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In February, 1942, a woman was found strangled in a London air raid shelter. Chief Superintendent Frederick Cherrill, head of Scotland Yard's revolutionary fingerprint division, knew just how well the wartime blackout concealed crime. But this was a brutal, senseless killing with few clues, no apparent motive-and no sign of the terror to come.
The nightly air raids had darkened London's neon dazzle but not its urge to live it up. With death a daily possibility, drinks and sex were everywhere. But one man had other urges. Over a five-day period, he murdered with a lightning-fast ferocity that stunned and baffled investigators. Dubbed "The Blackout Ripper," he left few clues in his bloody wake-until a slip-up revealed his true identity, and shocked a city that thought it had seen it all.
The nightly air raids had darkened London's neon dazzle but not its urge to live it up. With death a daily possibility, drinks and sex were everywhere. But one man had other urges. Over a five-day period, he murdered with a lightning-fast ferocity that stunned and baffled investigators. Dubbed "The Blackout Ripper," he left few clues in his bloody wake-until a slip-up revealed his true identity, and shocked a city that thought it had seen it all.