Perfect Victim (43 page)

It is now over three years since Rachel was murdered, and our remaining daughters have a problem that is unsolved. They still have an older sister but their relationship to each other has altered. Ashleigh-Rose is obviously reluctant to adjust to an older sister role, while Heather can’t come to terms with the change at all. ‘I was always the youngest sister,’ she says, ‘and now I hear people call me the
younger
sister. I will always be the youngest.’ Yet one day Rachel will become the youngest
older
sister. Will the girls feel the need to adjust again?

And I, even now, feel awkward and dislike the question people often ask, ‘And how many children do you have?’ It is surprising how often this question comes up. I have experimented with answers. ‘I have three.’ (Hoping they don’t ask me their ages.) ‘I have had three but now I only have two.’ ‘I have three, but my eldest was murdered.’ On the odd occasion, to save hassle I have answered, ‘I have – two’ (as if I need time to think about it). But then I have been riddled with guilt at the denial of Rachel’s fifteen years. Fifteen years cannot be discounted. And why should I have to worry about other people’s awkwardness? As far as I am concerned Mike and I
still
have three children. I just can’t use that answer because inevitably the next question is, ‘Oh, and how old are they?’

When I was working I found myself telling a customer I had a sixteen-year-old daughter. And again, on meeting new people, for instance when Ashleigh-Rose started at secondary school, I would come across parents or teachers who would hint, ‘Just wait until they get into their mid-teens …’ I
know
. But how can I
say
? How?

The mother of one of Rachel’s friends told us her daughter had said, a couple of weeks before Rachel was murdered, ‘Mum, Rachel is so blissfully happy.’ And I ask, was she so happy that she was unable to be aware of danger?

My husband Mike says, ‘Tomorrow, everyone will forget our beautiful Rachel.’ This is a fear shared by our girls. Ashleigh-Rose already says she has forgotten her sister’s voice and is terrified of forgetting her altogether. She withdrew from a friend who told her to forget Rachel and ‘get over it and get a life’. This distressed her greatly. But what Ashleigh-Rose has failed to understand is that this twelve-year-old friend was only trying to help. And if my adult friends find Rachel’s death uncomfortable to deal with, how can we expect children to deal with it?

In our society death is taboo, particularly the death of a child. (So what does that make murder?) And it shouldn’t be taboo. Maybe it is time for open coffins to be returned to the parlours, the living rooms, and for death to be brought back into the home, so that as new generations of children grow, so will their acceptance of death. The dead are not to be feared. Rather, it is sometimes what kills them that should be feared.

E
PILOGUE

31 March 2002

Dear Rachel,

So long has passed since I wrote to you last. The writing of your story has enveloped my complete consciousness. It makes every March without you more real.

Before writing this book about you I had been comfortable living in denial. I knew you were dead, but it was still easier to speak to you through these letters and pretend you were not dead. These letters made me feel comfortable. Rachel, I didn’t want to lose touch with the essence of you. You will always be real for me – but now – in spirit only. What did I say at the conclusion of the chapter about the forensic photographs? ‘Our beautiful daughter. Is our journey now complete? Have we finally departed your grave?’ I cannot speak for your dad but, I think I
have
finally departed your grave. But only through acceptance. It is a tragedy we learn to live
with
– not move on
from
. Your murder will be a continuing presence for our remaining years.

Rachel, your Manni completed his two-year Diploma of Dance. You, too, would have completed yours. We are still close to the Carellas. Your sisters look upon the boys as five big brothers. Rosa says, ‘We will always have a place for each other,’ and she is right.

I told very few people that Megan and I were writing this book because those I did tell said, ‘Well, if you think it will help
you
work things through.’ But they missed the point. It wasn’t written for me. The letters I have written to you, many of which are not here in this book, have been for me –
and
you – when it was easier for others in their awkwardness not to see me, or not to bring the subject up. And in a sense neither was the book for you. It was written for the police, for psychologists, for grief counsellors, for clergy and pastoral care workers. It was written for other parents, and for those who experience death. Some grief can never be resolved.

‘Let me be
me
!’ Heather demanded one morning last year. Rachel, I wasn’t listening to your youngest sister. I hadn’t been listening for two years. Those two years of Heather and Ashleigh-Rose’s lives are memories I will read about in your letters. Two years of childhood gone. Ashleigh-Rose has grown up so much. Eleven to fourteen is a big enough leap in one’s life, even without the added grief that Ashleigh-Rose has had to encounter.

Maybe Heather spoke so forwardly to one of the journalists because she thought it was a chance for her voice to be heard. I cringed when I read that Heather planned to take up dance. She knew I had quite clearly said, ‘I’m not going down that track any more.’ I was adamant. Your sisters knew this. But it was because of this quite public affirmation by Heather that I allowed both your sisters to join in a local jazz school. But this wasn’t enough for Heather. ‘I want to learn jazz and
ballet
,’ she’d said.

One morning I drove Heather to a ballet school open day but left an hour later saying, ‘I can’t do it, Heather. I can’t.’ Rachel, your whole being had been dance. The experience was so distressing, and Rachel, so sad. A tug of feelings. Finally in desperation Heather declared, ‘Let me be
me
!’ And I realised, Rachel, that if you had still been alive you would have been there with Heather sorting through the ten years of ballet uniforms buried deep in the laundry cupboard, sorting through at least fifteen pairs of ballet shoes, jazz shoes and character shoes. How could I not let Heather be Heather? I let you be Rachel.

So we drove on to another ballet school. I walked in and breathed in the familiar smells, saw the wooden floors, the ballet buns, heard the sounds of classical ballet class, and saw expectant joy in your sister’s face. So I said – yes. She may decide at the end of a year it’s not what she wants but at least I have given her a chance to be herself.

I felt quite ill that afternoon. Heather had been rummaging through the bags of ballet uniforms, spilling memories across the couch and onto the floor. She found the whole caboodle. Leotard, tights, skirt and ballet shoes. The furniture was pushed back, her hair went up in a bun and out came the old Royal Academy of Dance video.

Justice Vincent said at the sentencing, ‘The anguish will remain, sometimes intensifying as milestone events take place … ever present and constantly evoked by everyday life occurrences.’ Rachel, this will always be true, even when your sisters are defending their rights to be who they are; and even when quite insignificant tasks occur. I remember something your dad told me: that just mowing the lawn is difficult for him, because he is reminded of the times he mowed the lawn at Mont Albert. Caroline would stop him on the way home from college and chat to him, while he rested his arms on the handlebar.

But Heather didn’t look like a clone of you. She looked like Heather being allowed to be Heather. I saw a joy in Heather I hadn’t seen for quite some time. It’s the smile, you know. One can tell real joy in a person by their smile.

And I smiled.

Rachel, you left an imprint in this world. Your short life gave so much energy to your dad and the loss of you has left a festering wound in him, so much so that he cannot find the words to express his loss. You were the Rachel he knew before you were even born. And maybe in response to his words, ‘Tomorrow, everyone will forget our beautiful Rachel’, he too will recognise your short life did have meaning. I don’t mean that your murder had a reason. There is no acceptable reason for the act of your murder. The act will always be evil. And it could diminish one’s faith in God and humanity.

So wouldn’t it be better, Rachel, if something grew from this destructiveness? The day after we were told of your murder, absurd as it seemed then, I said that some good would come from it. To make good out of evil. To change the destructive nature of your murder and help people understand that there is a resurrection from death, not only for those who have died, but also for those left with the grief, the seemingly unconsolable ‘whys’. That even in our physical existence, our souls are nurtured.

And for me, as a Christian, there is also an Easter story in your death. Always will be. Throughout the desolation and torment of March, throughout the ‘anniversaries’ of your murder, relived every day; throughout the tears,
every
year, I will always emerge at Easter. A time your sisters look forward to, a time for Easter eggs and hot cross buns. But Easter is so much more than that. Easter is Christ’s suffering remembered, and a journey through death made victorious in the resurrection.

Rachel, during the writing of this book I could not continue to write letters to you. I had simply used too many stores of emotional energy. I said to your Grandad Ivan, with regret, ‘I can’t do both.’ His answer … ‘But this book is the definitive letter – this says it all.’

Love to you, my darling Rachel.

A
CKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It was Elizabeth’s father, Ivan Southall, who instigated the writing of this book. As a writer, he always recognised the importance of this story, but said it was one he couldn’t write himself. So he urged Elizabeth to tell it, and we thank him for that.

However, Elizabeth felt that she could not tell this story on her own either, because she wanted to give both Rachel’s family’s account,
and
the account of the crime that cost their daughter her life. So Elizabeth approached Megan, who had written a story on Elizabeth’s family. We had become friends, and would tell the story together.

We have written what we hope is a balanced and accurate story of Rachel’s murder. But we could not have done this without the tremendous support of our editor at Penguin Books, Suzanne Wilson, whose patience and sensitivity helped us through the enormous task of turning a pile of paperwork into a readable story. This material included Elizabeth’s exercise books filled with notes taken down during Rachel’s disappearance, and her journals and diary entries, letters (many written in the middle of the night), Megan’s pages of shorthand notes from the court case, piles of transcript and evidence. Together we spent many late nights at Suzanne’s house, collating our material and combining our stories into what we hope is a revealing insight into a murder and a loss that should never have happened. We must also thank Suzanne’s ever-patient husband Stuart for the many cups of coffee which accompanied those late-night editorial sessions. He will be glad to have his family home back.

We would also like to thank our own husbands, Mike and Steve, for their support in making this book possible, and our children Ashleigh-Rose and Heather, Alex and Peter, who have also encouraged us in this project.

There are many others who have willingly given their time or contributed information to this book, to ensure the story we tell is both fair and accurate. So we wish to thank the following for all their help in this task:

Elizabeth’s mum Joy, and dad Ivan Southall; her stepmother, Susan Southall; her parents-in-law, Rose and Arthur Barber; her brother Drew, and sisters Robbie and Melissa whose comforting cuddles meant so much; cousins Michele, Ian, Jan and Jamie; aunts Betty and Babe; niece Tamzin; nephew Shaun Connors and Renée; the Carella family for their ongoing support and love – Emmanuel, his parents Rosa and Tony, his brothers Robert, Domenic, Frank and Michael.

We wish to thank Ted and Betty Blacker; Assunta Pellicano; students and their parents from the Dance Factory, Richmond, along with the staff, especially Vicky and Mark, and Dulcie Lee; David Vo for the use of the poster on the back cover and his help during the search for Rachel; Cathy and Alec Djoneff who paid for the petrol during the long days and nights Elizabeth and her family drove around the city – and for a weekend away in the months after Rachel’s death; also their daughter, Ellen Djoneff who was one of Rachel’s closest friends; John, Chris, Alex Griffiths and his mates; Carlo, Tate and Richard; Sandra and Russell Simos and their daughter Laura (Rachel’s close friend), as well as her sisters and brother.

We gratefully acknowledge the co-operation and assistance of the Victoria Police, especially David dePyle, Neil Paterson, Steve Waddell and their fellow officers at the Missing Persons Unit; Detective Sergeant Paul Ross and other detectives from the Homicide Squad; Senior Constable Neil Tilley; we thank Amber at the Victoria Police Freedom of Information office for her assistance in obtaining relevant information and photographs; Dougall from Victoria Police Media Liaison for his help in obtaining statistics and checking factual information; Rob Read from the Victims Advisory Unit; Jenny Mouzos from the Institute of Criminology in Canberra for her co-operation in providing information on women who kill; Hermann Metz and the team of scientists at the Police Forensic Science Centre in South Melbourne; Prue Innes from the Supreme Court Media Office; Bronwyn Hammond at the Office of Public Prosecutions for her patience in fielding Megan’s numerous telephone calls in her quest to check information, and Bronwyn’s colleague Matthew Bastinion; Annie Davies for her support during the court process; the Court Network System; Alison Guberek and her family; the Suzan Johnston Modelling School; St Hilary’s Anglican Church and Mont Albert Primary School for the many casseroles provided during the two weeks of Rachel’s disappearance, and Heathmont East Primary School for their support, especially with Ashleigh-Rose and Heather.