Welcome to a grim yet fascinating tour of the top 10 international murder mysteries that unfolded roughly a hundred years ago. Across continents, these baffling killings never saw a conviction, and the perpetrators have long since faded into oblivion. Yet the eerie details continue to captivate true‑crime aficionados, scholars, and anyone who enjoys a good, shivery story.
Why the Top 10 International Cases Remain Fascinating
From saloon‑strewn Wild West towns to bustling European boulevards, each case offers a unique window into the social, political, and cultural forces of its era. Whether it was a disgruntled lover, a jealous rival, or shadowy state actors, the motives remain as tangled as the clues left behind. As we count down, you’ll discover how history, rumor, and speculation have kept these cold cases alive in the public imagination.
10 Al Swearengen
Fans of the gritty TV drama Deadwood will instantly picture Al Swearengen as the foul‑mouthed proprietor of the notorious Gem Theater brothel. The series left viewers hanging, as its cancellation meant we never learned the ultimate fate of Swearengen and his cohorts.
Swearengen abandoned Deadwood in 1899 after the Gem burned down for a second time, relocating to Oskaloosa, Iowa, to stay with relatives. For decades the prevailing story was that a destitute Swearengen died in 1904 while attempting to hop onto a freight train. A 2007 discovery, however, points to murder rather than misadventure.
Jerry Bryant, a historical archaeologist at the Adams Museum, unearthed Swearengen’s obituary, which reported the former brothel‑owner discovered dead on a Denver street, his skull crushed by a heavy, blunt instrument. This contradicted the long‑held freight‑train legend.
Delving deeper, Bryant linked the fatal blow to a violent episode that occurred shortly after Swearengen’s twin brother Lemuel suffered a shooting near his Oskaloosa home—five bullets, no robbery, despite $200 on his person. Bryant posits the assailant may have confused Lemuel for Al, who had a more dangerous reputation, making revenge the most plausible motive. Although the killer’s identity remains a mystery, the evidence strongly suggests Swearengen was murdered, not merely a victim of circumstance.
9 James Douglas Edgar
During his prime, fellow golfers hailed James Douglas Edgar as a prodigy destined to dominate the sport. After early triumphs across Europe, he crossed the Atlantic in 1919, racking up three PGA Tour victories. Yet his promising career abruptly ended when he died under mysterious circumstances at just 36 years old in Atlanta.
On the evening of August 8, 1921, three men were driving home when they spotted a man sprawled on the street. One of the trio, 20‑year‑old reporter Comer Howell, recognized the injured figure as Edgar. The man bore a bleeding wound on his left leg, prompting Howell to exclaim that Edgar had been struck by a passing car.
The newspapers seized on the hit‑and‑run narrative, but Howell himself harbored doubts despite being the one to announce the story. A forensic exam revealed no broken bones—only superficial scrapes and bruises. The cause of death was rapid blood loss from a tiny wound that severed the femoral artery.
Convinced that Edgar had been murdered, Howell launched his own investigation. Though he never identified a suspect, he uncovered a potential motive: Edgar’s penchant for drinking, gambling, and extramarital affairs. A scorned lover or a jealous husband would have had ample reason to silence him.
8 Montrouge Torso Murder
Saint‑Pierre‑de‑Montrouge, a modest Parisian church erected in the mid‑19th century, usually offered quiet solace. That serenity shattered on a November morning in 1886 when locals discovered a gruesome, headless torso abandoned on the church’s doorstep.
The dismembered corpse was missing its head, both legs, and the right hand. Its uterus had been removed, and the right breast was sliced off. Although the victim’s identity was never confirmed, police determined she was a young woman, most likely a prostitute.
The horror deepened when investigators noted eerie similarities to a series of torso murders that plagued London from 1887 to 1889. In those years, four women were mutilated, their bodies—or parts thereof—discarded around the city, especially in the Thames. Modern crime enthusiasts have linked the Montrouge case to those London killings, suggesting a single, mobile perpetrator.
Some “Ripperologists” argue that Jack the Ripper, already infamous for his Thames‑area victims, could have been responsible for the Parisian torso, potentially marking it as his earliest known murder.
7 Ottavio Bottecchia
After serving as a bike messenger during World War I, Ottavio Bottecchia rose to prominence in competitive cycling, clinching numerous Italian titles. He later moved to France, and in 1924 he became the first Italian to win the Tour de France. Three years later, his life ended abruptly near the tiny village of Peonis, Italy, where he was found dying by the roadside with a cracked skull and multiple broken bones.
The official autopsy declared sunstroke the culprit, suggesting the cyclist collapsed and slammed into a fence. Yet investigators noted the bicycle was propped against the fence without any damage, casting doubt on the sunstroke theory and eliminating the possibility of a vehicular collision.
Over the decades, several dramatic narratives have emerged. One death‑bed confession from an Italian man living in New York claimed he was a hired assassin who killed Bottecchia. Another farmer confessed to hurling a rock at the cyclist, mistakenly believing he was stealing grapes.
The most tantalizing hypothesis implicates Mussolini’s fascist regime. Although Bottecchia never openly opposed the dictator, his well‑known socialist sympathies and massive popularity made him a potential threat. Supporters of this theory point to the rapid closure of the official investigation as evidence of state‑sanctioned suppression.
6 Haim Arlosoroff
As a leading Zionist figure, Haim Arlosoroff amassed a host of enemies ranging from Nazis and Arabs to rival Zionist factions, and even ordinary criminals. On the night of June 16, 1933, Arlosoroff checked into a Tel Aviv hotel and strolled along the beach with his wife, Sima. Two men approached them, asked, “How much was the time?” before one of them brandished a gun and shot Arlosoroff.
Police quickly zeroed in on Avraham Stavsky, a member of the Revisionist Zionist group Betar, as the prime suspect. Two alleged accomplices—Ze’ev Rosenblatt and Abba Ahimeir—were also arrested. Stavsky was initially convicted and sentenced to death, though his conviction was later overturned on appeal.
Another suspect emerged in Abdul Majid, an Arab local who confessed to the murder while incarcerated for another crime. He later recanted, claiming he had been bribed by Stavsky’s allies. He subsequently withdrew his retraction, creating a tangled web of conflicting statements. Some observers point to the odd phrasing of the question “How much was the time?” as evidence that the shooter was not a native Hebrew speaker.
The most sensational theory implicates Magda Friedlander, Arlosoroff’s former neighbour and lover, who later married Joseph Goebbels. Supposedly, she ordered the hit to protect her reputation, fearing exposure of their affair would damage her standing.
5 Honour Bright
Just three years after the Irish Civic Guard’s formation in 1922, the force found itself embroiled in a sensational murder case involving one of its superintendents. The victim, Lizzie O’Neill—a prostitute who worked the Liberties district of Dublin under the alias “Honour Bright”—was discovered early on June 9, 1925, in Ticknock, far from her usual haunts, with a bullet through her heart.
According to another prostitute, she witnessed O’Neill that night when a man approached, paid her ten shillings, and begged for assistance locating another prostitute who had robbed him earlier. He warned that his friend, waiting in a grey sports car, was a superintendent who would “round up everyone” if the stolen items were not recovered.
Since automobiles were rare in 1925, investigators traced the vehicle to Dr Patrick Purcell. His associate, Superintendent Leo Dillon, was also implicated. Purcell claimed he last saw Bright boarding a taxi and leaving alive. Police tracked the taxi driver, who testified that the grey sports car was waiting at Leonard’s Corner when he dropped O’Neill off, not when he picked her up.
Both Purcell and Dillon faced murder charges, but their defense argued the taxi driver’s testimony was fabricated. Ultimately, a jury acquitted them due to insufficient evidence. Their careers suffered irreparably, yet no other individual was ever convicted for O’Neill’s murder.
4 Erik Jan Hanussen
Erik Jan Hanussen, a self‑styled clairvoyant and mentalist, dazzled German audiences during the 1920s with feats that seemed to defy natural law. His charisma even attracted Adolf Hitler, who became an avid follower after Hanussen predicted Hitler’s rise to Reichschancellor.
Hanussen cleverly catered to Hitler’s fascination with the occult, even offering the future dictator lessons in psychological manipulation and subtle gesturing for public speeches. When the Reichstag fire erupted, rumors swirled that Hanussen had hypnotized the arsonist, Marinus van der Lubbe, into setting the blaze.
After Hitler assumed chancellorship, the Nazis seized absolute power. On March 25, 1933, Hanussen was assassinated; his body was swiftly dumped outside Berlin. No concrete evidence links the Nazis to the killing, leaving room for speculation.
Motives for his murder abound. First, Hanussen’s true identity—born Hermann Steinschneider, a Moravian Jew—contradicted his aristocratic Danish façade, a fact the Nazis would have wanted to erase. Second, he may have possessed damaging knowledge of Nazi involvement in the Reichstag fire, making him a liability. Some suggest high‑ranking Nazis such as Goebbels or Goering wanted him silenced, either to settle unpaid debts or to remove a close confidant of Hitler.
3 Cecil Hambrough
The Ardlamont mystery of 1893 unfolded as a high‑profile murder trial in Edinburgh, later sparking a famous defamation case in London that became a landmark in libel law. The drama began when Alfred John Monson arrived at the Ardlamont Estate in Argyll, Scotland, to serve as a private tutor for 20‑year‑old Cecil Hambrough.
On August 10, 1893, the pair went hunting, accompanied by Monson’s friend Edward Scott. Witnesses reported hearing a gunshot, then seeing Monson and Scott return with their firearms. When questioned, they claimed Hambrough had accidentally shot himself while scaling a fence.
An investigation soon turned the spotlight on Monson. Initially, he was not a suspect, but the case shifted dramatically when it emerged that Hambrough had taken out two life‑insurance policies naming Monson’s wife as beneficiary, signed only days before his death. This clear financial motive propelled Monson into the role of prime suspect, and he was subsequently charged with murder.
Public opinion deemed Monson guilty, yet the jury remained unconvinced, even after famed surgeon and Sherlock Holmes inspiration Joseph Bell testified against him. The Scottish verdict of “not proven” allowed Monson to walk free. A year later, Madame Tussauds displayed a wax figure of Monson in its Chamber of Horrors, prompting him to sue for “libel by innuendo.” He won a token farthing in damages, cementing the case’s place in legal history.
2 Gareth Jones
Welsh journalist Gareth Jones earned renown by covering some of the early 20th‑century’s most consequential events. He witnessed Hitler’s ascension to chancellor in Leipzig in 1933 and later gained fame for reporting on the Soviet famine, the Holodomor, that same year.
His investigative work earned him powerful enemies, resulting in a lifetime ban from the Soviet Union. Undeterred, Jones turned his attention to Asia, eventually traveling to Manchukuo—a Japanese puppet state now part of China—to probe the Japanese occupation.
Accompanied by German journalist Muller, Jones attempted to secure cooperation from Japanese authorities but was rebuffed. Both journalists were captured by Chinese bandits; the plan was to hold them for ransom. However, Muller was released a few days later, while Jones was killed on August 12, 1935, before any ransom demands were met.
The circumstances of his death remain hotly debated. Some argue the bandits acted on a tip from Japanese forces eager to avoid diplomatic scandal, noting that Japanese soldiers allegedly guided the journalists along a “safe” route. Others contend Soviet retaliation was at play, citing investigations that both Jones’s Chinese contact and Muller were NKVD agents who lured him into a trap.
1 George Harry Storrs
The murder took place on November 1, 1909, at Gorse Hall, a prominent estate in Stalybridge, east of Manchester. Wealthy businessman George Harry Storrs was at home with his wife and niece when an unknown intruder forced his way inside, brandishing a gun. A scuffle ensued between Storrs and the assailant. The women fled to fetch help, and upon returning they discovered Storrs slain with fifteen stab wounds.
Initial suspicion fell on his nephew, Cornelius Howard, whom Mrs. Storrs was convinced was the murderer. Howard was arrested and placed in a police lineup, but his defense presented witnesses who testified that Howard had been in Huddersfield that night, participating in a domino tournament, providing him with an alibi.
Police then turned their attention to Mark Wilde, a known knife attacker who had assaulted a young couple. Although Wilde lacked an alibi for the night of the murder, he was ultimately acquitted due to insufficient evidence. No further suspects were formally charged.
Rumors persisted about two foreign visitors who arrived in Stalybridge shortly before the homicide and vanished afterward. Some speculated they were relatives of Maria Hohl, a German governess who allegedly had an affair with Storrs and subsequently took her own life after discovering she was pregnant with his child. Contemporary amateur historian Anthony Dawson argues that Alfred Derrick, matching the description given by eyewitnesses, was the true culprit—suggesting a burglary gone disastrously wrong.