by Megan Norris
Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t express that thought. If this was absolutely the case then life wouldn’t be worth living – at all. No point to any of it. I really want to discuss these thoughts with a minister of the clergy, but no minister is forthcoming. I’ve thought about attending a local church, but is that fair to them? Kew is so far away, and although a pastoral carer has visited us, how can I tell her I need a priest? So I wait. Sometimes I feel even they feel it is easier not to visit me, so they are not so confronted by the cruel manner of your death. It is easier to say, ‘There is a reason for everything and God has his reason.’ But I do not hold God responsible for your death. God’s protection for you was there for your soul.
I struggle now with all those warnings that seemed to occur before your death. The few I have discussed with Michael Clarebrough he feels are coincidental. But I cannot deny that they happened:
Daddy saying to himself, at the beginning of the year, how lucky our family was never to have had a tragedy.
Me thinking, while processing books at work, what on earth would I ever do if Rachel was not here?
You telling me, in the car this year, that you thought sometimes you would only have a short life and me laughing it off because everything was going so well for you, and you agreeing.
Me, sitting on your bed, while you were laughing and dancing with Manni in our living room (only a few weeks before your murder) and you sounding so excited that I thought, ‘This kid’s not going to make it through her teen years. I must warn her to slow up.’ I never did.
You sharing with our friend David – only a few weeks before your murder – a nightmare you had about someone trying to push you into an open grave and a person in a dark cloak and scythe standing above you both, encouraging you down. Dad knows these details better because David told Dad after your murder. It was the same dream you wanted to tell me about – only I said, ‘Tell me later.’ And of course you never did.
Manni saying a few weeks before your death he put your photograph on his bedside table in the centre of a circle of candles. His mother telling him off because in their family this is what they do for people who have died. Manni’s answer was, ‘But she looks so pretty surrounded by a circle of candles.’
You telling Manni you had seen an elderly woman in his bedroom – either the week before your murder or the second weekend before your murder, and then you sharing this with Rosa. Rosa telling you the woman you described sounded like Manni’s grandmother – the one who had died – and how you had insisted on Rosa taking you to her grave.
The last morning, the Thursday, that I dropped you off at the corner of Riversdale and Tooronga Roads so you could catch your tram, and me watching you wave in my rear-vision mirror, and me thinking it could be the last time I ever see you do that. It was.
These all happened close to your death this year. But what of the time I took you to the Opera in the Park at Prahran? And how I had parked the car in Trinian Street, down the end where Caroline’s flat was to be only a few years later. I remember when we left the Opera about midnight, how you carried on about how much you hated the street, going on in your over-the-top way, and hurrying me on. You wanted us to get out quickly.
So many clues and I ignored them all. I didn’t make any connection. Why would I?
Your sisters’ counsellor Catherine saw Ashleigh-Rose and Heather last night. Ashleigh-Rose wants to go to the trial but I do not want her to go. It’s not a suitable place for a twelve-year-old, even a thirteen-year-old, as she may well be by then. Now I am not sure if your dad has conveyed my feelings, but Catherine is apparently going to ring Paul Ross to see what the situation is. I must say I was cross when I discovered this and told your dad so. Ashleigh-Rose immediately told me it was her life (where have I heard that before?) and she would go if she wanted to. Dad got cross with me then, and said that I did things he didn’t approve of either …
12 October 1999
The following is not a letter to Rachel, but was written as a grief statement.
When your children are alive not a day goes by when you don’t think of them. When your children die not a day goes by when your mind is not consumed by them. When a child is murdered not a day goes by you do not suffer, consumed by the ‘what ifs’ and the ‘whys’. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of the total cruelty of the evil act that senselessly robbed Rachel of the highs and lows – of grandchildren that may have been. Not one child is murdered but generations are murdered. Only a parent who has lost a child can grasp any real understanding of the grief experienced and in the case of a murder that grief is exacerbated.
We are supposed to die in our old age surrounded by children and extended families – that is the fantasy of life. In reality some parents experience the grief of watching terminally ill children slip away – some parents suffer the anguish of losing children in a sudden accident. And some parents suffer the agony of being told, ‘Sorry, there is no easy way of saying this. Unfortunately your child has been murdered.’
Murdered. Can you believe it? And for a time you choose not to believe it. But when your beautiful child continues not to run in through the door, when she continues not to contact you and you know deep down it really was a funeral you attended, and it really is a cemetery you visit each week with a headstone engraved with your daughter’s name – you know deep down that life has dealt her and yourselves an evil blow.
Into the next year …
10 January 2000
Your dad and I went to see the new film Cider House Rules. There was one scene where a dead man was being unceremoniously taken from a house on a stretcher covered in a white sheet and put in a van to be taken to the mortuary. Your dad said later, all he could think of at that moment was you. He feels the police should have told us you were found at Kilmore so we could have gone with them. I said they would not have wanted hysterical parents interfering with the crime scene. Even so, your dad feels we were left right out of the picture. I think he feels the same as I do – that we let you down. We should have been with you at some stage – even before Forensics saw you. You are our daughter and it was our right. Of course, at the time neither of us could think straight. We couldn’t even think bent.
Paul Ross is right though when he explains why we couldn’t go, because we are possible witnesses for the trial.
This is a living nightmare …
17 January 2000
Did I tell you I’ve changed the formal living room around? I’ve brought my desk out to encourage me to write. I can also see your photographs and feel comforted and inspired.
I wish your daddy could feel inspired – or interested in anything. Life has no meaning for him. He says he just lives one day to another, living a boring existence until he dies. He says he is not happy. It is amazing how quickly one’s life can change.
24 January 2000
I have no interest in life. Your dad’s views on the universe are beginning to rub off on me. It seems easier now to be uncomplicated by life’s complexities, such as friendships. I do not wish to be a sideshow.
I fear for the girls because I am no longer challenged by life. You, my darling Rachel, were always given opportunities to extend your creativity. But I am being hard on myself. For Ashleigh-Rose loves playing the flute and has done so for four years, and she enjoys her pottery. And although Heather seems to have lost interest in singing – she is still musical. But I do not want to do anything. It is easier to sit at home and do nothing than even to go for a walk in the park, and I fear I will bring your sisters up not to enjoy the company of others …
I am reading Grandad Ivan’s book Ziggurat again, published in 1997. It is the story of Knut who went missing one night without trace. Life has so many odd coincidences.
I rang Paul Ross today.
Yesterday, the vicar from the church we now attend would have read out our statement about your death at the Sunday services. Rachel, the parish folk have not known about you, and neither did the vicar for the first f
ew months. The girls said they felt normal going to a church where no one knew about their sister. I had to respect their wishes. But this will change next week with the committal hearing. So with the co-operation of the vicar we thought this was the best way of telling people at the church. It has become a responsibility.
We went to Grandad Ivan’s. We labelled all Ashleigh-Rose’s workbooks and sewed up her hems. The girls will stay with Grandad while we go to the committal hearing …
Your sisters don’t like to see me cry. I need to know that I am loved. You loved me. I feel you loved me, dearly. Yet I was unkind to you, too. There were times I smacked you, and times I yelled at you. But, Rachel, I was scared for your future. I didn’t want you to grow up struggling for money. It is probably because we struggled for money that you now find yourself dead because I kept on at you about looking for a job. If we’d earned more money, just maybe Caroline would not have been able to entice you away with that so-called story about making lots of money.
I need a holiday away from all of this nightmare, Rachel. It’s a shame I couldn’t come on holiday and see you. But then, if I did, that would be a permanent holiday and I would grieve the loss of your sisters because I would be in heaven and they would be on earth. No, I’ll have to learn to accept what has happened but I find it hard to believe almost a year has gone by.
This time last year you only had five to six weeks to live – yet possibly they were some of the happiest weeks of your life.
What will happen to your sisters, Rachel?
Love, Mum.
29 January 2000
Dear Rachel,
Yesterday Paul Ross rang.
The barrister for the prosecution, Robert Barry, has said he doesn’t want your father and I to be present during the committal hearing. As you can imagine I was distressed by this development. Paul said the reason for this is to do with the documents I saw a little of when we were making a police statement at the Homicide office on 14 March last year.
Apparently there are a lot more entries made by Caroline before she killed you. In fact, if I am right, I think he said journals to do with the nature of the obsession Caroline had with you. Paul used the word ‘bizarre’ again. He said, ‘The girl depicted in Caroline’s journals is not the Rachel we know.’ I said to Paul that I hoped this didn’t mean your name was going to be muddied in the courts. He said, no that’s not what he was expressing. However the barrister doesn’t want us in the hearing because he doesn’t want the defence to say we have been prejudiced because we are witnesses for the trial. I told Paul that he wouldn’t get your dad in the witness box. He said, ‘We won’t worry about the trial now, just the hearing.’
It is doubtful that it will be made known how you died at the hearing because the forensic scientists have not been called. I told Paul that I at least wanted to go for a short while at the beginning because I wanted to see Caroline and more importantly I wanted Caroline to see us. Paul said okay, but to be aware it may only be for a few minutes because when the evidence is given we have to leave. The same goes for Manni. He said he trusts we will leave the court room when he nods to us. We will wait somewhere in the Magistrates Court.
This is all over for you, sweetheart, but for us this is still a nightmare. I am very worried for your dad and I am worried for us. He said he is not going to be a witness and will just disappear. Now I don’t think I want to put that to the test. He said it wouldn’t pay them to get him in court because he would just get angry.
Paul Ross is going to ask family not to tell us what happens although we may read some of it in the papers.
Your father said, ‘Every day is the same – a nothingness – a blankness just to be lived through.’
We are now off to Manni’s to let him know how you died.
Love, Mum.
1 February 2000, 4.04 a.m.
Dear Rachel,
The first day of the committal hearing was yesterday and now I find I have been dreaming of you, glimpses of the hearing and the coming trial – fading memories in dreams I do not wish to remember. So I came out into the living room about 3.30 a.m. and watched the video ‘Rachel and her sisters’. Now I have just turned on the funeral video. I have wanted to watch it for some time but the opportunity has just not occurred until now. Your dad and a recovered Nanny Joy are asleep and Ashleigh-Rose and Heather are at Grandad Ivan and Granny Susan’s place.
I need to watch the video to connect yesterday’s committal hearing to you. It is as if you have been distanced from this, although Nanny Joy said that, being in the committal hearing, she definitely felt connected to you. We, as you already know, were not allowed to be present at the committal but I did convince Paul Ross to allow us to be present in the court room until the evidence began. And because of an unexpected hitch, Caroline was there for about twenty-five minutes before we left the court.
I’m now listening to Mendelssohn’s Midsummer Night’s Dream at the beginning of your funeral.
The court network cleared a space for us because it was a full court and they sat me next to a man I didn’t recognise. He said, ‘Elizabeth, I’m David Reid. I’m sorry you have to sit next to me.’ I answered, ‘I didn’t recognise you. Thank you for introducing yourself.’ I thanked him for his sympathy letter, adding that I could not reply because there was no return address. He said, ‘I would like to speak to you when all this is over.’ He meant everything. He then pointed out the man standing beside Caroline as her psychologist. Paul Ross then interrupted and reminded us to leave shortly because we were trial witnesses.
When we left the courtroom we went and sat with a court networker in the network family room. I needed to feel close to what was happening, Rachel.
Humphrey your cat is playing with an old cane Christmas decoration. He’s a scatty cat. You would have loved him.
I’m now listening to one of the funeral sermons and it is a great comfort.
I am so hot I think I have a fever.
The court announced how you died, Rachel – revealed in full horror the bizarre act and how Caroline kept notes about you and plotted to murder you.
The Balwyn minister is now speaking. He was truly fortunate to know you as a child. He likens you to a butterfly that has been released into the limitless love of our Lord. And he asked, for now, that God forgive those whom we cannot forgive because of our pain and agony.
The film screen has now come forward and they are about to show video clips of you. My darling Rachel. What can I say? You were a delight.
The film has now finished and the final hymn, chosen by Rosa, ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus’ is being sung. Even Rosa knew how important Jesus was to you. Your Grandad Ivan, Uncle Drew, Cousins Shaun and Ben, Uncle Graham, and your beloved Manni are carrying your coffin through the church to the tears of your family, friends and teachers.
5 February 2000 (I think.)
Dear Rachel,
What I thought would happen has. This week has been so distressing I haven’t kept writing letters to you, but I wish I had because now I won’t be able to recall the moments as they occurred. I have lost the feelings of the present.
I think sometimes these letters are as much for myself as for you, and also for your sisters, for when they are old enough to understand.
Going back to the second day of the committal hearing. Let’s see if I can recall … It was the 1st of February 2000 …
Mike, Nanny Joy, Grandad Ivan and myself drove into the city with Susan. Chris went in by train. I probably should not have watched the funeral beforehand but I really needed to. Then I had a long and very hot bath and walked to the service station to buy the newspapers. Like the day before, the committal hearing was reported in all the newspapers. I almost feel I should list the headings the newspapers used, as Dad had in his novel Ziggurat:
Murder notes found
Murder plot in writing, court told
Accused kept notes of kill plan, court told
Family friend plotted to kill teen, co
urt told
Police hunt two more over death
Woman for trial on dancer death
Babysitter faces murder trial
So, Rachel, Caroline was committed to trial on murder. It had been seen from her medical file that she had shown no indication of mental impairment. She simply committed an evil and wicked act.
Back to the events of the day …
Susan dropped Nanny Joy, Dad and I off at William Street in the city, so we did not have far to walk to the Magistrates Court. We met your second cousin Lindsay and Aunty Babe in the court, and Chris arrived soon after. We went to the court network room and refreshed with a glass of water. When we went down to the courtroom it was still closed, and we found ourselves sitting opposite David Reid, Caroline’s father. Her parents are in an impossible position, and I pray for them, for if the role were reversed I feel my soul would be destroyed. How much must one suffer when realising one has given birth to someone who could so wilfully take another’s life?
Inside the court, Aunty Babe, who has emphysema and cannot walk for long periods, came through in her wheelchair and sat in the aisle alongside David who tried to make her feel more comfortable. ‘I don’t need any help,’ she snapped. ‘I’m het up enough as it is!’ I felt sorry for him and almost apologised but they were on the other side of the court. All he was trying to do was help her. She must remember, as I need to, that it was not David who killed you. Gail came in and sat in the back row. And then Aunty Babe got up and walked! What must the man have thought? She went and sat next to my mother.
Then Caroline came in – no, not that quickly – her barrister had not arrived when the magistrate had, so he left and didn’t appear for another fifteen to twenty minutes. So I got to look at Caroline all this time.