Richard Shears - Bloodstain. The Vanishing of Peter Falconio

First published in Australia in 2005 by

New Holland Publishers (Australia) Pty Ltd

Sydney Auckland London Cape Town

www.newholland.com.au

14 Aquatic Drive Frenchs Forest NSW 2086 Australia

218 Lake Road Northcote Auckland New Zealand

86 Edgware Road London W2 2EA United Kingdom

80 McKenzie Street Cape Town 8001 South Africa

Copyright (c) 2005 in text: Richard Shears

Copyright (c) 2005 in map: Ian Faulkner

Copyright (c) 2005 New Holland Publishers (Australia) Pty Ltd

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers and copyright holders.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication Data:

ISBN 1 74110 322 3.

e-ISBN: 9781921655494

Richard Shears is the Australia-based senior foreign correspondent for Londons Daily Mail newspaper. The award-winning writer is the author of more than 20 non-fiction books, which include the best-selling Azaria , surrounding the mysterious case of Lindy Chamberlains baby; and Highway to Nowhere , a chilling account of the murders by serial killer Ivan Milat.

His other books have covered such varied titles as The Rainbow Warrior Affair , which delivered a detailed analysis of the sinking of the Greenpeace ship by French agents; and Devi The Bandit Queen , the thrilling story of a rape victim who wrought bloody revenge on her abusers.

Writing for the Daily Mail , Shears has covered wars in Ireland, Cyprus, East Timor, Afghanistan and Iraq, and was nominated for awards for his first-person accounts of the rescue of British soldiers trapped on a mountain in Borneo and the race to save lone yachtsman Tony Bullimore.

The voice of the brothers blood crieth unto me from the ground.

Genesis 4:10

The Stuart Highway linking Adelaide and Darwin is a 3000 kilometre, two-lane stretch of unbroken bitumen. It cuts through the Australian heart, traversing desert that in prehistoric times was a vast inland lake where dinosaurs roamed and the first inhabitants started hunting at least 40 000 years ago. Heading north, the road passes through the town of Coober Pedy, where the temperature is so high50 Celsius in summerthat people live in houses built underground .

Golden spinifex grass, mulga trees and saltbush line the roadside, sprawling east and west across the parched landscape. Towering anthills and rocky outcrops rise up through the stunted vegetation. There are scorpions, deadly taipan snakes, thick, sticky spiders webs and, along the edges of the highway, the rotting carcasses of road killkangaroos, cattle and dingo. In places the tarred surface is smeared with animal blood, pieces of fur and bone dragged for hundreds of metres by huge road trains, long-distance trucks with up to three trailers that traverse the inland roads. These drivers travel alone, snatching naps in lay-bys and grabbing meals in isolated roadhouses .

And always, the sun beats down relentlessly during the summer months and while there is some seasonal relief from the heat the winter nights are bitterly cold. Whatever the weather, travellers are advised to drive by day, the exception being those road trains that thunder through at night, unable to stop quickly for anything in their way. At night truck drivers have the highway virtually to themselves, radios or CDs switched on for company, the monotony broken by the sometime crackle of the CB radio bursting into life as another driver calls in to break the boredom of his own journey, miles ahead or far behind. For these men there is no-one else to talk to at night .

Yet even these experienced men of the road agree on one thing: the Stuart Highway is not a place to be lost, alone, or in any kind of trouble .

Crime scenes that involve bloodshed often contain a wealth of information in the form of bloodstains. The pattern, size, shape and the location of such stains may be very useful in the reconstruction of the events that occurred.

Forensic consultants Dr William G Eckert and Stuart James

Ena Rex sensed rain was on the way, blowing in on the south-easter that was whipping up red dust outside the house. She and the women were sitting cross-legged on the ground playing cards, but she knew theyd have to move inside soon because the cold was biting and the winter sun was no help.

She laid down a card knowing she wasnt going to win this hand. She saw the police four-wheel drive pulling up outside with Gwen Brown at the wheel.

Come on Ena, get some more clothes on, the policewoman called. You, me, Dudley, Joe, we got to go now. Youd better go to the toiletlong drive.

Ena stared at the policewoman. Gwen was one of the tribal people but she was also an officer and had a duty to keep the place in order. What does she want me for? Ena wondered. She hadnt done anything wrong. Quiet Sunday afternoon, too. Nothing happening round here.

Doing as she was told, Ena wrapped herself in a blue woollen cardigan and climbed into the police truck. They drove around to Ronald Browns place. Like all the other houses in the Ali Curung community north of Alice Springs, it was built of breeze blocks, with a concrete verandah and a corrugated iron roof. Gwen had to bang hard on the door to wake Ronald up. There were no studies today for his mechanical engineering course, so he was having a bit of a sleep. He came to the door blinking in the glare of the mid-afternoon winter sun, a tall man wearing a black donkey jacket.

Ronald didnt ask any questions when Gwen told him to get in the truck. He assumed his help was wanted, that was all. He was 44, but he knew the others would all be older and, out of respect, he took one of the rear seats.

Next, Gwen stopped by for old Joe Bird, one of the Warrabri tribal elders. He was wearing his tall grease-stained hat and chopping up a roo carcass for his mob of dogs, who were watching him from the mattresses scattered outside the house. His dogs spent every day snapping at flies and waiting for a feed, watching Joe drink his grog from a white plastic container. He never forgot his dogs, no matter how much grog he drank or who stopped by.

Joe didnt ask any questions either, but he shot Ena a look as he climbed into the police truck. Something big was going on, no doubt about that.

Gwen picked up Gerard Driver next. He was a pretty good tracker, too. He got in the back with Ronald. None of these Aboriginal people was used much by the police these days but the old trackers like Gerard could talk of earlier times when they were called out to look for people missing in the scrub or hunt down stock rustlers. Their tracking skills had been drummed into them from an early age, evolving from an ancient lore, their senses as honed as in their youth.

Finally, after driving around the community for a while, watching out for the dogs and kids who ran out onto the dusty road, and calling out at the houses he might be visiting, Gwen found Dudley Hines. He emerged from the dark interior of a building near a big water tank, jamming his trademark white hat on his head.

Got youse all at last, said Gwen, not looking at her passengers as she started down the 30 kilometre straight to the Stuart Highway. Driving into the sun, she pulled the visor down and accelerated to 70 kilometres per hour, which was fast enough on the narrow strip of bitumen.