Nominated BEST BRITISH TRUE-CRIME PODCAST, 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, Crime & Investigation Channel's Top 20 True-Crime Podcasts, also seen on BBC Radio, Sky News, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week.
Sussex Gardens (Sharon's regular haunt) @WikiCommons
Welcome to the Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast and audio guided walk of London's most infamous and often forgotten murder cases, all set within and beyond the West End.
EPISODE TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-ONE:
On Wednesday 18th and Thursday 19th of August 2021, having recently been released from prison, Lee Peacock brutally murdered his ex-partner Sharon Pickles and her partner Clinton Ashmore. But was this due to jealousy, or a drug-induced paranoia, or jealousy, being stuck inside their own ‘vicious circles’.
THE LOCATION:
The locations are marked with bight green symbols of a bin on the west of London near the words 'Regent's Park'. To use the map, click it. If you want to see the other maps, click here.
SOURCES: (some, not all)
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT OF THE EPISODE: Welcome to Murder Mile. Today, I’m standing on Sussex Gardens in Paddington, W2; a place synonymous with prostitution, as we’re just a few doors down from Doris Jouanette the Blackout Ripper’s last victim, Agnes Walsh who was brutalised by the ‘sad faced killer’, as well as being a familiar pick-up place for Ruby Bolton, and Amanda Walker who was mutilated by the sadistic ‘Honey Monster’ - coming soon to Murder Mile. It’s around this point in the podcast that I make a witty remark about our location to defuse the horrors of its heinous crime, only there’s nothing amusing about Sussex Gardens. As one of London’s busiest red-light districts for almost two centuries, this tree-lined street looks sweet, but two long lines of cheap and sleazy hotels mask a truly dark side, being doss holes for the destitute, half-way houses for homeless ex-cons, and – for a small fee – rented rancid mattresses paid for hourly for sex-workers. With sex being its business, we could giggle about sounds of bedsprings and the stench of salty stains, but every seedy transaction by a drunk horny punter only leads back to the misery of a once innocent young girl who had dreams of a normal life, until it was ruined by a bad parent, a pimp or a predator. So many tales go unreported as the culprit is often the system itself and our unwillingness to deal with the issue, and although this begins as a story about two lovers, whereas once their hearts belonged to each other – trapped by a need to feed their master – their bodies and brains belonged to drugs. My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 271: Vicious Circles. The early years of Sharon Pickles’ life was as ordinary as anyone else’s. Born in 1976 and raised in Yorkshire, she was blessed with everything she needed to make a good life and bright future for herself; she had a father, a mother and a brother who loved her; she had a home, she had friends, she had dreams, and – unlike many children – she had food, a bed, all the essentials. In 1984, an article in the Yorkshire Post stated that Sharon was one of seven girls at Todmorden High who raised £50 by doing a sponsored swim for the Pennine Animal Liberation League, as even at such a tender age, she was full of kindness and love. Like us all, she had plans to become someone good… …as no-one sets out to become an addict, but that is what she became. It can happen to anyone, as all it takes is a taste and they’re hooked. It was never said what led Sharon to drugs – maybe a dare, trauma, depression or peer pressure - but soon her life wasn’t her own. An addict isn’t a person when they’re gripped by an addiction, they’re merely a slave to the drug itself. No longer able to function as a human being, like many, Sharon became a subordinate to her cravings, who couldn’t work, eat or sleep as a persistent taunting gnawed at her brain. It consumed her days, it haunted her dreams, it knew her weaknesses and fears, and as it ravaged her ever-weakening body with an endless stream of ticks, tremors, cramps and sickness – unable to escape its vice-like grip – it eternally prodded her to “feed me, feed me”, but even when she did, her addiction wanted more. Hers was not a unique story, as many drug addicts face that fate daily, and even when those she loved tried to intervene - like an abusive partner whispering to his battered and bruised spouse “you know it only me that loves you, right?” - the chemicals made her paranoid and told her who to trust. Drugs isn’t a habit, its slavery, with the user’s body usurped as a host for the drug itself. It was during her late teens that Sharon became an addict, and once hooked, it turned this sweet blonde girl with a petite frame and an elfin-like face into a gaunt and pathetic shadow of herself for the next 25 years. Drugs are expensive and all-consuming, with most addicts needing about £100,000 a year to feed their habit, and unable to work, most turn to crime. Sharon was a prostitute, and as a slave to her addiction, she sold sex to buy drugs, and when the drugs wore off, she sold more sex to buy more drugs. She was trapped in a vicious circle from which she would never escape. Her first conviction for prostitution was aged 21. A decade later, described as “a persistent offender” and a “blight on society”, she had been convicted 122 times, unable to stop. On the 22nd of November 2006, Sharon Pickles and her friend, Gail Bennett appeared at Marylebone Magistrates Court. Said to be “so out of it, they could barely stand”, they were sentenced to an Anti-Social Behaviour Order (known as an ASBO), meaning they were banned from setting foot in Sussex Gardens for five years. Gail and Sharon (nicknamed ‘blondie’ by the locals) were the two most prolific prostitutes in Sussex Gardens. Residents complained “they’re out of control… one morning we were woken by the two women having sex with clients against my window, they drank and took drugs on my steps” with many families complaining of used condoms, bloody syringes and faeces on pavements and in playgrounds”. The drug-addled twosome made their lives a living hell, by brawling, vomiting and screaming. One neighbour even threw water over Sharon as she lay sprawled and unconscious on his step, “I used a camera flash to scare them, but they were too high to notice”. Nobody cared or wanted them there, what they wanted was the courts to lock them up, but the law was inadequate. Arrested, they’d be fined £40, they’d then earn £30 for sex with each client, they’d pay the fine and carry on undeterred. And although their ASBO banned them from Sussex Gardens, in a box-ticking exercise they were also “banned from soliciting for sex anywhere in Westminster”, even though street soliciting is illegal, and if they broke their ASBO, that would only result in two months in prison, which they’d serve just one. The law was a joke, the courts were toothless, rehabilitation didn’t work, and although the drugs, the dealers and the users were to blame, so were some of the sleezy and cheap hotels in Sussex Gardens. As a neighbour stepped over Sharon who had collapsed comatose on his step, he barked “why don’t you do this somewhere else”, at which she slurred “give me the money, we’ll go to a hotel”. That was an option, as part of the problem was the slew of unscrupulous hoteliers who charged £20 an hour to rent what was said to be “a claustrophobic cubical no bigger than a prison cell, with a rancid pink sheet on a mouldy mattress, with bare bulbs, filthy walls, and the worst part was the smell of stale sweat”. But if the punter was too skint, she’d have sex in a doorway, the backseat of a car, or behind a bin. This was her life, and this was her vicious circle. Aged 20, Sharon tried to lead a normal life by marrying and later giving birth to a daughter. But with her husband said to be “her pimp”, that relationship collapsed and with her child taken into care, when trauma ravaged her life, the warm comfortable blanket she always returned to… was her drugs. Sharon wasn’t bad, she was just lost, but what she craved most was love. In her ground-floor council flat at Alpha House on 1 Ashbridge Street in Marylebone’s impoverished Lisson Grove, she lived with Stephen Coggin, an old friend who was bedbound with multiple sclerosis. Described by residents as a “ticking time bomb”, although they had accused Sharon of cuckooing this “vulnerable tenant” - by allegedly forcing herself into his flat and living rent-free as this prolific drunk and drug abuser bought clients back for sex - the truth was that she cooked and cared for him. He wasn’t her boyfriend, but with no husband or child, she needed to love someone and feel normal just once. In 2008, 15 years earlier, a new love had entered her life, and his name was Lee. Like Sharon, Lee’s upbringing was ordinary and unremarkable. Born in the West London district of Brent in 1972, Lee Christopher Peacock had everything a boy could ever need; a good home, loving parents, a supportive sister, and raised in leafy Hertfordshire, he was schooled in St Albans. Said to be handy, he trained as a carpenter. So where did it all go wrong? Aged 14, desperate to be part of the in-crowd, like many teenagers do, he dabbled in cannabis. As a relatively harmless drug, he got stoned for fun, but seeking a stronger high, he got into skunk, and experimenting with LSD, Ecstasy, MDMA and cocaine, he eventually became a slave to crack cocaine. Cooked into small brown rocks, when smoked, crack gives a fast euphoric high, causing dopamine to flood the bloodstream, and giving the user a feeling of power and confidence, but only for 15 minutes. And the bigger the high, the greater the fall, so with the lows only supressed by another high, the user is assaulted by debilitating sicknesses, like tremors, fatigue, depression, hallucinations and paranoia. Like Sharon, Lee was a slave to his addiction, he burgled homes to buy drugs, and once the drugs had worn off, he burgled more homes to buy more drugs. That was his life, and that was his vicious circle. By 2019, Lee & Sharon had been a couple for a decade, two addicts feeding their need through crime and unable to flee. Said to be loving, they had many ups and downs as most couples do, but although the law only punished Sharon with small fines and toothless threats, Lee was repeatedly put away for long stretches inside, and in May 2019, he was sent down for 40-months for aggravated burglary. Stuck inside a cramped prison cell 23 hours a day, his body was assaulted by the horrors of withdrawal from his two drugs of choice - Crack and Sharon. Struggling to cope without the chemicals he was enslaved to, his mind became a mess of emotions as paranoia plagued him day and night. But being apart from Sharon for what seemed like an eternity, via a smuggled-in phone, he texted her his fears. (texts) “I miss you”, “I love you”, “don’t leave me”, “who you seeing”, “what’s his name”, “so I know him”, “where’s he live”, “why aren’t you taking to me”, “you ain’t replying, why?”, “what’s wrong”, “don’t you love me no more”, “Why?”, “Sharon?”, “Sharon?!”, “SHARON?!”, “Why? Why?” (Silence) Reaching a peak of paranoia and delusions, on Friday 4th of June 2021, half-way through his sentence, Lee Peacock was automatically released from prison under the supervision of the probation service. He later stated, “I wasn't violent in the 15 years I'd been with her. Obviously for chunks I was in jail, but she was my princess, not a hair on her head would ever get hurt by me”. He claimed he loved her, he claimed he would never hurt her, but unable to tell the difference between reality and delusions… …six weeks later, he would murder her. So many organisations were built to convict and protect them, but the system failed as it was underfunded and overworked, with its laws applied like a ‘one size fits all’ plaster. Being out on licence, Lee was ankle-tagged, made to work and assessed by a probation supervisor, and with his addiction on the road to recovery having ‘gone into withdrawal’, his vicious circle should have been broken. Only unlike heroin, there is no methadone for crack, so forced to go ‘cold turkey’, this shambling wreck of raw emotions rattled with a cocktail of other chemicals to pacify his anxiety, seizures and insomnia. Crack addiction is bad, but withdrawal is worse, it’s like suffering all the side effects of a bad drug for days, weeks, and even months on end, so with any drug abuse resulting in his instant recall to prison, his shivering body and sleep-starved brain was awash in a haze of headaches, paranoia and delusions. By mid-August, said to be seeing Clinton Ashmore known as ‘Cliff’, after weeks of obsessive texts from Lee, Sharon finally broke it off, replying “I'm done with you... leave me alone... we both know it's over”. Only Lee couldn’t believe it was ‘him’ she was angry at, or ‘him’ she was leaving, and - maybe through the paranoia of his drug withdrawal, or simply his own fragile inadequacy – he’d claim in court he thought she was being coerced by someone else, maybe a pimp, a dealer, or her new boyfriend, Cliff. But the last text she sent him was irrevocably blunt and with no hidden meanings: it read; “Do not come in this house, put the key on the table outside and leave me alone you two-faced piece of s**t”. Their relationship was over, but legally, there was nothing to stop him going to see her. On Wednesday 18th of August 2021, six weeks after his release, 45-year-old Sharon Pickles returned home as the dawn-light broke. Having been a sex-worker for quarter of a century, like clockwork, a CCTV camera captured her stumbling down Ashbridge Street at 6:01am having illegally had sex with 10 or more men on Sussex Gardens – her ASBO having long expired, its effect having changed nothing. As a familiar sight, dressed casually in a black leather jacket, light blue jeans and a pink t-shirt, Sharon’s eyes were hollow, her stomach was empty, and several men’s feted stench hung on her lips, but at least her veins were finally full of heroin, as her vicious circle led her to bed, to sleep, and to repeat. At 7:31am, the same camera on a building site opposite captured a Boris bike approaching. Riding it with urgency was Lee, like a stubbly Uncle Fester, his pale bald head was in contrast against his black jeans and jumper, as he dumped it outside of Alpha House. He didn’t ring the communal doorbell to be buzzed in, as still having his own key to the ground-floor flat they’d shared, he just let himself in. Like his mind, his motive was confused, as claiming he wanted to ‘win her back’, in his rucksack he had Sharon’s kitten, and if things didn’t go according to plan, a Stanley knife with a razor-sharp 4cm blade. In that state, or some say any state, Lee wasn’t a rational man, he couldn’t be reasoned with, and even though saying he loved her and claiming his motive was “to kill those four people who he felt had ‘taken advantage’ of her while he was in prison” – especially a dealer nicknamed Skrilla, and ‘Cliff’ her boyfriend – it may simply be because Sharon had moved on with her life while Lee was in prison. Entering either Flat 13 or 14, it was said, he unlocked the door, and ignoring the hall, the kitchen, the living room, and even the room of her sleeping bedbound flat-mate Stephen, with her either asleep or in a semi-comatose state, he got on the bed and quietly roused her, as the two addicts sat alone. In court, Lee assured the jury, “I’m not a monster… I never meant to harm anyone”, or so he claimed. As he tried to talk her round - whether through jealousy, drug withdrawal or a last hit of crack to give him the confidence to do the unthinkable so she could never see anyone else, ever again - the prosecution would later state “you intended nothing less than to kill each of them, didn’t you?” Lee denied it was premeditated, only the knife suggested otherwise. Lee said it was a freak accident, only her horrific injuries incurred in a sustained frenzied attack didn’t back up his lies. And although he himself denied killing her, his own hand would prove his guilt having left behind a full confession. Sharon had no-one to protect her, and with Lee seething at her daring to love anyone but him, in a fit of rage, he attacked. Slashing her neck with the 4cm blade, it severed her windpipe, cutting off her air supply, as blood seeped into her trachea causing her to choke, as her hands clutched her open throat. Attacking again, each of the nine wounds ripped open a vein or artery, and unable to scream, as blood spattered up the walls, door and floor, running in panic to her one place of safety, she collapsed in the bathroom floor and died; her mouth agog, her eyes open, her ghostly face above a red seeping hole. “She was my princess, not a hair on her head would ever get hurt by me”, Lee had claimed, but having wrapped her body in a duvet and unceremoniously shoved her under the bed, at 8:49am, a CCTV camera captured him riding away on a Boris bike, like he was a man taking in the crisp morning air. Sharon was dead, but Lee knew it was also his life which was over. That day, he texted his family, stating “I’m in serious trouble… my time on this earth is very limited. After this conversation, you will never hear from me again... I will never be released from prison. My hand has been forced after what I did”, as the next night, he visited his estranged father. He hadn’t seen his father, Terry for three years, then out-of-the-blue, he arrived in North Wembley on his doorstep with a kitten in his rucksack, and an odd tale to tell, stating “I killed three people, one was my girlfriend, as well as two black bastards”, which was either a lie, an alibi, or a paranoid delusion. Having fled, rightfully, Terry called the police, and having entered her flat at 10:42pm, officers were confronted by a bloodbath, and they only became aware of the body in the room when they spotted under the bed a pair of red-stained hands, still clutching her throat, as Sharon lay pale and lifeless. A manhunt began that day… …but Lee was conducting his own manhunt. Nicknamed ‘Skrilla’ which is slang for money, Lee claimed (and maybe believed) that ‘Cliff’ either was Skrilla, knew Skrilla, or as part of Skrilla’s gang had coerced her to leave him, even though Skrilla may not have even existed, and at about midnight - as the Police sealed off Sharon’s Flat – Lee was seen on CCTV entering a rundown estate on Jerome Crescent in Lisson Grove with 58-year-old ‘Cliff’. Unlike with Sharon, there was no confusing his motive, as although he would claim “he moved in on my woman and then told me that he did with a rain of punches” – from the backpack still containing Sharon’s kitten – he pulled the same bloodstained Stanley knife and unleashed a savage brutal attack. Like Sharon, Cliff was defenceless and alone. Like Sharon, he tried to flee in fear – with blood dripped and sprayed from room-to-room as in panic the bleeding man ran from the hallway to the bedroom, the bathroom and the living room, leaving a petrified trail of red across almost every wall, door, floor and even the ceiling - only to collapse with massive blood-loss beside the bed. And when dead, Lee didn’t leave a confession, or even try to hide the body, as in just 15 minutes, he was done and gone. Two hours later, at 2:15am, found by a female friend with a 14.5cm wound to his neck, and nine deep slices to his face, neck and left arm, Police were alerted, and a double murder inquiry was established. Across the entire city, the news was plastered with his mugshot and signs which read “have you seen Lee Peacock?”, and even though it was only stated “the Police just talk to him about the murders", Detective Chief Inspector Wayne Jolley later said: “Peacock is a violent and murderous individual who has taken the lives of two people for no better reason than satisfying his own craving for violence”. Considered armed, dangerous and unpredictable, his manhunt was swift but cautious… …and yet, Lee had one more death on his mind. (kitten sound) One week after Sharon’s murder, on Wednesday 25th of August, a man fitting Lee’s very unique look was spotted entering an abandoned houseboat near Marnham Fields in Ealing, on an isolated part of the Grand Union Canal. With no engine, no electrics and no water, it had been used as a crack-den and dumped. Lee had broken in, and lying low, with no food, a crack pipe and only the kitten to play with, it was at 6pm, that hearing armed police surround this flimsy wooden shack, that he grabbed the Stanley knife. “Lee Peacock? This is the Police. You’re surrounded. Come out with your hands up”, the officer barked, only Lee didn’t. With the same knife, as officers broke down the door, he slashed his own throat, and although his blood spattered across the three fresh confessions he had written, the swift intervention of the paramedics saved his life, and meant he would face justice for a brutal double murder (end) With the two-day trial beginning on Monday 30th of January 2023 at the Old Bailey before Mr Justice Murray, Lee Peacock admitted killing Sharon & Cliff, but having denied it was murder, that meant that both victim’s families had to endure a horrific trial where all of the evidence was examined in detail. In his defence, Lee told the jury “I'm not a monster. I never wanted to harm Sharon”, later arrogantly adding about Cliff, “I'm sorry but he caused it”. Only there was no denying that Lee’s actions were “cold-blooded” and “determined”. Prosecutor Edward Brown KC said “the evidence shows without doubt… that the killings were no accident… the defendant can have intended nothing less than to kill”. With clear pre-mediation and several confessions, an insanity plea and diminished responsibility could not be considered, and as he was going through withdrawal, blame couldn’t be placed on the drugs. Having deliberated for two hours and twenty minutes, Lee Peacock was found guilty of two counts of murder, and was sentenced to life for a minimum of 39 years, meaning he will most likely die in prison. Tragedy had struck three times for three people and three families. It began innocently enough with two lovers using drugs as an escape from the pain of their lives, and although Sharon was demonised by the residents of Sussex Gardens - and for good reason – drug addiction is an issue which we (as a society) refuse to take seriously, preferring instead to administer pointless fines and toothless threats. Both Sharon & Lee could have been saved, if only we’d given them a way to escape their vicious circles. 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.
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AuthorMichael J Buchanan-Dunne is a crime writer, podcaster of Murder Mile UK True Crime and creator of true-crime TV series. 
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