Murder Mile UK True-Crime Podcast - #283: The Vice Girl Killer - Part 3 of 3 (Justin Martin Clarke)5/2/2025 
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.
Noke Lane where Paul Milburn's murder took place @googlemaps April2019
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 London's West End.
EPISODE TWO HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-THREE:
On the weekend of the 24th and 25th of January 1987, two sex-workers vanished from two street (Sussex Gardens and Cleveland Terrace) near to Paddington Station. With their beaten, strangled and mutilated bodies found barely 24 hours apart in places where they didn't belong. The police quickly confirmed that a crazed killer was on the loose. But still unsolved today, it remains one of the most perplexing unsolved double murders in Britain. But who was he? MURDER ONE:
SOURCES: a selection sourced from the news archives:
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: Wednesday 15th of July 1987, on the last day of the inquest into the murder of Racheal Applewhaite, using his full diplomatic immunity, the police’s primary suspect flew to the safety of Mexico. But having ruled out both cases being linked, Detective Superintendent Jim Hutchinson stated “Guillermo Suarez was no longer suspected in the murder of Marina Monti”, ruling out a spree, a serial, or a lone killer. It's a brutal occupation where some of the most vulnerable women face dangers every night, whether robbery, assault and rape, with sex workers the second most likely demographic to be murdered. Both killings had all the hallmarks of most prostitute murders being attacked by either a punter or pimp, but with every similarity highlighted and every difference dismissed, the fact that two men had chosen that date and place to murder two sex workers in a seemingly identical way was entirely coincidental. Before Guillermo had fled, police were already investigating another suspect in Marina’s murder, stating before the coroner “we believe we know who her killer is, we just can’t prove it”. In their eyes, he knew the West End, he had probably worked as a pimp or drug-pusher in Bayswater, had a history of theft, assault and violence against women especially sex-workers, and was dangerous and unstable. While police and the press mistakenly believed that both murders were connected and that therefore Guillermo must also be the murderer of Marina Monti, that gave her real killer his chance to flee. But who was he? Sources list him by several of his aliases, whether Mark Mellor, Justin Maher-Clarke or Martin Anthony Maher, but in truth, born in Birkenhead near Liverpool in 1956, his real name was Justin Martin Clarke. Few details exist about his early life – his upbringing, his schooling, or why he turned to crime – but what became clear was that Clarke was angry, erratic, selfish and cruel. Everything he did was to suit himself, and with no empathy, other people were merely there to be used, abused and discarded. Said to be six foot tall, well built with broad shoulders and (what was later described as) “mad staring eyes” like Hannibal Lector, it’s unsurprising that he was a bouncer in Merseyside’s roughest nightclubs. But what made him stand out, beyond his gruff demeanour was his accent; strong Liverpudlian with a odd twang of South African, but rapid fired in a high-pitch staccato as if ever word was a red hot bullet. Growing up in a hostel, he began his criminality in his teens, and first gained notoriety under the alias of Martin Maher, when in 1977, aged 21, he was convicted of two burglaries, stealing a TV, jewellery worth £6000, and many irreplaceable heirlooms, leaving both homeowners traumatised. Unwilling to aid the police, he was found guilty and sentenced to two years in prison, but he barely served one. In 1978, as he often did when things got hot, he fled the country. Where he went is uncertain, but we know he joined the French Foreign Legion; a military unit which accepts men from any nation willing to fight for France (which Clarke was, as although he didn’t give two hoots about the French, he loved a good scrap) with the criteria being you had to be young, fit, and with no ‘serious’ criminal record. With the training said to be physically and psychologically punishing, he quickly became adept at hand-to-hand combat, weapons training, survival, urban warfare, interrogation, and escape and evasion. He was trained to fight and to kill, and with his only mission ‘to survive’, he was a fearless brutal soldier. Where he fought is unknown, as in the FFL, anonymity is guaranteed (it own diplomatic immunity), but although in the late 70s and early 80s, the Legion were engaged in bloody conflicts like the Battle of Kolwezi (in the DRC) and in Chad for Operation Tacaud 4 and Operation Sparrowhawk, his accent suggests he had served in South Africa, where they trained the South African National Defence Force. It was the perfect job for a violent man with no compassion, as he learned to hurt others and bend them to his will, and skilled in torture and strangulation, he befriended bad men who ran trafficked women in brothels and kept their girls in check with daily beatings, as well as sadistic mercenaries of a similar psychotic mindset, alongside gun smugglers, drug runners, fascists, warlords and terrorists. By the early 1980s, Clarke returned to the UK, although what year is uncertain, as well as why? It is unknown whether he served the full five years, or if he was arrested or kicked out for war-crimes. But again, possibly having fled when things got hot, London is where he made the most of his ‘new skills’… …as a violent West End pimp. Again, his movements were impossible to pin down as he used so many aliases to disguise his nefarious income. Often, Justin Clarke would state he was just a ‘security guard’ in a Bayswater hotel, when in truth, he was an enforcer for sex traffickers and - it is said - he ran (what was euphemistically called) an ‘escort agency’ which was in reality a low-rent brothel where many girls lived in fear of his wrath. We know he commanded the red-light districts of Bayswater, Notting Hill and Paddington, especially the pick-up spots like Sussex Gardens and Cleveland Terrace, he was feared by the girls who he forced into sex-work, they paid him protection money, and were violently assaulted if they didn’t, or worse. Whether he knew Racheal and Marina can never be confirmed, but it is likely, just as we can never be certain whether both girls were friends or strangers. And yet, we can get a brief glimpse at his life in London based on the type of crimes he was awaiting trial for in 1987, the year of the double murder. In 1983, he deceived the Chartered Trust insurance company out of £3500. Between August 1985 and March 1986, he lived off the immoral earnings of a 20-year-old prostitute from West Kensington who - it is said - “worked for his escort agency”, in August 1985 he coerced or forced another teenage girl into sex-work, in November 1986 he caused the Actual Bodily Harm of prostitute Madelaine Greydon who – again – he had violently beaten and strangled, and on the 15th of January 1987, just one week before both murders, he sadistically beat and robbed prostitute Joann Flynn for the sake of just £20. These were not out-liars in his criminal career, these were the crimes the police had enough evidence to charge him with – and given how rare it is for prostitutes to willingly face their pimp in a court of law, knowing that regardless of the outcome, they would be beaten, disfigured or killed in revenge - his assaults on the prostitutes who were forced to work for him were likely to be frequent and vicious. Which begs the question; was this why Marina Monti was so eager to meet that unidentified man on All Saint’s Road at 11pm, as although she’d cashed a £240 benefits cheque, she needed another £50? Did she know him, did she fear him, or did he find her first and drive her to Mitre Bridge? Across the weekend of Saturday 24th of January 1987 when Marina Monti was murdered and Monday 26th when the body of Racheal Applewhaite was discovered, we have no idea where Justin Clarke was. There was no known evidence of what he was doing, whether he was in Bayswater, Shepherd’s Bush or Kensington, or even if he drove or owned a small light-coloured car, possibly an orange Mini. But one thing we know for certain is that on the day both murders were reported… …as he often did when things got too hot, Justin Clarke fled the country. Like so many elements of these two murders, this could have been a coincidence, as awaiting trial for fraud, ABH and pimping, maybe he was fearful of serving another stint in prison? Or maybe, knowing that murder carries a life sentence, the only place he felt safe was 8000 miles away in South Africa. Entering illegally, under an alias, 31-year-old Justin Clarke hunkered down in the notorious Hillbrow area of Johannesburg, a crime-ridden den of inner-city squalor awash with drugs, sex and death. Again, claiming to be a ‘security guard’ in (what was conveniently) the red light district, he stuck out like a sore thumb being tall and solidly built with glaring eyes, and a voice like he was having a sneezing fit. As one of the Met’ Police’s usual suspects, having been arrested on an illegal immigration warrant, on the 24th of March, three weeks after Guillermo Suarez was released, two detectives escorted Clarke back to the UK, where they reported “he is being questioned about other attacks on prostitutes”. But again, maybe this was just another coincidence? On Friday 3rd of April 1987, although he proved hostile throughout, questioned at Kensington Police station by the same detectives who had quizzed Guillermo Suarez, he later re-appeared at Horseferry Road Court having been charged with fraud, ABH and pimping, as well as the murder of Marina Monti. Held at Brixton Prison, Justin Martin Clarke was tried at Southwark Crown Court on Wednesday 19th of August 1987, just four days after the inquest. On the charge of robbery, as the victim was too afraid to testify, that case was dropped; the fraud was rescinded owing to a lack of evidence, both assaults could not be proven, and with his defence counsel stating “he has always denied committing the murder and any other offence, although he believes the police are convinced he is guilty of murder”… …that day, Justin Clarke walked free. It’s an unsettling thought, but had the police and the press not been so insistent that – being desperate to find a connection linking these two coincidental murders to Guillermo, or a spree or serial killer –this might not have given Clarke enough time to destroy any proof of his guilt, if indeed he was guilty, as with two inquests and one criminal trial having failed, maybe the police were clutching at straws? After the trial, like any innocent man would do, he got on with living an honest life. Said to have moved to Hendon in leafy north-west London, in December 1991, he married Androulla Pallikarou, a Greek lawyer who specialised in wills, probates and residential properties, and that year as a mature student, he began studying law at the University of Luton specialising in Tort law (which deals with civil wrongs). With no known arrests over the next six years and none of his aliases appearing in any newspapers, he didn’t flee the country, he didn’t hastily change his address, and he didn’t frequent his old haunts in Bayswater. In April 1993, after half a decade of freedom, he was a married man who was taking his exams in a degree which could positively impact his life and lead to peace, happiness and harmony… …only crime was always a part of his life, especially killing. As a side hustle, even amidst the peace of St Alban’s, Clarke remained in the shadows of criminality, we know this as he was later charged with supplying class B drugs, and with two associates equally as keen to cheat and steal, they began perpetrating several frauds in which they targeted drug-dealers. The scam was simple; having purchased several kilos of paraffin wax from an arts & crafts shop, they boiled it down on the kitchen hob, added a brown dye, set it using thin baking trays into half kilo bars, added a gold seal to each (taken from boxes of Ferrero Rocher chocolates), sprinkled them with coffee granules and wrapped these nine bars in cling film, so they’d look like £23,000 worth of cannabis resin. As a selfish conman with no empathy, it’s unsurprising that Clarke’s insane brain had spawned this kind of caper, given that he would beat up a prostitute for the last £20 in her purse, or even worse. His victim was Paul Anthony Milburn, a 42-year-old self-employed builder and father of two, who was renovating his semi-detached home on Sunbury Lane in Walton on Thames following his divorce. He wasn’t a big-time drug dealer, as he only did it to when he needed to and he was short on quick cash. On Monday 26th of April 1993 at 3pm, Paul borrowed a pal’s black B-reg Saab 900 turbo, and with a friend nicknamed ‘Ginge’ beside him, they drove 33 miles from his home to a pre-arranged spot at the car park of the Little Chef at Chiswell Green, a roadside eatery off the North Circular at St Alban’s. While families sat eating their Jubilee pancakes, Paul’s Saab pulled up, he saw the two dealers he knew and the four men politely chatted. Clarke was nowhere to be seen, as knowing that Paul didn’t like or trust him, the deal would be off if that psychotic scouser was spotted, having scammed Paul before. Besides, that day, he had been “talking incoherently” and even his own associates didn’t trust him. At a little after 4:20pm, having agreed to buy nine bars of what he thought was cannabis for £2250 a bar, the two cars headed off in convoy to a secluded location where the deal could take place, far away from any cameras, police cars and prying eyes. Barely half a mile south-west, they drove up Noke Lane, a quiet agricultural rabbit-run surrounded by high hedges, long fields and a smattering of farms. The day was bright and clear, and the lane was quiet and isolated, as both cars pulled up, one behind the other. Keeping the mood light with a bit of cheeky banter and blokey football chat, the dealers discretely moved the nine half-kilo bars into the boot of the Saab, and with the deal done, Paul reached into the glovebox to pull out the slightly-discounted £18000 in used notes he’d agreed to pay for it. The scam was done, Paul was unaware that the drugs were fake, and the money was inches away. For the sake of the deal, Clarke had agreed to stay out of the way… …but being the epitome of unstable, from the bushes, he burst out brandishing a US Army .45 calibre pistol, as he ran towards the Saab. Terrified, Paul’s pal ‘Ginge’ fled across the open fields for his life as this thick set ex-soldier ran screaming towards them with his wild staring eyes, but as he frantically tried to start the engine, it was as Paul hunkered down that Clarke slammed his fist into the window. Making a hand-sized hole which showered Paul in shards of glass, it was as the Saab’s engine roared and tried to pull away that Clarke ran alongside it, the wheels mounting on a grass verge as the tyres slipped losing traction. Paul was alone, defenceless and afraid, but it was as Clarke shoved the pistol through the hole, that from inches away, he fired once, and slumping forward, the car ran into a hedge. Entering his right shoulder at point blank range, the bullet passed through his upper ribs, both lungs, his heart, it disabled both arms, and as several massive haemorrhages from all his vital organs flooded his weakening chest with blood, it embedded into the passenger’s seat, as within seconds, Paul lay dead. Diving into his associates’ car, Clarke shouted “Drive or I'll put one in your f**king head”, as the car sped away, leaving behind a fleeing witness, a dead body, the fake drugs, £18,000 and his own blood. It was all for nothing, but his deranged desire to kill. With the Saab blocking the lane, the body was found minutes later by a mother doing the school-run. Detectives initially stated “it did not appear to be a professional killing”, as the scene was awash with evidence like the bullet, glass fragments, foot marks, fingerprints and bloodstains, and coupled with advances in DNA profiling, whoever this killer was, the Police had the evidence to arrest and convict. On the 12th of May 1993, two weeks later, one of the dealers was arrested in Worcester Park. Charged with conspiring to supply drugs, as a result of his questioning, he gave a name - Justin Martin Clarke. Launching one of Britain’s biggest manhunts, police searched Birkenhead, London, Ireland and offered a £10,000 reward for information on BBC’s Crimewatch and ITV’s CrimeNet alongside his name, details and a photo, with the public warned “he’s armed, extremely dangerous and not to be approached”. Having driven south to the county of Kent, as he crossed Dartford Bridge, Clarke threw the bullet casing into the River Thames, but – like a coldblooded coward - as he always did when things got hot… …he fled the country. Hopping a late-night ferry from Dover to Calais, he hid-out in Paris, re-associating himself with his old comrades from the French Foreign Legion. The Police tried to track him and his aliases, and knowing that this “dangerous fugitive” had connections to the IRA, the FFL, the SANDF and Islamic terror cells in the Middle East, the British Government issued an International Arrest Warrant. The net was closing in on him, but with Bosnia & Herzegovina not being part of The EU, they didn’t receive the warrant. Across the 1980s and early 1990s, the former Yugoslavia was a country in chaos, torn apart by inter-ethnic wars, political corruption and genocide. With many militia groups needing experienced soldiers who’d fight for a wage and would kill without question, it was a great place for a sadistic killer to hide. Clarke enlisted in the Army of the Republic of Bosnia & Herzegovina, where although he was regarded as a bully, a drunk and a womaniser, far from the ramifications of a war-crimes trials, he was praised for his brutal and aggressive fighting which earned him the nickname of ‘The Truck’. He served for so long, that in 2007, aged 51, he was given Croatian citizenship and qualified for a full military pension. But evil will always be evil. Semi-retiring to the coastal village of Baska, although he had married a local girl, had a son and seemed to be living an ordinary life as “a security guard at the hotel Dubravka”, working as a criminal enforcer for a warlord and kingpin, he smuggled arms and drugs, he blackmailed officials, he took whatever he felt was his, and threatened locals at gunpoint by bragging “I could kill you with a fucking phone call". Between 1995 and 2007, although he had repeatedly terrorised the town into a state of fear, Clarke was arrested at least five times by Croatian police, but with powerful men in his pocket, his crimes were dismissed by the State Attorney, and not once were the British authorities told that he was there. Clarke was feared, especially because being a violent drunk with no morals, he loved bragging about those he had hurt, claiming “I was questioned by the police in 1987 about a woman I’d murdered”. If he had murdered Marina Monti, he wasn’t grief stricken, as to him this was a badge of honour. Had he lived an ordinary life, he could have remained hidden in Croatia until today, but as always, his arrogance took a step too far. In 2007, finally arrested for the assault of municipal commissioner Jeka Rošcic, with the authorities closing in, when things got hot, he fled, leaving behind his wife and child. Flying to Qatar in 2007 under a forged passport, Clarke got work as a minder for the Saudi royal family, he was hired as a security expert for the Qatar-arm of international engineering firm, ‘Konstruktor’ and across that year, he was living in a self-built fortified camp in the desert surrounded by concubines. But even here, his luck was running out, as the selfish psychopath left a slew of enemies in his wake. Following a tip-off, the Met’ Police flew two detectives out to interview staff at the engineering firm, as Qatar was a country where the international arrest warrant was valid. Only having been forewarned by the one friend he had left, they missed him by minutes, as grabbing a worker’s passport, he fled. Again, Clarke had vanished, this time heading to Hungary, and there they lost him. Every year since, the police issued a new appeal to find him, refusing to give up in the hunt for this dangerous fugitive, but every year he seemed to vanish further and further into obscurity, until he made a simple mistake. 29 years after the murder of Marina Monti, and 23 years after the killing of Paul Milburn, Justin Clarke sent a letter to his 81-year-old mother in Henley-on-Thames, and the Police intercepted that mail. Aided by the German authorities, on Thursday 4th of February 2016, a six-foot scouser with a strange accent was arrested in Berlin and extradited to Britain. In his possession was a Dutch ID card in the name of Michael Anderson, but his fingerprints were a perfect match to Justin Martin Clarke. As was his method, he refused to co-operate giving only “no comment” answers, but the Major Crime Unit of Beds, Herts & Bucks Police who had tracked him, knew they had the evidence to convict him. Tried at Woolwich Crown Court on 15th of January 2018 before judge Sir Peter Openshaw, he refused to have a lawyer present and – from his cell in HMP Bellmarsh – he pleaded ‘not guilty’ to conspiracy to defraud and the supply a Class B drug, possession of a firearm and the murder of Paul Milburn. Found guilty, on the 2nd of February 2018, 62-year-old Justin Clarke was given a life sentence meaning he must serve a minimum of 25 years in prison, and won’t be considered for parole until he’s 87. (End) A violent unstable psychopath was off the streets for good, but what remains uncertain is whether it was him who murdered Marina Monti? With no witnesses nor fingerprints, in 1996, her murder was 1 of 32 cold cases the CID were re-examining with advances in DNA profiling, later extended to 220, but it proved inconclusive, and again, those 220 cases didn’t include Racheal Applewhaite’s murder, as they knew they had the right suspect, but evidence and diplomatic immunity had thwarted them. As of today, 38 years later, the murders of Racheal Applewhaite & Marina Monti remain unsolved. With the questioning derailed by the press and the investigation stymied by a belief that this had to be a spree or serial killer - akin to Jack the Ripper - rather than (what it was) a series of coincidences, we may never know why these women were killed, maybe a robbery, hatred, a debt, or a cruel sadist? With Guillermo Suarez and Justin Clarke claiming their innocence, we can never be certain whether Guillermo killed Racheal and Justin killed Marina, if one of them killed both girls, or with both men seen as likely suspects, did this give an alibi to the real killer who got away with murder, twice? The one thing we do know is that had these women been diplomats or politician’s wives, they would have been treated better by the press, the public, and their outcome may have been a very different story. With Marina cremated in Hendon on 7th August of 1987 and Rachel in Kensington & Chelsea 12 days later, sadly the identity of the Vice Girl Killer remains a mystery that both women took to their graves. 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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