Kidnapped

by Mark Tedeschi

  3

  TESTING METTLE

  On the morning of Thursday, 7 July 1960, Stephen Bradley arose early while his wife and children were still asleep. He was comforted to think that by the time he returned home, they would be on their way to Queensland, leaving the house vacant and available to him. He took a family picnic blanket from the boot of his Ford Customline and opened it neatly on the back seat. Then he drove from Clontarf to Bondi, arriving at about 8.15am. This was a routine he had followed many times before when conducting surveillance of the Thorne family in preparation for today. He was quite sure that his observations of the Thorne home had not aroused any suspicions, and he was confident that he had allowed a sufficient time after his visit to their door for their memories to fade. This time, of course, was different – a fact reinforced by his racing heartbeat. His emotions reminded him of the times many years earlier in Hungary when he had walked through the streets of Budapest, past Gestapo officers, feigning a lack of concern for his safety. Today was also very much a test – of his mettle, his meticulous preparations, and his ability to anticipate and allow for every eventuality that could arise during such a potentially perilous undertaking. It was as though everything he had done in his life so far had been in preparation for the events of today. He felt hyper-aware and his nerve endings were suddenly super-sensitive, as though he could detect the slightest change in the wind or the air temperature, but at the same time he felt a calm resolve, as if his destiny had finally arrived.

  Bradley parked his car in Francis Street, right at the intersection of Wellington Street, where he had observed Graeme walk every day. Any person crossing on that side of the street would have to walk right past his car. He then settled back in the driver’s seat to await the arrival of his intended victim. Bradley was unperturbed by the fact that he was using his own car or that he was undisguised. His Customline was one of thousands in Sydney alone. On this cold winter’s day, he was wearing an unremarkable grey gabardine overcoat and had a plain felt hat to cover his head. He was quite convinced that if everything went according to plan and the boy got into his car, it would be an event so unremarkable that no one would pay it the slightest attention. He hadn’t removed or covered the number plate on his car, because he felt that doing so would be more likely to attract attention. He had, however, taken the precaution of wearing driving gloves to avoid the possibility of leaving fingerprints on Graeme or his possessions.

  Bradley sat in his car waiting for the familiar figure of the boy to appear. Based on his previous observations, he expected Graeme to walk past at around 8.25am.

  * * *

  That day began very early in the Thorne household. Bazil left before 6am to catch a plane from the airport at Mascot to the North Coast town of Kempsey on one of his frequent business trips as a commercial traveller. After he had gone, Freda made up Graeme’s school lunch, making sure that his sandwiches were neatly cut in half and his apple was peeled, with the skin carefully placed back around the fruit, so it would not turn brown before he ate it. Then began the busiest part of the morning when Freda got her two children up and ready for the day. This entailed helping three-year-old Belinda to get dressed, while Graeme got ready for school. Both children then sat together to eat the breakfast that Freda had cooked for them. Graeme was unusually late that morning, and his mother bustled him out of the house at 8.30 with a peremptory goodbye, worried that he might hold up her friend, Phyllis Smith, who routinely picked him up to take him and her own two sons to school at Scots College in Victoria Road at Bellevue Hill.

  It was a financial struggle for Bazil and Freda to send their son to Scots, but it was a sacrifice they willingly made to ensure he received a good education in the Scottish Presbyterian tradition, which they admired, despite the fact that both their families were of English origin. In addition, it was close to their home. Like most parents, they hoped that their son would have better opportunities than they had had – having lived their formative years during the Great Depression and the Second World War.

  Graeme walked down Wellington Street towards the corner store where, as usual, he planned to buy a packet of chips before being picked up by his mother’s friend, Mrs Smith. The trip in her car normally took around ten or fifteen minutes, depending on the peak hour traffic. Graeme was dressed in his grey school uniform with a cap and was carrying his school case, which contained his lunch, school books and a few odds and ends. As he walked down Wellington Street, one of his friends, twelve-year-old Peter Sneddon, who was being driven to school, waved to him.

  * * *

  As soon as Bradley saw Graeme approaching, he opened his driver’s-side door to step outside and position himself where he could interact with the boy. As he did so, a car approaching the corner from behind him on the same side was forced to deviate slightly to pass the stationary Customline with its open door. This did not concern Bradley, as events like this were commonplace, and he deliberately chose not to look at the passing car or whoever was inside it, so as not to draw any additional attention to himself.

  * * *

  As Graeme crossed Francis Street and came within a yard or two of a parked car, a man who was standing by the open front passenger door said to him: ‘You must be Graeme.’ Graeme nodded, and the man continued: ‘I’ve been sent to pick you up to take you to Scots, because the lady who normally picks you up is sick. Her two boys are already at school, and I’ve been asked to pick up you and another boy. Your mother, Freda, has been told, so you’d better get into the car, then we’ll pick up the other boy and I’ll drop you off at school.’ Graeme looked at the man, who was smiling kindly at him, and thought to himself that he looked like someone’s father. The fact that the man knew his mother’s name and his school gave him an air of authority and authenticity that disarmed Graeme sufficiently to dismiss any concerns. Not for a moment did he think back to the many times his parents had told him that he should never, ever, go with a stranger. This was no stranger. This was a friend of his mother’s friend.

  Without any hesitation or apprehension, Graeme walked the few steps to the front passenger door of this slick-looking car, which was being invitingly held open by the man who had spoken to him. Graeme slid onto the front bench seat and placed his school case on his lap. As he did so, the man slowly but firmly closed the door of the car, calmly walked around the front, opened the driver’s-side door and slid in beside him. As the man turned the car key and started the engine, he looked across at Graeme with a wry smile that Graeme didn’t quite understand. It was not a smile of warmth or friendship, nor of reassurance, nor an invitation to converse. It was a smile that Graeme had seen on taxi drivers when his father had given them a particularly generous tip.

  * * *

  Stephen Bradley knew that if he drove past Bellevue Hill where the Scots College was located, even an eight-year-old would become alarmed that he was not being taken to his school by the usual route. Graeme rseeadily accepted the explanation that they were diverting from the usual journey to Scots College to pick up another boy to take them both to school, but Bradley anticipated that this explanation would allay the boy’s concerns only for a while, and that at some point he would become worried and then alarmed. If this occurred while they were driving in a public street in the eastern suburbs of Sydney during peak hour, the boy might attempt to leave the car or raise the attention of a passer-by – an unacceptable risk. Therefore, while the boy still believed he was on his way to school and his suspicions had not yet been aroused, Bradley decided he would stop the car on a pretext at a suitably private place and convert the voluntary lift into a forcible abduction. This, undoubtedly, would be the critical moment on which the success of this whole venture rested. If it was done successfully, the boy would be completely under his control and secured out of sight, without anyone having seen the momentary scene of pandemonium. If it was unsuccessful, someone who saw the incident might come running to the car to assist the boy, or the police might be informed and given a description
of Bradley and his car, including the registration number. It was therefore essential to carefully select a suitable location for this conversion of a lift into an abduction. He was convinced that his superior physical strength and the element of surprise would ensure everything went according to plan at this decisive moment.

  During his weeks of surveillance of the Thorne family, Bradley had scoured many possible venues in the suburbs between Bondi and Bellevue Hill, and had settled on Centennial Park,1 an expansive, sparsely wooded area of parkland situated about a ten-minute drive from Bondi – sufficiently short that it would not be likely to raise Graeme’s concerns. The park contained a circular driveway and several crossroads. On a Thursday morning at around 8.45, the park would be almost deserted.2 He had concluded that, once in the park, the safest place to overcome the boy without being observed was within the confines of his car. In visits to the area, he located a spot about 400 yards from one of the gates where he could park his car in a position that could not be seen from any surrounding houses. From here he would be able to scan the vicinity to make sure that nobody was walking, cycling, or driving nearby at the critical time.

  * * *

  As he drove from Bondi through the nearby town centre of Bondi Junction and on towards Woollahra where Centennial Park was located, the driver chatted amiably with Graeme, asking him questions about the sports he liked to play and the subjects he was taught at Scots. Graeme readily answered the questions and after a while was quite entranced by this man who was unusually interested in the minor details of his personal life. The minutes passed without any lull in the conversation, until the man slowly eased the car through the stone gates of Centennial Park. As he did so, Graeme became slightly anxious, as he had never before been into Centennial Park on a school day. His parents had taken him there on numerous picnics on weekends and during his holidays, but it seemed strange to be picking up a boy from the park to take him to school. Graeme began nervously fidgeting in the passenger seat and looking around in an attempt to assess where they were going and why they were in such a strange location. His main concern was that if this took longer than expected, he might be late for school.

  As he drove into the park, the man said to Graeme, ‘We’re picking the other boy up here. He lives just on the other side of the park and his mother is bringing him. This is the quickest way to go.’ Graeme didn’t reply. The man stopped the car on the side of the road, saying to Graeme, ‘He should be here in just a minute.’ For the next thirty seconds or so, the driver looked around in every direction, which Graeme found strange. Surely, if he was picking up another boy, the driver should know from what direction the other boy was coming. He felt uneasy – there were no houses nearby, so where was the boy coming from? What occupied his mind the most, however, was the thought that being late for school would earn him a detention. His parents would not be pleased.

  The driver then said, ‘I need to look up his name,’ whereupon he reached over the back of the bench seat to the back and pulled over a small travel bag, which he placed on his lap. For another half-minute or so, the man rummaged around in the bag with both hands, and then placed it on the floor under his legs. He then turned to face Graeme. At the same moment, Graeme turned to face this man and was alarmed to see a completely different look on his face – one he had not seen before.

  Suddenly, both of the man’s hands darted at him across the seat and grabbed him firmly around the neck, pulling his head swiftly down onto the man’s lap, jamming him between his abdomen and the steering wheel. Graeme’s school cap went flying to the floor and his school case tipped loudly onto its side, but Graeme didn’t even have a chance to whimper. As Graeme struggled to breathe, the man kept a firm grip with one hand around his neck, and with the other he reached down into his bag and brought up a piece of rag soaked in a pungent-smelling liquid, which he placed firmly over Graeme’s mouth and nose. This made breathing even more difficult, and also prevented him from calling out. Gasping for air, his arms vainly flailed around, one of them occasionally hitting the man lightly on the chest and head, the other pushing the man’s legs in an attempt to sit up. Graeme’s mind was entirely focused on the primal urge to draw breath, so there was no space for any thoughts of why the man was doing this. His overarching sensation was the vile smell of the rag over his mouth and nose. Within thirty seconds or so, everything went blank.

  * * *

  Stephen Bradley held the rag over the boy’s mouth for a further minute to ensure he would not wake up too soon. He then laid his limp body down on the front bench seat and placed the rag into the bag at his feet. He then reached over with his left arm to the picnic rug which was neatly laid out on the back seat, pulled it over to the front and covered the boy’s now motionless body with it.

  Bradley caught his breath, intensely aware of the significance of the moment, furtively looked around, and was gratified to see that there was still no one in sight. The whole episode had taken less than a few minutes, and he was elated that it had all gone according to plan. He opened the driver’s-side door and stepped out, gently laying the boy’s head on the driver’s seat, and carefully adjusting the rug to make sure that no part of the boy’s body was visible. He went around to the large boot of the Ford Customline and opened it, then, still very aware of his surroundings, opened the passenger’s-side door. He carefully scooped up the boy and carried him, still wrapped in the rug, to the back of the car, where he gently laid him down inside the boot.

  Bradley was confident that he had done no real harm to his precious cargo by rendering him unconscious in this way. He had been to the local library and read textbooks on the medical uses of chloroform3 as an anaesthetic, and he was sure that the time he had held the rag over the boy’s mouth was less than anything that would place his life in any danger. He fully expected that Graeme would awaken in an hour or so, with little, if any, memory of what had happened.

  Bradley had come fully prepared for the next stage of the venture. He had a roll of strong twine and an old silk scarf that he hadn’t worn for years ready in the boot. In preparation for the boy waking from his induced state of unconsciousness, Bradley unwrapped the rug from around him and bound his hands together behind his back, then tied his feet together, and lastly tied the silk scarf tightly around his mouth as a gag, so that when the boy awoke he would not be able to create enough noise to attract the attention of any passer-by.

  Bradley took Graeme’s school case and cap and his own travel bag from the floor inside the car and placed them next to the boy in the boot. He looked down at his immobilised little captive with triumph, firmly shut the boot and returned to the driver’s seat. Bradley allowed himself a deep sigh of relief and a smug smile as he contemplated for a few delicious seconds how easy this most testing and treacherous part of the venture had been, and how everything had gone exactly according to plan. His extensive preparations had paid off handsomely and he had found this whole episode much easier than he had contemplated. Not at any time did he have to look at the boy’s face as he desperately struggled for air. Once the boy was unconscious, the rug was both a device to secrete what he had done from outsiders and also a means to psychologically distance himself from his victim. The hardest part of the plan had been accomplished with a minimum of risk, and the boy was now safely under his control. Bradley restarted the engine and drove slowly out of the park, careful to a fault not to do anything that might attract attention to himself or his car.

  It was in this comatose condition that Stephen Bradley conveyed Graeme Thorne in the boot of his car across the Sydney Harbour Bridge towards the Spit Bridge on the northern side of the harbour. As he momentarily stopped the car to pay the toll collector on the Harbour Bridge, he was confident that nothing would be audible from the boot of his car – like a boy’s screams or inexplicable kicks from inside. As Bradley approached Middle Harbour and the Spit Bridge, at the corner of Spit Road and Medusa Street4 he parked his car near a public phone box where he planned to make the first ca
ll to the Thorne household. He got out, and before walking away from his car he put his ear down to the lid of the boot, but he heard no sound from within and was confident that Graeme was still asleep.

  As he strode to the phone box, Bradley had nothing but disdain for the conservative, suburban couple whose lives he was about to disrupt forever.

  4

  FEEDING SHARKS

  At 8.40am on Thursday, 7 July 1960, Phyllis Smith edged her station wagon next to the kerb in front of the general store in Wellington Street, Bondi, and was surprised that she couldn’t see Graeme Thorne sitting on his school case outside the shop, where he invariably waited for her. Thinking that he must still be inside the shop, she lightly touched the car horn to urge him to come out, and when he didn’t emerge she sent her younger son, who was the same age as Graeme, into the shop to get him. Within a few seconds her son came out, telling her that Graeme was nowhere to be seen. Mrs Smith waited a few more minutes, thinking that Graeme must be running late, but still there was no sign of him.

  Thinking that Graeme might be running late or might not be going to school that day, Mrs Smith drove the short distance to the block of flats where the Thornes lived. Leaving her two sons in the car, she walked briskly to the front door and knocked. Freda answered and was surprised to see Phyllis Smith. Her initial thought was that Graeme must have forgotten something that he needed for school. When Phyllis explained that Graeme had not been waiting at the usual place, Freda immediately became alarmed. She was sorry that Bazil was not at home, because he always knew what to do. Phyllis assured Freda that Graeme must have gone to school with someone else, and stated firmly that she would go straight there with her two boys and make sure that Graeme had arrived safely. Phyllis felt that Freda’s concerns were unwarranted. Having two young boys herself, she knew that they were capable of doing the oddest things without any concern for their parents’ anxieties.