clerk, to manager, to personal assistant of the CEO and to General Manager in 1971. And by 1975 he had been promoted to Chairman of Banco Ambrosiano.
Although he was an arrogant, secretive and deeply obsessive loner, seen an a great innovator who would shake up its stifling rules and modernised the bank, under his leadership Banco Ambrosiano became Italy’s second largest bank, and – seeing this as his own empire - he was eager to expand.
By the late 1970’s, Roberto was rich, powerful and successful. The feisty little boy whose austere parents had dressed him in drab clothes, fed him bland food and denied him the simplest of luxuries had everything he ever wanted… but for Roberto, being rich would never be enough. And seven years later, his body would be found hanging from a beam under Blackfriars Bridge (Interstitial).
His downfall began when Banco Ambrosiano bagged its biggest client ever.
In 1972, Michele (“Me-kay-lay”) Sindona, financier of the Franklin National Bank introduced Roberto Calvi to Archbishop Paul Marcinkus (“Marchinkus”). Born in Chicago to Catholic parents; as a tall fearsome priest who was nicknamed ‘the gorilla’ owing to his bullish ways, Marcinkus began his career as the Pope’s bodyguard. Eager to modernise The Vatican, when Marcinkus was promoted to Head of the Institute for Religious Works (the Vatican’s own internal bank) he streamlined their systems, computerised their accounting and – having famously said “you can’t run The Church on Hail Mary’s” – he sought to expand its revenue.
The Catholic Church is one of the most powerful religious organisations with an annual spend of $170 billion dollars and as the world’s largest private landowner with 71.6 million hectares of land, as well as an undocumented wealth of art-works, buildings and treasures, all of which are managed from The Vatican, to ensure its financial stability, Marcinkus sought expert help.
With Catholic morals at its core, Banco Ambrosiano was the perfect choice for The Vatican, and seeing similarities between himself and its Chairman, the deal was done. Roberto became God’s Banker and with such a prestigious client, he began to amass many powerful friends, from The Church, the Government, the Press and the Mafia, all the way into secret societies like Propaganda Due (“Duey”).
Established at the end of World War Two, Propaganda Due (known as P2) began as a branch of the Freemasons, a much-maligned non-political non-religious charitable organisation set-up to develop business interests amongst its members, whose traditions lie in medieval stonemasonry, hence much of its symbolism revolves around a stonemason’s tools such as the level, the plumb and the trowel.
Splintering from the Freemasons in 1976, under the command of its fascist Grand Master Licio Gelli (“Leechio Jelly”), P2 spawned into a highly secret organisation comprising of only the top-tier of Italy’s most powerful men – including politicians, judges, businessmen, bankers and journalists – to establish an ultra-right-wing group who controlled all aspects of the Italian government, often described as a “state within a state”.
Under Article 18 of the Italian constitution, secret organisations were banned, but being protected by such powerful allies and having purchased the managing share of Corriere Della Sera, the leading newspaper in Italy, P2 would be unstoppable, and to ensure its financial success was “God’s Banker”.
By the late 1970’s, under Roberto’s guidance and Marcinkus’ management, The Vatican had become the largest shareholder in Banco Ambrosiano, and although this alliance continued to make it millions, Roberto used his bank and The Vatican’s money to secure the finances for P2’s fascist agenda and (whether he knew this or not) to launder the mafia’s ill-gotten gains. Roberto was an influential member of P2 with many powerful friends, but dabbling in such dangerous waters, powerful allies can very quickly become powerful enemies. (Interstitial).
Roberto was about to make himself, the bank and its primary shareholder (The Vatican) very rich, and although it was incredibly dangerous to risk the fortunes of The Church, the Mafia and P2 on such an inventive and unorthodox scheme, it was also highly illegal.
To bypass Italian tax-laws, through Banco Ambrosiano, Roberto would export money overseas using a series of shell corporations, fake banks, front companies and mail-boxes, all from the respectability of his bank in Milan, by loaning large sums to accounts in Luxembourg, Switzerland, Nicaragua, Buenos Aries, Peru and the Bahamas. As all transfers leave a paper-trail, to prove to the financial authorities that each loan was legitimate, Roberto needed a letter of reference from the primary lending bank in the Bahamas stating they were all credit worthy. This wasn’t a problem, as although each company was fictional, the director of the bank in the Bahamas had been appointed by Roberto himself; it was his old friend and the Vatican’s Head of the Institute for Religious Works - Archbishop Paul Marcinkus.
In total, Roberto transferred $1.4 billion dollars overseas, between several companies which only existed on paper, making himself and The Vatican vast sums in the process… and then, it all collapsed.
In 1974, two years after Roberto Calvi had been introduced to Archbishop Marcinkus; Michele Sindona of the Franklin National Bank was arrested and imprisoned for fraud, his bank collapsed and - owing to bad loans and fraudulent currency transactions - The Vatican lost almost $30 million dollars. Only this was just the tip of the iceberg, as with Sindona having laundered the proceeds of heroin-trafficking for the Mafia, all banks were now being investigated including Banco Ambrosiano…
…and in its wake would be left a trail of corpses.
Just like Roberto Calvi, Michele Sindona was a banker with deep connections to the Mafia, P2 and The Vatican; with his reputation and assets ruined, Sindona’s greatest fear wasn’t the prison sentence that he faced, but the powerful people his trial may expose, so even behind bars, his life was at stake.
On 11th July 1979, Georgio Ambrosoli, a court-appointed liquidator investigating Sindona’s fraud found evidence of criminal manipulation linking "an American bishop and a Milanese banker". One hour after he had reported these findings to the Palermo Police Chief Boris Giuliano, three Mafia hitmen shot Georgio Ambrosoli dead. Ten days later, the Police Chief was dead too. The Mafia hit had been ordered by Michele Sindona and the names the lawyer gave were Roberto Calvi and Archibishop Marcinkus.
Michele Sindona was sentenced to life in prison for murder, but fearing those that his failure would unveil, on 18th March 1986, Sindona drank a cup of coffee laced with highly poisonous potassium cyanide. He died instantly and (even today) it is uncertain if his death was a suicide or a murder.
Sindona was the first piece to fall, but many would follow and more deaths were to come.
On 17th March 1981, in the villa of Grand Master Licio Gelli (“Leechio Jelly”), prosecutors investigating connections between Michele Sindona and P2 found a list of the secret society’s 962 members which included bankers, generals, judges and the future Italian prime-minister Silvio Berlusconi, as well as Roberto Calvi, and with their members unmasked, P2 was dissolved.
A few weeks later, with the authorities having identified $27 million dollars’ worth of Italian Lira which had been illegally exported oversea by purchasing shares in foreign banks, Banco Ambrosiano’s chairman Robert Calvi was arrested, given a four year suspended sentence, a fine of $20 million and was placed on bail pending his appeal. All the while, Archbishop Marcinkus was kept away from Italian investigators as with The Vatican being a sovereign state, he was outside of their legal jurisdiction.
But with his passport confiscated and his accounts frozen, Roberto Calvi was a sitting duck. Fearing for his wife and children’s safety - even having spent close to $1 million on alarms, cameras and barriers, a bullet-proof car, private jet hire and ten armed bodyguards - with his impending trial about to expose the Mafia, P2 and The Vatican’s involvement in the fraud, he had his family flown out of the country.
Having illegally transferred $1.4 billion of Banco Ambrosiano’s stocks overseas, money which belonged to its powerful and deadly investors, Roberto had no way to plug this deficit without the investigators spotting the fraud, and with the money missing, the bank (along with its client’s funds) would collapse.
On Monday 5th June 1982, Roberto sent a private letter to Pope John Paul II, warning him of the bank’s collapse, of Archbishop Marcinkus’ involvement and the impact this would have on The Church.
Five days later, on Friday 10th June 1982, Roberto Calvi disappeared.
Aided by his underworld contacts, under the cover of night, Roberto was smuggled out of Italy in a speedboat driven by renowned smuggler and bodyguard Silvano Vittor, and to the port of Trieste, where he crossed the Yugoslavian border under false passport in the name of Gian Roberto Calvini.
In the backseat of an inconspicuous little car, Roberto was driven to Klagenfurt in Austria, where he stayed for two days, hid in shady hotels and made calls on pay-phones to his wife Clara, his daughter Anna and his secretary Graziella Corrocher (“Gratziela Ko-rrrrock-hair”) to reassure them he was okay, as well as trying to secure a $1.2 billion deal with Italian financier and former officer of the Italian military intelligence Francesco Pazienza (“Francesco Patzienza”) who had aided his escape. And all the while, by his side, sat a black attaché case, in which (it is believed) contained incriminating evidence linking P2, the Mafia, The Vatican and Banco Ambrosiano.
On the evening of Tuesday 14th June 1982, having stopped in Bregenz on the German/Austrian border, on-route to the Swiss city of Zurich, in the Central Hotel Roberto met with two trusted allies who had helped his escape - Flavio Carboni & Hans Kuntz. Unusually for such a cautious man, the meeting was unplanned and what they discussed was uncertain, but what was said caused him to change his plans.
Panicked, having broken cover, Roberto was driven to Innsbruck where Hans Kuntz had requisitioned a private jet, and under the ruse that Roberto was an executive for Fiat, they flew straight to Gatwick.
Why he fled to London? Nobody knows.
Having been to London before, Roberto always stayed at the Hilton, the Ritz and Claridge’s, but keen to keep a low-profile, Hans Kuntz booked Roberto into Room 881 of Chelsea Cloisters, a drab shabby student lodging at 87 Sloane Avenue, a booking made for 22 days under the name of “Mr Robertson”.
Although inconspicuous – being a drab airless room with coarse bed-sheets, a pokey little bathroom and no telly, just a phone, cigarette burns and a sordid collection of ominous stains - the austere décor brought back bad memories of his frugal upbringing with his tight-fisted parents, but as much as he hated it, he knew it was best for his protection. No-one would think of looking for him here.
Becoming increasingly paranoid, Roberto became a self-imposed prisoner in Room 881. In fact, the only time he left was to meet Francesco Pazienza, Hanz Kuntz and Flavio Carboni (who he last met in Hyde Park on the Wednesday night) and always, by his side, was his bodyguard Silvano and the black attaché case. Afterwards, he returned to Room 881 and didn’t leave for the next 24 hours.
As hard as he strived to rescue his ailing bank, his whole world was about to implode.
On the evening of Thursday 16th June 1982, the $1.2 billion deal with Francesco Pazienza fell through.
On the morning of Friday 17th June 1982, the Board of Directors at Banco Ambrosiano met to discuss the $1.4 billion dollar hole in the bank’s finances, and with the company poised to collapse, they fired Roberto Calvi. And being riddled with shame and hurt, having left a scornful letter to her exiled boss, his secretary Graziella Corrocher threw herself out of the fifth-floor window and plunged to her death.
As far as he fled and as well as he hid, he would always be hunted by the rich and powerful people he had befriended, cheated and fleeced, and with the dark demons closing in, just a few hours later and eight hundred miles from his home, 62 year old millionaire banker Roberto Calvi would be dead.
And yet, the last few hours of his life are a mystery.
Being confined to Room 881; feeling depressed, fraught and exhausted (having not slept for days even though he had taken several strong sedatives), Roberto spent the day pacing back-and-forth. He read, he ate, he called his wife and his children, but he never left his bodyguard’s sight and he had no visitors.
For the first time ever, that evening, he shaved off his distinctive toothbrush-like moustache.
At a little before midnight, according to Silvano, Flavio Carbino arrived at the Chelsea Cloisters for an impromptu meeting, but being unwilling (for whatever reason) to meet him in Room 881 or in the downstairs lobby, Roberto asked Silvano to meet Flavio instead. And with the two men distracted, the freshly shaven Roberto Calvi snuck out - although there are no witnesses to corroborate any of this.
Where he went, who he saw and what he did are unknown? But an hour later, he was dead.
His body was discovered at 7:30am on Saturday 18th June 1982, as London postal worker Steve Pullen walked along the Thames Path under the north-side of Blackfriars Bridge. Being a little after low-tide - with the side of the riverbed still visible and the bridge’s supports almost fully exposed – Roberto was found fifteen feet from the wall; his neck stretched, his feet dangling, hanging from a rope, as his drenched corpse swung in the soft breeze as salty water dripped from his sodden black suit.
In his pockets was $15000 in cash, in his suit were stuffed several bricks (which added weight to hasten his death) and around his neck was a deep red strangulation mark where the rope had ended his life.
At the inquest, the verdict was ruled as a suicide, but was it?
If this was a suicide, why was no note found on his body, at the scene, or in Room 881? Why did he kill himself in public, when he spent most of his time alone in his room? Why would he buy a rope, when he still owned half bottle of sleeping pills? Having weighted his pockets with four kilos of bricks, why didn’t he simply drown himself in the deep, muddy and fast-moving river? And why would an ailing overweight banker climb over a high river wall, onto a shaky aluminium scaffold and precariously fix his rope, fifteen feet from the wall, on the underside of a bridge, when he suffered from vertigo?
Unwilling to accept the initial findings, when the Calvi family hired a private investigator to re-examine the evidence and replicated his supposed suicide, what they found was perplexing.
Having stuffed his suit with bricks, climbed over a high stone wall and shimmied down an aluminium scaffold (used hours earlier by painters to de-rust the bridge), even after his body had been partially submerged, why was no paint, rust or brick dust found on his fingers or clothes, as it had in tests?
The River Thames is tidal, with low-tide at about 6am and 6pm, and high-tide at midnight and midday. So if he had hung himself just after 1am (as his autopsy states), with the tide being nine metres high, his body wouldn’t have dangled from a long tight rope (as it did when discovered at low-tide); instead the rope would be slack, his suit would be soaked and his body would be partially submerged.
In fact, if he had hung himself just after high-tide, the red ligature marks found around his neck would have been made post-mortem (after death) and not ante-mortem (before death), but having died of asphyxiation and with no sea water found in his lungs, we know he did not drown, he was strangled.
But by how?
Roberto Calvi travelled four miles east from the Chelsea Cloisters to Blackfriars Bridge but how he got there is a mystery. The red ligature marks on his neck prove that he was strangled with a rope, but the hanging may not have been what killed him. With no struggle marks on his body, it is believed that he may have been drugged. And with steel beams under Blackfriars Bridge being dark and discrete, at tide high, a small boat could easily have moored-up unnoticed and positioned the body and the noose.
But by who?
Roberto Calvi could have been murdered anytime, anywhere, by anyone; having been shot, stabbed, poisoned or drowned; and having disposed of the evidence, including his body, in a way which left no trace. But they didn’t? He was found hanged, with bricks in his pockets, under Blackfriars Bridge.
So maybe his murder had meaning? Maybe his “staged suicide” was symbolic?
Consider this: As a secret organisation, very little is known about Propaganda Due, known as P2, but some of their traditions have haunting similarities to Roberto’s death. In his suit pockets and in his underpants were shoved four kilos of bricks and stones, key symbols associated with the Freemasons. As a far-right splinter group, with both military and Mafia connections, who he had defrauded out of a lot of money, P2 members dress in black ceremonial robes, just like Dominican Monks, and amongst their inner circle, they refer to themselves as “Frati Neri”, which translates as the Black Friars. (End)
Before Roberto’s body was identified, his bodyguard Silvano Vaccari fled London in a private jet and flew from Gatwick to Geneva, he was carrying a black attaché case, identical to the one Roberto always kept about his person, but his case was never found. Three months later, Silvano was found dead, with fifteen stab wounds to his face and two bricks in his pockets. His murder has never been solved.
On 13th September 1982, two months later, a man entered Union de Banque Suisse in Geneva and under a false passport tried to withdraw $60 million from several overseas accounts, he was swiftly arrested, and his name was Licio Gelli - the former Grand Master of Propaganda Due.
In 1983, Banco Ambrosiano collapsed with debts of over $1.3 billion dollars. As its major shareholder, The Vatican paid $224 million dollars to the bank’s creditors as a ‘recognition of its moral involvement’, but with not enough evidence, The Vatican was granted immunity from prosecution and Archbishop Paul Marcinkus later retired to Sun City in Arizona, having never been tried, charged or convicted.
With a second inquiry into Roberto’s death leading to an ‘open verdict’, his murder remains unsolved and although several suspects were named - Francesco Pazienza, Hans Kuntz, Flavio Carboni, Silvano Vittor, Licio Gelli and Mafia-boss Giuseppe ‘Pippo’ Calo – not a single conviction has held. And still, it is uncertain if his murder was committed separately or jointly by The Mafia, P2 or The Vatican.
Was it a suicide? Was it a murder? Was it a symbol? Or is it simply a coincidence that the man dubbed ‘God’s Banker’ would choose to end his life, 800 miles from home, under Blackfriars Bridge?
OUTRO: Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for listening to Murder Mile.
For all murky mucky milers, there’s more wibbly-mouth bum-plop in Extra Mile after the break, but before that, here’s my recommended podcasts of the week. (PROMO)
A huge thank you goes out to my new Patreon supporters, who are Grethe Karlsen and Anabel Picon, I thank you. With extra thank you’s to John & Bev Woodley and friends who came on my Murder Mile Walk recently and treated me to some lovely cakes. Thank you to the Hughes Family who came on their second walk (and was treated to a little sausage from a Soho local), which may be a belated congratulations for the marriage of Mr & Mrs King of the Refunds. Huzzah. And a thank you to Emma Lambert for the generous donation to the Murder Mile Cake Fund. I thank you.
Don’t forgot, you’ve got one more week to enjoy a whopping 20% off all Murder Mile merchandise via the merch shop. To get 20% off all eBooks, mugs and badges, simply type CallMeReg20 (that’s CallMeReg with no spaces and the number 20) where it says voucher code in the checkout.
And as always, if you want to see what the murder locations look like, every Thursday I upload a blog for each episode, with a map, location videos, photos etc. There is a link to this in the show-notes.
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:
Sound Effects (not created by me)
Sources: Sadly, there is currently no file on this case available at the National Archives and probably won't be for at least another fifty years, so I've used other sources.
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 50 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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