* * *
Some women are irresistibly attracted to the ‘bad boy’ image of male criminals. The more serious or bizarre the crime, the more fascination they elicit. There are even some women who are willing to devote themselves to a serious relationship with an incarcerated prisoner – necessarily limited to correspondence and weekly gaol visits – and occasionally even to marry them. Such a personal connection necessitates an unqualified acceptance of the prisoner’s protestations of innocence, especially in the face of a conviction. These relationships rarely survive for long after the release of the prisoner, because their appeal lies in the forced incarceration of one and the freedom of the other. Indeed, part of the benefit of these liaisons to the females is that they are left alone for most of the week to pursue their lives unencumbered by the demands of a normal relationship, but with the illusion of being in one. The saying goes that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’, and enforced absence due to incarceration is no exception. Stephen Bradley had many of the features that attracted the attention of such women. He was thirty-four years old; he was reasonably good-looking; he was articulate and irrepressibly self-confident; and his crime, which was unique in the annals of Australian legal history, had attracted the attention of the nation, making him, in the eyes of some, an infamous superstar and the ultimate ‘bad boy’.
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The public gallery of the Central Criminal Court consisted of two levels at the back of the court. The lower level, with tiered seating, was split into three sections, divided by the two entrances from the expansive courtyard outside. The upper level, again tiered, was reserved only for men and spanned the entire width of the courtroom. In total, the gallery accommodated a maximum of about a hundred people if they sat cheek by jowl. At least twice that number would queue for access each morning, and when an especially interesting part of the trial was about to occur, possibly three times the number would clamour to get in. Those who were unsuccessful were often rude to the Sheriff’s Officers tasked with keeping control.
The trial was presided over by Mr Justice Clancy, who was assisted by an Associate, his daughter Margaret. The prosecution was conducted by Senior Crown Prosecutor, Mr WJ (Bill) Knight QC3 and his junior counsel, Crown Prosecutor Vincent (Vin) Wallace,4 instructed by Mr William (Bill) Job,5 a solicitor from the Clerk of the Peace Office. Stephen Bradley was represented by Fred Vizzard QC, who was instructed by Pat Smith from the Public Solicitor’s Office.
A large panel of citizens had been summonsed for the selection of a jury. The twelve jurors, whose names were randomly plucked out of a box by the Judge’s Associate, ended up being all male – much to Bradley’s discontent. The women on the panel were so few in number that none of their names were called. The selected jurors were required to remain at the courthouse in the care of the Sheriff’s Officers for the duration of the trial. Two upstairs dormitories, of a standard akin to a boarding school, were provided at the courthouse to accommodate the jurors overnight. They were kept entirely isolated from newspapers, television reports and the radio. Any telephone contact with family had to be under the supervision of a Sheriff’s Officer. The trial took place over eight days – at the time one of the longest criminal trials in New South Wales.6 This required the jurors to remain together over the intervening weekend in the care of Sheriff’s Officers, who did their best to occupy their charges by taking them on escorted scenic drives, being careful to keep prying members of the public at a discreet distance.
The Crown case relied heavily on the forensic scientific evidence and the oral and written confessions of the accused, as well as the identification of Bradley by Freda and Bazil Thorne and Mrs Ford. Because of the heavy reliance on diverse categories of forensic science, the trial of Stephen Bradley was one of the most complex in New South Wales up until that time, and it exemplified the sophistication and value of modern forensic science in the detection and prosecution of serious crime.
Bill Knight’s case was that although Bradley had admitted responsibility for the kidnapping of Graeme Thorne, his explanations of what had happened to the boy during his captivity were largely self-serving, unreliable and contradicted by the evidence from the autopsy. In his opening address, Knight suggested that Bradley had put ‘a lot of gloss’ in his admissions to the police in order to paint himself in the best possible light, telling the jury that it was quite fanciful that the boy would have sat quietly in the car when they pulled up on the Harbour Bridge to pay the toll and, even more improbably, when they stopped at the telephone booth on the Spit Road. Knight also suggested that another improbable aspect of the accused’s version was his claim that it was at Clontarf that he had first put a cloth around Graeme Thorne’s mouth, and that he had imprisoned him in the boot of the car while the boy was still in a conscious state. Knight described as ‘too silly for words’ the notion that Bradley would have allowed Graeme to remain in that state while the removalists were moving around the Clontarf house.
The most dramatic part of the first day’s proceedings came during the testimony of Freda Thorne. She gave evidence slowly and purposefully of her identification of the photograph of Stephen Bradley as the man who had come to her home three weeks before the kidnapping and the confirmation of that identification during the police line-up. She became teary when describing Graeme’s departure on the morning of his abduction. In cross-examination, Mr Vizzard suggested to her that her identification of his client was incorrect and that she had been influenced by seeing other photographs of Bradley prior to being asked to identify him. In a fit of pique and frustration, Freda Thorne shot back at him: ‘I don’t care what you say!’ Pointing at the accused in the dock, she shouted, ‘That’s the man who killed my boy,’ and then slumped into her chair, buried her head in her hands and began weeping profusely. According to a journalist:
Graeme Thorne’s mother, Mrs. Freda Thorne, dramatically accused Stephen Leslie Bradley of having ‘killed her boy’ as she sobbed and trembled in the Central Criminal Court witness box today. She caused a stir among jurymen and in public galleries as she broke down after a tense silence, emotionally pointed to Bradley and sobbed: ‘I don’t care what you say, this is the man who killed my boy.’ Bradley, who has pleaded not guilty to the boy’s kidnap-murder, sat calmly and showed no reaction to Mrs. Thorne’s outburst.7
For Vizzard, this emotional, heart-wrenching outburst in front of the jury was a tactical catastrophe, and he did his best to edge back from the precipice by lamely saying to Freda, ‘I don’t want to upset you, you understand that?’ Whatever connection Vizzard may have had with the jury prior to that moment would have been completely dissipated by feelings of sympathy for Freda and Bazil and revulsion for the accused.
After a short break, Freda was able to continue with the questioning, however within minutes she broke down again, and, with Mr Vizzard’s assent – and to his relief – she was excused from giving further evidence.
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Freda and Bazil remained in attendance during the remaining days of the trial. Like many family members of murder victims, they desperately wanted to know exactly what had happened to their son and, having missed most of the Inquest, felt that this was their only chance. They hoped – even expected – to see some signs of remorse – deep, intense remorse – emanating from the person who had killed their son. Surely, a man with children of his own – and they had been led to believe that he loved them dearly – could not maintain the pretence of arrogant innocence for too long. They would surely be able to see through his bravado to the hidden regrets beneath. Perhaps it would be better if he kept up the pretence, because the jury would see through it, loathe him and be only too ready to convict.
If Bazil and Freda thought that the trial would provide them with any credible answers about what had really happened to Graeme, they were sorely disappointed. Stephen Bradley’s defence at his trial was that he was in no way involved in the kidnapping or death and that his confessions were false and had been coerced from him by
devious and unscrupulous police officers using unfair and unethical tactics, such as lies, harassment and duress.
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Fred Vizzard QC strenuously cross-examined the two police officers, Detective Sergeants Brian Doyle and Jack Bateman, who had obtained Bradley’s confessions (oral and written). It was suggested to them that they had denied a request by Bradley for a solicitor. Vizzard alleged that the police had told Bradley that his wife was implicated in the crime, and that he had better confess or she would be in terrible trouble. It was put to them that they had promised Bradley that if he made a statement admitting to the crimes, his wife would be protected and able to remain in England to look after the children. It was alleged that they had taunted Bradley that unless he confessed, Gregor Weinberg would get custody of the children. Vizzard put to them that although Bradley’s police statement had been written out in his own hand, it had been dictated to him by the police, who had deliberately inserted language errors in order to make it sound more genuine. Both police denied all these allegations. When Detective Doyle was questioned, he reminded Vizzard that the accused had told his solicitor, Mr Holt, in their presence in the interview room at the CIB that he had confessed freely and voluntarily. Vizzard retorted rhetorically that all his client was trying to do was to save his wife from any trouble with the police, and that if he had told Mr Holt the truth in their presence, his wife would have been in severe jeopardy.
Bill Knight QC called a host of expert scientific witnesses, who wove a web of damning evidence implicating Stephen Bradley in the kidnapping and death of Graeme Thorne. Two witnesses refuted the suggestion that the boy could have accidentally died from lack of oxygen in the boot. These two experts gave evidence that they had conducted a test using a similar Ford and had ascertained that a sufficient amount of air would enter the boot to enable a person confined in it to maintain life. If anyone had been locked in the boot of the Ford, they would not have been suffocated to death over a period of eight hours. The Senior Crown Prosecutor also called the forensic pathologist, Dr Laing, who gave evidence about the dual causes of death. In his view, in order to cause the severe fracture to Graeme’s skull it would have been necessary to apply ‘a good force’. Dr Laing insisted that it was quite impossible that the boy could have done the injury to himself while in the boot.
Cherie, the Bradleys’ Pekinese dog, made a surprise appearance at the trial. After discovering Cherie at the veterinary surgery of J Stewart and Sons in Rushcutters Bay, the police arranged for the dog to be looked after until the trial by the surgery kennel manager, Mr Victor Drury. Just six days before the trial, on Wednesday, 15 March, Drury and his wife were walking the dog in nearby Rushcutters Bay Park. A couple of drunks frightened the dog, which ran onto the busy roadway adjoining the park, where it was killed by passing traffic. Cherie’s body was retained and, at the request of the police, sent to the Australian Museum, where it was hurriedly stuffed and preserved without the use of any chemical processing, so that the colour of the dog’s fur would not be altered. The preserved remains of Cherie were tendered in evidence at the trial by Bill Knight QC, so that the jury could see for themselves the appearance of the dog hairs.
On Monday afternoon of the second week of the trial, having called seventy-eight witnesses, the Senior Crown Prosecutor closed his case, and the defence case began.8
The response of an accused was – and generally still is – the most keenly awaited part of a trial – both by jurors and by observers in the public gallery. One of the most important decisions to be made in a criminal trial is whether or not the accused goes into the witness box to give sworn evidence like all the other witnesses. At that time there were two other options: to make an unsworn statement from the dock,9 or to remain silent. Unlike the question-and-answer format utilised with other witnesses, a ‘dock statement’ consisted of an unprompted, unstructured monologue in which the accused was able to give their version of events, with very few restrictions on what could, or could not, be said. An accused was not required to take an oath to tell the truth in a dock statement, and he or she was not subject to cross-examination on it by the Crown Prosecutor. The dock statement was therefore the preferred choice of most defence counsel, as it effectively avoided the main risk of giving sworn evidence in the witness box – of being decimated during an effective cross-examination by the prosecutor. The two principal tactical disadvantages of a dock statement were: firstly, that the defence counsel lost the opportunity to make an opening address to the jury; and secondly, that the jury might think that the accused had failed to give sworn evidence because of a fear of the truth emerging during cross-examination, despite being told by the judge not to reason in this impermissible way.
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Fred Vizzard QC knew only too well that one of the most important functions of a defence counsel during a trial was to contribute to the decision of whether the accused should give sworn evidence, make an unsworn statement from the dock, or do neither and remain silent. Vizzard had a reputation for rarely putting his clients in the witness box, as he had seen the damage that a good cross-examination could wreak on the defence case. In this trial, however, where the defence was mounting a positive case of coercion by the police, there were additional considerations and the decision was a particularly complex one. During a number of conferences at the gaol, including a lengthy one the week before the trial, Vizzard, as he always did, advised his client of the advantages and disadvantages of each option – and then strongly suggested that no decision be made until shortly before the commencement of the defence case. Most of his clients were only too pleased to delay making a decision of this magnitude, but Stephen Bradley was different. Right from the first time they discussed it, he insisted that he wanted to give sworn evidence like all the other witnesses, so that the jury would be able to scrutinise and evaluate him in exactly the same way as the others.
The ultimate choice that Stephen Bradley made – with the benefit of advice from Fred Vizzard QC – was an unusual one, but not unprecedented. Bradley both delivered a dock statement and gave sworn evidence in the witness box. This allowed the prosecutor to cross-examine him on any topic, including the contents of the dock statement.
At the commencement of the defence case, Vizzard stood up and announced to the court that his client would make a statement to the jury. He then turned to his client and quietly said to him, ‘Make your case slowly’. No one in the courtroom was surprised at this election, and no one at that time, except Vizzard, his solicitor and their client, knew that he would also be giving sworn evidence. The advantage of this combination was that Bradley had an opportunity in his dock statement to give his version of events unimpeded and without interruption. Of course, the contents of the statement had been extensively discussed and rehearsed beforehand with Vizzard. Bradley then entered the witness box, thereby throwing himself open to cross-examination and refuting the unstated accusation that he had remained in ‘coward’s castle’ – the dock – in order to avoid his version being tested by the prosecutor.
Vizzard’s decision for Bradley to take both these courses was based upon his client’s wishes and the barrister’s belief in his innocence, but also on Vizzard’s assessment that Bradley was an impressive public speaker and an intelligent man who would make a formidable impression on the jury. Vizzard was also confident that his client would be able to sustain his account and maintain his cool under what was likely to be a withering cross-examination by Bill Knight. He was right on both counts. One of the police officers, who sat right through the defence case, gave this assessment:
Never have I seen a more plausible performance under such an ordeal. He never batted an eyelid.10
Both in his dock statement and when giving sworn evidence, Bradley maintained the stance of an aggrieved, honourable citizen who had been the subject of a monstrous, unfounded allegation. In the dock, he was eloquent and articulate, with hardly the trace of an accent. It was clear to experienced court watchers that it had been thor
oughly rehearsed. Bradley was the antithesis of the typical criminal and when he spoke it was impossible to imagine him committing these horrendous crimes. He had taken a cue from some of the professional police witnesses who gave evidence against him and from time to time would look across at the members of the jury, particularly at those who, by their body language, seemed the most inclined to favour him. He knew that he only needed to win over one of them to his cause for a guilty verdict to be avoided, so he was constantly on the lookout for the slightest indication of body language to suggest an individual juror’s receptiveness to him.
The news reporters noted that Bazil and Freda Thorne listened to the statement ‘intently, but without any apparent emotion’.11 That was because they had been warned by the solicitor for the Crown that any outburst or reaction might result in the judge asking them to leave the courtroom. They were so intent on hearing every word of the proceedings that they assiduously obeyed these instructions.
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Bradley’s version of events in his dock statement was a complete denial of any involvement in the kidnapping or death of Graeme Thorne:
I never been to 79 Edward Street, Bondi, and I had nothing to do with taking away that little boy. I was not at Francis Street, Bondi, on 7th July or prior in that week.
He attempted to explain the argument with Magda the previous night:
The previous day – on the 6th July – we had some argument – my wife – because we had to move quickly, and no place to go. My wife got overtired and nervy and angry, as sometimes she does, and she said she was tired of it all and would fly up to Surfers Paradise and leave me to finish the packing. I was annoyed with my wife. I thought it was very unreasonable to go off suddenly and leave me to finish packing. We have the argument, and often we don’t talk for a day or so.
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