Preserving the scene and meticulously collecting forensic evidence at the site of a suspicious death provides the best chance of uncovering the truth about what happened. When an investigation falters in its earliest stages, incorrect assumptions can lead to contamination of the crime scene, creating a devastating ripple effect that could ultimately allow someone to get away with murder…

The tide was starting to come in, and the sun was setting over Saltburn-by-the-Sea in North Yorkshire. A woman sat on a bench on the promenade, waiting for her son to join her so they could walk home together. Quite often, the sea was dotted with surfers, but not that day. The woman pulled her jacket tightly to shield herself from the icy coastal winds as she stopped and waited…

Susan Allan had just returned from her lunch break when she heard Gary, the shop owner, calling her name from the street outside. She rushed out of the shop and saw a customer she had been chatting with earlier that day walking towards a car parked in an alley. Thinking that the man had stolen something, Susan quickly took out her phone and snapped a photograph of him. At the same time, Gary told her, “He’s stabbed me”. As Susan was repeating exactly what her boss said to a 999 operator, Gary added, “With a needle”...

Two officers from the Metropolitan Police were already dealing with an incident when they were asked to come and assist an unconscious woman lying on a park bench. They refused, leaving her alone, a decision that would have devastating consequences...

Constable Thomas Lockley was working the early shift at Streetly station when he received a message from Little Aston cafe. He set off in his patrol car, and as the constable approached the cafe, he noticed a teenage boy on a bike peddling away with urgency. PC Lockley slowed his vehicle and rolled down the window. The boy quickly acknowledged him and, before even taking a breath, words tumbled out of his mouth: “It’s at Brinton Kennels. Somebody had been in and they’ve knocked her about. She is in a mess… I found her in the bathroom. She was stark naked”...

Darren Linton got off the number 469 bus at the Brewers Arms on Bell Lane and waved goodbye to his grandmother Shirley, who was still on board. They had arranged to meet up to go shopping that weekend, something they enjoyed doing together, especially if they came across a record store. Earlier that day, they had visited Darren’s mother, Beryl, who was in the hospital. On her journey home, Shirley had to get a connecting bus at the Interchange station in Bury, Greater Manchester. Sometime later, when that second bus pulled in at the station, there was no sign of Shirley… 

The children had just been dropped off at school. They would already be in their first lesson of the day by the time their mother got home. Surely she would have 15 minutes to herself to have a shower before he arrived?…

When asked if they wanted to visit the property on Cromwell Street, the jury were unanimous in their decision. They were transported to the scene by bus. The windows were covered, and jurors were told not to talk to anyone. The route they would make on foot, from the rear of the house, into the building, was shielded from view. It was vital the numerous camera crews still filming the property did not record the jury. They walked, single file, from the top of the home, moving down, floor by floor, until they reached the cellar and the horrors that were perpetrated within it. White ribbons marked where each body had been found…

A familial match had been identified on the National DNA Database after all this time. Finally, investigators would know who she was and who he was—the baby boy named after the woodland where he was found nearly three decades earlier…

Clarice Reyes groggily checked the time—it was just after 5 am. She lived on the seventh floor of the Leabank building in Marsh Farm, an area of Luton in Bedfordshire. It was the heavy thudding coming from the flat above that roused Clarice from sleep. The noise, like the sound of a scuffle, came from the eighth floor. Exasperated, she dragged herself out of bed and followed the commotion upstairs, stopping outside flat number 82…

Wilfred Owen’s infamously chilling poem, written about a gas attack in WW1, is still a stark reminder of the brutality of war over 100 years later. A small segment of Dulce et Decorum est reads, 

“Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind,

Drunk with fatigue, deaf even to the hoots,

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind”…

Was the physical and mental trauma of such horrors enough to drive a young man to kill when he returned home from war?…

Louisa and Alfred Merrifield were jointly accused of murdering their landlady and employer, Sarah Ann Ricketts. Yet, as the trial unfolded—and Alfred took the stand after his wife—it became clear that they were not being treated equally. In this third and final instalment, we delve into the stark divide in how their stories ended: one concluded in the courtroom, while the other’s life was hanging in the balance… (Part 3 of 3).

Amid the strange circumstances surrounding the death of a frail elderly woman, suspicion falls on her housekeeper. As Sarah Ann Ricketts’ final days are dissected in court, questions still linger. Did she pass away naturally in her sleep, or was she callously murdered with rat poison?... (Part 2 of 3).

With the peak of the summer season a few months away, boarding house manager Jessie Brewer was spending her downtime reading the morning paper when she saw an article about the death of an elderly woman who lived in the district. Her eyes widened at the part of the article where it listed April 14th, 1953, as the date of the woman’s death. Jessie was familiar with the deceased named Sarah Ann Ricketts, but she was surprised, as Jessie had been told that Sarah had passed away days before that… (Part 1 of 3).

In the darkness, he could only make out a silhouette. It was nearly impossible to see their features clearly through the shattered glass of the conservatory. Perhaps it was his son, who was on leave from the army. Only a few moments earlier, Graeme had been fast asleep, and now he was downstairs, and the floor of his home was soaking wet, reeking of petrol…

The witness described a man in his 20s, just shy of six feet tall, with a gaunt face and light-coloured hair. Though uneasy, the passerby—out for a quiet walk along the River Aire—was quickly reassured. The man, standing over a pale woman crumpled in the grass, said she had simply fallen. The man offered his name and explained that he knew where the woman lived. Perhaps out of politeness and a desire not to pry, the witness continued on her journey. Unable to shake the feeling that something was not right, she raised the alarm. However, by then it was too late…

Joseph McCann carried out two sprees of horrific sexual and violent crimes in Hertfordshire, London, Cheshire, and Greater Manchester. It was a matter of urgency to get him off the streets for the public's safety. No one in England was safe until he was behind bars. McCann had victimised both male and female, child and pensioners; there was no telling where or who he would target next. Eventually, he was apprehended and a date was set for his trial… (Part 3 of 3).

A large-scale manhunt was launched after a man abducted and sexually assaulted three women over the course of four days. Joseph McCann was publicly identified as the only suspect in the case. He had stayed under the radar for over a week. When he emerged, it was for the worst possible reason. McCann was going to carry out a 12-hour crime spree… (Part 2 of 3).

The purpose of the criminal justice system is to uphold the law and protect the innocent. Public bodies, including the Crown Prosecution Service, the police, and the prison and probation system, should work together to ensure justice for all while being fair to those accused and convicted. There are occasions when things go wrong and result in devastating consequences… (Part 1 of 3).

The full moon painted the sea in silver; its light rippling gently across the water. From his perch on West Cliff, a local photographer heard sudden screams from the shoreline below. The darkness concealed whatever was unfolding. He was puzzled but not alarmed. The screams stopped almost as quickly as they had started. Not overly concerned, he packed up his equipment and began heading home. As he turned, a figure peeled away from the shadows near the top of the steps leading down to the beach. The young man passed beneath a streetlight, and something about his facial expression struck fear into the photographer…