Seven time nominated BEST BRITISH TRUE-CRIME PODCAST at the True Crime Awards, Independent Podcast Award and The British Podcast Awards, and voted 4th Best True-Crime Podcast by This Week, iTunes Top 25 Podcast, Podcast Magazine's Hot 50, The Telegraph's Top 5, Crime & Investigation Top 20 True-Crime Podcasts, also seen on BBC Radio, Sky News, The Guardian and TalkRadio's Podcast of the Week.
EPISODE THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SIX: Sunday the 7th of February 1988 was a typical day for Samantha, Colin and their family, residents of Kingsley Way in Tring, Hertfordshire. They went to church, they had dinner, they went to bed, and by the morning, Colin had brutally murdered his wife, cut up her body and hid it in the freezer and the back garden, But why?
SOURCES: a selection sourced from various archives:
MUSIC:
UNEDITED TRANSCRIPT: Welcome to Murder Mile: Unleashed. (Engine) And I’m away. Goodbye London. Hello Britain. And as I cruise the UK’s canal network in my little boat, I shall bring you true crime cases from the cities, towns and villages I visit. This week, I’m in Tring, Hertfordshire to unearth a barely reported murder, which is as baffling as the day it occurred. My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile. Episode 366: Dole Cheat. On Christmas Day 2025, I began my journey to tour the canals of England. Travelling at a whopping 2 miles-per-hour, I made it to Cowroast by the 5th of January, only to find the three locks at Marsworth were shut for repairs until the end of March. With no option, except to wait it out, I was stuck in Tring. Which is no bad thing. Tring is a market town whose name in Old English means 'a slope where trees grow’. it is nestled between the Chiltern Hills, was built on an old Roman road, is mentioned in the Domesday Book, has been inhabited since prehistoric times, and currently has a population of 12,500. As a surrogate Londoner with a big city mentality who has been spoiled by 24-hour transport, all-night shops, limitless choice, but also sky-high rents, unbreathable air and a 100% chance of being stabbed, I feared that a small town like Tring would drive me bananas with boredom by teatime. What I found was a warm, welcoming place, where everyone knows each other, and (shock) they say “hello”. I know. At least once a day a stranger would stop to talk to me, and it only took a week or two before I realised they weren’t going to mug me, and there was no ulterior motive, they were just being friendly. To keep myself busy, I started researching murder cases in Tring to upload as 90 second shorts. But that’s when I hit a hurdle. Unlike cities whose inhabitants tend to be transient, as small towns are held together by pride and a neighbourly spirit, they have fewer murders but what I did find was interesting little cases which mostly gave an insight into the rising and falling fortunes of the town’s inhabitants. One case occurred in 1906, when the body of a former Shoesmith known as Rivett was found dead in a ditch at Pound Meadow. His life had been one of hardship and poverty. He had been homeless for months, living on the kindness of others who gave him bread, cheese and water. The Saturday prior, being seen in a “filthy condition”, Fanny Probots said his ankles looked withered and blue, and Rosa Alibone noticed “a dreadful discharge coming from his legs and running from his boots”. It had a feted stench, and his legs were “badly affected by blowfly” (insects which feed on the flesh after death, or when it becomes necrotic). Rivett was alone, hungry, broke, and suffering with chronic bronchitis, his death had been caused by heart failure, exhaustion and neglect. And although, when Rivett needed to, he went to the workhouse, he hated it, saying “I’d prefer to die in a ditch, than go back there”. For those who saw my little video, it struck a chord with the people of Tring; some were sympathetic to Rivett’s plight, some found they were related to those mentioned, and others (bereft of brains) said “that was years ago, who cares” as if a life story isn’t worth retelling if they didn’t live in their lifetime. Murders rarely occur in Tring, but one case in particular seemed to have been forgotten, with many details lost to the mists of time, re-arranged over generations, or simply swept underneath the carpet. It remains as baffling today as back in the 1980s, yet it begs the question, will we ever know the truth? For the sake of the relatives (who still locally) many details have been redacted from this retelling. Samantha was born in October 1963 in the neighbouring town of Hemel Hempstead; she was raised local, lived local, worked local, and every moment of her life existed in and around Hemel and Tring. Little was reported of her early years, but everyone who met her liked her; neighbour James Sharp said “she was a pleasant girl… always said ‘good morning’” and Paul Dickinson recalled “she was lovely. She had the patience of a saint”, as all agreed Samantha was quiet and polite, pleasant and charming. In the early-1980s, while in her late teens, she was in a relationship, and around 1983, she gave birth to a daughter. Being a young single mum can’t have been easy, so it made sense when she got together with a man six years her senior who had a boy and a girl from a previous marriage, his name was Colin. Like Samantha, Colin was born and raised local, as were his family and many generations before them. By 1985, with a 2-year-old, a 3-year-old and a 5-year-old, life became more hectic for this young family headed-up by a 21-year-old mum and a 27-year-old dad when they had another son, and another was still to follow two years later, making this a family of seven. Life is expensive, especially with kids, and even the basics – like rent and food - can be a struggle. For this family, money were tight living off Colin’s modest income as a decorator specialising in aertex ceilings (which were all the rage then), but they did it, they held it together, and as the neighbours said “she never raised her voice to the kids”. Cementing their love but also giving this family the stability they deserved, in February 1986 Samantha & Colin married in the district of Dacorum, and slowly (although with the typical chaos that family life brings) they began to settle into a steady routine; the three eldest attended Dundale Infants School, the two youngest were looked after by Samantha, Colin drove to painting jobs in his white Ford Transit van, and they lived in a terraced house on Kingsley Walk in Tring. In fact, the only hint of criminality was that their home had previously been occupied by the wife of Michael Fagan, the man who broke into the Queen’s bedroom at Buckingham Palace – but that’s it, and even that link is tenuous at best. Their story was as ordinary as any other young family, struggling with the stresses and strains of life. Almost 100 years before, and just a few streets over, on the 15th of October 1892, Charles Smith and his wife were convicted of child cruelty. They lived in a one-room lodging on Akeman Street, and often, being so poor, their children – a boy and a girl - would beg in Tring High Street; their faces dirty, their clothes ragged, their feet bare (even on the coldest of days) and they were malnourished. Two weeks before, their 10-year-old son Charles was admitted to the Workhouse Infirmary. He was so emaciated that his bones poked through his skin, and when they weighed him, instead of five stone, he was one and a half. He died the same day, and his parents were sentenced to just three months hard labour. The Smith family lived in an era before the Welfare State, sickness and unemployment benefits, when no-one had holiday or sick pay, no-one had savings except the wealthy, and there was no safety net for those who needed it. You worked and lived, but only just. If you didn’t owing to sickness, you died. Samantha & Colin were blessed, not only with the strength of their love and their commitment to their children, but also their extended family, friends, and Samantha found faith as a born again Christian. According to Pastor Ian Walker of Tring Community Church, an independent Pentecostal church at the Exchange Christian Centre on Frogmore Street, Samantha attended the mid-week meetings, her family regularly attended Sunday Service and (as a couple) the church had become a big part of their life; just before Christmas, Samantha & Colin had joined the Pastor and his wife for a meal at their home, they were preparing for the church’s sixth anniversary, and as the Pastor said “just the Sunday before, she had said that she and her husband were looking forward to attending the Valentine’s Day supper”. It was a killing which (seemingly) came out of nowhere, and would devastate a family forever. But there had been murders in Tring before. In the early hours of the 22nd of March 1950, outside of the Britannia pub, 21-year-old Peter Thomas Jackson was shot dead. 100 yards away at the Duckmore Lane allotments, his flat-mate and RAF buddy 22-year-old Stanley Christopher Payne was found, dying, a bullet wound to his head and a gun by his side. Back at their shared room, a note was found in which Stanley had written “although I had every cause to hate him, I still have pangs of affection”, and asked that the two men be buried together. Found guilty but insane, Stanley was convicted of his murder. Sunday the 7th of February 1988 was a typical day for Samantha, Colin and their family. That morning, they had attended Sunday Service at Tring Community Church. Unlike the traditionally depressing dirge of over-long hymns and sleep-inducing prayers, Pentecostal worship is deliberately upbeat and lively, beginning with joyful singing, clapping and raised hands, followed by testimonies, passionate preaching, and an invitation to the altar to pray for healing, salvation or spiritual renewal. Attendees come away feeling enlivened and revitalised, rather than suicidal and plagued with guilt. Like many millions that year, with Britain still struggling through a recession which had unemployment at 10% and record high-interest rates, the basics were more expensive and with the average person having less money to spend, Colin’s business was struggling, as aertex ceilings weren’t a necessity. As a born-again Christian, Samantha had been praying for help, whereas to supplement their meagre income during this difficult time, while still working, Colin had been claiming unemployment benefits, also known as ‘the dole’. It wasn’t a major crime, it was a minor fraud. It wasn’t like he was dealing drugs or burgling houses, he had seen his friends do it and saw it as a temporary means to an end. As a married man, it would have earned him an extra £52.95 per week (about £200 today) which wouldn’t have covered his rent, and with five kids, it would have made very little dent in his food bill. With Britain precariously balanced on a fiscal cliff, in 1988, the UK government initiated a nationwide crackdown on those who fraudulently claimed ‘the dole’ resulting in 90,000+ claimants withdrawing their benefit claims and recouping roughly £65 million of the tax-payer’s hard earned cash. TV appeals shamed them into submission, and letters arrived on doorsteps threatening court action and arrest. It’s uncertain how Samantha found out that Colin was double dipping by working and taking ‘the dole’ – maybe they got a knock at the door by an investigator, a court summons, or simply a letter with the initials DHSS on it – but as a born-again Christian, it is said that what worried Samantha most was what her Church and its congregation would think of them, and so said she would report him to the Police. It wasn’t illegal what he was doing, it was dishonest, and caused increased frictions between them. Colin had a bad habit of taking the easy option, and Douglas Climson, his friend said “Samantha would nag him dreadfully”, yet what young family living on a tight budget with five children don’t squabble? But was this enough motive to commit a murder? Just a few streets away, seven years before, on the 7th of September 1971, believing his wife Patricia had cheated on him, 29-year-old David Draper, a decorator held his wife and two children hostage in their home. Armed with two shotguns, in a siege lasting five hours, he indiscriminately fired shots at Police, a passerby and a coach; when Police brought in his mum to mediate he shot at her too, and at 1am, having fired CS gas into the house, Police stormed inside, and Draper was arrested, unharmed. Draper was sentenced to five years for resisting arrest, having a loaded weapon in public and causing malicious damage to a coach. His attempted murder of Inspector George Rafter and Sergeant Alex Shears were reduced to GBH, but he wasn’t convicted of the death of the brave Police dog called Rolfe. People react to stress in different ways; some talk it over, some shout, hit or lash out in ways which make no sense at all, even when alcohol and drugs aren’t involve. Emotion is a flood of chemicals into the bloodstream, and when you’re stressed, that level of adrenaline could kill an average human if it was injected directly into your body while you were calm, but when you’re upset, your body adapts. That evening, the family had dinner, if they watched telly they may have viewed Antiques Roadshow, All Creatures Great and Small or Perfect Strangers, the younger kids – aged 5, 3 and 18 months were bathed and put to bed in their pyjamas, the older two - aged 8 and 6 – stayed up a little later and when it was finally quiet time for the adults, Samantha & Colin couldn’t help but bicker over the dole money. As they sat on the sofa, ice formed between them as the air became decidedly chilly. Colin felt he had done it for the right reason, but Samantha couldn’t live with the shame, as life is there to test you. It’s about hard-work and battling through, not taking the easy way out by stealing it. And with Samantha insistent that she would report him to the Police (or so he said), they went to bed, hostile and upset. And as they drifted off, all that we are left with is Colin’s version of events. The night was cold and wet, as a 90mph storm barrelled in from the coast, leaving roads flooded and trees uprooted over the coming days. Maybe they kept their argument quiet, maybe the approaching storm muffled any shouts, or maybe there were no screams. It wasn’t said whether the children heard what happened next, but let’s pray that they didn’t, as what followed was grim and deeply traumatic. Colin claimed, that at 3am, he was awoken by Samantha (a usually placid and quiet women) shouting, swearing and punching him wildly about the head. Last night’s issue was still brewing, she called him a ‘dole cheat’, and in a fit of tears, she kept attacking him, and as he said, he tried to defend himself. It was never reported why he had these two objects near his bed; maybe he headed to another room, maybe he slept on the sofa, or as a tradesman, maybe they were in his toolbox, but in a pique of anger, with a hammer in his hand, he struck her several time across the head, caving in her skull, and then, with a kitchen knife, he stabbed her six times in the chest, right up to the hilt, telling the Police, “she wouldn’t die, she must have been a fanatic to last so long”, but he kept stabbing until she was dead. If Samantha had gone to the Police over this ‘dole cheat’, at best he would have had a criminal record for ‘making a false statement or misrepresentation under social security legislation’ which would have resulted in a fine of a few £100, or at worst, a custodial sentence of up to three months. It would have been an inconvenience which affected their marriage, but (for the kids) they would have got over it. Aged just 24, Samantha, this loving and devoted mother-of-five lay dead in a pool of her own blood, motionless, silent, and slowly cooling. At no point did Colin attempt to call for an ambulance, and with their children still sleeping just a few feet away, he dragged the body of their mother to the bathroom. The aftermath of Samantha’s murder was more horrific than her death itself… …so why – in the town of Tring – has it been mostly forgotten? Like many of the cases I’ve mentioned, I think there’s three possible reasons; for the sake of their own sanity, most people don’t like dwelling on morbid stories; four years before, sadistic sexual predator Malcolm Fairley nicknamed ‘The Fox’ had committed a series of burglaries, violent assaults and sadistic rapes which had terrorised the community; but also, residents of small towns tend not to dwell on the horrors on the streets around them, as living so close together, a person standing next to them in the butcher’s could easily be a cousin of the culprit or the dad of the dead, so they let it lie and move on. Unless it directly impacts their life, for the sake of retaining a sense of normality in a place where many people are directly connected or tenuously related, you can’t dwell on the past and risk the future. Samantha’s murder had occurred about 3am, the next day was a school day, and with Colin knowing that the kids would be awake within a few hours, having dragged her body from the bedroom into the bathroom, as hastily but also as quietly as he could, he set about disposing of his wife’s dead body. With the bath taps on to drain away the blood, using the serrated blade of a carving knife, he severed her arms at the shoulder, wrapped them in black plastic binbags and sealed them with electrical tape, he cut off her legs at the hip-joint and the knees and wrapped them likewise to limit the seepage, and dismembering her head from her torso, within hours, he had reduced the woman he loved to 7 pieces. With dawn slowly approaching and hearing an occasional creak as the kids stirred, throwing out bags of frozen chips and daily tea-time staples, but not a jumbo pack of beef burgers, he made space in the freezer for her torso, but with it too tiny to stash her limbs and her head, they would remain in a shopping trolley in the garden until he could work out what to do with it. But first, he had to be a dad. That was the morning of Monday the 8th of February 1988. The storm was brewing, the bathroom had been cleaned and their bedroom was off-limits, as the kids got ready for school, but all of them were asking the question ‘where’s mum?’. She was the centre of their world, the warm and reliable sun they orbited around, and now, for no reason, she was missing. It is said, that day, Colin had cancelled his jobs, and with the kids at school or elsewhere; he disposed of the bedsheet, he cleaned the carpets, he threw away the knife, and as a decorator he used the tools of his trade to disguise his crime, but someone can’t simply vanish, especially in a small town like Tring. That day, neighbours thought it odd that Samantha didn’t leave her home on Kingsley Way, she wasn’t seen by the other mums at Dundale Infants School, or didn’t do any shopping on Tring High Street, and when they quizzed Colin about it, he stammered that they had quarrelled and said she’d left him, which made no sense at all, as – with no warning to her friends and her family – she had suddenly left everything she knew and had vanished into thin air, leaving behind her children, who she adored. As happens in every small town, word spread fast, and Colin began tripping over his own lies. For a full day, being surrounded by crying kids who couldn’t understand what was happening, the only proof of this dreadful murder remained in the fridge and in a shopping trolley in the back garden. The following night, Tuesday the 9th of February, using the early evening darkness of this stormy winter night, having backed-up his Transit van to his house, he loaded the body parts into the back, and drove half a mile north of Kingsley Walk to Little Tring Road on the town’s outskirts. Being a remote country lane surrounded by fields which seem to stretch as far as the horizon, with no streetlights, a few odd houses dotted sparsely and cars infrequently passing, he pulled up at an unspecified part of the road. Shielded by wind and rain as the storm reached its peak, no-one passing would have blinked an eyelid as this tradesman in overalls opened the side of his van, pulled out two big and unwieldy binbags, and tossed them into a ditch beside an unidentified field, as fly-tippers are a common curse in this stretch. But this wasn’t builder’s rubbish, it was the arms, the legs and the head of his dead wife. And as he drove off, heading away from his home, that begs several unanswered questions; why didn’t he bury them, why didn’t he disguise them, and why did her torso remain in the back of his van? Could he not bring himself to do toss it, had he been spooked by a passing car, or did he want to be caught? When murders happen, the culprit is rarely rational and in moments of panic, they seek out something or someone familiar, which may explain what he did next. Having already dismembered and disposed of everything except her torso, he called upon his friend in Hemel, Douglas Climson, a dustman who knew everywhere that locals dump their unwanted waste, and met him for a pint at The Beehive pub. Over what must have been a bizarre chat between two pals, Colin told him the version that Samantha had attacked him in his sleep, and threatened to go to the police for being a ‘dole cheat’, he asked for Douglas’ help in disposing of the body, but guilt got the best of him, thanks to his friend’s wise words. At around closing time, his pal convinced him to confess. At the old Police Station on Combe Street, a place more used to call-outs (at that time of night) for drunks, thefts and public urination, the duty officer must have thought he was being pranked when Colin said “I’ve murdered my wife and chopped her up”. But his red-raw eyes showed this wasn’t a lie, and he led the curious detectives to the van. He had parked it at the rear of The Bell public house at 51 High Street in Hemel, 10 minutes from his home where his children were asleep, unaware of what he had done, and how it would impact them. Just after midnight, licensee of The Bell, John Buteux, said “I was taking my dog for a walk after closing, everything was quiet. I came back and there were police everywhere”. Police approached the van, but before they opened the door, Colin stated “there’s no point in looking, I killed her”. Inside they found her torso, and on Little Tring Road he had guided them to the rest, which had already been discovered. Interviewed by Detective Chief inspector Richard Pottinger, Colin gave a full confession in-between bouts of tears, he told them of the attack, the ‘dole money’, and said “it’s been building up over a long period. I just went crazy”. He admitted to disposing of her body and the evidence, but when forensics examined the freezer, his clean-up hadn’t been that thorough, as having made space for her torso by binning several large bags of oven-chips, her blood was found on top of a jumbo box of beef burgers. Both men were arrested, his friend, Douglas was later released without charge, and with the blood a match for Samantha’s, as well as fingerprints and dental records, Colin was charged with her murder. Only his version of events wasn’t as accurate as he had claimed. The autopsy by Pathologist Dr Peter Canezis agreed that she had been beaten over the head with a hammer and stabbed six times with a six-inch blade, but Colin hadn’t done it to protect himself, as with no defensive wounds, the stab wounds were to her back so it’s likely he attacked her as she slept. Committed at Dacorum Magistrates Court, Colin plead guilty to manslaughter by provocation, sticking to his story about ‘dole money’, shame and a 3am attack by Samantha, even though everyone agreed that – as a loyal and dedicated mother and wife - she was quiet, kind, and ‘had the patience of a Saint’. Tried at St Albans Crown Court, although John Lloyd-Eley QC for the Prosecution and Anthony Hopper QC for the Defence put forward both sides of the case, with the evidence overwhelming, on the 9th of December 1988, the jury found him guilty of the murder of his wife, and he was given a life sentence. After 10 years inside, described as a ‘model prisoner’, ‘trustworthy’ and being reduced to Category D, 41-year-old Colin was transferred to Springhill Open Prison in Grendon Underwood. On Sunday the 28th of November 1999, having failed to turn up for 9pm roll call, it was determined he had fled prison, and although it was assumed that he would head to Tring to attempt to see his children, he headed in the opposite direction, and was arrested in Highbury, North London on the 27th of December 1999. Sent back to prison, having served 15 years, it appears that in 2004, he was released and lived in Queen’s Park, in 2013 he moved to Hemel, and with no reported death, his whereabouts are unknown. Although Samantha’s murder was horrific, the forgotten victims in this case were their five children; all were young, all had lost a mum and a dad, and all had their childhood stolen from them for what was said to be £52.59 a week. Tring Community Church held a service for Samantha, funds were raised for her orphaned children with Pastor Ian Walker as trustee, and the children were initially cared for at a community home in St Alban’s. Let’s hope that they found peace, and put this horror in the past. 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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