Peter Seymour - Seven Bones Two Wives, Two Violent Murders, A Fight For Justice

Jean Angela Keir.

The first time I heard her name was when I was handed a Missing Persons file back in 1989. I had no idea that, from the moment that brief was put in my hand, my life and that of my family would be completely and utterly turned upside down. My partner Mick Lyons and I would be launched into a bizarre investigation for which, truthfully, we were not prepared. Over the next decade, it would consume my life almost entirely; eventually threatening to tear my family apart.

It began in Mt Druitt, in the west of Sydney. The Druitt and the surrounding suburbs like Blackett, Emerton, Lethbridge Park and Tregear are undoubtedly some of the toughest areas of the city. It is a very low socio-economic area, with high unemployment, alcohol, drugs, domestic violence and racial tension. It was, and still is, a real hotbed, which meant there was always something on the boil. However, mixed in amongst the pockets of shit (the druggies, the wife-beaters and the dole bludgers) there was a spattering of people who, despite their lower social position, took great pride in their personal appearance and that of their homes. These were your truly genuine, hardworking Aussies. They were the salt of the earth with good, warm hearts.

Some coppers might have complained about being in a difficult area, but not me. I was always happy about being there. From my first posting to Blacktown as a trainee constable Id wanted to be in the thick of the action. My Dad was very proud when I graduated from the Academy in 1980 and he always told me it was better to go somewhere busy so I could learn as much as I could. Some police stations can be fairly routine but the Druitt was one of those places where you walked in each morning with no idea what to expect or what was going to be thrown your way. It was sink or swim. Even the Uniforms and the Ds got on well which was not always the case elsewhere. The Uniform guys wouldnt flick a job to the Ds because they didnt feel like doing it. Instead, theyd pitch in, help out and ask for advice when needed. I really did like working there.

One day, I was in the Detectives Office struggling with our antiquated photocopier.

Stupid machine! I cursed as it jammed for the umpteenth time. It wasnt my usual style but I started screaming profanities as I became stroppier and stroppier. All I was trying to do was put together a simple brief but every time I pressed the copy button the thing would start beeping and flashing with those little red circles indicating a paper jam. Id pull it all apart, take the paper out and then close everything. Itd warm up and the little green light would flash telling me it was good to go. Id press copy and, sure enough, the red lights would start flashing again and the whole process would have to be repeated.

Time-saving devices and paperless age my arse! I muttered to myself as I slammed my fist down on the copier. I was just readying myself to give it a hefty kick when someone called out:

Pete! Boss wants you in his office!

The photocopier was not getting off that easily. I kicked it, hard, before making my way to the bosss office.

My boss was Detective Senior Sergeant Mick OConnell. He was your true old-school cop, like someone from a seventies TV detective show. I got on with him extremely well, probably because Id made my decision to become a detective whilst watching Homicide with my Dad as a kid. I really identified with Leonard Teales character, Senior Detective David Mac Mackay. Like Mackay, Mick had seen and done it all. He never took a backward step, and commanded respect from all around him. He wasnt one for fancy or flashy clothes and always wore an open-necked collared shirt. His attire pretty much reflected his attitude towards police work: everything stripped down to its simplest form: no nonsense and no bull. His brown hair was parted and flipped over to the left. He always wore his sunnies either hanging from the pocket of his short-sleeved shirt or from the buttons which sometimes struggled to do their job as Mick had the build of a man who enjoyed a few beers. He hated wearing ties and I only ever remember seeing him wear one when he went to court. He was a pretty jovial character who loved a laugh and had been a detective for most of his time in the force. Mick was a dead-set rough diamond and one of the best things about him was that you knew that as long as you did your job properly hed always be there to back you up. He fondly referred to us as his boys and in return for his support he had the fellas loyalty one hundred per cent. If anyone ever unfairly criticised one of his boys hed be up them like a rat up a drainpipe.

You wanted to see me, Boss? I said when I got to his door. True to character, Mick was studying the form guide intently, his eyes not deviating as he spoke.

Having trouble with that bloody photocopier, are you? We should chuck it down the stairs and make the bastards buy us another one. Take a seat, mate. Ill be with you in a tick.

I sat down and looked at my ink-stained hands while listening to Mick muttering about the next friggin donkey that had better run a good race or hed make sure it ended up at the glue factory. He circled the last of his selections, put the form guide down and swivelled around on his chair. It creaked and squeaked as he rustled through the paper tray on the right-hand corner of his desk before retrieving a file and handing it to me.

Mate, seeing how youre on late shift this arvo do you reckon you could have a look at this Missing Persons file? The sheila disappeared last year and everything points to her pissin off with another bloke. Just go around and have a chat to her husband and see if theres anything more he can tell us about it. If theres bugger-all to it just fill in the report and send it back to Missing Persons.

Yeah, no dramas, I said, Ill check it out later on tonight. I took a quick peek at the cover of the file: Missing Person Jean Angela Keir.

Thanks, mate. Have a good one, Mick said as he swivelled his chair to face the window and returned to his form guide.

Later, another D and I went around to the Keir household in Wilkes Crescent, Tregear. When we arrived I paused out the front to take a good look around. It was your typical suburban Australian home, a white-panelled place with a metre and a half high mesh fence enclosing the front yard. A deep-green Colorbond fence separated the front yard from the back. On that same side there was a double gate leading through to a side access driveway to a rear garage which appeared to be detached from the main house. We walked through the gate of the mesh fence and up the front path. We knocked on the door but there was no-one home. Over the next few weeks, we went there again and again, but still no-one answered. Every time we knocked and waited, I felt an irresistible pull to search around the house; something just felt totally wrong. A few weeks later, we were patrolling in the area so we decided to give it another go. It was approaching ten oclock at night by the time we turned into the street and the closer we came to the house the more uncomfortable I felt but, to be honest, I didnt really expect much. This was a routine tick and flick and, in reality, we had more important cases to attend to. We pulled up outside the house and something immediately struck me.

Hey, Dave. Bloody hell, mate! I said to my partner. Theres actually a light on; looks like we might get lucky.

We hopped out of the car, and as soon as I set foot inside the property I stopped. There