Thirdly, gentlemen, why was the head removed? Why had such care been taken to remove the stomach and intestines, leaving the kidney and the liver intact, and which are found to be perfectly healthy? Why such removal in order to prevent a pathologist from ascertaining that which might have shown the cause of death. Why was the shirt left on the trunk? Was it because there was no time to remove it?
One assessment of the crime, penned in 1952, asserted, ‘The dead man … probably belonged to the homeless and friendless class. Lacking head and hands, he was never traced. Neither was his murderer.’
The murder probably took place on 23–24 February. The body was cut up, perhaps by a slaughterman or a butcher, not necessarily anyone with medical training. A woman was probably involved; witness the female hairs on the trunk. The killing probably took place at or near Brentford, and the body parts were put in a number of containers. They were then distributed in places which would not connect them with the killer/s. So far, so good, but then there are the questions which are impossible to answer. Who was the victim, how was he killed, who killed him and why? We are never likely to know the answers with any certainty.
CHAPTER 17
Was there a Serial Strangler in Soho in 1935–1936?
I am reluctant to believe that these Soho crimes can be attributed to what is thought to be a criminal of the type of Jack the Ripper, who caused such consternation in 1888.
Prostitutes, as we have already seen in Chapters 12 and 14, are a very vulnerable class of people. Serial killers and murderers in London have preyed on them throughout the years. There was the infamous Whitechapel murderer in the East End in the late Victorian era, the poisoners Thomas Cream and George Chapman in the 1890s and 1900s, Gordon Cummins ‘the blackout Ripper’ in 1942, John Christie during 1943–53 and Jack the Stripper in the 1960s (out of which, only the first and last escaped the hangman). Each killed several women. There may have been a similar killer in London in the mid-1930s, too. Certainly three women, two of whom were prostitutes, were killed by the same method within a few months of each other and in the same district of London. No one was ever charged with their murders. On the other hand, several prostitutes were killed in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and these were probably all by different men. We shall now examine the three killings in order.
Soho was a centre of prostitution in London. On one occasion, a policeman saw 76 girls plying their trade on one stretch of roadway near Piccadilly. It was thought that they lived like that not because they had been lured into it by a ‘rotten man’ but because of greed for money and expensive clothes and laziness. One writer in the 1950s considered that ‘This type of crime is difficult to prevent or punish both because of the abnormal motive and of the mode of life of the victims most often chosen. … Throughout the more civilized 1930s, however, the prowling woman killer was horribly active in London.’
Josephine Martin, 1935
Mrs Josephine Martin, whose professional name was ‘French Fifi’, had been born in Russia and was 41 years old in 1935. She had lived in a flat in Air Street, Piccadilly, since 1933, paying £4 a week rent. Air Street was clearly a particularly unlucky place, as Martial Lechevalier had been killed here in 1924 and in 1931 this was where Dora Lloyd met her killer. Mrs Martin was a good payer and, at the time of death, she was not in arrears (ironically she had paid up to the day of her demise). She was described as being of a kindly disposition, and was rather emotional. She had married a Henry Martin, an English waiter, in 1919. The two had separated about six months later and he emigrated to America. He had not been heard of since. Mrs Martin had employed Felicitie Plaisant, an elderly widow, who was a foreigner too, as her house maid since February 1934. She was paid £1 per week, working from noon to 11.30 pm each weekday.
She had a regular visitor, one James Orr, a 33-year-old American who had lived in England since 1932, who came around for supper on most evenings. Occasionally he gave her money and they often had sex. Yet he had gone away to Nuneaton to be cured of his drink and drug addictions and had not seen her since 1 November 1935 (she had been given £7 by him two days earlier) and did not return to London for another week.
On Sunday 3 November, Albert Mechanick, a dancing teacher of Leicester Square, and Mrs Martin’s brother, visited her. He said that she complained of a little pain in her neck. She gave him some money to help him out, and had done at regular intervals previously. Yet she told him nothing about her own affairs and did not mention suicide. Detective Inspector Edward Warren noted that, three weeks previously, Mrs Martin had complained of being assaulted by a man in her flat. Apparently the man, a foreigner, had seized her by the throat, but she had not been injured and she was not afraid of him. Millicent Warren, her neighbour, had overheard her arguing with a client. Mrs Martin was heard saying, ‘Come on, give me the money first, bringing me up on a fool’s errand and then saying you’ve got no money, I’ve got business to do.’ Some words were then spoken in a foreign language. Shortly after the man left, Mrs Martin told her neighbour, ‘He was a bilk, coming up here and yet no money. What does he take me for. Did he think I do it for love? He pushed me on the bed and I shouted out. I wasn’t afraid of him.’
Her financial position was said to be shaky. Certainly she was in debt. She owed 40 guineas for one fur coat and 8 guineas for another one. These debts were being paid off at the rate of £2 a week. She also owed about £20 to another creditor. Her maid thought her total debts were just over £90. Mrs Martin’s own money was apparently put in the dustbin, boxes and between the foot of her stocking and her shoe. Marie Wilson claimed to have seen between £1 and £15 in the flat in the summer of 1935. Vera Barrett thought she had seen several pounds and jewellery in the top drawer. Yet these could have been temporary windfalls, perhaps gifts from Orr.
That afternoon, Sunday 3 November, at 5 pm, Mrs Martin spoke to a friend on the telephone. In the evening, Millicent heard her having a row with a man, who had just paid her £6. It was about 9.20 pm. One John Salter had seen her with a man on Regent Street, about an hour earlier, who was aged between 25 and 30, slim, clean shaven, about five feet six and wearing a grey suit. Charles Burgess had seen her on the previous night on Windmill Street, but the man she was with was about 40, five feet ten in height and wore plus fours. Presumably he was correct about the date? Even if he was not, it is not uncommon for two witnesses to give differing descriptions.
Great Windmill Street, 2008. Author’s collection
It seems unlikely, though, that he was the killer, as she was seen alive several hours later. At 12.30 am on the following day, she was seen in the Continental Cafe and appeared happy. Over an hour later, James Weller, doorman of Mac’s Club on Great Windmill Street, recalled refusing her entry, as unaccompanied women were barred. A conversation followed, perhaps for 20 minutes. Afterwards, she went to the Olde Friar’s Cafe on Ham Yard, had a coffee alone, and left sometime after 2 am. There was a light in her room from in the early hours of the morning, though when Millicent Warren knocked at the door, there was no answer.
Later that morning, the maid made her a cup of tea and then went upstairs. Here she found her mistress dead, lying on her bed. There was a silk stocking, with a yellow tassel attached to her jumper, which had been passed twice around her neck and she had clearly died from asphyxiation. Charles Burton-Ball, manager of the Globe Club, which was below the flat, was called by the maid to see the body, ‘Missus dead. Missus dead. Come up, come up.’ He and two companions did so, and then summoned help in the form of PC John Hill, just after midday. Dr Charles Burney, the police surgeon, noted that the dead woman’s left leg was bare, with the shoe and stocking removed. Her clothes had not otherwise been removed.
Spilsbury also examined the corpse and found a tattoo on the skin of her right thigh. It said ‘To my Caesar for ever until I die’. This was a reference to one Caesar May, a married man, who had lived with Mrs Martin in the mid-1920s, before being deported in 1927. He had last been seen in Brussels in t
he previous year, but despite enquiries made to the Brussels police, he could not be traced. Spilsbury also found bruises on her abdomen, shins and neck. A thin dental plate had been removed from her mouth and it lay near her throat, in three pieces. He concluded, ‘In my opinion, the deceased was forced down upon the bed where she was strangled by the right hand of an assailant. Consciousness was lost almost immediately and she was unable to struggle.’ He also thought that great pressure had been used and the attacker had put his knee on her abdomen during the assault.
But although Spilsbury believed this to be a case of murder, there was an alternative view. Was suicide a possibility? Some witnesses thought she was tired of life. On 18 October, she had said, when being fined for soliciting, ‘I’m fed up with this life. I’ve a good mind to finish with it. No money. Can’t get enough to pay the fines when we get taken. I’m sick of it all.’ It is also worth noting that there were no signs of disturbance in the flat, which a struggle would have caused, and there was no evidence that there had been an attacker or any other party in the room. Nothing was found under her finger nails, which, had she tried to remove a strangler’s hands from around her neck, however feebly, there would have been. One harsh, but perhaps true, assessment of her, was that she was ‘fat and ugly for a prostitute’. Her maid recalled that her mistress told her ‘of things being none too good’, being in debt to a number of creditors. James Orr wrote ‘She never made a lot of money at prostitution. She worked hard, but did not get many men and could not have had much money.’ Inspector Edwards wrote there were ‘many reasons which point to her having committed suicide’. Yet Spilsbury’s reputation, rightly or wrongly, carried all before it and it was his conclusion which was listened to.
Upon investigation, the police found that she had been seen with a young man on Regent Street on the night of her death. He was described as being tall with a fair complexion, and was wearing a mackintosh and a soft felt hat. He and Mrs Martin had taken a cab back to her flat at about 1–2 in the morning. The presumption was that he had killed her there. Unfortunately, the description given could have fitted hundreds of thousands of men in London. Furthermore, it was thought that the two people seen were Millicent Warren and her client, not Mrs Martin and hers. Mrs Martin had no regular clients and her customers included Chinese and coloured men.
Could Mrs Martin’s pimp of the previous year have been to blame? It would seem not. Mrs O’Brien, a former prostitute, claimed this was a man called Shaw, who was in his late 30s, with a round face, big brown eyes and a toothbrush moustache. Yet Mrs Martin adored the man, ‘I’m absolutely crazy about him. I love him and I’d do anything in the world for him and give him anything. I will kill anybody who tries to take him from me.’
Albert, her brother, was accused in an anonymous letter. This alleged that he relied on his sister for money and she had cut off his supply. ‘Why was Albert so frightened when the police let him go from Vine Street? He is still terrified and he might have a good reason for his fear.’ Albert had lived in England since 1902. He was apparently playing cards with his cronies on the morning of his sister’s death. In any case, if he was used to receiving money from his sister, why should he kill her? If she had ceased to give him money, he may have killed her in anger.
There were various theories as to why she was killed. One was that she was the victim of gang vengeance, allegedly after having given the police information about the activity of a French crime syndicate. There were talks with the French Sureté over her activities in France. Another explanation is that she was killed for her money; perhaps £150 in total. Yet this theory, which relies on her having accumulated a tidy sum, is contradicted by her having known money worries and debts; perhaps her killer believed she did have money. Sharpe wrote, ‘I believe “Fifi” was murdered by someone she took to her room on a monetary influence. Who the murderer was had not yet been established [he was writing in 1937] and may well never be.’
The inquest was held on 26 November at Westminster, being overseen by Oddie. The question of suicide was raised, but Spilsbury said that it had never been known that someone had strangled themselves with their own hand. He only knew of one textbook case in which this had been done, and that was not credited. The jury brought in a verdict of murder by person or persons unknown, such was Spilsbury’s apparent authority on matters relating to forensic science.
Other names were brought up after the inquest was over. One of the first was James Metcalfe, arrested on 28 December 1935 for assaulting and robbing a prostitute. However, ‘in spite of an exhaustive interrogation, he would not admit any knowledge of the affair’. One Dr Pastel of Welling was accused in an anonymous letter, but it was believed that this was written by a disgruntled former servant, and in any case he had an alibi for the night of Josephine Martin’s death. Edgar Bailey, a burglar, in 1937 said that Leon Brunnick was with Mrs Martin on the night of her death. Yet Brunnick could not be traced and no prostitute had ever heard of him, so Bailey’s story sounded unlikely. The police did not think he was a reliable witness, in any case, probably because he was a known criminal. Finally, in 1944, Henry Herzberg claimed Lucille Raymond/Dubois knew who the killer was. The woman, whose real name was Marie Lucie Dubois, who had several convictions, probably for prostitution, had lived at Maddox Street in London’s West End. However, the premises had been bombed in the war and her current whereabouts was unknown.
It is not absolutely certain that Mrs Martin was murdered. There are grounds for believing she committed suicide. However, murder cannot be ruled out. The subsequent deaths of other women in Soho, however, gave added credence to the latter supposition.
Maddox Street, 2008. Author’s collection
Marie Jeanet Cotton, 1936
Rather more is known of the antecedents of the second victim. She was born on 30 December 1892 in the Hospital of Saint-Brieuc, Cotes du Nord, France. She had been deserted at birth and had been looked after by Mr and Madame Hamonet in Le Ruzet en Illniac, Cotes du Nord, and was brought up by them. From the age of 13, she was employed as a domestic servant at various local farms. In 1920 she went with an English family to England. In January 1924, she married one Louis Cousins in Dartford, Kent. Cousins deserted her the following year and he died in Dartford in 1929. She went to London, being employed in domestic service, chiefly in West End restaurants. In 1936 she was employed as a servant to a barrister in Savile Row, and lived in a flat in Lexington Street, Soho, paying £1 17s 6d per week for the three rooms on the second floor. This was about two minutes walk from Mrs Martin’s abode. She was not a prostitute, as Sharpe observed: ‘Jeanet Marie Cotton was a woman of good character and there was no evidence that she had ever been otherwise.’ There were certainly no convictions against her for soliciting. Since 1930 she lived with one Carlo Stephano Lanza, an Italian cook at the Florence restaurant in Rupert Street, who was separated from his insane wife, and his 15-year-old son, Remo, who also worked in a kitchen. Initially they lived in rooms in Old Compton Street before moving to Lexington Street.
Lexington Street, 2008. Author’s collection
She was a superstitious woman. She had a number of books about fortune telling and the interpretation of dreams. She sometimes referred to signs of bad luck and carried about her a number of lucky charms. When any of these were broken, she became depressed.
At 1 pm on Thursday 16 April, Mrs Cotton finished her work at Savile Row. She went back to her flat. Lanza left for work at 4.30. Half an hour later, she was talking to Mrs Dorothy Neri, a neighbour, who was the last person known definitely to have seen her alive. Later that day a shocking discovery was made. Remo recounted the scene:
I got home about nine o’clock and when I entered the flat I called out Mrs Cotton, but got no reply. Going into the kitchen I switched on the light and then I saw Mrs Cotton lying on the floor. I called out to her, but she did not answer and when I touched her face it was cold.
Remo called for one Alfred Gibelli, a costumier who lived upstairs (he later cla
imed not to have heard or seen anything unusual hitherto). After the police had arrived, Lanza senior was called and he returned from work at about 9.30.
As with Mrs Martin, she had been strangled and there was a silk stocking round her neck. According to the doctor, death had occurred at 6.30 pm or perhaps a little beforehand. In the flat were card indexes giving the names and addresses of five managers of cinemas in the Midlands and the north of England. They were questioned and all claimed to know nothing of her.
Twenty detectives were initially put on the case. Three hours were spent in examining the dead woman’s room. The door of the flat was removed for scientific examination, for bloodstains were allegedly found on it. Unfortunately the only fingerprint that could be found in the flat was that of PC Rough. Chief Inspector Sharpe was the officer in charge. On the Monday following her death, the police issued a statement, asking for information, and distributed a copy of her photograph. Anyone wanting information was requested to contact the Commissioner at Scotland Yard.
Rupert Street, 2008. Author’s collection
Money was not the motive for this murder. Police found £14 in notes and silver in an open cupboard in the room in which the body was found. Nor had she been subjected to a sexual assault. Sharpe dismissed there being a link between her death and that of ‘Red’ Max Kassel, a notorious figure in the underworld, whose corpse had been recently discovered near St Albans, but who may have been killed in Soho. It was reputed that Mrs Cotton had been involved in the vice trade and her murder was in order to silence her. ‘Well this is base libel’, wrote Sharpe. Another senior detective on the case, Chief Inspector Hambrooke, said that the murder ‘cannot be associated with the usual class of murder’. Unfortunately, he did not write about the case in his memoirs.
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