The Scissor Sisters Murder: Inside the Mulhall Sisters’ Brutal Killing of Farah Swaleh Noor and the Mystery That Still Haunts Ireland

Ice Studio
Aug 6
7 min read

Updated: Aug 17

Some crimes fade from memory after the headlines disappear. Others cling to the public imagination, refusing to let go. The murder of Farah Swaleh Noor by sisters Linda and Charlotte Mulhall is one of those cases.

It wasn’t just the killing itself that shocked Ireland. It was the brutality. The intimacy. The fact that two ordinary women — daughters, sisters, mothers — could cross into such monstrous territory. And even after the courts handed down justice, one haunting question remained: Where is Noor’s head?

I’ve returned to this case many times, pouring over Gardaí reports, witness statements, and trial transcripts. Every time, I feel the same chill. Not just because of what was done — but because of how much remains unknown.

The Victim: Farah Swaleh Noor’s Troubled Life

Before we examine the crime, we must confront a difficult truth: Farah Noor was not an innocent man plucked randomly from the crowd. He had a violent past.

Born in Somalia in 1967, Noor came to Ireland in the 1990s as an asylum seeker. His life in Dublin was marked by turbulence. He was convicted of violent crimes, including assaults on women. He struggled with alcohol addiction, often drinking heavily and becoming aggressive.

This is where psychology complicates the narrative. On one hand, Noor’s record made him a feared presence. On the other hand, the violence he endured at the hands of the Mulhall sisters turned him into something else entirely: a victim of a killing so gruesome it defied comprehension.

I often think about this paradox. Can someone be both a villain and a victim? In Noor’s case, the answer is yes. His past does not justify his fate.

The Sisters: Linda and Charlotte Mulhall

To understand this case, we must step inside the world of the Mulhall family.

Linda, 30, was fiery and outspoken. She had four children of her own, a chaotic personal life, and a reputation for volatility. Charlotte, 21, was quieter, less assertive, but deeply tied to her sister through loyalty and shared trauma.

The Mulhalls grew up in poverty in Dublin. Their father was abusive, their mother addicted to alcohol. Violence was part of the background music of their lives. By 2005, both sisters had experienced failed relationships, brushes with the law, and a sense of hopelessness that often clings to families trapped in cycles of dysfunction.

Psychologists call this trauma bonding: when shared suffering creates an almost unbreakable tie. In the Mulhall sisters, this bond became lethal.

March 20, 2005: The Day Everything Changed

That Sunday, Noor met up with Kathleen Mulhall — his girlfriend and the sisters’ mother. Together, they spent the day drinking. Linda and Charlotte soon joined. By evening, they had moved from pubs to Kathleen’s flat, alcohol flowing freely, tempers flaring.

Witnesses remember seeing them together: laughing, staggering, arm in arm. But behind the laughter was tension. Noor, drunk and volatile, reportedly insulted and threatened the sisters. Words escalated into violence.

At first glance, it might look like a sudden fight. But the events that followed suggest something darker: a collective unleashing of years of rage, humiliation, and resentment.

Charlotte grabbed a knife. Linda held Noor down. Blow after blow, the man was cut and stabbed until life drained from his body. The sisters would later claim they were pushed beyond reason — but was it self-defense, or an explosion of long-nurtured hatred toward men like Noor?

The Dismemberment: A Chilling Aftermath

Here is where the story twists into the grotesque. Killing a man in a fit of rage is one thing. What came next was something else.

The sisters dismembered Noor’s body. They used a kitchen knife and scissors to cut him into pieces. They stuffed limbs into plastic bags. They carried them through the city. And then — most hauntingly — they disposed of them in the Royal Canal.

I’ve walked by that canal. On a quiet day, the water reflects the sky, peaceful and still. But in 2005, passersby noticed black bin bags bobbing near the surface. Inside: human remains.

Noor’s arms, legs, and torso were eventually recovered. His head was not.

Even now, two decades later, the missing head feels like a hole in the story. Investigators dug through landfills, dredged waterways, searched remote sites — nothing. Without it, a piece of truth is forever lost.

Gardaí Investigation: Piecing the Puzzle

When Gardaí pieced together what happened, the sisters’ confessions sealed their fate. Forensic evidence matched the crime. Witnesses placed them with Noor that night. The Mulhalls themselves eventually admitted to the killing.

But here’s what always bothers me: their confessions about the disposal never lined up.

At times, Charlotte claimed the head was thrown into the canal.
Linda suggested it was hidden elsewhere.
Another account hinted it was given to someone for disposal.

Every version contradicted the last.

Detectives called it the “missing link.” Without the head, they couldn’t fully confirm the manner of death. For Noor’s family, it meant no closure. For investigators, it meant unfinished work.

The Psychology of the Sisters

This is where psychology sharpens the picture.

Why did two women — with no history of killing — commit such an atrocity?

Alcohol-fueled rage: Both sisters were heavily intoxicated. Alcohol lowers inhibitions and fuels aggression.
Learned violence: Growing up in an abusive household normalized aggression as a way to solve conflict.
Sister loyalty: The psychological pull of sibling co-offending is powerful. When one crosses the line, the other often follows.
Hatred of Noor: Accounts suggest both sisters despised him for how he treated their mother. Noor became a lightning rod for all their suppressed anger.

Psychologists later described the case as an extreme example of displaced rage. Noor wasn’t just Noor. He was every man who hurt them, every insult they endured, every trauma they never resolved.

The Trial and Sentencing

In 2006, Linda and Charlotte Mulhall stood trial for murder. Courtrooms were packed. Headlines screamed. Dublin held its breath.

The sisters did not deny killing Noor. Instead, their defense tried to frame it as manslaughter — a drunken fight gone wrong. But the sheer brutality of the dismemberment swayed the jury.

Linda was sentenced to 15 years for manslaughter. Charlotte received a life sentence for murder. Their mother, Kathleen, fled to England and was later convicted for assisting in cleaning the crime scene.

The public was divided. Some saw the sisters as monsters. Others saw them as products of their upbringing, trapped in cycles of violence they didn’t create.

The Missing Head: Ireland’s Lingering Mystery

And then, we return to the head. The part of the story no one can shake.

Investigators searched canals, rivers, landfills, and houses. Rumors swirled:

That it was buried under concrete.
That it was thrown into a bin collected by garbage trucks.
That it was taken as a sick trophy.

None of these theories were proven. The head vanished — as if swallowed by the city itself.

And here’s the haunting part: without it, the story never feels finished. Noor’s identity, his final moment, remains incomplete.

Community Reactions: Fear, Gossip, and Silence

Even today, people who lived near the Mulhalls recall the unease. Some remember seeing bin bags being carried late at night. Others admit they noticed strange behavior but kept silent, afraid of involvement.

In Ireland, the case became shorthand for horror. The sisters were nicknamed the Scissor Sisters — a tabloid label that turned real tragedy into something almost mythological.

But for Noor’s family, there was no myth. Just grief. Just unanswered questions.

What the Case Reveals About Ireland

This murder wasn’t just about one man and two sisters. It revealed deeper cracks in Irish society:

Cycles of poverty and abuse: Families like the Mulhalls lived on society’s margins, where violence felt ordinary.
Failures of support systems: Neither Noor nor the sisters had access to the kind of help that might have broken the cycle.
Media sensationalism: The “Scissor Sisters” nickname made the crime into spectacle, obscuring its human tragedy.

When I reflect on this, I see the case not just as an isolated horror but as a mirror. It showed Ireland the hidden lives of people pushed to the edges — and what can erupt when pain has no outlet.

Could the Case Ever Be Solved Fully?

The missing head remains the unanswered question. Could modern forensics find it? Possibly. Ground-penetrating radar, new DNA tools, and forensic genealogy could someday uncover remains.

But the trail is cold. Nearly 20 years have passed. Unless someone speaks — unless a witness breaks their silence — the head may never be found.

Conclusion: A Crime With No Closure

The Mulhall sisters’ murder of Farah Swaleh Noor is one of Ireland’s darkest true crime cases. Justice was served in court. But emotionally, socially, and psychologically, it remains unfinished.

A man died brutally. Two sisters destroyed their own lives. A family lost a son and brother. Another family lost daughters to prison. And through it all, the missing head remains an absence — a symbol of how some crimes never fully resolve.

As I close my notes, one thought lingers: some crimes don’t end with a verdict. Some end with silence, with something missing, with a truth buried too deep to ever resurface.