Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast #106: The Last Love of the Chiswick Cat Ladies
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This photo is of 15 Linden Gardens in Chiswick, W4, where Nora Tenconi and Barbara Doyle lived in the basement flat, seen just behind the blue car.
EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND SIX:
On the morning of Friday 27th August 1971, in the basement flat at 15 Linden Gardens in Chiswick, W4; with her family life in tatters, her emotions frought and everything she had ever loved destroyed, being at a loss at her lover’s rejection, Nora Tenconi took several desperate steps which ended in death. But why?
As many photos of the case are copyright protected by greedy news organisations, to view them, take a peek at my entirely legal social media accounts - Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.
The location of 15A Linden Gardens, in Chicwick, W4 is located where the black triangle is. To use the map, click it. If you want to see the other murder maps, such as Soho, King's Cross, etc, access them by clicking here.
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.
Left to right: 15 Linden Gardens as it looks today, a police plan of the basement flat at 15 Linden Gardens, a photo of the entrance to the basement flat and two photos of Linden Gardens.
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.
This case was researched using the original declassified polcie investigation files held at the National Archives, as well as many other sources.
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT OF THE EPISODE:
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 and beyond the West End.
Today’s episode is a simple story about two like-minded ladies who found love, a nice flat and a happy home life having adopted many cats. Nora & Barbara were each other’s forever lovers, but true-love doesn’t always last, and when the romance died, it drove one lady to leave and her lover to kill.
Murder Mile is researched using the original police files. It contains moments of satire, shock and grisly details. And as a dramatization 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 106: The Last Love of the Chiswick Cat Ladies.
Today I’m standing in Linden Gardens in Chiswick, W4; a place we’ve only tenuously been to before as we’re one street south of where Kate Beagley picked-up Karl Taylor for their first and last date, a quick cycle east of the arrest of Edward Tickell for the bungled abortion of Helen Pickwoad, and a few stops from the six-day killing spree of Britain’s very own Bonnie & Clyde - coming soon to Murder Mile.
Chiswick High Road is deeply pretentious and desperate to cling to its posh aspirations of yesteryear. It’s the kind of place you will always find avocados, humus, sold out copies of Horse & Hound and a broken wicker chair dumped in a skip only to be sold seconds later to a pipe-smoking Tweed-wearing numpty in red trousers for six hundred quid. Here ‘hiring a cleaner’ is still seen as high status, they still say nanny instead of baby-sitter, they don’t go on holiday they ‘holiday’ (big difference) and it’s illegal to order a single thing off a menu unless you insist the chef makes a tiny pointless change just for you (“less garlic”, “no wheat”, “use fair-trade spoons”, “yah, baby Tarquin loves black truffle cous-cous”). And although it thrives on its pseudo-posh pretentions, it’s also a bit shit. There’s an air of grubbiness about it, as it is just a through road from the city to Richmond, Kew and (if you keep going) Bristol.
Linden Gardens is a peaceful little side-street just off Chiswick High Road and one road from Chiswick police station; it’s quiet, neat, safe and pleasant, with a line of trees on both sides, a line of cars (usually Audi’s) and several cats sunning themselves on the pavement pretending to be the best pal of every crazy but easily-duped and desperately lonely lady who smells of fish. (“che-che-che, here kitty”).
Comprising of three and four-storey terraces with brown brick, cream plasterwork, white windowsills and black iron gates, some houses are wholly-owned and others are a mix of rented flats. But none of them have a front garden, just a set of stone steps leading to a small self-contained basement below.
Almost fifty years ago, the basement flat at 15 Linden Gardens was the rented home of Nora Tenconi, her lover Barbara Doyle and their eight cats. This was their love-nest and the place they planned to grow old together, but their happiness was not to last, so - as the two lovers split - this peaceful little street was shattered by tears, cries and screams as a very fractious relationship came to a tragic end.
As it was here, on Friday 27th August 1971, in the basement flat at 15 Linden Gardens, being at a loss at her lover’s rejection, Nora took several desperate steps which ended in death (Interstitial).
Nora Tenconi was born Nora O’Donnell on the 7th September 1934 in the rural town of Charlesville in Country Cork (Ireland). As the seventh of eight siblings in a traditionally large Irish Catholic family who lived tip-to-toe in a small terraced house, Nora struggled for any shred of attention amongst the many O’Donnell siblings, but with those moments of affection being few-and-far between, this didn’t make her a little monster (as some love-starved kids tend to be), it actually made her a better person.
Nora always loved a cuddle and a kiss, the warm reassuring feeling of another person’s embrace she would always cherish, and as much as her strict God-fearing mother seemed to love no-one other than the Lord, blessed with a big-heart and a smothering hug, it was always her father who she adored.
Being small, thin, pale and painfully quiet, Nora became a very thoughtful person. She was emotional but never destructive, placid and always polite. If anything, she kept to herself-to-herself and learned to internalise her pain, but again, that only made her a better person. And although, as the second youngest in a tight squabbling brood of ten, being a level-headed and even-tempered young girl with boundless love for everyone, Nora was often the peacemaker, as the family bond was everything.
Raised to be a good Catholic, Nora didn’t steal, swear and she renounced the temptations of the devil, whether theft, adultery, lustful impulses, homosexual acts, suicide, self-destruction and murder, which she feared but was deeply confused by as (being just a child) she was unlikely to commit or even understand. And yet, gripped by an innate sense of guilt over these vile things she had never done, her faith would be sorely tested. As a blameless child bullied into confessing the sins she was raised to renounce, being forced to invent sins to confess, as lies were a sin, confession had made her sinner.
Nora was a good person with a deep love of people, animals and especially cats, but childhood was a confusing time, especially for a bright growing girl trying to work out who she was. Her emotions were conflicted. If homosexuality was a sin, gay-sex was as bad as murder and God would cast all sodomites down into the eternal fires of hell simply for being what they felt was right, how could she call herself a Christian (the very definition of caring) if her heart was filled with so much love but so much hate?
For fear of being led-astray by the temptations of the flesh, Nora’s mother had banned her from going to dances or having a boyfriend; the simple things which blossom a young girl into a young woman. So throughout her early life, any romance was in secret and yet again, her faith had forced her to sin.
Educated at the Charlesville Secondary School, a Catholic school with the sexes split, it was here that Nora enjoyed her first teenage crushes, fondles and kisses, but she didn’t fancy the boys, it was the girls who fuelled her passions. But was this of her own desires, hormones, or a cruel trick of the devil?
In 1948, aged 14, Nora left school and – being naturally very caring – she started work as a nanny. But struggling with the conflicts of her lustful feelings towards woman, an inbuilt disgust of homosexuality and a strong traditional desire to marry a man, have children and make a home, Nora didn’t know who she was, or what she was meant to be. Feeling the overwhelming pressure to conform regardless of her own happiness, in 1952, aged 17, alongside her older sister Helen, Nora moved to London.
It was a big step, a clean break and a difficult time for Nora, as being so far from her beloved family - and especially her father whose kisses and his cuddles she greatly missed - in the bright lights of the big city she sought a better life, a smattering of happiness and (she hoped) to discover her true self.
Only her new life in London would also be full of angst, confusion, self-loathing and conflict.
Having quit as a nanny, Nora worked a variety of jobs as a cashier in a butcher’s shop on Chiswick High Road, an orderly at St Steven’s Hospital in Fulham and an usher at the Gaumont Cinema in Camden, and although she was described as loyal, bright and efficient, she was prone to bouts of depression.
In late 1954, aged 20, following her Irish Catholic instincts and driven by a desire to finally be happy, Nora met and fell in love with a 33-year-old Italian convict called Rene Clive Tenconi, a bad man with a bad past and a furious temper whose criminal ways would lead her astray.
In May 1955, being found guilty of breaking into a branch of WHSmith’s on North End Road in Fulham to steal a rack of raincoats, hats and shirts worth £100, as a first-time offender Nora was charged with larceny, given a two-year probation order and bailed. But being a prolific thief who had been arrested stealing copper cables from a GPO store in Harlesden, Rene was sentenced to six months in prison.
At this point, Nora could have run, as Rene was a violent abusive brute who regularly beat her black-and-blue… but she didn’t, as the pull of love and marriage was too great. Instead, in 1956, shortly after his release from prison, Nora O’Donnell married Rene Tenconi, she got pregnant and being so violently assaulted by him that she miscarried, shortly afterwards they separated, but (owing to their faith) they never divorced, hence she was stuck with her married name.
It seemed as if Nora Tenconi was doomed to live an unhappy life where love would always elude her.
Over the next six years, Nora had three short but fruitless romances with a man and two women, but it was not to be. Her life was a confusing mess, she had broken so many sins – theft, lust, adultery and homosexuality – and yet, she wasn’t bad, she was just a big-hearted woman who craved love and the simple things that romance brings; like kisses, cuddles, love letters, romantic meals and holding hands.
By the age of 30, she had lost all hope of ever finding love.
And then, she met Barbara. (Interstitial)
Barbara Judith Doyle, known to her friends as ‘Judy’ was born on the 22nd September 1936 in the New Zealand city of Wellington, having come to Britain in 1962, just one year before she had met Nora.
As a loving couple, Nora & Barbara were similar in many ways; born two years apart, both had parents living overseas, both had fled difficult relationships, both were raised Catholic but struggled with their faith’s persecution of their chosen romantic choices, and they both loved music, books, wine and cats.
Separately, their differences complimented each other; where-as Barbara was a raven-haired fan-of-fashion who would confidently strut down the Chiswick High Road in a pair of high heels, a wide-brim hat and an outfit in shocking pink, Nora dressed more conservatively in a brown trouser suit, soft pumps and - being a creature of comfort - she loved nothing more than lounging on the sofa wearing her favourite (if slightly worn and a little threadbare) red bathrobe, tied at the waist with cotton cord.
In contrast, Barbara was more dominant, outgoing and impulsive, but her boundless energy also drove Nora to become more confident in herself, and although she would still be plagued with bouts of self-doubt and depression, this period of her life had stability and progression. Having been promoted to cashier at Gaumont cinema in Waltham Green, manageress of a drycleaners on Portabello Road and later as a cashier at Hedges Butchers in Chiswick, with a combined wage of £35, Nora & Barbara moved in together and to everyone who knew them they were very much in love.
As a gay couple, the only real conflict they encountered was in Nora’s own inner turmoil, as although Barbara had been a lesbian since her teens – still struggling with her faith, family and traditional urges – Nora was gripped with a tremendous guilt, as still fancying men, she felt she “didn’t feel completely gay”. And yet, as a faithful, loving and caring couple, they would remain together for almost a decade.
In the spring of 1968, Nora & Barbara moved into a three-storey terraced-house at 15 Linden Gardens, just off Chiswick High Road. On the top floor lived the landlady Marguerite Perkins, an elderly widower and a sweet old-dear who was hard-of-hearing so was prone to play her radio a little too loud. On the ground-floor was Kathleen Bowden, a widowed housewife with two teenage sons (Dennis and James) and an older daughter (Diane). And in the self-contained basement flat were Nora and Barbara.
The flat was small but it suited them fine. Situated on a quiet road and accessed down a set of stone steps to a small white door, it was private, neat and secure. And although a full-width window only afforded them the view of a small coal bunker below the road and several feet on the pavement above - for only £10 per week - they had a small kitchenette, a bedroom, a sitting room, a toilet outback and use of a tiny back garden where Nora was often seen with her trowel, weeding and planting flowers.
They were happy in their new home; the tenants were welcoming, the area was good and with six cats of their own, two adopted strays and feeling the need to feed any feline which passed-by – although this was the kind of unconventionally gay set-up that her God-fearing mother refused to approve of – finally Nora had found love, happiness and contentment. And assuaging the pull of her traditional Irish urges, she also had a loving partner, a nice little home and a large family of children… all of them cats.
15A Linden Gardens would be their home for the next three years, but following the sudden death of Nora’s father in May 1968, coupled by frequent bust-ups and spiralling mood swings which fractured this once loving relationship, the Christmas of 1970 would mark an end for the Chiswick Cat Ladies.
It wasn’t that things were bad; it was just that things weren’t as good as they once were. Life plodded on, love became stale and - like so many couples - those first special sparks of sexual attraction had been dampened down to the daily drudgery of predictable routines. It was nobody’s fault except time.
They kissed less, they hugged less and they touched less. Even sitting on the sofa listening to the radio, where-as once they cuddled, now they sat ends apart with the wide void between them filled by cats.
Like her smallest kitten, Nora was a homebody content to stretch-out and snooze by a warm fire with a nice meal in her belly and kisses on her head, all snuggled-up in her slightly-threadbare red bathrobe. Where-as Barbara was more akin to the stray tom-cat they had adopted; who popped in, said ‘hi’, got fed and headed-out to prowl the town looking for new friends and fun times ahead.
So, it wasn’t surprising when the obvious happened.
At a Christmas party held at her employer - The National Society of Operative Printers and Assistants in Borough Road – 34-year-old accounts clerk Barbara Doyle met 33-year-old secretary Sylvia Long; a lady with same hobbies, same style and the same love of music, the only downside being that Sylvia didn’t like cats, but (that aside) very quickly a friendship blossomed into a love affair and soon enough Barbara would be spending less nights with Nora in Chiswick and more night with Sylvia in Tooting.
Being quiet and insular, Nora sensed something was wrong, but said nothing. And as each dreary month passed, the more they argued, the less they talked and the further they drifted apart.
On 26th July 1971, needing a break, Nora headed back to Charlesville; to soak-up the reassuring sights of her hometown, to see her much-missed siblings and to lay flowers on her beloved father’s grave. It was the sanctuary she so badly needed in a moment of crisis, but it was not to be. As a devout Catholic sickened by her own child’s homosexual affair, a bitter family row erupted and choosing God over her little girl’s happiness, Nora left, vowing never to return to Ireland or to see her mother ever again.
Nora was distraught, her head was a mess, her life was falling apart and having lost her father, her mother, her siblings, the land that she loved and her faith, all she had left was Barbara and her cats.
On 7th August, Nora returned home to her basement flat at 15A Linden Gardens. Being told by Barbara that their eight-year relationship was over, that she had met someone else and they would be moving into a flat together as soon as possible, a blazing fight ignited as the two ladies’ screams wailed across the quiet little street, right throughout the night. And the very next day, in that flat, Nora met Sylvia.
It was over. Nora had nothing. Her thoughts were muddy, her emotions were dull and later described by the prison psychiatrist that she had reacted “like a cornered rat, with her life totally destroyed, she suddenly became paradoxically angered in a way which was uncharacteristic for her”, drinking heavily, this usually calm, placid and thoughtful woman was reduced to a hysterical impulsive shell.
On the morning of Monday 9th August, having phoned Barbara and threatened to smash-up her prized radio if she didn’t return to her, with her bluff called and her prized possession lying in pieces, Nora watched as the first of Barbara’s belongings were loaded into a car and driven away to Sylvia’s flat. And just like her life, once it was full of love and happiness, but now it was nothing but an empty void.
That night, as she hysterically wept with only her cats for company, unable to imagine any kind of life and hurt by Barbara’s parting words describing their time together as “eight years of hell” – having knocked back two half-bottles of gin and rum - with a kitchen knife, Nora slashed open both wrists.
Being bloodied and barely conscious, thanks to the compassion and quick-thinking of her landlady; Nora survived her suicide attempt, her wounds were stitched and being so depressed that she gave-up work, even though Nora was prescribed a cocktail of anti-depressants, tranquiliser and something to quell her anxiety, all she did was cry day and night - as without Barbara, she felt she was nothing.
Resigned to her fate and a life of loneliness, Nora reluctantly agreed to a mutual split from Barbara on the condition that (as Nora wasn’t working) she helped her out with £8 40p a week for the rent, 50p for the cat’s fish and in two weeks’ time, on Friday 27th August 1971 Barbara would move out for good.
It seemed a logical compromise… only it had a major flaw.
Sylvia didn’t like cats. In fact, whenever she stayed at the Chiswick flat, she always insisted that Barbara locked them outside whenever she was in, so in their new flat together, these cats were not welcome.
Left in Nora’s care, although she deeply loved each and every one of her cats like they were her own babies – being depressed, drugged and often drunk - unable to look after herself let alone her family of cats, Nora felt forced to make a fateful decision, and had a vet put all six of her cats to sleep.
Their deaths hurt Barbara deeply, but feeling like she had destroyed her own babies, it affected Nora worse. Like a final stab to the heart, being unable to cope with their loss – with not a single meow or purr in the sparely furnished flat and its walls lined with packed bags and boxes - on the evening of Thursday 26th August, putting her head in the gas oven - once again -Nora tried to take her own life.
Rescued by Marguerite, their elderly landlady, that night she sat down with both ladies in their sitting room for a chat over a cup of tea. Knowing that through the haze of drink, drugs and depression, deep-down Nora truly was a very loving person who was level-headed, caring and thoughtful, by 11:15pm, as all three went off to their respective beds, Nora & Barbara had agreed it was time to move on.
For the first time in months, they both slept soundly, as around them lay the last of Barbara’s personal belongings, ready to be collected by Sylvia in the morning, for their new life ahead.
As a devout Catholic, Nora hadn’t committed a single sin until her first confession. She wasn’t bad, she was just a big-hearted woman who craved love and the simple things that romance brings; like kisses, cuddles, love letters and holding hands. But as true-love eluded her, she would break so many sins; such as theft, lust, adultery, homosexuality, suicide and – soon - she would commit the ultimate sin.
At 7am, on the morning of Friday 27th August 1971, after a humid night, Barbara awoke and ran a bath in the first-floor bathroom they shared with the rest of the house. After half-an-hour, she returned to the basement, she did her make-up and hair, and she dressed in a pink dress, a blue cardigan, black shoes and her favourite rain-mac in shocking pink, so by 8am, Barbara Doyle was finally ready to leave.
In contrast to this immaculate lady she loved more than life itself, Nora was a mess of bed-hair, baggy eyes, a gaunt complexion and red puffy eyes, as – although they agreed to a mutual split – dressed in her tatty threadbare red bathrobe, Nora pleaded for her to stay, as tears streamed down her face.
Nora’s words were fruitless, she knew it, and as her once forever-lover asserted “Nora. No! I’m leaving you. I’ve nothing more to say”, both ladies were unaware of how true that statement was, as Barbara would never utter another word. And from the door of the kitchen, as she took a last look at her home for the last three years - a place so full of good times and happy memories - as she turned away from the little back garden where their family of cats played among the posies, suddenly Nora snapped.
Like “a cornered rat”, acting without thinking, instinctively she grabbed a garden trowel and smacked Barbara hard over the head with the small iron tool, as blood gushed down her pink waterproof mac’. In panic, Nora gave chase as Barbara staggered along the passageway towards the front door, pleading for her forgiveness and crying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” as the dazed lady stumbled to make her escape.
Blinded by the blood in her eyes, as Nora desperately yanked her jilted lover away from the door, they both tumbled into the sitting-room, tripped over the rug and hit the wooden floor hard, as Barbara’s head bounced off the cast-iron fire-place, and above her right eye, a large gash poured profusely.
Grabbing a tea-towel to stem the bleeding, as Nora dabbed at the gaping wound, begging “I’m sorry, don’t, I didn’t mean to hurt you”, and tried to silence her by beseeching “don’t scream, please, don’t”, fearing for her life as her ex-lover bared-down upon her, Barbara’s screams only got louder.
And before Nora even knew what she was doing – being angry, desperate and love-sick - having pulled the cord from her tatty red bathrobe and wound it swiftly around Barbara’s small pale neck, with both fists gripping it tight till her knuckles were white, Nora cried “don’t scream, don’t scream”, as Barbara’s face turned a dark shade of puce. And as Nora stared into the slowly reddening eyes of the woman who was once her lover, although a few faltering claw marks from her pink fingernails struggled to free her last living breath, before Nora knew it, the relationship was over and Barbara was dead. (End)
Being sat alone and stroking her dead lover’s bloody head in the sitting-room they once shared, a short while later, Nora called her sister Helen who lived nearby and her young nephew Anthony who ran to Chiswick Police Station just one street over. Officers arrived at 10am, a doctor declared life as extinct and with the evidence matching Nora’s full and honest but emotional confession, the investigation conducted by Detective Chief Inspector Hurley and Detective Inspector Busby was short but thorough.
Being full of remorse and confusion, there was no denying that this was a crime of passion committed whilst the balance of her mind was disturbed and without any premeditation. The autopsy confirmed the head injuries were caused by blunt force trauma by a trowel and the fire-place, her death was due to asphyxiation by strangulation, and along side the boxes, the packed bags, the broken bits of radio, the cries, the blood stains, the six dead cats and the tatty red bathrobe which – out of habit - Nora had hung-up on the back of the bedroom door, she was arrested for the murder of Barbara Doyle.
On Tuesday 7th September 1971, barely ten days later, Nora Tenconi formerly O’Donnell was tried at the Old Bailey in a short trial of what was described as an ‘open-and-shut case’. With the psychiatrist of Holloway Prison concluding that being “trapped like a cornered rat, with no prior experience and feeling unable to cope, Nora had snapped”, at her trial, she pleaded not guilty to murder, but guilty of manslaughter by diminished responsibility and as both the prosecution and defence accepted this plea, Nora was sentenced to three years in prison and after her release, her fate is unknown. All the Chiswick cat lady ever craved was a kiss, a cuddle and a hug, and for that, she paid the ultimate price.
OUTRO: Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for listening to Murder Mile.
I hope you enjoyed the episode and all the hard work that goes into it. It may only be thirty minutes long, but it takes ages to research, a week to write and edit and it literally kills me to finish. But if you also like some pointless gobbledegook where nothing much happens; except I say some words, I drink some tea, we do a quiz, I eat cake and then I switch off the recording. If that sounds great, stay tuned.
Before that, a big thank you to my new Patreon supporters who are Kath Mounce and Karl Phillips, I thank you all for your support, it’s much appreciated. A thank you to Anne-Marie Griffin for your very kind donation, I thank you too. And with a huge thank you to everyone who continues to listen to the podcast. There’s a lot of choice out there so I’m glad you’re staying with the show.
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, which are freely available in the public domain, including eye-witness testimony, confessions, autopsy reports, first-hand accounts and independent investigation, where possible. But these documents are only as accurate as those recounting them and recording them, and are always incomplete or full of opinion rather than fact, therefore mistakes and misrepresentations can be made. As stated at the beginning of each episode (and as is clear by the way it is presented) Murder Mile UK True Crime Podcast is a 'dramatisation' of the events and not a documentary, therefore a certain amount of dramatic licence, selective characterisation and story-telling (within logical reason and based on extensive research) has been taken to create a fuller picture. It is not a full and complete representation of the case, the people or the investigation, and therefore should not be taken as such. It is also often (for the sake of clarity, speed and the drama) presented from a single person's perspective, usually (but not exclusively) the victim's, and therefore it will contain a certain level of bias and opinion to get across this single perspective, which may not be the overall opinion of those involved or associated. Murder Mile is just one possible retelling of each case. Murder Mile does not set out to cause any harm or distress to those involved, and those who listen to the podcast or read the transcripts provided should be aware that by accessing anything created by Murder Mile (or any source related to any each) that they may discover some details about a person, an incident or the police investigation itself, that they were unaware of.
*** 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", 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.
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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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