Chapter 35

Dennis George Muldowney

1952

Krystyna Skarbek was a true heroine. Born in Poland on 1 May 1908, she was the daughter of a Count and grew up to marry Jerzy Gizycki, on 2 November 1938. Soon after this, Jerzy was sent to Ethiopia as a Consul and the couple were there, in Addis Ababa, when Hitler invaded Poland, on 1 September 1939.

Krystyna and her husband made their way to England where, soon afterwards, their marriage failed. Eager to fight in some way against the German invaders of her home country, Krystyna travelled to Hungary, where she met an old acquaintance, Andrzej Kowerski. Free from her husband, Krystyna fell in love with Andezej, who was just as determined as she was to fight against the Germans. In due course, they made contact with a group calling themselves the Musketeers, who decided that the couple could work for them. In all, they made three undercover visits to Warsaw, in order to collect valuable information for the Resistance, which they in turn sent on to London.

On the return to Hungary from their third visit to Poland, Krystyna and her partner were arrested by the Hungarian Secret Police, but they managed to escape. As experienced operatives, they then contacted the British Ambassador, Sir Owen O’Malley, who arranged, amongst other things, false British passports for them. From this time onwards, Krystyna would use her new anglicised name, Christine Granville.

Christine continued to work as an operative and sent back information from Turkey, Egypt and Palestine. It has been said that the information which she sent back to London enabled Winston Churchill to predict that Hitler was about to invade Russia.

From Egypt, Christine joined the Special Operations Executive. Transferred to Algiers she travelled by plane to France, where she landed, by parachute, on 6 July 1944. Soon afterwards, on 13 August, her commanding officer was arrested by the Gestapo, along with a major and a French officer. Held in a prison in Digne, they would, almost certainly have been executed, but Christine walked into the prison, claimed to be married to one of the prisoners and to be a niece of Field Marshal Montgomery. She then calmly informed the prison guards that she would make sure that they were all shot as war criminals if they harmed any of the prisoners.

After the war was over, Christine’s war service was recognised by many of the countries she had served. She was awarded the George Medal by Britain, the Croix de Guerre avec Palmes, by France, and also a medal from her native Poland. She was also given an OBE. There was, however, one problem: Christine could not settle after the war and found it hard to find a position that suited her.

For a time she worked as a saleswoman, in the dress department at Harrod’s store in London, whilst she lived at the Shelbourne Hotel, situated at 1 Lexham Gardens, Kensington. When that didn’t work out she took a job as a telephonist at India House, followed by a spell as a cloakroom attendant at a different hotel. Finally she took a new role, as a stewardess on a ship, the Winchester Castle, travelling between Britain and Australasia.

In May 1951, Christine travelled to the docks in London to join her latest ship, the Ruahne, which was about to sail. As she struggled up the gangplank with her heavy suitcase, a small, smiling man stepped forward and offered to help her. The man identified himself as Dennis George Muldowney and he said that he was a bathroom steward on the same ship. A friendship developed, which was to last until February 1952.

Though Muldowney would later claim that his relationship with Christine Granville was a full-blown, mutual love affair, it is highly likely that this was not the case. It may well be true that Muldowney fell hopelessly in love with the distinguished war heroine but, for her part, Christina saw him as a friend, nothing more.

After the ship had completed its round trip to New Zealand, Christine returned to London. Muldowney followed and on one occasion, he and Christine went to see a film at the cinema. Unfortunately, Christine brought along another friend, a man, and Muldowney managed to convince himself that this other man was obviously Christine’s lover. By now she had realised that Muldowney was obsessed with her and, in April 1952, she told him, in no uncertain terms, to leave her alone. Indeed, she refused to tell Muldowney where she was staying in London, and broke off all contact with him.

Muldowney was not to be dissuaded and determined on a course of action that would lead to tragedy. He bought himself a knife and a rubber cosh and began searching for Christine. He had decided that he would kill her and then take his own life by poisoning himself. Finally, in order to give himself time to find her, Muldowney left his job on the ships and took a position as a porter at the Reform Club in Pall Mall, London.

There were a number of location where Christine was known to frequent in London, including a Polish club. To Muldowney’s dismay, however, she seemed to be avoiding those places and it was by pure chance that he eventually discovered that she was staying at the Shelbourne Hotel in Kensington. On Sunday, 15 June 1952, Muldowney bumped into a mutual friend, who told him where Christine was living. It was time to put the murder plan into operation.

That same night, Christine went out for a meal with some friends. She had just decided to leave England and join Andrzej Kowerski, now known as Andrew Kennedy, who was living in Brussels. Her intention was to travel to Belgium the very next day. It was some time before 10.30pm by the time she got back to the hotel.

Josef Taduesz Kojdecki was one of the hall porters in the hotel and he was on duty that night. He heard someone coming into the hotel and, looking around, saw that it was Christine. He heard her running up the stairs, and, just two or three minutes later, saw a man enter the hotel. He would later identify this man as Dennis Muldowney.

Kojdecki went into the office for a minute or so and, when he came out, he saw that Christine had come back downstairs and was in the hallway, talking to Muldowney. Their conversation was none of Kojdecki’s business so he carried out with his work.

In the hallway, Christine had found Muldowney waiting for her. He stood in front of her, blocking her way, and asked if she would give him back the letters he had written to her. Christine said she was unable to do so, as she had burned them all. She then repeated that she did not want anything more to do with him, and asked him to leave her alone. She then went on to say that she was leaving Britain the following day. Muldowney asked her how long she would be away and she replied that she would be gone at least two years. Without a further word, Muldowney took out the new shiny knife he had purchased, and plunged it into Christine’s chest.

Christine’s dying scream brought two of the hotel porters rushing to her aid. One, Kojdecki, seized Muldowney and held him fast whilst his companion, Michal Perlak, telephoned for the police. It was all too late for Christine. The heroine of the Second World War lay dead on the floor of the Shelbourne Hotel.

Having heard all this commotion, the hotel manager, Bronislaw Antoni Hryniewicz, came to see what all the noise was about. He saw Christine, lying on the floor, with a knife embedded in her chest, up to the hilt of the handle. Bronislaw took the knife out and threw it onto the ground. He also brought some water and tried to get Christine to take some but it was clear that she was dead.

By the time Inspector Leonard Pearcey arrived at the hotel, it was 10.40pm. He found Muldowney being held, on the stairs, by Kojdecki and Perlak. Pearcey was with Constable Priest and Constable George Yarnold and the three officers escorted Muldowney into the lounge of the hotel. Having examined the scene and determining that Christine was dead, Pearcey said to Muldowney, ‘The lady is dead. What happened?’ Muldowney replied, ‘That’s the idea. I did kill her. She drove me to it. It is my knife.’

A few minutes after this, Constable Yarnold was guarding the prisoner when he saw Muldowney take a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and put it to his lips. There was a glint behind the material and Yarnold saw that Muldowney was trying to take some white powder from a bottle. The officer knocked Muldowney’s hand away, and confiscated the bottle.

Muldowney was held at the hotel for some time, while the police examined the scene. It was not until 2.45am on 16 June that Chief Inspector George Jennings arrived, to take charge of the prisoner. Told that he would be charged, Muldowney would only reply, ‘I killed her. Let’s get away from here and get it over quickly.’

Muldowney was escorted to the police station and charged with murder. The following day, 16 June, Dr Francis Edward Camps performed the post-mortem on Christine, at Kensington mortuary. He reported a single stab wound, some five-eights-of-an-inch long, below the top of the breast bone. The wound was five inches deep and had cut the heart itself. Christine would have been dead before her body hit the floor of the foyer.

Forty-one-year-old Dennis Muldowney faced his murder trial on 10 September 1952, before Mr Justice Donovan. The case for the prosecution was due to be led by Mr Christmas Humphreys but, in the event, his services were not required. Asked how he wished to plead to the charge, Muldowney replied, ‘Guilty.’

The learned judge asked Muldowney if he were fully aware of the consequences of such a plea and advised him to seek legal representation. Muldowney said that he knew precisely what the consequences were, and confirmed that he did wish to plead guilty. Given every chance, to at least try to save himself, Muldowney persisted in saying he was guilty. He was then sentenced to death and as the judge intoned the final words, ‘…and may the Lord have mercy on your soul’. Muldowney replied, ‘He will.’ The entire trial had lasted just three minutes.

Afterwards, the newspapers of the day were able to reveal something of the history of Dennis Muldowney. Born in Wigan, he had apparently had parents who were rather too fond of drink. There was no suggestion that they had mistreated their children, but Dennis had grown into a weak boy, who was frightened of the dark and of being alone. He had married in 1929 and had one son, but his wife divorced him in 1947 on the grounds of his cruelty. Apparently his sexual demands were too great, with Dennis often demanding sex three or more times each day. The wife had since remarried and her son, now twelve, knew nothing of his real father.

Muldowney refused to enter an appeal or to petition for the death sentence to be lifted. Nor did he show any remorse for what he had done. In a final letter, dated 11 September, Muldowney wrote to his brother James, who lived at 64 Caunce Street, Wigan. In that letter he said, ‘She asked for what she got.’

In the condemned cell, Muldowney could not have been described as a model prisoner. He showed contempt for his jailers, thinking them beneath him. He refused to get out of bed in the mornings, and often had to be forcibly dressed by the guards. He refused to go out on exercise, and complained that the food was of low quality.

On Tuesday, 30 September 1952, Dennis George Muldowney was hanged at Pentonville by Albert Pierrepoint, assisted by Herbert Smith. He had been given a drop of seven feet, three inches. In fact, this was a double execution, Muldowney being hanged alongside Raymond John Cull, who had murdered his wife, Jean Frances Cull, in Northolt, Middlesex, on 29 June.

Andrzej Kowerski, the man Christine had been planning to go to when she was killed, lived until 1968. He never married and, when he died, was cremated and his ashes were scattered near Christine’s, in London, at the Catholic St Mary’s cemetery. Finally, they were together.