Thirty-nine-year-old Derrick Johnson was happily married with a young son, and worked as the financial director of a successful shipping and logistics firm he’d co-founded called Leapfield Maritime Limited on Lanrick Road in Canning Town, East London, England. His job position had him handling the company’s accounts, which meant he often stayed late at the office to ensure everything was in order. His routine was predictable: if work ran long into the evening, he would always call home to reassure his son that he was safe and on his way.
Derrick’s work colleagues described him as affable and dependable, the sort who mentored employees and treated them as friends. There was no hint of enemies or hidden debts; his life was one of unassuming stability.
Tuesday, November 6th, 1990 began like any other day. Derrick arrived at the office for a full day of paperwork and meetings, bidding farewell to his family that morning with the promise of dinner together. As dusk fell over the East End, he remained at his desk, poring over ledgers under the harsh fluorescent lights. Around seven p.m., the building was emptying out, but Derrick stayed behind, perhaps to tie up loose ends on a shipment manifest or balance the books for the month.
Unbeknownst to him, intruders had targeted Leapfield Maritime for burglary. The firm dealt in maritime goods, and while not a high-value target, its offices held cash, documents, and perhaps valuables that caught the eye of opportunistic thieves. The perpetrators, believed to be at least two men, entered the premises under cover of darkness, likely through an unsecured rear door or window, exploiting the lax security common in such industrial spaces at the time.
What unfolded next was a scene of calculated cruelty. Derrick, startled by the intrusion, confronted the burglars. Rather than fleeing, they overpowered him, binding his hands and feet with rope scavenged from the office or brought with them. To silence any cries for help, they wrapped clear adhesive tape tightly around his nose and mouth, layer upon layer, until it formed an airtight seal. Left alone in the small, cluttered office, Derrick struggled desperately for air. Suffocation came slowly and agonizingly, his body convulsing against the restraints until life ebbed away. The killers, meanwhile, rifled through drawers and safes, making off with an undisclosed amount of cash and documents.
The absence of that expected phone call home set the alarm bells ringing. By nine p.m., with no word from her husband, Mrs. Johnson grew worried. She contacted colleagues and, eventually, the police. Officers arrived at Lanrick Road shortly after midnight, forcing entry into the darkened office. There, slumped in his chair amid scattered papers, they found Derrick, cold and still.
New Scotland Yard’s murder squad took charge immediately. Forensic teams combed the scene, noting the rope fibers, the adhesive residue, and faint footprints in the dust. No fingerprints were recovered, likely due to gloves, and the stolen items yielded little in the way of serial numbers or leads.
Witnesses from nearby pubs and streets recalled seeing two men loitering around industrial units that evening: one described as stocky with dark hair, the other taller and wiry. But descriptions were vague, and no one came forward with concrete identifications. The burglary angle pointed to a professional crew, perhaps casing multiple sites, but no matching crimes surfaced in the immediate aftermath.
By early 1991, with leads drying up, detectives turned to the public. On February 14th, 1991, Derrick Johnson’s case featured prominently on BBC’s Crimewatch UK, a staple program that had solved hundreds of cases through viewer tips. The episode generated over fifty calls, but none panned out into arrests. A £10,000 reward was offered, yet the trail went cold.
More than three decades later, Derrick Johnson’s senseless murder remains unsolved.
Crime Immemorial 