Prash Ganendran - I Just Wanted To Kill: 15 True Crime Cases

The philosopher Aristotle once said that every child is a blank slate, waiting for lifes experiences, good or bad, to etch their mark. All of us did something wrong when we were kids; refusing to share, fighting with a sibling, stealing from school. What would you think if someone said you were born bad because of those mistakes? You only changed as you grew up because you had a parent, caregiver or teacher who taught you it was wrong. And if you still refused to listen, they would probably seek professional help for you. But what if the adults in your life failed to do that? If nobody stopped you back then, is it fair to call you a monster now?

To travel to the scene of this crime, we will be heading down under to the Southern Hemisphere, to Frankston in Australia. Frankston was originally home to the Boonwurrung Aboriginal people, but as more European settlers arrived, the area grew and was officially founded as a small fishing village in 1854, before evolving into the busy suburb of Melbourne that it is today, with a population of 135,000. Sadly, there are no surviving members of the Boonwurrung tribe, as so many were wiped out by the smallpox epidemic brought over by European settlers.

Today, Frankston is a modern town with an attractive seaside resort and is seen as a popular and reasonably safe place to live. But back in 1993, local women felt anything but safe.

Donna Vanes was enjoying a relaxing evening at home in February 1993. Perhaps she was watching television with her cat curled up on her lap to keep warm, her young child asleep in the crib and her two kittens playing innocently at her feet. It was the picture of peace and harmony, but it would not last. Suddenly, the phone rang. Donna tried not to disturb the cat as she eagerly reached for the receiver, expecting it to be her boyfriend Les. As soon as she held the phone to her ear, she realised she was the victim of a chilling prank call. She slammed the phone down, trying to shake off her unease, but before she could forget the incident, more calls came, each one more unnerving than the last. She had no idea who would do this to her. After a few nights of feeling her stomach twist with fear every time she heard the shrill ringing, she was reluctant to stay at home to face the onslaught of calls, so she went out with Les on his pizza delivery shift. It was a decision that probably saved her life.

When the couple returned to the Seaford home, they were greeted with chaos. The whole house had been ransacked by someone filled with rage. A knife had been dragged along the walls and the furniture had been viciously stabbed. The words Donna Youre Dead were scribbled on the wall in blood. It did not take long for Donna and Les to discover where the blood came from. The cat lay dead on the lounge floor, a picture of a naked woman placed on top of it. The two kittens had also been slaughtered. On the bathroom mirror was another message written in shaving cream, the names Donna and Robin.

The most chilling sight was yet to come. Thankfully, the baby was not with Donna that night, but the empty crib had been attacked with a furious bloodlust. Another pornographic picture was laid obscenely on top, stabbed through with a knife which pierced down to the bedding material below. The childs clothing had been cut up and flung around the room.

The police were called, and as they made notes, they asked who Robin was, but neither Donna nor Les knew anyone of that name. She had no enemies, and her ex-boyfriend, the childs father, was not a viable suspect as their breakup had been on good terms. It had to be someone who knew Donnas movements and how long she would be out, as it would have taken time to do so much damage, and the criminal would have risked being caught in the act. Terrified by the violation of her home, which no longer felt like the safe, private haven it used to be, Donna moved in with her sister Trisha. She became friends with Julia, one of Trishas neighbours, and it turned out that Julia had recently faced a similar nightmare, returning home from vacation to find her belongings slashed and her pictures and clothing shredded. Like Donna, she had no enemies and no idea who would have done it, or why. Considering what happened next, Donna and Julia soon learned what a narrow escape they had.

Elizabeth Stevens had been living in foster care in Tasmania for the last four years, but when she turned 18 in January 1993, she moved in with her Auntie Rita and Uncle Paul in Paterson Avenue, Frankston. Elizabeth was studious and hardworking, and as she had not yet made friends in the area, she spent most of her time alone or at the college library.