Rettendon, a quiet village nestled in the Essex countryside, has found itself perpetually shadowed by the events of a winter night thirty years ago. What was once an unremarkable rural community became infamous as the site of the so-called Essex Boys murders—a crime that continues to intrigue, divide, and attract visitors from across the country, even decades later.
On that fateful night in 1995, the bodies of Tony Tucker, 38, Patrick Tate, 37, and Craig Rolfe, 26, were discovered inside a Land Rover on a deserted lane near White House Farm in Rettendon. According to Essex Live and The Sun, the trio were known as small-time gangsters, notorious for their involvement in the local drug trade and for peddling ecstasy in Essex nightclubs during the height of the 1990s rave scene. Their violent demise—a brutal execution by shotgun—sent shockwaves through the village and the nation, marking the spot as, in the words of The Sun, “the most notorious crime scene in British history.”
The police investigation quickly focused on Michael Steele, nicknamed the “Angel of Death,” and Jack Whomes, both established figures in Essex’s criminal underworld. The two were convicted in 1998, largely on the testimony of Darren Nicholls, a police informant who claimed to have acted as the getaway driver. Nicholls, arrested with 10kg of cannabis, testified that he watched Steele and Whomes lure the trio to the remote lane under the pretense of a drug deal, only to ambush and kill them in cold blood. His account, however, has been the subject of enduring controversy and skepticism.
“You must bear in mind it was in his own interest to become a prosecution witness—he hopes to get less time to serve,” the trial’s presiding judge, Mr Justice Hidden, cautioned at the time, as reported by The Sun. Later appeals revealed that Nicholls may have received up to £15,000 for a book deal and had a “corrupt” relationship with his police handler. In prison, several inmates claimed Nicholls admitted to fabricating parts of his testimony. One such witness recalled, “He said the story he was supposed to tell in court was a pack of lies.”
Despite the convictions, both Steele and Whomes maintained their innocence throughout their lengthy sentences. Their refusal to confess meant they served the full minimum terms—Whomes was released in 2021, while Steele, now 82, was only released on licence in May 2025 and is prohibited from discussing the case publicly. Steele continues to assert, according to Parole Board documents cited by The Sun, that “the killing was organised by another criminal and a corrupt police officer.”
The case has never faded from public consciousness. Rettendon remains a pilgrimage site for true crime enthusiasts, many of whom were not even born when the murders occurred. Bill Theobald, 78, who runs the shooting range at White House Farm, recounts frequent encounters with visitors eager to see the murder scene. “Quite regularly, we would have someone knock on my door and ask where they were. A lot of them weren’t even born when it happened. It’s still got a lot of interest. When it happened, it was a massive upheaval in the village. It was a really difficult time,” Theobald told Essex Live.
His brother, Peter, alongside friend Ken Jiggins, were the first to discover the bodies. The shock of the event united the residents, but also left a scar. Theobald describes the attention as “quite morbid,” noting that visitors often request photographs at the site. “Time will help [people forget]. People will get fed up talking about it,” he adds, though the ongoing fascination shows little sign of abating.
Social media has only amplified the enduring intrigue, with countless videos and online communities dissecting every detail of the case. The murders have inspired numerous documentaries and even feature films, most notably Essex Boys (2000), starring Sean Bean. The village’s notoriety is so entrenched that, as local cricketer Chris Abrehart, 35, observes, “If I say to people that I’m from Rettendon that [the murders] is the first thing that they go to. I don’t think that will ever go.”
Yet, for those who live in Rettendon, life goes on. Abrehart describes it as a “nice village” with a strong sense of community, close to Rayleigh and Wickford, and possessing a Living Memory Memorial to honor those lost in frontline roles or conflict. “Within 10 minutes I can be on a train to London and I can be in a big city like Chelmsford or a small market town like Rayleigh. But in the summer you can feel that you are in the countryside away from the hustle and bustle of modern life,” he reflects.
Despite the case’s seemingly open-and-shut nature, skepticism and alternative theories continue to swirl. The Criminal Cases Review Commission is currently considering an application by a team of private detectives, as reported by The Sun. Some believe the murders were a revenge killing, possibly linked to the death of Kevin Whitaker in 1994—a theory put forward by Marie Tate, mother of victim Patrick Tate. She alleges her son and his associates killed Whitaker with a lethal drug injection, and his friends “avenged his death” in Rettendon. Police, however, found no evidence to link the two incidents.
Others, like Bernard O’Mahoney, former security at Raquel’s nightclub where the Essex Boys operated, have painted the victims as “failed drug dealers and low-life bullies” with many enemies. O’Mahoney initially doubted Steele and Whomes’ guilt, but later changed his stance after conversations with Whomes’ brother. He described the Essex Boys’ increasing hostility and violence, suggesting, “everyone who knew them [knew] what was going to happen.”
Some theories suggest a professional assassin was responsible, given the precision of the killings on a dark, unlit lane. Others point to a drug deal gone wrong, with the victims lured to the site with the promise of a large cocaine shipment, only to be ambushed. O’Mahoney recounted to Vice that “the trio had planned to rob the cargo, but the whole thing turned out to be a baited hook.”
As the 30th anniversary passes, Rettendon’s residents continue to live in the shadow of a crime that refuses to be consigned to history. While some hope that time will eventually dull the fascination, for now, the village remains both a symbol of rural tranquility and a magnet for those drawn to the mysteries of the past.
