by Megan Norris
She started to write down notes as everybody had said she had the day before, and in view of the revelation from the previous day regarding her notes and premeditated plots, I couldn’t help thinking she was very good at recording everything. She seemed cool and calm – not agitated – perhaps looking self important. Once or twice her eyes gazed over in our direction but she made no eye contact.
I noticed a document being handed over from the prosecution solicitor to the prosecution barrister which was an application for a birth certificate in your name, but not in your handwriting. I wonder if she ever knew you were left-handed. Perhaps she is left-handed herself. I should have noted. We were required to leave soon afterwards.
We only just managed to reach the court network room before I broke down, uncontrollably. Your dad held me in his arms for a long time before we both sat down. The time in the court had affected Dad as well. Writing now, I find it difficult to express our emotions, only to say they were ones of loss – like a new bereavement. It was then, yet again, that the drawn-out procedures of the court brought it home to us that we were still very much in the funeral stage of your death. We can never hope to be further along until the trial is over.
I looked out the window and noticed police cars had numbers on their rooftops. I’d never noticed this before and I stopped crying.
When we calmed down we went downstairs to the Salvation Army who said we could use their photocopier to copy some letters we had received from your teachers and friends after your murder. I thought these would personalise you for the prosecution solicitor.
Everything finished about noon and we were suddenly overwhelmed by family, who came in insisting that the trial would be May 1st, and wasn’t that great – exciting, in fact, because it meant we wouldn’t have long to wait. I tried to tell them this would be the arraignment date but they didn’t understand.
Paul Ross and barrister Robert Barry, together with our prosecution solicitor Matthew directed us into a quiet room and said, as we had rightly assumed, that May 1st represented the arraignment date. The trial will probably be some time between August and October.
Later, your dad told me he had started to panic and was shaking.
When we left the court we dropped into the Salvation Army to say goodbye and found Gail Reid there. She was nervous about leaving the court and Lindsay, the Salvation Army officer who had helped in your search, offered to walk her to Flagstaff Station but she did not take him up. They suggested she call a taxi but she wouldn’t do this either. It was odd standing there with her. I didn’t feel any hostility towards her and I wasn’t feeling stressed by the situation. A bystander would never have imagined that her daughter was accused of murdering our daughter.
My God, Rachel, she was on her own. I felt so much pity for her, but I cannot take on her welfare any more. Last time I did look where it all ended. I can pray for her though, and pray some friends stand by her, for her sake alone.
We were waiting for Susan at the Salvation Army, but she just hadn’t appeared so we went outside. Still no Susan. She had gone to collect her car, perhaps half an hour earlier, and before long we were being photographed and filmed. I was asked what I thought of the ‘Not Guilty’ plea. I didn’t want to jeopardise the trial. I didn’t want the defence to have any reason to say ‘unfair trial’, so I answered, ‘We’ll just have to wait and see. We were not in the committal hearing because we were not allowed to be. We sat in the court network room. It has been very hard. Could you please respect our privacy?’ We were followed to the end of the street but not harassed. We turned around and walked back in the direction of the court. I noticed Gail walking directly towards us, quite oblivious of our presence so I turned away because I did not think it prudent for the press to photograph us together.
Your father and I felt totally drained, my darling, because we had not had any idea how premeditated your murder was. I have begun to understand why Paul Ross said we were required as witnesses.
Your dad, Chris and I had a quiet afternoon, although by the time we got home it was already three o’clock.
I asked Chris if she was resilient enough to hear the poems I had written to you, explaining they were not properly constructed poems, more thoughts on paper. After a while she was sobbing, and I said, ‘Oh Chris, I shouldn’t have put you through this.’ It was quite thoughtless of me really, considering she had sat through the committal hearing. But she said, ‘No, no, go on.’ But after a few more lines we decided to get some fresh air out on the front veranda …
Rachel, I want to go on now because I feel it important to record this, but it is 1.25 a.m. and I am so tired, even though all I have done today is go to church, watch a video with your dad and sister and then literally sleep all afternoon. This week of the committal hearing has really whacked me, and my heavy cold has not helped. But I will continue …
By the time Chris and I were leaning against the front veranda I was crying too. As we were trying to compose ourselves a red van rolled up and a man got out holding a clipboard. He looked very official. I said, ‘Oh no, do you think he is a journalist?’ Chris answered, ‘No, he looks like someone from the Salvation Army.’
This was all in slow motion. It felt like we should have said, ‘Is it a plane? Is it a bird? No, it’s not Superman but a man of some variety.’ Now, don’t get me wrong Rachel, but in all the grief and trauma of the past two days of the committal hearing, what was about to happen was like a Monty Python sketch.
Our eyes were bloodshot and teary as this poor man walked up to the veranda completely ignorant of the events of our day.
He said, ‘Good afternoon, would you like your roof retiled and we’ll give you a free check.’
Chris stopped in her tracks and said, ‘Now’s not the time for roofing. There has been a tragedy in the family.’
And I said, ‘Well, the tragedy happened a year ago and it’s just been renewed.’ (Silly thing to say, really.)
Then Chris laughed, and I did too because ‘renewed’ sounded such a ridiculous expression.
He was about to leave, looking disconcerted.
I said, ‘No, wait. What do you mean by “you’ll retile our roof and then give us a free check”? Do you mean a free check C-H-E-C-K or cheque C-H-E-Q-U-E?’
‘Oh,’ said Chris. ‘He means C-H-E-Q-U-E.’
‘No,’ said the man, very carefully, obviously now aware of our reddened eyes and smudged make-up. ‘What we do is give your roof a free check C-H-E-C-K, then if you wish we will retile your roof and then you will give us a cheque C-H-E-Q-U-E.’
Well, we started to laugh and cry at the same time. Not crying as a result of a spillover of laughter, but real crying from the events of the day.
He gave us his name and phone number and left.
Chris and I were then surprisingly refreshed and returned to the poems. After this Mike and I drove Chris home and on the way back treated ourselves to Chinese takeaway, but ended up throwing half of it away because we really didn’t have any appetite.
Writing back on this week, a week later, I do feel the raw emotions of the moment have been lost. When I write these letters to you, Rachel, they are an expression of that point in time. When I read back on them I am reflecting just as much on the pen and ink, and the flow from the hand connected to my thoughts.
Wednesday morning we did a small amount of banking and shopping. People were pointing at us.
Michael Clarebrough came about 12.40 and stayed until five. We have been so shocked by all the events revealed in the media that it left us feeling winded. This was a turning point for your father, who now concedes the need to see a counsellor.
After Michael Clarebrough had been we drove to the cemetery and on to Healesville to collect Heather and Ashleigh-Rose. On the way home we visited Mum and later collapsed, totally drained of everything.
Thursday.
Ashleigh-Rose was only at school an hour when my friend Chris, who also teaches at her school, rang us up. Things had not gone we
ll for Ashleigh-Rose and she had gone to the office looking for Chris, who was fortunately teaching today. Their social welfare counsellor is going to bring her home.
I’m done in, Rachel.
Love, Mum.
The other story …
25
MURDER MAKING HEADLINES
Caroline Reed Robertson made her first appearance before the Melbourne Magistrates Court on Monday, 15 March 1999 – a twenty-year-old office administrator appearing briefly, charged with one count of murder.
Word of her arrest had come to newsroom staff late on Saturday evening, shortly before her appearance in front of a duty magistrate who formally remanded her in custody until Monday morning. It was sensational stuff, but the media knew that Robertson’s pending court appearance was likely to last only a matter of minutes. And since police investigations were ongoing, and no autopsy findings had been released positively identifying the cause of death, news coverage of the case would undoubtedly be limited by legal constraints.
This case would, no doubt, involve a high-profile trial since few defendants ever plead guilty to the serious charge of murder. And because Caroline Robertson was not required to enter a plea at this stage, any revelations about the alleged murder would have to wait until the committal hearing.
‘Missing Teenager Found Dead’ reported the Sunday Age. ‘Missing Dancer Found Dead’ echoed another paper, announcing the fact that an autopsy was due to be conducted later on Sunday. In fact, the autopsy was carried out that morning, but because of the decomposed state of the body it was difficult to establish either its identity or the cause of death. Forensic tests later showed that it was indeed Rachel Barber and that she had most likely died about twelve days earlier, very shortly after her disappearance. Probably the same night. It was determined by the pathologist that the probable cause of death had been ligature strangulation.
On Monday morning the story made national headlines. The Sydney Morning Herald covered the syndicated story of the senseless killing, the family’s search, and the accused killer’s expected court appearance. And, as all this news was breaking, Robertson was led under guard into court, where she appeared dazed and distressed. She cut a bizarre figure as she sat, rocking and swaying, breathing heavily, dressed in a blue T-shirt and still with traces of bright green dye in her bedraggled brown hair.
When the magistrate ordered her to stand for the single murder charge to be formally read out to her, she staggered to her feet and gripped the edge of the dock to steady herself.
She shot a quick glance at her lawyer, who acknowledged her with a very slight nod of his head. She was then asked to confirm her name, age and address. No application was made for bail and she was remanded in custody to reappear in court on 25 March.
Robertson’s lawyer, David O’Doherty, told the court that forensic procedures such as blood-testing and taking DNA samples were still pending, and that he would require notice for permission to carry out those tests. Outside the new court complex he told journalists his client was ‘very unwell at the moment’, and had received medical attention while in custody. But they would have to wait for the results of the autopsy and the findings of toxicological testing on the dead girl.
For the time being, the extraordinary details of the crime itself remained a mystery to everyone.
In the street there were emotional scenes among friends and relatives of Rachel Barber. Her boyfriend Emmanuel, still too upset to speak to waiting camera crews, huddled with his family and wiped tears from his face. Elizabeth Barber’s cousin, Michele, also wept. ‘We had to be here for the parents today,’ she told journalists. ‘They weren’t strong enough. Her mother wanted to come today, but she couldn’t. We had to get her to stay at home.’
Caroline Robertson’s father also attended the hearing but left quickly, carefully avoiding the cameras and media posse in the street.
Amid all this publicity ‘Australia’s Most Wanted’ went to air with the story that David dePyle of the Missing Persons Unit had suggested to the program. It went to air on the day of the court hearing, two days after Rachel Barber’s body had been found. Two weeks too late.
The show updated the story, explaining the tragic outcome. Police were still appealing for information from witnesses who might have seen a white van Robertson initially claimed to have hired to transfer Rachel Barber’s body from the flat to her country grave.
But the real story, in the eyes of the media, was the link between the mother of the victim and the mother of the killer. They had been friends. Both were mothers of three girls. The two elder daughters were involved here – one charged with the death of another, a girl she had once been friendly with, once babysat. Press coverage abounded. There were character profiles of the bewitching, talented young dancer who had dreamed of being a big star one day. Elizabeth Barber’s grief-stricken account, told in a broken voice to reporters the day after the discovery of Rachel’s body, was seized upon by the media and aired repeatedly on TV and radio broadcasts: ‘I just thank God that we had her for fifteen years. I would rather have had her for fifteen years than not have had her at all.’
Community concerns were voiced, sympathising with the family’s plight. A letter in the Melbourne Age expressed sympathy for the Barber family, saying how ‘doubly cruel’ this crime had been for Rachel Barber’s parents and sisters. ‘Snatched from them at such a tender age and by such inexplicable violence.’
A week later, a letter in the Sunday Age from the family of one of Rachel’s school friends demanded to know why this case had not been referred to Missing Persons sooner. Why had there been such an apparent lack of support for the Barbers from the appropriate authorities at the time of their daughter’s disappearance? ‘Why’, ran the letter, ‘is it that missing children are immediately branded as miscreants and no credence is given to parents’ concerns about abduction and foul play? Why is there no support for such families if immediate police action cannot be taken?’
At this very early stage police were still compiling evidence against the young woman in custody. They had the documents seized during their searches of Robertson’s flat. But pages from the suspect’s notebooks had clearly been ripped out, perhaps destroyed. The torn pages were certainly not found around the flat.
It was clear from Robertson’s carefully compiled lists that she was a methodical, well-organised person. After all, she’d made detailed handwritten observations on the victim and her family. And the enormous creepy ‘Scream’ print dominating the tiny lounge room only added to the detectives’ general feelings of unease.
They could offer no concrete motive at this stage – though they had their suspicions. There was Robertson’s earlier confession to Neil Paterson at the hospital, though she maintained that Rachel’s death was an accident. After that, she had refused to co-operate at all. What could Robertson have said to Rachel in those two lengthy phone calls the night before their secret rendezvous? Identifying a motive would offer some explanation – rational or otherwise.
But the case had been adjourned now, until 25 March, and the committal hearing was several months away. Caroline Reed Robertson was remanded in custody to the Metropolitan Women’s Correctional Centre at Deer Park. Her lawyers had begun work, and now there was time for police to collect witness statements. Time to unearth more evidence.
26
A FRIENDLESS NOBODY
On Wednesday, 24 March more than 850 mourners gathered at Rachel Barber’s funeral in St Hilary’s Anglican Church, Kew, including all her friends and instructors from the Dance Factory. There were friends from her former dancing school, past schoolmates and teachers, together with family friends. There were supporters from her local church group, boys she had grown up with like Macca, Anthony, Hugh and Ben – some of whom had put up many posters in the days when Rachel was missing. And of course there was Rachel’s boyfriend Emmanuel, who was supported by his entire family. Elizabeth’s employers and friends from the bookshop where she worked also attended and clos
ed their business for the day.
A moving video depicting Rachel with Emmanuel was shown during the service by the Carella brothers. It showed Emmanuel’s sixteenth birthday, with Rachel and Manni’s brothers, and Rachel’s sisters; Rachel dancing solo in concerts; dancing with Manni; a Christmas party with Manni’s family and friends. Rachel Star. The ‘little butterfly that has been released into the limitless love of our Lord’, as the minister described her. Rachel waving at the camera, smiling broadly … and mouthing the words ‘bye bye’. The little butterfly and her flowers were later taken away for private burial at the Lilydale Memorial Park.
As news crews swelled the crowd at the teenager’s funeral, Caroline Robertson was preparing herself for a second appearance at the Melbourne Magistrates Court. She had been on remand and was required to appear in court again for the prosecution to provide information on the status of the case.
Prosecutor Scott Johns told the court the following morning that the Homicide Squad was now in the process of preparing sixty witness statements. The police brief, including forensic test results, would be extensive and looked likely to take at least three months to complete.
No application for bail was made on Robertson’s behalf and, given the amount of paperwork to be undertaken and the seriousness of the charge, Deputy Chief Magistrate Jelena Popovic remanded the suspect in custody again. With the media focus now on the funeral, Robertson’s court appearance warranted barely a mention in the news.
‘Free Spirit who Lived to Dance,’ ran a headline in the Herald Sun, which described the service for the fifteen-year-old ‘vivacious spirit’ who, her family said, would ‘dance on in their hearts for ever’. The newspaper also reported a proposed meeting between the family and the Victorian Premier, Mr Kennett, at which they would ask for a liaison officer to be attached to the police Missing Persons Unit to help parents worried about missing children. Meanwhile, the Age carried a story under the heading ‘Friends and Family Remember Their Beautiful Butterfly.’