Caroline Graham - Larrimah: A Missing Man, an Eyeless Croc and an Outback Town of 11 People Who Mostly Hate Each Other

When Caroline Graham and Kylie Stevenson first met in a regional Queensland newsroom, neither of them imagined that thirteen years later theyd be sharing a room in a tiny outback town embroiled in a murder mystery. Before co-writing this book, they made the 2018 Walkley Awardwinning podcast Lost in Larrimah. In the process, they have eaten more meat pies and pub schnitzels than they should have.

Kylie Stevenson has 20 years experience as a journalist, her work appearing in The Guardian, The Australian, the Weekend Australian Magazine, the Saturday Paper and numerous health, lifestyle and travel publications. She has spent the last 14 years working in the Northern Territory, eight of them at the iconic, croc-obsessed NT News. She is currently undertaking a Doctorate of Creative Arts at the University of Wollongong, and to fund this folly she continues freelance writing. Kylie lives on Larrakia country in Darwin with her husband Michael, son Eddie and their dog Walter.

Caroline Graham has worked as a newspaper reporter and magazine writer, and has taught journalism at Bond University for more than a decade. She is the co-author of Writing Feature Stories: How to research and write articlesfrom listicles to longform, has a PhD in creative writing and has written for a range of publications, including the Weekend Australian, The Guardian and the Daily Mercury. Her short fiction and creative non-fiction has been published by Day One and Text. She lives on Yugambeh country on the Gold Coast and nothing makes her feel more smug than when someone congratulates her on her morning ocean swim in winter. It isnt even that cold on the Gold Coast.

As with all images on the cover, the Pink Panther and NT Draught bottle reflect some of the characteristics of the town of Larrimah (in this instance the local hotel) and neither the authors nor the publisher have any connection with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc or CUB Pty Ltd or any other product of those companies and readers should not interpret anything in this book as giving rise to any such connection.

First published in 2021

Copyright Caroline Graham and Kylie Stevenson 2021

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to the Copyright Agency (Australia) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

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Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

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ISBN 978 1 76087 783 5

eISBN 978 1 76106 292 6

Cover design and illustration: Luke Causby / Blue Cork

Maps by Mika Tabata

Set by Post Pre-press Group, Australia

For Larrimah, a town that isnt good and isnt ours but that we love, earnestly.

We acknowledge the traditional owners of the lands we have visited in telling this story, including the Wubalawun people of the Larrimah area. They are the first and rightful storytellers and keepers of knowledge of our land.

Disclaimer

They say not to let the truth get in the way of a good story, but it very much got in the way of this one. It turns out its impossible to fact-check who killed whose pet buffalo two decades ago, so we apologise for any errors. If you take out everything we couldnt pin down, this is really just a book about how hot the outback is. Thats pretty much the only thing we could prove. Believe us when we tell you: we really tried.

If shed known what would come later, Fran Hodgetts probably wouldnt have bothered with the haircut.

It was an ordinary December morning. The sun had just come up, but the Stuart Highway was already shimmering in the heat. Without the grey nomads and backpackers who usually filled its lanes in the dry season, the highway sat quiet. The wet season is not the time to visit Larrimahthe thermometer hovers around 40 degrees Celsius and the humidity just about kills you. Last night, a big downpour had dumped 33 millimetres on the town and, this morning, the air had thickened in its wake.

Without any tourists, business was slow at Frans outback Devonshire teahouse. In the dry season, she was flat out brewing tea, baking scones and cooking buffalo and crocodile pies. Shed recently been inspired to add waffles topped with camel mince to the menu. But with the big rains due, there just wasnt the demand. At this time of year, sometimes shed only sell a coffee a week. Sometimes it was one a month. Still, she tried to keep the gates openmostly for the company. If no one were around, shed cook batches of pies and scones and freeze them for the busy times. That was the usual pattern of things.

But today, Fran was taking the day off.

She stood in her bathroom applying eyeliner and pencilling in her eyebrows, knowing full well sweat would distort her efforts before she made it out the front door. It was about seven thirty and she had to hit the road soon if she was going to make her hairdressing appointment in Katherine at nine thirty. She grabbed her handbag and hurried downstairs to her car, only to be interrupted by her gardeners large frame loping across the yard.

Look at that, he called. Owen Laurie had been in Larrimah a few months, tending Frans bougainvillea and expansive lawn in exchange for a room for him and his dog. He was an old bushie and mostly kept to himself, but he was a good worker.

Look at all those coppas, Owen said, pointing towards Paddy Moriartys house, directly across the highway. Fran nodded. The police had been there yesterday too, crawling over the old roadhouse Paddy lived in, like ants on a nest. She knew what this was aboutshed suspected Paddy of drug dealing for years. Someone who had been mates with him told her Paddy sold dope, kept it hidden under his floorboards. The drug bust shed been waiting for had arrived.

She was eager to pay the cops a visit to tell them what she knew. But first, the haircut.

Larrimah is stranded halfway between Mataranka and Daly Waters, in whats called Never Never country. Katherine, 180 kilometres away, is the closest major townbut calling it major is probably overstating it. The book Sh*t Towns of Australia says Katherine is basically a tarted-up gulag masquerading as civilisation, which seems a little unfair. It does have a Woolworths, a McDonalds and at least five bottle shops, which is a lot more than whats available in Larrimah. The closest thing to a shop here is a dusty shelf at the pub, which at last count held seventeen cans, most of them tinned asparagus.

But the dearth of local produce in Larrimah is fair enough; demand isnt high when youre catering to a population of about a dozen. And, so, regular trips to Katherine for supplies and services are a necessary ordeal for Larrimahs handful of residents, and with a speed limit of 130 kilometres per hour the journey along the Stuart Highway, known as The Track to locals, goes quickly. Fran was only ten minutes away from her Katherine appointment when the police pulled her over.