A decent man who follows the Ten Commandments, Don has been dogged by depression and numerous nervous break-downs in the past ten years, and works obsessively to keep from sliding into that dark mental abyss from which he may never return. He pushes himself hard to keep his demons at bay. Up before the sun, working until 8 o'clock most nights. His marriage to Carol is strained by emotional fatigue and the inconsolable bleakness under which the family labours. He is tired of life; sorrow and dread have stripped him of the will to continue. Carol, the older image of Sarah, shies from the media, battening down in an emotional fortress.
Don doesn't trust the press, either. Not long after Sarah disappeared, he and Carol wrote a letter to the local newspaper on Mother's Day, a heartfelt re-creation of a conversation between Carol and Sarah. But the published result was so changed, so distorted, that Don developed a rancid distrust for the fourth estate. But still he courts the press; it is a pragmatic solution, for how else to get his messages to the public? 'Will the man who called me in the week that Sarah disappeared and who told me she is at Gnangara Pine Plantation, please call me back?' He wants to hear that yuppie, educated voice just one more time. Just one more time.
No one calls. Silence is his enemy.
But even if that voice was captured on tape, what good would it do? Even if Don Spiers instantly recognised it, what would it achieve? It is not evidence that could be used in court; and even if it were, it is inadmissible. Even if it were, the defence would decimate it as the hopes of a grieving father clutching at straws. What good would it do? None, except to stir up emotions that are already raw and bleeding. Inadmissible in court, and so nothing to stop the caller ringing back just one more time.
A decade after she vanished into the night, Sarah would be 28 years old. Don is now 57. The search for her, for this young woman full of uninhibited love for her family, has cost almost a quarter of a million dollars, including medical bills, research and time off work.
Don is certain Sarah would not have willingly got into a stranger's car. He can't bear to articulate what may have happened in her final hours. It is an obscenity to even have to imagine.
76
Karrakatta, a vast cemetery on more than 400 hectares of land, is two kilometres long. Opened in 1899, the head-stones offer a peek at lives long gone, of suicides, murder, old age, illness. Without a reference to gravesites, it is impossible to find where Jane Rimmer and Ciara Glennon are laid to rest. It is empty, eerily quiet here in the dying hours of this Sunday afternoon as I begin the lonely trek to locate their headstones. The office is closed and my footsteps echo on the winding pathways as I peer down at names etched in marble and stone. I shiver. It is unbearably warm, but I have an uneasy sense that someone may be lurking behind me. I keep turning to check I am alone. A woman is fussing over her brother's grave, and stands up as I draw near.
'Hello,' I say. 'Sorry to disturb you. I wonder if you could tell me where I might find Jane Rimmer's gravesite?'
Her hands fly to her mouth. 'My brother was obsessed with that girl,' she says. 'He often commented on how tragic it was for such a beautiful young woman to be murdered. He died fretting about her. If Jane were near this site, I would know. I know all the graves near here. You will need a reference guide to find the site. The office is open tomorrow.'
The next day, reference in hand, I find it. Jane Rimmer's memorial plaque, in the old part of the cemetery, is protected by tall pine trees and dainty flowers. 'In loving memory of Jane Louise Rimmer. Taken from us on 9th June 1996, aged 23 . . .'
It is here that Jenny comes to celebrate her daughter's birthday on 12 October, serenading her with pink blush champagne and cake. Here, where Trevor makes the sad pilgrimage each Saturday, brushing stray leaves from the plaque, replacing fresh flowers and talking quietly to his daughter. Here where leaves fall like teardrops, marking the changing seasons of the years. All the years that Jane has been denied.
I locate Ciara Glennon's gravesite. Number 231, behind the desolate children's memorial garden dotted with heartbreaking tiny graves and headstones hugged by teddy bears. 'Gone but never forgotten, our precious daughter and sister, Ciara, born 20th November 1969. Taken from us 15th March 1997. The mercy of God will gather us together again in the joy of his kingdom.'
I bend down to touch the headstone, tracing the letters on it and think of two days earlier, when I had stood above the cross symbolising the end of her tragically short life. That ghastly place of ticks and snakes, her disposal site at Eglinton. Here at least she has dignity. I recall what Ken Sanderson said: 'It could be anyone's daughter.' And it is now that it really hits home. It could be anyone's daughter. It could be my own. I speak softly to Ciara before I turn to leave. 'I'm sorry, Ciara. Who did this to you? Who did this?'
The thought occurs to me as I walk back to the car. Would the killer have stalked the girls' gravesites, silently gloating that he had not yet been caught? There is a groundsman near me, and I nod good afternoon. 'Do you know if any security cameras have ever been put on the gravesites of Jane Rimmer or Ciara Glennon?'
He shakes his head. 'Don't know. But there are plenty of places here to hide them.' I tell him I have felt a sense of danger walking around the cemetery, a feeling that someone could be behind me. 'Females aren't allowed to work after hours on their own here anymore,' he tells me. 'Karrakatta is close to Graylands Psychiatric Hospital and there have been some nasty incidents. It's certainly not the place to wander about on your own.'
The elevator in the apartment block in which I am staying is frighteningly small and even worse, hellishly slow. A claustrophobic, I decide on day one to take the stairs instead. All 12 flights of them. With interviews stretching from early in the morning until late at night, by day four my thoughts are cluttered and dark. Different people have put forward names of individuals whom they suspect may be the Claremont serial killer, and it is hard to know who I am dealing with. I can hear my footsteps echoing on the empty concrete stairwell and am spooked by what I may encounter around the blind corners. It is irrational I know, but the fear that has pervaded Perth residents for years is now seeping into my conscious-ness. From this point on, I will constantly look over my shoulder whenever I am working.
77
In March 2006 it was announced the Corruption and Crime Commission – an independent and impartial body responsible for overseeing and if necessary investigating complaints against WA government departments and the Western Australia Police – would hold public hearings on the Mallard case, to investigate allegations of misconduct by those involved in the investigation and prosecution of Mallard. Intense media scrutiny ensured the story continued to be a pot-boiler.
By mid-April 2006, a cold-case review was announced. Chaired by Deputy Commissioner Chris Dawson and with the assistance of Professor David Barclay, former head of the UK Forensic Services Institute and known to police through his work on the Claremont case, it found a startling new piece of evidence – an unidentified palm print found at the scene of the murder. In legal terms, it was late evidence: half past eleven and the clock was ticking. Evidence of this print had not been given to Mallard's lawyer at the time of his arrest – the same legal aid lawyer who also worked for convicted killer Simon Rochford, an English tourist in Australia serving life for the murder of his girlfriend, Brigitta Dickens, in 1994. The modus operandi of Dickens's murder was hauntingly similar – though not identical – to that of Pamela Lawrence. Both women were bludgeoned to death in the first half of 1994 in classy Perth areas and both were blonde. Hunted by his girl-friend's parents, one of Rochford's arresting officers was working on the Macro investigation. Rochford readily confessed to killing his girlfriend, a confession taken down in 1994 by one of the detectives who had been party to the Mallard interview a month before.
This time, the reaction was swift: the print was proven to belong to Rochford. But if he had readily caved in on his girl-friend's murder, he took knowledge of his guilt or innocence relating to Lawrence's murder to his
grave. The man who had once shared a remand yard with Andrew Mallard in the 1990s slashed his wrists in his cell just nine days after the police interviewed him, his death adding another twist to an already tortuous case.
British detectives had already had Rochford in their sights before his trial. Prior to travelling to Australia, he had stayed at the same hostel in London where a German tourist had been murdered. 'You've got to ask yourself,' Quigley tells me, 'in light of what was known about Rochford and the time frame, why there was such a narrow focus on Mallard? This whole case is a litany of disasters.'
On 12 May, despite his earlier declaration that it was not necessary, Commissioner Karl O'Callaghan stood down, on full pay, the five senior officers involved in the original investigation into the Lawrence murder pending the results of the CCC investigation into the case. Dave Caporn. Mal Shervill. John Brandham. Alan Carter. Mark Emmett. Keeping a cool head, O'Callaghan described the decision as being about 'good governance'. He added that he had no information to suggest misconduct or that the officers had acted maliciously.
If O'Callaghan showed confidence in his officers – who said they welcomed the inquiry – it was not reflected in the public perception. Between them, the five officers had worked on hundreds of cases, including Claremont. If the CCC findings were adverse, what did that say about other cases in which they were involved? Particularly Macro. Director of Public Prosecutions Robert Cock is blunt in his appraisal of the case. 'The question is, why wasn't the palm print checked against Rochford's?' he asks. 'Why do we have to wait until technology is available and as an extension of that – is there material that can be checked for the Claremont case?' Cock believes that independent audits and scrutiny of investigations are vital. 'Who is marking Macro's report card? If that is done internally, it is not open to the scrutiny it requires. And therefore not good enough.'
John Quigley agrees, and makes no bones about it. Formerly energetic and super-fit, cancer and chemotherapy have debilitated his frame, sneaking up to waste his muscles and rob him of hair, his scalp now as bare as a winter tree. His loud voice still commands attention, as though he is seducing a jury. In remission, the man who was once the saviour of Western Australian police in need of legal advice is now regarded by many officers as a traitor and loose cannon. Between the two sides, it feels like a war. But he takes no prisoners. 'I look at certain sections of the police force today and it looks like a long conga line of suck-holes. They act like the slogan on my Bali T-shirt – "Admit nothing, deny everything. And then make counter allegations" – is a line from the police handbook. It's tragic.'
Finally, in mid-September 2006 there is a breakthrough in my relations with police. The commissioner's media adviser, Neil Poh, has agreed to approach Karl O'Callaghan with a request to allow some officers involved with Macro to speak to me. For eight months I have been frustrated by their stubborn silence. Poh, a former journalist who reporters joke has now 'gone over to the dark side', is canny about the media. It is better, he reasons, for police to defend possible criticisms now, than to wait until the book is published and then enter into a siege mentality.
His rationale is given voice in this email which read, in part: 'I suppose in fairness it was WAPOL's fault for not engaging you earlier, which meant you had mostly been speaking with the naysayers, the likes of Quigley, Napper and Christian, all people with personal vendettas or vested interests, and importantly no REAL knowledge of the inner workings of Macro.'
Poh calls me. Deputy Commissioner Chris Dawson, he says, has agreed to give clearance to certain people to talk to me. But there are caveats. Anthony Lee needs first to complete writing up the findings of the cold-case review into the Andrew Mallard case before he will have time to give me a full interview. He will see who else is willing.
Neil Poh and the Special Crime Squad's media officer, Jim Stanbury, meet me at the squad's office in the centre of Perth. The office is sterile, locked down. They run over my questions with a critical eye.
78
After repeatedly asking when and if Dave Caporn will contact me, I make the decision to call his mobile number in early November. Warned that he is under pressure from the Mallard case, I have until now resisted calling the number that I have had for months. His voice is clipped and professional.
'May I speak to Dave Caporn, please?'
'Speaking.'
Finally, I have made contact with the man who can answer most of the big questions about the investigation into the Claremont murders. Although he can have a smooth tongue, he is not known for his patience with journalists and I cut to the chase. Introducing myself, I tell him I would like to talk to him regarding his role in Claremont and his perceptions of the investigation's successes and failures. How had it affected him on a personal and professional level?
'How did you get my phone number?' he brusquely demands. It is an inauspicious beginning and I push past his question.
'You were the face of the investigation, Mr Caporn. I would really appreciate if you would share some insights with me.'
'Why are you asking me this? I haven't been involved in that case for years. It is an ongoing case and I can't comment on it.'
I tell him that I have been given verbal clearance to speak to him and that he may talk to me if he chooses. 'I haven't been informed of this. Who gave you this information?'
'Interviews have been facilitated with many former Macro officers,' I tell him. 'But you headed the investigation through its most critical period. I know you can't give me details of the investigation, but I would really like your personal perspective. What it was like to head up this terrible case? The pressures must have been enormous. I can call you back after you have checked I've been cleared to speak to you, if you prefer. Is that okay?'
'I'm not prepared to speculate on whether I'm permitted to comment or whether I will comment.'
'But if you are satisfied that you are cleared to speak, will you then talk to me?'
'This is all just conjecture. I can't speculate on that.'
I suppress an exasperated sigh. I have been writing this book for eight months and have been told many times from Neil Poh that it is in the best interests of the Western Australia Police if Dave Caporn talks to me if he chooses to. Given his elevated role in this story, I am confident that Caporn knows that there is a book being written on the case. I give it one last tactful shot.
'I will call Neil Poh to get the appropriate person to confirm with you that clearance had been given and I will call you back. Is that okay?'
'This is all just conjecture. I can't speculate on that.'
It is starting to sound like a scene from Yes, Minister. Deflated that I have gained so little from an interview for which I have waited for so long, I realise there is no point in continuing the conversation. One of us is about to hang up. I get in first. 'Thank you, Mr Caporn.'
I call Neil Poh to advise him I have contacted Caporn with no success.
'No wonder,' he says, more than a hint of chagrin in his voice. 'The cold-case review Mallard findings only came out twenty minutes ago. I told you they were being released today. You could have picked a better time to contact him.'
He is right, but I don't recall knowing when the findings were to be released and doubt that regardless of when I had called Caporn it would have made any difference. Shortly after, I receive an email from Chris Dawson.
Dawson – with whom I have never spoken – responds negatively and in full defensive mode to my request to inter-view Dave Caporn. 'I have determined that I will not permit Assistant Commissioner David Caporn to comment about the Macro investigation,' his lengthy reply begins.
That investigation remains live and unresolved. My overriding priority is to ensure that the integrity of the MACRO investigation is not compromised. For that reason, I will not risk the release of information that may alert a suspect to a particular line of inquiry or the adoption of an investigative strategy or technique. The effluxion of time alone cannot be used as a valid re
ason to reveal operational matters and techniques, while the murderer remains at large.
Secondly, I understand your intention is to criticise the MACRO investigation and in particular, Assistant Commissioner Caporn. Because of the integral role this officer undertook in this investigation, I am of the view that this officer cannot meaningfully respond without recourse to information which remains confidential. It would be most unfair for me to permit Assistant Commissioner Caporn to be placed in a position where he is pressured to respond to allegations when he is bound by confidentiality.
Furthermore, I am also led to believe that you intend to draw parallels between Assistant Commissioner Caporn's involvement in the MACRO investigation and his involvement in the Pamela Lawrence homicide investigation. As you are aware, the Pamela Lawrence homicide investigation is the subject of a Corruption and Crime Commission hearing. Until that hearing has concluded, Assistant Commissioner Caporn is precluded from making any comment. Indeed, all of the original investigation team have been denied access to the cold-case review report into the Pamela Lawrence homicide. Therefore, those officers cannot comment on reports they have not seen. I wish to reiterate that this officer is not in a position to defend his actions, although I am certain he would want to do so.
Whatever comment you intend about the MACRO investigation or the Pamela Lawrence homicide, in fairness, you should make it patently clear to your readers that Assistant Commissioner Caporn has been prevented from responding for the reasons I have provided. There will undoubtedly be parallels drawn between a number of Western Australian homicide investigations. While the full details of the MACRO and Pamela Lawrence homicides cannot presently be published, any publication will necessarily be limited and therefore open to uninformed and incomplete interpretation. The fact that many reviews, the most recent headed by an internationally respected team of homicide and forensic experts [the Schramm review], gives me confidence in stating that the MACRO investigation has undoubtedly been one of the most thorough, complex and detailed investigations into homicides in Australia. The Western Australian Police will continue to protect the integrity of the investigation, which I have placed into the carriage of the Special Crime Squad, with the strong desire to resolve these homicides.
The Devil's Garden Page 29