The Murder of Allison Baden-Clay

by David Murray

  Allison’s loyalties were divided. Ian Drayton had been down to Brisbane to see her and she could not make up her mind which man she wanted to be with. Drayton was safe, loving and smitten with Allison. But Gerard’s relentless charm was almost impossible to resist. Somehow, Gerard always knew the right thing to say at the right time.

  When Drayton visited Brisbane again, he and Allison met at a five-star hotel in the CBD. Privately, Allison was intent on making a decision – Drayton or Gerard. The stress took its toll. On the Sunday morning, before they were due to check out, Allison started struggling to breathe. Drayton thought she was having a life-threatening asthma attack and rushed her to hospital. In hindsight, it may have been a panic attack. The pair were in the emergency department for an hour or two before doctors cleared Allison to leave.

  On their return to the hotel, Allison broke down in tears. She couldn’t go through it again, she told Drayton. She was sorry. Drayton, knowing nothing about Gerard Baden-Clay, was blindsided. Allison left the hotel alone in her little red Nissan. As she drove off, she looked out the window and gave Drayton a wave. It was the last time they would see each other.

  Allison later confided to her friends how, hopelessly divided, she eventually made up her mind between Ian Drayton and Gerard Baden-Clay that weekend. The decision was so split, she had resorted to a test.

  In the hotel with Drayton in Brisbane, she had left some clothes on the bed and gone for a long shower. When she came out, the clothes were still there, crumpled and unmoved. On a recent night away with Gerard, when she’d put her clothes on the bed and gone for a shower, she returned to find Gerard had neatly ironed them and hung them in the cupboard.

  What to some would seem slightly odd behaviour, perhaps evidence of a controlling nature, was the clincher for Allison. Gerard had picked up her clothes. Drayton hadn’t. It might have been better to flip a coin, but that was how she came to make the most fateful decision of her life.

  After making her choice, Allison phoned her friend Linda Ebeling to tell her all about Gerard. Ebeling would remember Allison excitedly relaying Gerard’s family connection to Scouting founder Lord Baden-Powell. Clearly, Allison was swept up in Gerard’s grand family history. Ebeling and her husband, Stephen, had a soft spot for Allison’s previous fiancé, Drayton. But Ebeling thought her friend sounded happy with the new man in her life. Allison had always wanted to be doted on, and Gerard fitted the part perfectly.

  Gerard was thoughtful and generous throughout their courtship. When Allison went away for work, she arrived at her hotel to find her favourite magazines waiting in her room. Gerard had phoned ahead to the hotel to arrange the small surprise.

  April 2012

  Ian Drayton froze in front of his TV. The bowl of cereal he’d been holding slipped through his fingers, shattering as it hit the tiles at his feet. He heard himself swear loudly at the screen. Tears flooded his eyes. At home in Canberra, Drayton had been getting ready for work. The former dive instructor and real estate agent now had two university degrees and was an executive at the Canberra Institute of Technology.

  That morning he was half-watching the news when a familiar face flashed on the screen. The woman staring back at him was missing, presumed dead. Her name was Allison Baden-Clay but Drayton knew her as Allison Dickie, his former fiancée. They hadn’t seen each other for 16 years. The truth was Drayton had never stopped caring for Allison.

  A friend in need

  20 April 2012

  Her husband would be mad she hadn’t had her phone with her all morning. That’s why they call it a mobile phone – because you can take it with you. Kerry-Anne Walker returned to her desk in Flight Centre’s Brisbane headquarters and retrieved it from next to her keyboard. Missed calls flashed on her screen. A couple from an unknown number. Another from her husband, Mark Walker. Allison’s best friend from school, Kerry-Anne Cummings, had married but the pair had maintained their close friendship through the ups and downs of life and motherhood.

  For most of that Friday morning, Walker had been on conference calls in a small office down the hallway from her second-floor desk in the CBD high-rise. She was finalising plans for the company’s annual conference, which saw staff members converge from around the world. Before Kerry-Anne had a chance to call Mark back, he phoned again. She could hear concern in his voice.

  ‘The police have been trying to call you. Allison’s missing,’ he said.

  Kerry-Anne and Allison had been constants in each other’s lives. They had gone to school together, had been to Denmark on their student exchange trips at the same time, and lived together at university. They had even both taken jobs at Flight Centre.

  Dialling the number police had left for her, Kerry-Anne reached Detective Senior Constable Cameron McLeod from the Criminal Investigation Branch at Indooroopilly. Kerry-Anne told McLeod she didn’t know where Allison was, but she could tell the detective it was very much out of character for her to be missing. It had never happened before.

  Many times, Kerry-Anne had wished she was half the mother Allison was. Allison lived for her girls, channelling all her energy into them since putting aside her career for her marriage and family. The dedication Allison brought to her ballet as a child and that had made her such a success professionally in her 20s had been focused on her daughters – not on driving them to succeed, but on helping them to be happy. Allison’s own battles with anxiety as a child had led her to become involved in a program to teach children resilience. Above all she wanted to equip her girls with the strength to make their own choices.

  Kerry-Anne and Allison had been in touch only the evening before. Some months earlier, Allison had borrowed a couple of ball gowns from Kerry-Anne for a real estate awards night and still had them. Walker had sent her a text at 4.59 pm Thursday, reminding her about them: ‘Al – hope you’re well – can you bring the dresses into the office tomorrow? I need to collect. KAW.’

  A reply from Allison’s phone arrived at 7.50 pm Thursday. ‘Of course! Sorry you had to chase them up. I am in the city all day at the convention centre so can drop them off on my way home about 6 pm?? Is that ok or do you need them for tomorrow night?? Al x’

  At the time, Kerry-Anne’s parents, sisters and brother had all been at her place for dinner, otherwise she would probably have phoned Allison back. Her mum and dad, Pam and Gary Cummings, had been visiting from Tasmania and it was a farewell dinner before their flight home in the morning.

  Kerry-Anne replied at 9.25 pm, telling her friend it wasn’t urgent: ‘All good, just need for next week. Feel like I haven’t seen you for ages. Hope everyone OK. We will have to have lunch soon.’ There was no reply to the final message.

  After the worrying conversation with police, Kerry-Anne kicked herself for sending text messages instead of phoning Allison. Everything had seemed fine in the text from Allison, but how could she really know if they hadn’t spoken?

  Thinking Allison might answer a call from a friend, Kerry-Anne dialled her mobile phone. It rang out. She sent a text message. There was no reply.

  Kerry-Anne usually didn’t work on Fridays but had come to the office that day so she could park her car there, catch up on a few things at work, and then pop out for a special treat. A short stroll away was the five-star Marriott Hotel and, on the fourth floor, its luxurious day spa, the Dome Spa Retreat. Walker had a $500 gift voucher and had booked a massage and facial for that afternoon. A fluffy white dressing gown, glass of champagne and deck chair would be waiting for her at the outdoor pool adjoining the spa.

  A day at the Dome was one of the most indulgent experiences the city had to offer and Kerry-Anne had a strictly limited chance to enjoy it. Her 12-month voucher was due to expire that afternoon. She had left her booking until the last day, savouring the occasion for a year. But now there was something far more important on her mind.

  Kerry-Anne had phoned Allison’s parents, Geoff and Priscilla Dickie, and they were already on their way to Brookfield from the Gold Coast, where they
had settled in retirement. Kerry-Anne knew she had to join them. Grabbing her bag, she handed her spa voucher to a friend in the office and walked out. At least someone would enjoy it, she thought as she took the lift down to the basement car park.

  There was no way Allison would ever walk out on her three daughters. That was an absolute. Something was terribly wrong. The drive from the CBD to Brookfield took just over 20 minutes. Kerry-Anne’s anxiety grew with every minute of the journey, as word failed to arrive telling her it was all a mistake and Allison was safe and well.

  Right to silence

  20 April 2012

  1 pm

  Gerard was at the top of the long driveway as Kerry-Anne pulled up at the Brookfield Road house. The first thing she noticed was his meticulous business attire. His shirt was crisp and tucked into his neatly pressed trousers. It looked like he was ready for a regular day at the office. There were police cars out the front. Officers in uniform and in plain clothes milled around. Seeing her arrive, Gerard went over and gave Kerry-Anne a hug. She did a double take at the scratches down the right side of his face. The painful-looking wounds were weeping. After a quick hello, Gerard wandered off to talk to police.

  Allison’s parents had arrived before Kerry-Anne. Geoff and Priscilla had been at a church craft group on the Gold Coast when Gerard rang shortly before 10 am. Their son-in-law simply told them Allison had gone for a walk and hadn’t come back. Immediately alarmed, the Dickies dropped everything and rushed back to their Paradise Point home, grabbing a change of clothes because they thought they might not be returning that night, and drove up to Brisbane.

  The last time Priscilla had seen Allison was almost two weeks earlier, when her daughter was at Tallebudgera on the Gold Coast, spending the Easter weekend there with Gerard and the girls. The Dickies had set everything up for Allison so she and her family could walk straight into the camping and caravan park to enjoy their break. They had had lunch together on Easter Sunday before Allison, Gerard and the girls headed back to Brisbane.

  When Geoff and Priscilla arrived at Brookfield about 11 am on the 20th, Gerard had greeted them casually.

  ‘Hello, Dad. G’day, Mum,’ he said. He shook Geoff’s hand, and gave Priscilla a hug.

  Allison’s parents hated Gerard’s habit of calling them Mum and Dad.

  ‘What happened?’ Priscilla asked. Gerard repeated the story he’d told all morning, then offered the stressed couple a cup of tea.

  Inside the house, Priscilla was struck by how tidy the place was. She was used to seeing the home quite messy. Allison would always tell her not to worry about picking up after the girls, that tidying was for the end of the day. Today, her daughter’s best teacups were laid out on the table. Priscilla had only ever had tea in a mug, not this fancy china. It looked too perfect. It didn’t feel right.

  Like most people who arrived at the house that morning, Priscilla and Geoff were also taken aback by the marks on Gerard’s face.

  ‘What’s that?’ Priscilla asked Gerard about the scratches.

  He told his mother-in-law he cut himself shaving. Priscilla had been married to Geoff for 50 years and he had never hurt himself like that. Nor, for that matter, had her many brothers.

  Police were coming and going, and Gerard was in and out of the house. At some point after Kerry-Anne arrived, Gerard had a request, asking her and the Dickies to join him in the house to talk in private. He led the way into the master bedroom. Turning to face Allison’s parents and oldest friend, Gerard quietly dropped a bombshell. He’d spoken to a lawyer. He’d been told not to provide a formal statement. In situations like this, he said, the husband always came under suspicion. Police would most likely arrest him.

  Kerry-Anne, Geoff and Priscilla were dumbfounded. Only a few hours had passed since Gerard reported Allison missing. All they could think of was finding her. Lawyers? Suspects? Arrests? It was way too soon for this kind of talk.

  Kerry-Anne wanted to know what was going on. Why wasn’t he cooperating with police? Gerard said he was cooperating, he just wouldn’t be making a formal statement. Priscilla had more questions for Gerard. Did he hear Allison go to bed? Did he hear her get up? Gerard had nothing in the way of answers to offer her. Kerry-Anne asked if they’d had a fight.

  ‘No,’ he insisted. They’d had a discussion and then he went to bed, he said. ‘She was watching TV.’

  ‘Are you telling the police everything?’ Kerry-Anne wanted to know.

  Gerard started losing his cool. ‘Keep your voice down,’ he snapped. By now police were hovering outside.

  Gerard told Geoff, Priscilla and Kerry-Anne he expected them to take Allison’s side. He would do the same if something like this were happening to one of his daughters.

  Gerard had been repeating the story, of waking to find his wife gone, over and over since early that morning: to his daughters, to his parents and sister, to an emergency operator, to the two police officers who first turned up on his doorstep, to two senior officers who followed, to detectives who came down his driveway next, and now to the Dickies and Kerry-Anne. It was proving difficult to follow his lawyer’s advice to keep his mouth shut.

  Suddenly, there was no time for any more questions. A police officer came into the room and ordered everyone outside. The house was being sealed off as a crime scene.

  Outside, Kerry-Anne tried to find out more from the growing band of officers gathering at the home. ‘What’s happening? What about the scratches?’ she asked a policewoman.

  ‘We’ve seen the scratches, don’t worry,’ the officer replied, knowingly.

  When she had a moment alone with Geoff and Priscilla, she asked them about the injuries too. Geoff repeated Gerard’s shaving explanation.

  Kerry-Anne phoned her parents, who had not long landed in Hobart, and told them what was happening. Her mum, who loved and adored Allison, got straight back on a plane to Brisbane.

  Nothing that morning quite added up to the three of them. Other than his flash of anger when Kerry-Anne raised her voice in the bedroom, Gerard remained eerily calm. He did not look or act distraught. There was no sense of urgency. He wasn’t rushing to look for Allison.

  Scout’s honour

  When I was a boy at Charterhouse [one of Engand’s top boarding schools] I got a lot of fun out of trapping rabbits in woods that were out of bounds. If and when I caught one, which was not often, I skinned him and cooked him and ate him – and lived. In doing this I learnt to creep silently, to know my way by landmarks, to note tracks and read their meaning, to use dry dead wood off trees and not off the ground for my fire, to make a tiny, non-smoky fire such as would not give me away to prying masters; and if these came along I had my sod ready to extinguish the fire and hide the spot while I shinned up some ivy-clad tree where I could nestle unobserved above the line of sight of the average searcher.

  Robert Baden-Powell interview, Listener Magazine, 19371

  When Allison Dickie married Gerard Baden-Clay in 1997, she didn’t marry a man, she married a dynasty. Gerard had always been immensely proud – some say too proud – to claim Scouting founder Lord Baden-Powell as his great-grandfather. It is a family fame forged on strength in adversity but also one that values living by your wits and, when necessary, using cunning and deception to outmanoeuvre an adversary.

  It was 1899 and British Colonel Robert Stephenson Smyth Baden-Powell was surrounded and vastly outnumbered. The South African Republic had declared war on Britain, and Baden-Powell was charged with defending the British-held town of Mafeking. A force of up to 8000 Boer aggressors had cut off and laid siege to the town, but Baden-Powell held firm. With only a thousand men at his disposal, including untrained townspeople, he turned to the art of deception, honed since his youth.

  The Baden Powell family tree

  Aware the enemy was watching from a distance, he had his men bury empty boxes in a field to give the impression they were burying landmines. He wanted the enemy to have second thoughts about approaching. Men were also ordered
to pretend to crawl under barbed wire on the perimeter, when none existed, to fool the forces in the distance into thinking they would have difficulty charging the town. Rifles were fired on one side of the outpost then rushed to the other and fired again to conceal a shortage of firearms. Similarly, searchlights were moved around to create the impression an assault from any direction would be exposed.

  British journalists stranded in the town managed to smuggle out daily reports to readers back home telling of the heroic defence of Mafeking. For 217 days, Baden-Powell held the enemy at bay until a British relief force finally broke the siege in May 1900. At the age of 43, Baden-Powell became a national hero.

  He returned to Britain to find a handbook he’d previously published for soldiers, Aids to Scouting, had become a hit with the general population. At the suggestion of Boys’ Brigade founder William Smith, Baden-Powell wrote a new version for a younger audience. He tested his ideas at a camp on Brownsea Island in Poole Harbour, Dorset, in 1907 – the first Scout camp. Scouting for Boys was released in 1908. The power of his celebrity ensured the book was a runaway success. Spontaneously, boys throughout Britain and beyond began forming their own Scout patrols and troops.

  At a meeting the next year at the Crystal Palace in South London, 11,000 Scouts turned up. ‘Scouting started itself,’ declared BP, as Baden-Powell became known. The presence of groups of girls in the crowd, declaring themselves the Girl Scouts, prompted him to write a new book for them, and Girl Guides was born.