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Welcome to the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast and audio guided walk of London's most infamous and often forgotten murder cases, set within and beyond the West End.
EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT:
On the morning of Monday 1st June 1953, at 09:05am, the body of Barbara Songhurst was pulled out of the River Thames at Radnor Gardens and brought ashore at St Helena Pier, as many dead bodies are. But even before an autopsy was conducted, Scotland Yard were notified, as this was no accident, this was unmistakably a murder.
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 St Helena Pier where the bodies of Barbara Songhurst and Christine Reed were brought ashore is marked with a yellow triangle, at the bottom left of the screen by Ham and Petersham. 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.
Here's two little videos to go with this episode; to the left is 15 Roy Grove, Christine's home where her parents last saw her and Barbara alive and to the right is St Helena Pier where the bodies of both girls were pulled ashore. Below are two more videos showing you the locations where each other girls bodies were found. These videos are 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.
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 about the investigation into the vicious double-murder of two best-friends, Barbara Songhurst and Christine Reed, who were stabbed, raped and disposed-of by an unknown attacker on a peaceful Thames towpath. But who was this man, and why did he 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 108: The Thames Towpath Murders – Part Two: The Investigation.
Today I’m standing by St Helena Pier, just off the Thames towpath in Richmond; one mile north of the camp site at Petersham Meadows where Barbara and Christine enjoyed a last laugh, two miles north of their final sighting just shy of Old Ham Lock, two miles north-east of the shallow waters by Radnor Gardens where Barbara’s body was found, and a full three miles north of Teddington Lock.
St Helena Pier is a popular place for tourists and locals alike, as you’re only a short totter from a posh shopping trip in Richmond town centre, a pleasant scoot along the oddly uneven towpath from Kew Gardens or a bobbly wind-swept boat ride to Hampton Court Palace, but this is a place of rest.
Being an old-fashioned sloped boat-dock leading down to the water’s edge, although buses and trucks whizz passed on the nearby Richmond Bridge, St Helena Pier has a real slowness about it, as everything is done at a very a sedate pace. With a smattering of ale-houses and tea-shops set around a Georgian stepped terrace - if you ignore the modern monstrosity of the aluminium pier – it’s a lovely spot to soak up the view, feed the ducks, inhale some semi-fresh air and do a bit of people-watching.
There’s several types you can see; there’s the strollers, the joggers, the sitters and the snoozers; there’s the pseudo-intellectuals who seem fully absorbed in every word of Albert Camu, except it’s just a dust-jacket covering the latest Jackie Collins smut-fest; there’s the hopeless romantics who’ve hired a boat and punt it like a limbless gondolier and think it’s original to sing the Cornetto song; there’s always a mahogany moron so sunburnt their reddening skin makes you wince, only you know (right now) they’re too drunk to feel it; and from a series of wooden boat sheds, cleverly called the Riverside buildings, four-and-eight man sculling crews row knife-like boats through the water while a mini Hitler barks order at them and gives everyone a hint at how this sad singleton spends his spare time (“stroke, stroke, stroke”).
It’s not all pleasantness though, as with over two hundred bridges along the Thames, sadly each year, at least fifty bodies are recovered from the river. So many, that the Police set-up a marine force to fish the bodies out, several mortuaries were built under various bridges (including Tower Bridge) and many dead have been pulled out – right here - at St Helena Pier. One of whom was a sixteen-year-old girl.
As it was here, on Monday 1st June 1953, that Barbara Songhurst’s body was pulled shore, but even before the autopsy had begun, it was clear that she hadn’t drowned, she was murdered. (Interstitial)
Just one day before the Queen’s Coronation - as the streets were swept, railings were painted and the homeless were bussed-out so they didn’t sully the celebration - for many, this was the start of a public holiday, but for Detective Superintendent Herbert Hannan, a murder investigation was about to begin.
At 09:05am, from a few inches of shallow water by the riverbank at Radnor Gardens, Sergeant George Cooper struggled to pull the tiny child-like body of this seven-stone and five-foot girl into his boat, as her blue jeans, white tartan blouse and white woollen coat were sodden with the silty river’s sludge.
Who she was, how she had died and where she had entered the water was unknown, as although most of the evidence had washed away, with the river becoming tidal when the lock’s sluices are up, her body could have travelled many miles upstream or down, depending on the time of day or night.
At a steady speed, Sergeant Cooper drove the boat north, passed Petersham Meadows, Duke’s Hole and fifteen minutes later he arrived at St Helena Pier, where an excitable crowd had already gathered. Attracted by the sight of a constable carrying a lump draped in a thick grey blanket, the chatter ceased and a silence descended, as although the gorpers spied a corpse, by its tiny size, it was clearly a child.
Having commandeered a boat-shed at the Riverside Buildings, whilst they waited for an ambulance to arrive, in accordance with the law Dr Albert Bowtell confirmed her life as extinct. And with her injuries not consistent with a drowning, an accident or a fall, suspecting foul-play, Scotland Yard was notified.
44-year-old Detective Superintendent Herbert Hannan was a short but smart man, widely regarded as a highly experienced senior detective with many cases under his belt. Being nicknamed ‘The Count’ owing to his high-class aspirations and slightly affected upper-class accent (which hid the fact he was actually from working-class stock, being born in Paddington to an Irish mother and a Midlands father), that aside, being thorough and determined, he was a man who would leave no stone unturned to see justice done.
At 12:10pm, the autopsy began at Richmond Mortuary, conducted by the pathologist Dr Arthur Mant.
With the young girl’s identity determined and her cause of death confirmed, although he was not medically-trained, Herbert knew that every one of her wounds helped paint a picture of her attacker.
With two impact craters to her head and cheekbone but no defensive wounds, this suggested the initial attack was sudden and premeditated. With the angle of the wounds being head-height, the killer was likely to be a foot taller than Barbara. Being well-built, he inflicted enough force to render her semi-conscious, but his motive wasn’t murder as he had struck her with the blunt curved butt of an axe and not its sharp deadly head, which risked her waking, fleeing or screaming. Both strikes were controlled, as was her violent rape and the disposal of her body, suggesting thar he had attacked before, and yet the three deep and frenzied stab wounds to her back - rather than her front - told a completely different story. It was as if – for whatever reason - something had compelled him to kill.
Detective Superintendent Hannan had painted a rough picture, as the evidence suggested this man was a young well-built male of average height, possibly local, handy with a knife and an axe, who was likely to have prior convictions for a similar offence… only he matched no-known rapist or murderer.
And yet, Herbert saw a strange similarity between Barbara’s murder and an attack, one week prior.
On Sunday 24th May, eight miles south of Teddington, as 14-year-old Kathleen Ringham walked along an isolated path on Oxshott Heath, a vicious sadistic attack had left her dazed, raped and traumatised. Blinded by the pain in her head and the blood in her eyes, she caught a brief glimpse of her assailant; a young white male with dark hair and a cleft chin, who was grubby “like he’d come off a building site” and he had struck her across the head with the blunt curved butt of an axe. The investigation stalled owing to a lack of evidence and witnesses, but the Police had enough details to compile a photofit.
At around the same time that the body of Barbara Songhurst was brought ashore at St Helena Pier, her murder location was discovered, almost three miles south, on the corner of Teddington Lock.
Amid the cloudy moonless sky of the previous night, the raging river had seemed as black as the dense thicket of shadowy trees which shrouded the uneven towpath, but being in the bright light of the crisp summer sun, where red looked red and liquid was vivid, this was the unmistakable sight of a massacre.
On the Ham side of the Thames, just down from the lockkeeper’s cottage, the two pedestrian bridges and the river’s triple locks, on an s-shaped kink to the path lay a green gaberdine rain-coat, several blood spots and some scuff marks in the soil. To the untrained eye it looked like the aftermath of a fight, but to Herbert Hannan, as his experienced eyes followed an obvious and unsettling trail from the towpath to the thicket to the river, it backed-up every detail that Barbara’s autopsy had suggested.
From behind a lone tree, whilst the anxiously waiting assailant had hacked at its bark with an axe, with a swift strike as she cycled-by, he had knocked Barbara clean off her bike. As she fell to the path and perhaps screamed, to silence her, he struck her a second time to render her semi-conscious but alive.
Into the dense thicket he dragged her, among the wooded undergrowth he scattered her clothes, on a patch of flattened grass he savagely raped her, and although he seemed to relish staring into the terrified eyes of this little girl – for whatever reason - having raped her while she was face-up, he then turned her face-down to brutally stab her, as a thick bloody pool slowly spread where she lay dying.
With his evil deed done and his tiny victim dead, having dragged Barbara across the towpath, down the grassy slope - her blood staining the coping stones and the oak timbers of the lock-wall - as cast her out into the dark black river, the tidal waters carried her upstream and - he hoped - out to sea.
He took the weapons, dumped her bike and mistakenly left behind his green gaberdine rain-coat.
Everything about this crime-scene made sense to Detective Hannan… only this wasn’t just the sight of a young girl’s attack, as every detail had been duplicated. This was unmistakably a double murder.
Down to the water, a second set of heels had been dragged. Among the undergrowth were two sets of girl’s low-heeled shoes; one black, one white and both bloodstained, as well as ripped pair of dark blue slacks. And in the dense thicket, lay two flattened patches of grass and two thick pools of blood, where two best-friends had died, side-by-side, as the last sound they heard were each other’s tears.
The scene gave up very few definitive clues to the killer’s identity; there were no bikes, no weapons, no sightings, no witnesses, no shoe-marks and no fingerprints. A lot of vital evidence was missing…
…but more importantly, so was Christine Reed…
…and the likelihood was, she was already dead.
The last days and hours of Barbara and Christine’s lives were investigated thoroughly; the places, the timings and their patterns, all meal-times, every social group and their flick-flacking back and forth between each other’s homes. Gertrude, Daniel and the Songhurst siblings gave solid and consistent statements, as did Herbert, Lucy and the rest of the Reed family. Everyone was questioned from the Blue Angel café, York House, the chemist shop, the factory and the church, but it all drew a blank.
Five people were confirmed as the last to see both girls alive.
Their three pals; John Wells, Albert Sparkes and Peter Warren all gave statements confirming the place and times that the girls had arrived and left the camp-site at Petersham Meadows; they explained what they said, what they did and who with; John admitted to a little light kissing with Barbara, Peter confirmed he had loaned her his bike light, the hand-axe that Albert had used to chop-up the firewood was deemed too small to be the murder weapon, and having gone to sleep fifteen minutes after girls had cycled away, they awoke, packed-up and left the next morning - as verified by the other campers.
As for Basil Nixon and Sheila Daines, who heard the two girls on clattering bikes and chattering away just north of Old Ham Lock? At roughly midnight, needing to head home, Basil and Sheila walked down that same dark overgrown towpath; with the thunder of the black raging river to their right, a dense thicket of shadowy trees to their left, the cloudy moonless sky obscured by a heavy canopy of low-hanging branches and (even with a good torch) their visibility was only a few feet ahead. But as they walked along the towpath passed Teddington Lock, amidst the darkness… they saw and heard nothing.
And that was it.
With no eye-witnesses, no concrete evidence and Christine Reed still missing and presumed dead, the Police publicly released a photofit of the young scruffy man with the cleft-chin wanted for the rape of a minor in Oxshott Heath and possibly Barbara’s murder. But as no-one came forward, the case stalled.
The next day, as the 27-year-old ex-princess was crowned as Queen Elizabeth II in Westminster Abbey, the grey streets of London erupted in a kaleidoscope of colour and sound as a new era dawned…
…but for one family, this wasn’t a time of joy, but a time of dreaded anticipation, as with their daughter missing and her best-friend dead, the Police search continued unabated for either the girl, or her body.
Nothing was left unchecked, as at the Police’s request, the Port of London Authority drained a three-mile long, four-hundred-foot-wide and forty-foot-deep stretch of the Thames from Teddington Lock to Richmond Bridge for almost a week. To find one little girl, the mighty river was turned into a trickle.
Police boats scoured in packs, divers dredged the thick silty waters and long-lines of constables waded waist-deep along the shoreline for any hint or clue. On Tuesday 2nd, at about 10:30am, a few feet from the grassy-slope at Teddington Lock, Christine’s cream and blue BSA sports model bicycle was found.
Four days later, on Saturday 6th June at 1:35pm, as a Police boat patrolled a popular fishing spot known as Duke’s Hole, among a thick blanket of green algae and a flash of pale white skin, the semi-clad body of a young girl was found face-down in the shallow water, just a few feet from Petersham Meadows.
As before, the body was brought to St Helena Pier. Only this time, as two solemn constables carried the little lump ashore, respectfully hidden under a thick grey blanket, there was no excitable chatter from the people, only the silence of heads hanging low, as everyone’s worst fear had been realised.
And at 2:40pm, in Richmond Mortuary, Herbert Reed identified the body of his daughter – Christine.
With her body bloated and her face decomposed after six days in the cold silty water, just like Barbara, the autopsy was conducted by Dr Arthur Mant, with Detective Superintendent Hannan present.
Time, weather and water had been cruel to her body. In short pale patches, her decaying flesh had been stripped by fish, pecked-at by birds and sharp rocks had torn at her soft skin as she tumbled in the raging river, but although deformed, it was clear which wounds were natural and which were not.
Like Barbara, Christine had been struck, raped, stabbed, dragged and dumped in a premeditated and sudden attack, and although the same wounds had been inflicted by the same man with the same weapons, each of her injuries were more frenzied and brutal, as if he resented Christine being there.
Rather than two, four deep craters impacted the back of her head as the blunt curved butt of an axe had repeatedly caved in her skull, crushing the bone and haemorrhaging her brain. Rather than three, six fast and savage stab wounds had ripped six-and-a-half inches deep into her left breast and chest, piercing her lung, liver and heart, and yet - unlike Barbara - when she was stabbed, she was face-up.
Oddly, unlike Barbara, he stripped her lower half, scattering her black flat-heeled shoes and dark blue slacks into the bushy undergrowth, and yet her white cotton knickers were never found. And with lacerations to her hymen and cuts to her perineum, her virginity had been taken and her rape had been brutal, but during the very brief time he was at the crime scene - in both girls - he had ejaculated.
The autopsy was conclusive, whoever had done this was young, strong, patient and dangerous.
With no known suspects matching this sadistic and horrific attack, Detective Superintendent Hannan had no idea who this man was but he knew one thing for certain… having brazenly committed a double rape and murder, at the same time, in the same place, he had struck before and he would strike again.
Two weeks later, he did.
On the mid-morning of Wednesday 17th June, 15 miles west of Teddington, 49-year-old Patricia Birch left her home in Engelfield Green to walk her dog in Windsor Great Park. The day was clear, sunny and dry, and being a 5000-acre royal park full of rutting deer, wide lakes, dense woods and meandering paths, it’s a popular spot for picnics and walkers, but is large enough to still feel peaceful and private.
As she crossed Wick Lane to enter a gate by Saville Gardens, she spotted a young man on a blue bike staring aimlessly as he watched the smattering of cars which trundled along on this quiet country lane.
He was young, dark-haired and spotty-faced with a noticeable cleft to his chin. He rode a blue bike with white mud-guards and a black saddle-bag. And looking scruffy, as if he had come off a building site, he wore a crumpled blue-shirt, green gaberdine trousers, brown leather gloves and brown shoes with a crepe-sole. He looked a little bit odd, but thinking nothing more of it, she entered the heath.
Playing fetch with her little dog, as Patricia sauntered along an isolated path toward the flat bleak beauty of Black Pond, she heard a clatter as behind her a bike slowly approached. Turning to see that same young man, she called her excitable little dog to her side, so it didn’t run in front of his wheels. But as she stooped to clip on its lead… suddenly her vision went very dark, very fast.
Briefly seeing nothing but black and unable to tell up-from-down as her world spun around, as Patricia slumped hard onto the grassy ground as her weakened legs buckled under her, a trickle of blood ran down her face and pooled into her eyes, as she felt herself being dragged into a dense dark thicket.
Dazed and partially blinded, although petrified and drifting in-and-out of consciousness, as his brown leather gloves gripped tightly around her gasping throat - as much to silence her as to suffocate her - during the attack, Patricia tried to memorise as many details as possible; his height, his age, his weight, his size, his spots, his birth marks, his bike, his saddle-bag and the terrifying sight of his axe. Big enough to chop logs, this yellow-handled, long wooden necked and black bladed axe with a curved blunt butt could inflict death in a single swift blow, being almost as long as an arm and as thick as a head.
Fighting for her life and barely able move her weakened limbs as he tore the clothes off her body and cast them aside into the dense undergrowth – with no-one in sight, her screams muffled and her yappy little dog too small to be of any protection – amidst the dark thicket, he violently raped her.
And when he was done, having stolen the pitiful sum of 17 shillings from her purse, he buttoned-up his trousers and packed-up his saddle-bag, as if this was the most normal thing to do in the world. He didn’t care that she had seen his face, heard his voice or been close enough to smell his breath.
To him, they were nothing but strangers. Seeing an elderly man approach on the path, alerted by her lone dog barking at bushes, the young man rode off on his bike and – into the distance – he vanished.
Patricia Birch was taken straight to Kingston Hospital; her skull hadn’t fractured, the wound only need three stitches, she gave a full statement to the Police, and she went on to make a good recovery.
Sadly, the young man had disappeared…
…but from people’s minds, his photofit had not.
At 5:30pm, that same day, two builders - Harry Bradford & Bernard Hannam – were reading the paper, discussing the murders and looking at the photofit of the ‘possible suspect’ for the attacks on Barbara Songhurst, Christine Reed and an unnamed 14-year-old girl on nearby Oxshott Heath, when one of the men said “you know what, that looks a lot like Alf”. Having seen him earlier that day, sitting on a tree stump on Oxshott Heath with his bike and his saddle-bag by his side - knowing this local builder fitted the description and had a passion for knives - they did the right thing and called the Police.
At 5:45pm, Constables Oliver & Howard left Kingston Police Station, picked up the builders and over the next 45 minutes they patrolled Oxshott Heath, until they found ‘Alf’. Casually strolling along Sandy Lane, although he had been positively identified, baring only a passing resemblance to the photofit and having no bike, no bag and – more importantly – no axe, the officers stopped and questioned him.
(PC) “What’s your name son?”, (Alfred) “Alfred Whiteway”, (PC) “Address?”, (Alfred) “24 Sydney Road in Teddington”, (PC) “Yours?”, (Alfred) “Nah, I live with my mum”. (PC) “Empty your pockets”, which he did, but it only contained 10 shillings and two bike clips. (PC) “Bike-clips, so where’s your bike?”, (Alfred) “I left it at home”, (PC) “You got a bag?”, (Alfred) “Nah, just what I got”. And seeing a few spots of blood dotted down his crumpled blue shirt, accepting acne as a plausible excuse, the baby-faced youth agreed to come in for questioning and freely volunteered his time to assist the Police.
Driven in the Police’s black Wolseley Saloon, 22-year old Alfred Charles Whiteway, known to his pals as ‘Alf’ was calm, pleasant and showed a genuine interest in cars, he even leaned forward from the back seat to ask the constables questions about the motor and get a better look at the speedometer.
Never once did he act like a killer who had been caught and not for a single second did he seem like a sadistic sexual predator who had attacked one girl, murdered two more and having already raped one woman that day, had cycled a further fifteen miles south-east to Oxshott Heath, to attack again.
At roughly 7pm, they arrived at Kingston Police Station. Brought before Detective Inspector Brammell who looked the spotty youth up-and-down, before he could be questioned any further, seeing only a vague similarity in the boy, the detective dismissed him, and Alfred Whiteway walked free. (End)
Being in an era of typewriters, paper-files and index-cards, with just two telephones per office, no easy way to copy documents and little communication between the Police – by the time of Alfred’s release – the report on the attack of Patricia Birch had yet to be filed. It hadn’t been circulated to the press, other officers, or the detective heading-up the investigation into the murders of Barbara & Christine.
Among the post-euphoric glow of the Queen’s Coronation, as war-time rationing wound down and the people dreamed of a better future for all, a sadistic sex maniac and violent double murderer was still in their midst. Free to go where he wished, to do as he pleased, and to rape whoever he desired.
The press had dubbed him ‘The Thames Towpath Murderer’, but as invisible and invincible as this monster felt, with not a single shred of evidence to tie him to his crimes, the one person he hadn’t counted on was the one man who sought to bring him down, who was nicknamed ‘The Count’.
Detective Superintendent Herbert Hannan was one of Scotland Yard’s most highly experienced and decorated officers, who was thorough, determined and precise, and would leave no stone unturned, even going so far as to drain a three-mile stretch of London’s largest river to find a single little girl.
He was a loving husband, a doting father and a proud grandfather who wanted his girls (and every other girl) to be safe to walk the streets, paths or towpaths of the place they all called home.
Described by the Force as ‘The Policeman’s Policeman’, Hannan was smart, cunning, devious and although a highly skilled interrogator and investigator who always got the job done, to get results he would later state “sometimes, you have to go beyond what it right, to see justice done”.
Justice was coming to Teddington, but two big questions still plagued the mind of Detective Herbert Hannan - “who was this maniac” and “why did he attack both girls at the same time?”
OUTRO: Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for listening to Murder Mile.
That was part two of three of the Thames Towpath Murders, with the final part next week. And there’s some aimless waffle after the break with Extra Mile, so turn off now, if you haven’t already.
Before that, a big thank you to my new Patreon supporters who are Richard Saunders, Tony Hobden and Paige Spencer, I thank you all muchly for your support. A thank you to Sue Lloyd for your very kind donation via my website, and Gavin, Minna and Racheal P who donated via the Supporter link in the show-notes, I thank you too. I’m now off to buy a wheelbarrow load of cake. Yum. And as always, a huge thank you to everyone who listens to the show, as without listeners, I’m just a fat bald man talking to himself.
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.
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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