The Murder of Allison Baden-Clay

by David Murray

  Beaven persisted with more questions. ‘Why didn’t you notice bleeding after one motion?’ she asked.

  He was in a hurry, Gerard replied.

  He had an answer for everything, even if his responses were sometimes contradictory.

  The appointment wasn’t going well. Then Gerard told the doctor why he was really there. Police had told him to get a GP to document his injuries, he said. ‘I don’t know if you know, but my wife is missing at the moment,’ he said. He’d need the doctor’s notes. Police had already photographed the suspicious wounds, he added.

  Beaven’s suspicions grew by the minute. As she was wondering what had really happened, the conversation inexplicably lightened. How long had she been at the practice, Gerard asked. Did she live in the area? As it happened, Beaven was looking to move closer to the clinic.

  Never one to miss an opportunity – even while police were searching for any trace of his wife – Gerard slipped his Century 21 business card across the desk to the attractive young GP. ‘I might be able to help you with that,’ he said brightly, standing to leave. He was jovial and friendly as he walked out.

  His charm wasn’t working, not today. With her office empty, Beaven placed the business card in her top drawer and reflected on the appointment. Alarm bells were sounding in her head. The encounter would still be bothering her days later, when it was all over the news that the missing mother of three was out there somewhere, likely in serious trouble. With the unsettling consultation fresh in her mind, Beaven picked up a phone and dialled the number for her medical insurer. They advised her to document everything. She did.

  Gerard rushed off. There were important things to do. For a start, he needed a second opinion on those damned facial scratches.

  Brookfield

  Moggill Road, one of the main links between inner-city Brisbane and the west, begins outside the lush green sporting fields of a century-old private school in Toowong. Brisbane Boys’ College is part of the GPS network. Parents pay more than $20,000 a year to send their children to some of the schools in the group. And the suburbs that fan out from Moggill Road as it snakes through Brisbane’s west are packed with willing customers.

  In other cities along Australia’s east coast, the western suburbs are the battler belt – cheap real estate for those who can’t afford to be near a cooling sea breeze. But in Brisbane, the west is a leafy, upmarket family zone. From BBC in Toowong, Moggill Road roughly follows the line of the Brisbane River as it winds south-west through Taringa, Indooroopilly, Chapel Hill and Kenmore. At the bustling Kenmore roundabout, Brookfield Road exits to the right, winding out to an exclusive, often eccentric, enclave. Standard house blocks and neat red-tile roofs slowly give way to expansive acreage lots – a legacy of the area’s farming days and restrictions on subdivision. Sweeping drives snake off from the main road, leading to comfortable homes with tennis courts, pools and horse paddocks.

  There is nothing gauche or showy about the wealth that resides at Brookfield. Expensive homes often lie hidden, discreetly, behind trees at the end of long drives. Despite the notable wealth, little import is placed on personal appearance. The bloke grabbing a pie at the local shop in his shorts and thongs is as likely as anyone to have a Porsche Cayenne in the garage.

  Lucinda Brimblecombe, an early 19th-century resident, is credited with naming Brookfield after its creeks and gullies. Loggers arrived in the 1840s to harvest red cedar and hoop pine and were followed, in the 1860s, by farmers. The book Brookfield Stories chronicles that land was cleared for cattle grazing and for cotton, fruit and vegetable farms. Bananas, paw paws and pineapples were just a few of the crops transported to the city markets. A cemetery, school and dam followed soon after. In the 1960s, farmers began dividing and offloading their properties to academics, environmentalists, doctors and business owners seeking a so-called tree change.

  The suburb’s current residents include judges, lawyers, chief executives and media identities. They are an eclectic mix of characters who can’t, or don’t want to, fit in to the standard blocks of suburbia. They are, in more than a few cases, net-workers, high-achievers, gossips and eccentrics. There is an element of the English village about Brookfield. It is both pretty and charming but, at times, a little too tight-knit for some.

  Many have pondered the reasons for Brookfield’s unusual character. The answer might lie in the unique location. It is geographically contained – bounded by swathes of state forest. Roads do not pass through Brookfield; they end there. And socially, it has an uncommon feature: there is just one school in the suburb – Brookfield state primary. Brisbane suburbs are usually serviced by multiple schools and criss-crossed by ‘catchment’ boundaries to dictate which state schools that residents may attend. In Brookfield, nearly all kids pass through the doors of the local primary. It means that most parents know each other, at least in passing. Gerard and Allison Baden-Clay moved into the house in Brookfield Road in 2006. Moments from their front door was the undeniable heart of Brookfield, a 50-metre hub that comprises all the elements of country life: the local shop, the showground, a community hall, hairdresser, real estate agent, cricket ground and pony ring.

  With the primary school tucked in behind it, the Brookfield General Store – established in 1871 – is a frenzy of activity on weekday afternoons, with 4WDs jostling for parks, children picking up after-school-treats and parents catching up on local happenings. The shop-cum-café is something of a gathering point. On regular mornings, many of the local mums work out on a cricket oval then sit down together for coffee and a chat. And every Friday evening, a country bar at the showground opens its doors to serve burgers and beers to locals.

  Each year, residents flock to the Brookfield Show, and the social event of the year, the Brookfield Ball. The farms may have gone, but village life remains.

  Red lights, blue ribbons and idle banter

  Ray Van Haven wasn’t your average chamber of commerce hand pumper. In his native Holland, Van Haven had toiled for years in the construction of red light districts. After migrating to Australia he found work as a financial planner at a bank in Kenmore and became president of the local business chamber. He’d volunteered for the unpaid role out of a sense of community service and to connect with like-minded entrepreneurs. But not long into his tenure Van Haven seized an opportunity to return to his roots and bought a brothel, Oasis, in Sumner Park in Brisbane’s west. It was all legal and above board, but Van Haven didn’t want to be known as ‘the brothel-owning chamber of commerce president’. He was aware too that not everyone in the conservative western suburbs would be thrilled with his new business venture, so Van Haven spared their blushes and stepped aside. Fresh-faced real estate agent Gerard Baden-Clay eagerly stepped up to the plate in late 2004.

  Gerard’s new role saddled him with extra responsibilities, but it also gave him a certain cachet and unrivalled opportunities to network. It was through the business group that Gerard met the newly elected local MP, Dr Bruce Flegg, a fascinating character worthy of a book himself.

  A medical doctor and self-made millionaire, Flegg was by far the richest man in state parliament. Before entering politics, he had moved from working in doctors’ surgeries to owning medical centres and had developed a knack for betting on the stockmarket. His mandatory entry in parliament’s register of interests reads like the holdings of a Middle Eastern prince. A multi-million dollar home on 1 hectare in Brookfield, four investment properties on North Stradbroke Island, a 40-hectare rural property in northern New South Wales, holiday units at a Gold Coast resort, investment units at Noosa Heads and Spring Hill and a large body of shares made him the envy of many a colleague. In 2007, the state’s annual Sunday Mail rich list estimated he was worth some $20 million. He was a blue ribbon Liberal to represent a blue ribbon Liberal electorate.

  The seat of Moggill – representing the relatively well-to-do residents of Chapel Hill, Kenmore, Brookfield, Pullenvale, Moggill, Karana Downs and Mt Crosby – had almost always been a conservative
stronghold. When Flegg was elected in 2004, Moggill was one of only five seats from 89 across the state to vote for a Liberal member. When the next election was called, in 2006, Flegg was leader and, therefore, in the firing line when the party again performed poorly, winning only eight of the state’s 89 seats.

  Things were going from bad to worse to farcical for Flegg in December 2007 when he sought Gerard’s company for a night out. His party – such as it was with just eight parliamentarians – no longer wanted him to lead but could not decide on a successor. In ridiculous scenes, the MPs were split down the middle 4–4 on a vote for a new leader. They were in ‘lockdown’ at Brisbane’s five-star Stamford Plaza Hotel until someone could be convinced to switch sides and break the impasse.

  The situation went beyond absurd when Monty Python’s Eric Idle intervened. The comedian happened to be staying at the same hotel ahead of a show in Brisbane and, spying the press pack outside, strolled over to hold his own press conference. ‘I’ll volunteer for it,’ he said of the Liberal leadership.

  Asked if he would call the situation ‘Pythonesque’, Idle replied: ‘I think that’s slightly insulting to Monty Python, don’t you? I think we’re slightly more successful.’

  The media had a field day. Courier-Mail cartoonist Sean Leahy, with typical brilliance, depicted Flegg hanging on the cross, parodying a scene from The Life of Brian.

  Amid the hoopla, Flegg seized the opportunity to escape the hotel stand-off. Pulling some strings, he procured two tickets to Idle’s show that night. He cut the cartoon out of the paper and sent word to Idle that he would be in the audience and wouldn’t mind an autograph.

  With a spare ticket in hand, the MP invited Gerard to join him. ‘I’ll have to check with Allison,’ Gerard said. There was something in Gerard’s tone that suggested he was embarrassed at seeking permission from his wife. Flegg sensed all wasn’t well with Gerard’s home life. Gerard was soon back to Flegg. He would go.

  Flegg drove, with Gerard beside him. On the way to the Queensland Performing Arts Centre, Flegg broached the subject of Gerard’s discomfort about his call to Allison. Flegg, a father to four sons, had been married for 17 years before a painful divorce. His battles in politics were nothing compared to the torture of the slow end to his relationship. He thought he recognised in Gerard, a father of three young girls, someone who was going through similar pain. He also believed that men needed to look out for each other, and didn’t do so enough. The trained doctor wanted to help. Flegg told Gerard he knew what it was like to have to get a ‘leave pass’ and asked how things were at home.

  The MP knew Gerard as a man who was constantly concerned about his image. Whenever Flegg asked him about business, it was always booming, his agency never better. This time, for a brief moment, Gerard let down his guard: ‘Not good, mate, not good,’ he told Flegg.

  When they arrived for the show, ‘Not the Messiah’, Idle acknowledged Flegg in the Lyric Theatre audience and made a joke at his expense. Afterwards, Gerard and Flegg met the comic and his entourage in the bar next to the theatre and they all had a beer together. Despite its occurrence in the midst of one of his worst experiences in politics, Flegg remembers it as one of the best nights of his life. Idle signed Sean Leahy’s cartoon for him. Flegg still has it at home as a reminder of the whole extraordinary episode.

  Gerard too appeared to enjoy the chance to unwind. His responsibilities at work and home were adding up.

  The real estate expert

  When Gerard opened his Century 21 real estate agency in 2004, the push to build the Baden-Clay brand was on. It began when he managed to secure the presidency of the Kenmore and District Chamber of Commerce that same year and went into overdrive when he launched his own blog, unabashedly called The Real Estate Expert, in 2007.

  He seemed to revel in his role as self-appointed moral compass for the real estate industry and community in general. In a crowded market, Gerard used his great-grandfather to help sell his brand of honesty and integrity and promoted himself as a devoted husband, father and servant of the community.

  ‘Gerard Baden-Clay operates at the forefront of long-overdue change in the business of real estate,’ his blog read. ‘Gerard’s personal philosophies of ethical excellence and team loyalty, derived from his lineage as the great-grandson of international Scouts founder Baden-Powell, have found their perfect landing spot in the field of real estate.’

  Gerard wrote that his interests were ‘spending as much time as possible with my family’ and also camping, travelling and Scouting. His blog listed mostly action movies as his favourite films, but ever the loving husband he added Bridget Jones’s Diary. ‘No, you’re not imagining things – I really DO enjoy a good “chick flick” with my beautiful wife!’ For his favourite books, he nominated several Wilbur Smith novels set in Africa, and his great-grandfather Baden-Powell’s book Rovering for Success.

  The blog became a vehicle for Gerard to impart his strong views about ethics, and to challenge those who didn’t live up to his high standards. He found a slew of impressive sounding letters to sign off his blog: BBus (Bachelor of Business); AFAIM (Associate Fellow of the Australian Institute of Management); and LREA (Licensed Real Estate Agent). In one of his sermons on ethics, in September 2007 he wrote:

  We’ve come a long away as an industry but the legacy of years gone by lingers … Recently we’ve seen several tales in the media of agents buying under-priced properties under alias identities. It is appalling behaviour and, tellingly, such agents almost always come unstuck … and quickly. But it does us all a huge disservice. I was going to use this blog to take the moral high ground on behalf of our local industry, but only last week had cause to call into questions the ethics of a competitor. I did so not for the sake of market position but because we all suffer when someone lowers the bar. I’m sure the person in question knows exactly what I’m talking about. Ethics aren’t just fashionable in real estate – they’re mandatory. And governed by law. Until next week …

  Posted by Gerard Baden-Clay BBus, AFAIM, LREA.

  Much of Gerard’s moralising would come back to haunt him, but one lecture in particular stood out. As a local identity with an inflating profile, Gerard was asked to contribute to a weekly ‘moral dilemmas’ column in Brisbane’s daily newspaper, The Courier-Mail, in February 2008. The question of the day was whether honesty was still important. Gerard wrote: ‘In business, it’s simple: never lie. For starters, it’s the wrong thing to do, but secondly you will always get caught out and usually when you least expect it. There are just too many people, too many personalities, too many trails … and too much to lose.’

  Four days later, on a roll, Gerard made a speech at Kenmore State High School. He had been invited to address students because the Scouts movement was celebrating its 100th year. That same morning, prime minister Kevin Rudd had made a groundbreaking apology to the Stolen Generations – Indigenous Australians forcibly removed from their families through much of the 20th century. Rudd spoke emotionally in parliament of the ‘profound grief, suffering and loss’ of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people as a result of the actions of governments, churches and welfare groups. Now Gerard drew parallels between himself and the prime minister – both were ‘making history’ that day, he said.

  ‘In our own small way we are making history today … we are contributing to the history of this esteemed school and, perhaps more importantly, to our own personal history.’

  He went on: ‘To me, the most fundamental element of good leadership is to lead by example. If you want to see a clean school ground – you should pick up rubbish … and then ask for help. If you want dress standards to be better – you should dress well first. If you want people to be on time for class and events – you should always be punctual yourself. If you lead by example, others will follow.’ Not everyone was sold on brand Baden-Clay. At monthly meetings of the Kenmore chamber of commerce, president Gerard’s self-promotion at the microphone could be a turn-off.

&nb
sp; Peter Newing, a real estate agent in Brisbane’s western suburbs for more than 20 years and principal of his own agency, found him insufferable. ‘He was part of the reason I stopped going,’ Newing tells me.

  There were three things he used to always talk about. One was, naturally enough as you’d expect at a meeting like that, he’d brag … about his brand and his office. The second thing was he would always bring up the fact he was related to Baden-Powell. And the third thing which really used to make my skin crawl, not because he was talking about it, but the way he talked about it – it sounded forced and insincere – was his involvement with the local church. I just thought he comes across as a man of straw. He’s got this big chest, puffed out, saying things like, ‘I remember last Sunday when we were talking about Jesus and thinking about all you people out here struggling in the business world.’ I just thought, ‘I’m not wasting my morning listening to this phoney.’ For him it was building up that trustworthy God-fearing, honourable, respectable image. It was smarmy. It made me want to vomit.

  Gerard’s agency was gradually taking on more staff but he had big plans; for example, he pictured that he could open seven real estate offices in the western suburbs. To expand, he’d need help from people other than his ageing parents, and in 2008 was grooming salesman Phill Broom to become a partner. That year, Gerard promoted Broom to a senior sales agent and gave him a set of personalised number plates, SETTLE.

  As it happened, Century 21’s number one Queensland agent, Jocelyn Frost, was looking to return to the western suburbs from Brisbane’s bayside. Frost had started in real estate after a wildly successful career in Tupperware sales, in which she had 300 people working for her in her own franchise. She was a natural saleswoman and took to real estate like a duck to water. In 2007, Frost had earnt almost $800,000 in commissions from property sales, putting her in the top one per cent of Century 21 performers worldwide and earning her a ‘Double Centurion’ award. Gerard and Broom didn’t fancy competing with Frost if she moved into their area. At a Century 21 conference on Hamilton Island, they sounded her out about joining them as a partner. Before long she was on board.