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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, all set within and beyond London's West End.
EPISODE THREE HUNDRED AND ONE: This is Part Four of Five of Schizophrenic: The Real/Fake Peter Bryan. Peter Bryan is regarded as one of Britain's most infamous serial-killers and cannibals with almost every article and documentary about him slavering over the grisly details of his murders, and especially his cannibalism. But how much of this story is the truth, an exaggeration or a lie? Who created these myths, why do we still believe them, and what evidence is there of cannibalism? Told in full for the very first time, this is Schizophrenic: The Real/Fake Peter Bryan.
SOURCES: a selection sourced from the news archives:
This series is primarily based off the Inquest papers into the care and treatment of Peter Bryan (September 2009).
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: 3pm, Tuesday 10th of February 2004. Through the open door of the Riverside Hostel, Peter coughs at the choking fumes of Seven Sister’s Road; his shaved head warmed by a cap and dressed in his own leather jacket, jeans and trainers, he calmly scoffs a chocolate bar that he had bought from the shop. Around him, phones repeatedly ring and anxious voices gabble, as social workers, psychiatrists, FCPNs, RMOs, a wealth of other acronyms and the staff at Riverside work out what’s best to do. With threats on his life for the (alleged) sexual assault of 16-year-old ‘P4’, he wasn’t safe being this close to the Woodbury Down Estate, he couldn’t go back to the John Howard Centre or Rampton Hospital as - with the assault still under investigation - it wasn’t appropriate, and also, there weren’t any beds left. The police were yet to be notified, but a plan had been formed. Driver: “Taxi for Peter Bryan?”, Peter: “Yeah, that’s me”, and carrying just a small bag of clothes and toiletries, he hopped in the backseat alone, his key worker telling him “its paid for, they’ll call us when you get there”, and as he sucks on a Ribena, he heads to where it all began 34-years before, Peter: “Newham General Hospital please”. Declared “no longer a danger to the public”, within a week, Peter was due to be released for good… …but with his psychosis masked by a possible relapse, nobody saw he had murder on his mind. Told in full for the very first time, this is Schizophrenic: The Real/Fake Peter Bryan - Part 4. It’s ironic, but from the 10th to the 17th of February 2004, most of the correspondence back-and-forth was about how the life of Peter Bryan was “in danger” and he was at “risk of being hurt by others”. That day, amongst a flurry of phone calls, his social worker noted “…informed that some people went to Riverside to confront Peter… I intend getting him into hospital immediately for his safety and for a risk assessment… RMO is reluctant because there’s no clear relapse but I told him I can’t take the risk”. The plan was to admit Peter informally, as a voluntary patient on the Topaz Ward, a low-security open psychiatric unit at Newham General, but “because of an allegation (of a sexual assault of a young girl)… and because he is (held under Sections) 37 & 41 (of the Mental Health Act”) - a ‘hospital order without limit of time’ reserved for the most dangerous patients - “the Ward Manager was reluctant to take him and advised that he should go to a locked ward”. The Manager protested, but was overruled. All the relevant authorities were notified from his social worker all the way up to the Home Office, and as everyone knew this was only a temporary fix – while the death threats remained viable and the sex crime was investigated - as he showed no signs of a psychotic episode, they moved ahead with the plan to get him into low-support flat where he could live independently in the community. The Topaz Ward is a small 17-bed unit for adult males inside of the Newham Centre for Mental Health on Cherry Tree Way. Unlike at Riverside, he wasn’t free to come-and-go as he pleased, but as he was a week away from being released, it made no sense to break the rules, even if the voices told him to. His assessment listed his reason for admission as a "relapse", his diagnosis was “paranoid psychosis and/or paranoid schizophrenia”, and “he has been accused of indecently assaulting a child”. Examined by a psychiatrist, his report states “there is currently no paranoid or suicidal ideation, delusions or hallucinations, and he had been compliant with medication”. As always, “Peter was talkative, made good eye contact, his speech was clear, coherent… and there was no FTD (formal thought disorder)”. The plan (while temporarily under their care as an ‘informal patient’) was “to carry out intermittent observations, a risk assessment and a drug test”. They observed “no relapse or psychotic symptoms”, his urine test was drug-free and (as always) he was described as “a model patient… he ate, slept well, his fluid intake was normal, Peter settled onto the Ward… and there no management problems”. As the inquest would later state, “Peter was in hospital for his own safety, not because he was thought to be mentally unwell at the time”, but – as we know – as an ‘atypical’ paranoid schizophrenic, he could appear “utterly charming, normal and logical”, even if he was in the grip of a state of psychosis. Monday 16th of February 2004, one day before, Peter sent a letter to an unnamed pal at Riverside, it read “Dear PA. Hope you are fine. Well (the Manager) got her way”, implying she had wanted him out, “but I cannot stop thinking who will be next… Life is still not going to be easy, it’s like Rampton is still around my neck and slowly getting tighter, but it doesn’t matter because I cannot die… well, I still have my ACE card to play. If I am not happy with it, I can still play my best card of all. Sit and wait and see what’s around the corner. Life is full of twist and turns, it's about how you cope with them… Take care. Patchwork”. The letter wasn’t screened as he was a voluntary patient awaiting his imminent release, it had relapse signatures of fantasy and delusions, it alluded to the unfinished business he’d spoke of… …and it was posted second class, so it wouldn’t arrive until a day after the murder. Tuesday 17th of February, 10am, the Topaz Ward. In an hour-long meeting to review Peter’s condition, he was described as “calm, jovial” and “there are no concerns regarding his mental state”. All of the team agreed “he’s ready to be released”, and were currently looking for low support accommodation. With no signs of psychosis, “or obvious signs of mental disorder", he asked for permission to leave the ward temporarily, this was approved, and with paperwork signed, at 4pm, he walked out of hospital. Back in the borough of Newham where he grew up, he could have gone anywhere; to the school where he said he had “few friends, being unhappy… and a sense of shame and embarrassment needing extra reading lessons”; to the ‘special school’ where he felt isolated; to his old home of Derby Road where he was beaten by his father, abandoned by his parents and where his brother tried to kill his mother. He could have gone to visit his siblings, his old gang, a pub to get pissed, or a drug dealer to get high. If he was feeling nostalgic, he could have visited the grave of ‘P1’, the tower block where he tried to take his own life, or down to the King’s Road to his first murder, and where her parents still lived. He could have gone anywhere, but he didn’t… …yet, what happened next had many similarities to Nisha’s murder. From the hospital, with the bus pass he’d been given by his key worker, Peter hopped on the 276 bus towards Stoke Newington, sitting quietly, soaking up familiar sights and being polite when spoken to. After 30 minutes, he caught the Central Line tube from Stratford toward Leytonstone, then the W12 bus to Walthamstow Central, never causing a scene, or making anyone feel nervous or suspicious. At an unidentified hardware store near Walthamstow Market - looking like anyone else doing a bit of DIY - he purchased a claw hammer, a Stanley knife and a screwdriver. He used his own money, he was lucid and clear, and – with very little distractions, like suggesting he had smashed up a gang member’s car, or wanted the Police to arrest him for breaking several windows – he walked 18 minutes east. Dusk had fallen two hours before, it was fresh and blustery as a wind whipped down The Drive, a tree-lined residential street not far from Walthamstow Central. As a neat and peaceful street with no shops, just a few of the original semi-detached houses from the 1920s and 1930s, but mostly a wealth of two-and-three storey post-war blocks of flats, it’s a place where families are raised in relative safety. At a few minutes before 6pm, Peter walked east down The Drive, passed lines of cars, his face barely lit by the sparse street lights. He wasn’t alone, as being a peak hour for this street, around him were dog walkers, commuters heading home, mums with prams and kids playing football, but none of them were his intended target. And like at Nisha’s, it was a place too busy for any sane person to commit a heinous crime, yet the time was irrelevant, the place was chosen and his next victim was unaware. Although it was chilly, his head was sweating. Although he still limped owing to old fractures, his right ankle was also tingling. Inside of his leather jacket, three bulges were barely visible. And as he turned left into Manning House, a four-storey block of flats, he knew where to go and what he had to do. Ringing the communal door bell to Flat 1, from the left, a small thin man with bright red hair popped his head out. Seeing Peter through the faint glow of the hall light, he recognised him, “hi Pete, come in, how you doing?”, inviting him in and closing the door as Peter calmly entered, barely saying a word. Within minutes, Peter attacked, and Brian Cherry was dead. As Judge Forrester would state “Peter was at his most dangerous because he had the ability to obscure the psychotic symptoms under a veneer of near normality”, so Brian had no idea he was going to die. Brian Cherry wasn’t exactly a stranger to Peter, but then he wasn’t exactly a close friend. 43-year-old Brian was a good man; kind and decent. With a large beard, sticking out ears and dark red curly hair in a 50s style quiff, locals knew of him, but few knew his name, as he was never a bother to anyone. Often seen shuffling from his home to the shops in his slightly threadbare clothes, he was someone who didn’t cause a fuss and always tried to be liked, especially as that month had been hard. As a former psychiatric patient - who couldn’t work owing to an injury, survived on meagre disability benefits and was said to be ‘lonely’ and had ‘few friends’ – with his dad long gone, for the last 8 years he’d lived in Flat 1 of Manning House with his widowed mother, but two weeks before, she had died. Comforted by two brothers and a sister, he was still grieving when Peter came knocking; condolence cards on his sideboard, her photo by his bedside, her coat on its peg and her perfume still in the air. Two years prior, when Peter started seeing the 16-year-old girl known as ‘P4’, her friend ‘P7’ who was a resident at Riverside was also friends with Peter and girl identified as ‘P8’, who we know as Nicola. As was common with the girls Peter hung around with, Nicola was a young and vulnerable crack addict, and as desperate as she was for drugs, like Brian, she was lonely and for over a year, they were in love. At least, that’s what Brian thought. She later admitted that she took advantage of his loneliness and kind nature, and visiting him almost daily, he let her (and her pal ‘P9’) smoke drugs in his flat and he gave her £100 a week. This isn’t to blame her, as many people are trapped in their own vicious circle. That day, Brian, Nicola & ‘P9’ had been to Walthamstow Market; he had withdrawn some cash for her, at the Sainsbury’s he’d bought her three bottles of After Shock and some cigarettes, after he had gone, she’d sold the drink for £40 to fund her habit, and she said she’d pop by later to pick up the cigarettes. At 6pm, Peter arrived at Bryan’s flat, being dinner time, none of the neighbours heard a sound. At 6:30pm, Nicola called, but his phone kept ringing. At 6:45pm, she tried again, but it went to voicemail. At 7:30pm, she was driven by ‘P9’ who waited outside, and Nicola walked the path to Manning House. Just passed the bin store, she rang the bell, but there was no reply. Pushing the communal door, she found it was unlocked and knocked on the ground floor door to Peter’s flat. Again, there was no reply, but inside, as someone was heard moving around, with his front door open (having been damaged, meaning it didn’t shut properly unless it was double-locked), she entered. Nicola: “Brian? It’s me?”. The first thing which hit her was a strong smell of disinfectant, it stood out as the flat was often messy. “Brian? That you?”. Only it wasn’t. Large and foreboding like a black cloud, Peter stood in the doorway of the living room. “Pete’? What are you doing here?”, Nicola asked. Saying nothing, he glared; his chest bare and his face pockmarked with bleach burns. Worried, she asked “where’s Brian?”, spotting sweat pouring from his head, even though the heating was off. Coldly, he grunted “go away”, but seeing his right hand bloody and a 8-inch kitchen knife in his fist, asking again “where’s Brian?”, Peter bluntly replied “Brian Cherry is dead”. He went towards the front door, as if to close it behind her. Peeping inside the living room, on the red rug, she saw Brian lying on his back, his legs splayed and completely naked. He didn’t move, speak or tremble with cold or fear, as a few inches from his side lay his right arm, bloody and dismembered. Nicola was terrified, but knowing that running may mean her death, acting as if she hadn’t seen it, to this knife-wielding psychiatric patient - who had been convicted of bludgeoning Nisha to death, had just killed Brian and was only one murder away from becoming a fully fledged serial killer - she calmly said “well, I gotta go, I’ll see you later Pete’”, and she left. It was a lucky escape, very lucky indeed. Dashing to the car, she told ‘P9’, they sped to ‘P4’s flat, and there, they called the Police. Alerted at 7:41pm, at 7:45pm, two constables in a passing patrol car arrived at Manning House, to the vague report of (radio) “a white male, seriously assaulted, his arm possibly ripped off, unknown if he is deceased”, “Echo Victor Alpha on scene”. They entered the communal hall, knocked and identified themselves three times “Police, can you come to the door please”, but getting no reply, they entered. Again, they smelled bleach. Again, they also were confronted by Peter, dressed in only denims and his trainers. He was sweating profusely, his hands were empty but heavily bloodstained up to his elbows, and initially thinking he was the victim, the female officer asked “are you okay?”. Shocked to see them, Peter said nothing, he just stared for several seconds of awkward silence which felt like an eternity. “Yeah, I’m okay” he muttered, so as the male officer watched him saying “keep hands where I can see them”, Peter was said to be “calm, quiet and responsive”, as PC’s partner searched the rest of the flat. Brian’s niece Emma said: “I can’t believe anyone could do this to Brian. He would never have hurt a flea. It’s like something out of a horror film”. Even the forensic officers stated “it’s horrible in there”. The living room was small, 12 foot by 10 and sparsely filled with the basics; a gas fire, a table with a tv, one with a hi-fi, his bike and two armchairs; one for him and one which was for once for his mum. Invited in, it was likely Peter had attacked Brian as they sat chatting, as on the floor lay an overturned plate. Bludgeoned repeatedly over the head with a claw hammer, blood spattered the wall, there were two small pools where Brian slumped and fell, and the attack was so fast, he had no defensive wounds. Prior to his dismemberment, Peter had stripped him naked and his clothes weren’t found in the room, but there was no hint of sexual assault or molestation. In fact, except the obvious, he was unharmed. On the rug, scattered beside the body was the claw hammer and the Stanley knife, but the screwdriver was missing. A bloodied red-handled knife from Brian’s kitchen lay near his dismembered arm, on a side chair was a kitchen knife and behind the door was a saw, both clean, as if he’d been interrupted. Peter would state “I was comforted by the smell of blood”, as being disturbed by Nicola, he admitted “I used the Stanley knife to cut (the arm off) and some kitchen knives, but I had to stamp on it to break the bone”. An autopsy proved he jumped on the limb until the bone broke or the socket snapped. But he wasn’t done, far from it. In the centre of the room, Brian’s body lay on his left side, his left arm also dismembered and neatly placed alongside the right, as if he was deconstructing it piece by piece. The body was bent at the hips as if he was seated, yet two foot from his bottom, his disarticulated left leg lay, and with the bloody Stanley and red-handled knives nearby, his right leg was partially severed. When the officer asked “did you severe the limbs?”, Peter replied “yes”. When asked “was Brian alive when you arrived?”, he replied “yes”. When asked “did you kill Brian?”, he replied “yes”. He was calm, passive, and when arrested and handcuffed, he confessed “I did it, yeah… I don't know why I did it”. The scene was horrific, but that wasn’t the worst bit. In the same way he had bludgeoned Nisha to death by hitting her head six times with the claw hammer until her skull was broken, Brian was hit at least 24 times, so the whole of his head was smashed open. Prior to his arrest, as the female officer searched the flat, going into the kitchen, it was said that Peter smirked and said “I ate his brain with butter. It was very nice”. Peter was known to have delusions, he was known to hear voices, but unlike the voodoo he often spoke of, the evidence was plain to be seen. On the draining board by the sink was his bloodstained screwdriver. To the right of the cooker lay a knife, a fork and a plastic plate, on which was a lump of human flesh with red human hair. Nearby was an open tub of Clover butter. And in a warm frying pan was “a white substance with a yellow tinge”. A piece of his brain had been fried with butter, and DNA analysis confirmed it was a match to Brian Cherry. Judge Forrester stated “(the violence was) extreme and unpredictable, accompanied by bizarre sexual and sadistic overtones. You killed because you got a thrill and a feeling of power when you ate flesh. You gained sexual pleasure from what you were doing”. He later told a psychiatrist “I wanted his soul”. It was gory, but was it even true? Over the 11-years he was held on a ‘hospital order’ at Rampton, John Howard and Riverside, he spoke of paranoia, delusions and hallucinations; of violence, voodoo and dark forces guiding him, but never cannibalism. There was nothing in his past which hints at it; he wasn’t cruel to animals, he didn’t collect roadkill, and he even told the Police, “I wanted to carry him out bit by bit and get rid of the body”. That was at 6pm, at 7:30pm he was interrupted by Nicola, and the Police arrived just 15 minutes later. Again, his timings don’t add up. As we know, Peter was diagnosed as an ‘atypical schizophrenic’ whose symptoms were “hard to assess”, who had relapse signatures but doctors state “hadn’t relapsed” and that day he was “calm and jovial”, having previously sent a letter bragging about “an ACE card to play”. Brian was his intended target, and for at least nine years, Peter had spoken of “unfinished business, which would lead to his re-arrest”, yet in a motiveless attack, he had only known Brian for two years. Peter was taken in a police van to Barkingside Police Station. At 1:44am, while held in custody, he was given First Aid for a small cut to his right index finger, which caused him to wince in pain, stating unironically “it's where he bit me”. Assessed by the Police doctor and later a consultant forensic psychiatrist, Peter claimed “I wanted to kill and eat him. Cannibalism is natural... If I was on the street, I’d go for someone bigger”, claimed it was part of a “voodoo ritual”. He also added, “I would have done someone else, if you hadn't come along”, yet he let Nicola go free. Again, it’s all very sensational, and that’s what people love, but where’s the evidence of cannibalism? In the 15 minutes between Nicola fleeing and the Police arriving, he had to remove a leg, another arm, cut out a piece of flesh, scoop out some brain, cook it and (supposedly) eat it. When the officer went into the kitchen, he grinned as if his goal was achieved. Yet the scene itself looks painfully staged; a tub of butter, a plate and cutlery, a piece of brain in a frying pan, but no proof that he ate any of it. His word is taken at face value, but his lips weren’t tested for DNA, nor how much brain was missing. It seems like a set-up by a man who was described as “able to manipulate… to get what he wants”. He should have been sent to prison having killed Nisha for which he’d still be serving for a life sentence, but having committed an act no sane person would, and claiming ‘diminished responsibility’, he wasn’t locked-up in his cell 23 hours a day, he got to go on day trips and he served barely half his sentence. He hated prison, he feared it, and in his first weeks at Brixton, not only did he launch two unprovoked attacks on his fellow inmates, one while in his wheelchair, but he was also described as “violent, aggressive, uncontrollable”, and he was often segregated for the safety of the prisoners and staff. Assessed by a Police doctor, the report states, this so-called cannibal “does not necessitate an urgent transfer to hospital”. Assessed by a Police Psychiatrist, it states “Peter was apparently quite calm and showed no obvious signs of psychotic illness”, and required no psychiatric care, given what he’d done. Charged with murder at Waltham Forest Magistrates Court, while awaiting his trial at the Old Bailey, he was held on remand at Pentonville Prison where he was said to be “disruptive”. After three days, on the 23rd of February 2004, he was transferred to HMP Belmarsh, a Category A, a high security prison full of 100s of rapists, murderers and terrorists, so bad, it has been dubbed Britain’s Guantanamo Bay. Inside, he didn’t settle. Inside, he threatened to kill a warder and eat a prisoner’s nose. Inside, guards had to use riot shields when entering his cell as he was “incredibly violent, unpredictable… and a grave risk to others”. Whereas at Rampton, he drank Ribena. At John Howard, he went to the pub to play pool. At Riverside, he could go to the shops for tobacco. But at Belmarsh, he was vulnerable and weak. Trapped in a tiny cell, all day, maybe for the rest of his life, he was surrounded by very bad men, who weren’t doped up on medication and he risked being killed if they knew he’d sexually assaulted a child. Part five, the final part of Schizophrenic: The Real/Fake Peter Bryan concludes next week. 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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