Welcome to Murder Mile.

Today I'm standing on Kental Road in Westbourne Grove, W-10.

Three streets north of the unsolved killing of Emmy Werner.

One road east of the drowning of Linda Cunningham, two streets west of the sad end to minibary,

and a short walk from West London's Ladykiller, coming soon to Murder Mile.

In the shadow of Trelik Tower, on the bank of the Grand Union Canal, sits meanwhile Gardens.

A thin strip of green, in a grey man-made jungle, where drunks get pickled in a sea of

strong Polish lagers.

A line of baggy pants skaters take turns to fail to do a simple trick.

Patenings are ruined, as the scotch eggs get coated in a choking smoke, as the belching

trucks are all by, and gangs in grey mother-care tracksuits strut about, like mummy forgot to

change their nappies.

As part of the 1960s slum clearance, before Trelik Tower was built, a series of canal-side

terraces were scheduled to be demolished, making way for meanwhile Gardens.

In 1969, a hundred and forty-censor road was just another Victorian three-story terrace,

with smashed windows, no door and a leaking roof.

Being weeks away from its destruction, it was in the back room of this damp, derelict

hole, that the body of a 53-year-old prostitute, known as Scotch Maggie, was found.

As an outcast of civilised society, this forgotten woman, had been used up, spat out, and

dumped alongside a mess of abandoned rubbish.

Maggie's death was the epitome of tragic, but who would kill her, and why?

My name is Michael, I am your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile.

...