The Boy in the River: A Shocking True Story of Ritual Murder and Sacrifice in the Heart of London
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A sandy-haired man in his fifties with a slightly nasal twang introduces himself as the curator. He explains that the museum dates back to 1874; it is the oldest establishment of its kind in the world. He then demonstrates, with some relish, how nooses are tied. He points to the wall where I see a row of them, all of which were used to hang some of Britain’s most notorious criminals.
As he talks I glance around. I can now see that there are two rooms, forming an L. Their spines and outside walls are lined with glass display cases, with larger objects on show between them. I can make out a badly stained apron, a bath and a large pot perched on an old cooker.
The curator reaches into a wooden box near the door and hands me a state-of-the-art audio handset. He points out the numbers displayed on each cabinet, and tells me that I can follow the exhibition in any sequence I like so long as I tap in the relevant digits on the keyboard.
Reggie and Ronnie, the infamous Kray twins, would have been pleased; they command twice the space of their fellow criminals. Newspaper cuttings and photos give mute testimony to the terror in which they held the East End of London during the Fifties and Sixties, alongside the gun Ronnie used to shoot fellow gangster George Cornell in the Blind Beggar. I feel slightly queasy, but move on.
A display devoted to the 7/7 London Bombers includes the items recovered from the car they left outside Luton railway station when they set off on their last journey, containers of bomb-making equipment found in their flat, a laptop used by one of the suspects and a rucksack similar to the ones they so devastatingly deployed.
I’m momentarily captivated by the bullet with which Mark David Chapman killed John Lennon, but when I ask the curator how or why it’s there he cannot – or will not – say. The ricin pellet recovered from the body of the Bulgarian dissident Georgi Markov is close by. Markov was waiting at a bus stop on Waterloo Bridge in 1978, en route to the BBC, when he felt a stinging pain in the back of his thigh. The deadly projectile had been fired from an umbrella designed by the Soviet KGB. There is a replica of the weapon alongside the actual pellet. The poison had been coated in a sugary substance designed to melt at 37°C, the temperature of the human body.
The bath I had spotted earlier is made of steel, and stands alongside a number of drums. It belonged to John George Haigh, the infamous acid bath murderer of the late 1940s. Close by is the cooker upon which sits the pot in which Dennis nilsen boiled the heads of his fifteen male victims in Muswell Hill between 1978 and 1983. A voice in my ear describes how Nilsen lured and dispensed with his victims.
There are medical instruments used by Harold Shipman, the biggest serial killer in British – if not Western – history, with over 200 alleged victims of his depraved ‘mercy killing’ spree. Dr Crippen’s display includes macabre remains recovered from his cellar. The blood-soaked apron belongs to John Reginald Halliday Christie, who murdered at least eight women, including his wife Ethel, in 10 Rillington Place between 1943 and 1953.
When I finally come across the Child B exhibit, I realize why I’m here. Chris appears at my elbow as I take in the sack that confined the little girl, a series of photos and the diary kept by her aunt, Sita Kisanga. The commentary describes my contribution to the unravelling of the case, and the twisted belief system that Child B’s torture had forced us all to confront.
Child B seems awfully lonely in this company. But the depravity of her treatment does not stand out here. I’m forcibly reminded that the world in which I work is not defined by race, culture, age or gender. Whether or not its darkest actions can be shielded from the full force of the law by claims of custom, diminished responsibility or insanity, the cocktail of ritual and manic fundamentalism, however horrifying, does not set it to one side. We cannot comfort ourselves with the thought that the heart of darkness lies beyond our horizon. It lies squarely within the world we inhabit, and within us.
I hand back my audio set and thank my guides. As I walk away from Scotland Yard through the gentle rain, my mind is not filled with images of acid baths and gangland killing – or even Child B – but once more with the case that isn’t there: the cold-blooded murder of the little boy we knew first as Adam, and more recently as Ikpomwosa. The boy in the river.
No expense was spared in the decade-long investigation. The people who were responsible for trafficking him and countless other children into this country have been sent down, but no one has been convicted of his killing. His death still haunts me. And I know I’m not alone.
The rain is falling heavily now. I pull my jacket more tightly around me as I picture again that innocent, smiling face: the victim of an unimaginable sacrifice, here in the heart of our capital city.
Acknowledgements
This book would not have been written without the unswerving friendship, dedication and loyalty of Mark Lucas at LAW. I owe you a debt of gratitude beyond words.
George Morley, Dusty Miller, Jon Mitchell, Tania Adams and the team at Pan Macmillan have been wonderfully enthusiastic and committed.
Joe Fiennes and Ken McReddie have also offered me their unflinching support and much-valued friendship through an often searingly painful process.
Others that deserve particular mention include my first editor and friend Tim, who showed me the way forward in the early days; Alice at LAW; Remy and Moise in Kinshasa; Claude in London; Sue, Faith, Caroline, Silas and the remarkable Elspeth who shared so much of this journey; my mother Audrey and siblings John, Jane and Jill.
Author’s Note
This is the story of an investigation with which I was involved for over ten years, and others that unfolded alongside it, during which time I found myself compelled to confront my own African tragedy. Three names, and some details, have been altered to safeguard the identity of those who might otherwise be put at risk.
Richard Hoskins is a research fellow in Criminology at Roehampton University. He has worked on many of Britain’s biggest criminal investigations and is the only registered multi-cultural expert on the national police database. His expertise has been called upon in over a hundred major investigations by police and social services. He divides his time between London and Devon.