And Then the Darkness

by Sue Williams

  Almost friendless at school, and isolated within his own family, Bradley began to feel even more alone and adrift. It seemed he’d always been on the outside looking in. And for the first time he began to feel angry that he was being excluded by everyone. Very angry.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LEAVING HOME

  PETER FALCONIO WAS A YOUNG man full of the confidence that he could do anything and everything he had a mind to try. He’d been working and earning good money since leaving Huddersfield College but he really wanted to move higher, and faster. He knew a university degree would give his career an enormous boost. His girlfriend Joanne Lees was supportive; she loved her job as a travel agent, but saw how restless her boyfriend was becoming and didn’t want to hold him back. He looked around at courses, and settled for one at Northampton, the county town in the East Midlands of England after which Bradley Murdoch’s hometown had been named. But when he got there, he realised he’d made a mistake, so he quit after a year, and transferred to Brighton University, on England’s south coast, which had just been upgraded from a Polytechnic, to do a BSc Honours degree in building and construction management.

  ‘There were all these little snags, he just didn’t move smoothly from one point to the next,’ says old Huddersfield College tutor Stephen Jones. ‘But he had a strong personality and always got through. He was always questioning what he was doing and if he felt if it was wrong, he had to do something about it.’ He was eventually accepted into Brighton and, with the course starting in September 1996, there was one more big decision to be made: what to do about his relationship with Joanne. Over the year they’d been together, they’d grown very close. They’d gone on holiday together to Edinburgh, Italy, Greece and Jamaica, and had enjoyed wonderful times, and Joanne’s mum Jenny adored Peter and felt they were good together. ‘The more we saw of him, the more we thought he and Joanne seemed the perfect match,’ says her stepfather Vincent James. ‘They’d laugh at the same things, go to pop concerts together. They were like best friends.’

  They complemented each other well, too. Peter was outgoing, confident and likeable, and was also solid, dependable and strong. For someone like Joanne who’d spent her early years without a father, these were immensely attractive qualities. He was extremely close to his family too, which Joanne, growing up with only her mother for so many years, also loved. In addition, although Peter wasn’t over-intellectual, he was smart and, so focussed on what he wanted to achieve and determined to get there, he inspired confidence. Joanne, on the other hand, was quiet and reserved. When she was with people she knew she was livelier, but to casual acquaintances her shyness often came across as coolness.

  ‘She changed a bit after she started going out with Pete,’ says a friend, Jenny Mackie. ‘I think he was very supportive and caring, and she kind of blossomed. She was devoted to him, and he always treated her as if she was up on a pedestal. He changed too. He calmed down a bit when he met her. Before, he was always looking ahead at what was next, and could be a bit of a lad. But he became more settled somehow. They were both obviously very happy together.’

  Peter knew a degree could set him up for a good career as a construction site manager — Brighton University had an excellent reputation and graduating students were usually snapped up by the big construction companies — so he moved south for his first year of college, but travelled back the 400 kilometres to Huddersfield whenever he could to visit Joanne. It wasn’t an ideal arrangement and in the holidays before starting his second year he asked Joanne if she’d consider leaving Huddersfield and setting up home with him. She was torn: she’d been close to her mum since they’d lived alone together so long before Vincent arrived, and Jenny was unwell, suffering from painful rheumatoid arthritis, a chronic inflammation of the lining of the joints. Yet at the same time Joanne longed to break free of the restrictions of small-town life, and Brighton had a reputation as an exciting place for young people. With a great live music scene, a large number of pubs, a lively political scene and a busy shopping centre, it had justifiably earned the nickname ‘London-by-the-sea’.

  And then, of course, there was Peter, her soulmate and best friend. He was so strong, determined and impulsive, she had no idea where he might be leading her, but she knew the journey would be exciting. He was a restless spirit, someone who’d never plump for the easiest or most comfortable option, and someone who’d never be content in one job, or one place, for the rest of his life. She was much more conservative and ordinary by comparison but, when she compared her mum and stepfather’s insular lifestyle with Peter’s free-wheeling outlook, there was no competition.

  Joanne took a deep breath, smiled and nodded her assent. It was a big step, but she felt sure it was the right one. Nothing would part them now.

  WHEN JOANNE TOLD HER BOSS at Thomas Cook about her plans, he was happy to arrange a transfer to one of the agencies in Brighton. She’d proved herself a good worker and was always bright, pleasant and friendly on the front desk. With that brilliant smile and easygoing manner, customers warmed to her.

  Her mum took it harder. She was upset that Joanne was moving so far away — a few hundred kilometres felt like the ends of the Earth to people in those parts — but she liked Peter and had confidence in him to look after her daughter. She knew it could prove an important move for them both. She gave them her blessing.

  The couple found a flat they could afford between the university and the beach, 1.5 kilometres from the first, and 2 kilometres, most of it uphill, due north from the main pier. That tattier part of Ditchling Road, one of the steepest streets in Brighton, is filled during term-time with students who flock there for the old semi-detached villas subdivided into affordable flats or, where they were demolished in the 1960s, the purpose-built apartments erected in their place. Joanne and Peter’s one-bedroom flat was small, on the second floor of a large three-storey corner house converted into a small block of five units, but it was cosy. Sometimes even too cosy. The walls were paper-thin and often you could hear every fight, and making-up, the neighbours had. ‘Sometimes I felt like I knew Joanne and Peter well, just from hearing them in the bathroom and bedroom,’ says then-neighbour Robert Snow. ‘But we were all very friendly, anyway. I’d say, “All right, mate!” whenever I saw him. She was a lot quieter. I’d usually only get a little smile from her. Generally, they kept themselves to themselves. Everyone does around here, really.’

  The pair usually did their socialising around the university with the other students, at the cheap, subsidised student bars. For money was tight, even though Joanne was working full-time, and Peter again had various part-time jobs to help support his studies. Joanne had quickly settled into her new job at the Thomas Cook agencies in both London Road and North Street. The North Street branch was popular, being between two of Brighton’s most famous landmarks, the old Clock Tower built to commemorate Queen Victoria’s golden jubilee, and the stunning Royal Pavilion used by the Prince Regent as his private pleasure palace. Arriving at work there always gave Joanne a great buzz, but the other office in London Road also had its advantages. It was always busy, being right on the main road, and was much closer to home, just a fifteen-minute walk away. It helped too that Joanne had made good friends with many of the staff. One of her closest friends in Brighton, Tina Smith, says Joanne surprised everyone early on. ‘When she first arrived, she was quite quiet and shy,’ she says. ‘But with a drink, she could suddenly be really lively. It was such a difference!’

  Peter was also enjoying his time in Brighton. The course was everything he’d hoped it would be, and he was working hard and receiving good marks. He’d opted to take the sandwich course, working in the construction industry for the second year of his four-year course and, studying full-time for his final year, from September 1999 to June 2000, his tutors were delighted with his progress. ‘Peter was a very determined young man,’ says Dr Kassim Gidado. ‘But he was also very good-natured. He would take on other people’s problems and try to help them out too
. He was a real team-player which is something we encourage. He could motivate people and if you wanted to get something done, you’d go to Peter. He was great at getting people to work together to meet deadlines. He had a very, very bright future. We could see he was going to be a real high-flier.’

  But Peter wasn’t in any desperate hurry to embark on his new career. He and Joanne had been secretly planning a one-year trip around the world as soon as his course finished. They’d started talking about it in 1998, and grown more and more excited as time went by. Joanne brought home brochures from the travel agency for them to pore over, together with recommendations from workmates and past customers. While Peter sat with his books in the evenings, Joanne worked out all the best destinations. When he’d pushed his last assignment for the day finally aside, they talked through all their ideas and plotted their ideal routes. And at night, they’d lie in each other’s arms and dream of far-flung golden beaches, distant mountains, crowded foreign cities and great deserted stretches of the romantic outback.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A BAD SEED

  WHILE PETER FALCONIO AND JOANNE LEES worked hard to build a future for themselves in the south of England, it seemed to some that Bradley Murdoch was hellbent on sabotaging his. He was becoming more and more involved with Australia’s infamous outlaw motorcycle gangs, the hard men alleged to be heavily embroiled in organised crime, a big slice of the country’s drug market and violence against the police — and each other. ‘We know, and you know, that murder after murder, rape after rape, drug deal after drug deal, shootouts in our city, shootouts and bombings in our suburbs are directly related to outlaw bikie gangs,’ declared South Australian Premier Mike Rann in frustration at their increasing level of activity.

  After leaving school in 1973 at the age of fifteen, Murdoch had drifted. He’d spent time doing odd jobs in Perth before wandering back up north to Geraldton, near his hometown of Northampton. He picked up work as a mechanic, putting to good use those hours he’d spent watching and learning from his father. But in his spare time, he began to get involved with the area’s bikies. Former neighbour John Drage still remembers the night he took on a visiting bikie from a rival gang and ‘belted the hell out of him’.

  The death of his eldest brother Robert soon after pushed Murdoch even closer to the edge. Robert had endured so many operations and had been sick for so long, it seemed almost as if he’d finally given up the fight. ‘We all thought the doctors had killed him,’ said Drage. ‘They’d mucked about with him so much, it had made him too weak.’ Although Murdoch had never been that close to Robert, his death shocked him.

  On top of this, Murdoch’s childhood interest in guns had never left him, and he grabbed every opportunity to use, or own one, even if it were stolen. His first brushes with the law were always over guns. His first court convictions, in 1977 and 1978, were for firearms offences, once for going armed into a public place.

  Murdoch knew it was time for a change, however, when, in March 1980, during a spell working at the world’s largest lead smelter, Pasminco, in Port Pirie, South Australia, he was involved in a road accident which resulted in the death of a motorcyclist. Blame was placed squarely on Murdoch and, convicted of causing death by dangerous driving, he was slugged with a suspended prison sentence. It was a timely wake-up call, and the close brush with jail penetrated his rough, tough exterior. He was at a crossroads: he could continue the way he was, and almost certainly end up in jail; or he could make a bid for a better, different kind of life.

  He decided to leave the area that he knew so well and try his luck somewhere completely different. He chose the coastal town of Albany, on the southernmost tip of WA. One of the most isolated settlements in Australia, and the state’s oldest town, it overlooks one of the biggest natural harbours in the world on one side and, on the other, stares towards the spectacular Stirling and Porongurup Ranges, some 400 kilometres south of Perth. With rugged granite cliffs dropping down to the cold ocean, and brisk winds blowing straight off the Antarctic, it felt the perfect kind of place for a fresh start. And for a while it was. Murdoch fell in love with Albany’s wild unpredictability. There were a couple of good surfing spots, a lot of open stretches of water, and good fishing, particularly off the rocks, from which the unwary were occasionally swept to their deaths. Rents were among the cheapest in the state, there was plenty of work for mechanics and drivers, since most food and fuel was trucked into the area, and the agricultural and logging industries always needed help. In addition, Albany had the lure of being a long, long way from anywhere that really counted.

  Murdoch liked the town’s transient lifestyle too. ‘Many people are sent here for work for short periods, like teachers and bank staff, and there’s always a lot of tourists,’ says long-term resident Craig Drummond. ‘Everyone’s looking for a totally different place, but it doesn’t suit everyone.’ In previous years, Albany had been an important whaling station and, as a kid, one of its most famous former inhabitants, the writer Tim Winton, remembers standing at the water’s edge watching, with horror, the slaughter of the gracious giants with harpoons and grenades while the sea at Frenchman’s Bay frothed pink with blood and scavenging birds. The whaling ceased in 1978, just a couple of years before Murdoch’s arrival, and most of the excitement in town had gone with it. As a result, Murdoch soon drifted back into the company of the bikies who passed through on their regular runs.

  Bikie culture is bigger in WA than in any other part of the continent and, with so many more bikies per head of population, the state has seen a great deal of club violence and inter-gang warring. Five clubs dominate the Australian stage — the Bandidos, the Rebels, the Hell’s Angels, the Coffin Cheaters and the Gypsy Jokers — with the latter formed in 1969 through the help of the then Sydney chapter of the Hell’s Angels, until the Angels launched a takeover bid and the two became sworn enemies. According to Professor Arthur Veno, bikie expert and author of The Brotherhoods, the Gypsy Jokers have the highest profile in WA and SA, where a number of the most violent incidents over the years have taken place. Two Gypsy Jokers were charged with murder after the former Perth chief of Criminal Investigations and anti-gang warrior Don Hancock — whom they wrongly suspected of shooting dead a club member in the WA mining town of Boulder — was killed, with a friend, in a car bomb in a quiet Perth street in September 2001, just days before the inquest was due to take place. A Gypsy Joker who confessed to his part in the bombing, and broke the gang code of silence to implicate his sergeant-at-arms, received fifteen years’ jail, while his boss was acquitted.

  ‘The outlaw motorcycle clubs consider themselves to be among the last bastions of free people, free from the straight world,’ says Veno. ‘Many club members see themselves as modern cowboys, the outlaw heroes of the Wild West.’

  IN 1980, ON 14 JULY — a date that would later crop up in circumstances no-one could ever have predicted — Bradley Murdoch married a Perth local, a quiet, pretty girl clearly overwhelmed by his presence. He was twenty-one and, at 191 centimetres (six foot four) with a broad chest and powerful arms, cut an impressive figure. He was never out of work either. Those skills as a mechanic, together with his resourcefulness and inventiveness in cobbling together quick fixes on the cheap, made him a model employee. His wife thought she had the perfect catch too, and in 1986 presented him with a baby son. Murdoch, however, wasn’t ready to play happy families and he started spending more and more time away from home, and often disappeared for days on end.

  His bikie mates turned him on to other job opportunities. Many of the gangs at that point were getting into security work and Murdoch was the ideal candidate. He discovered it wasn’t necessary to work nine to five and leave with dirty hands any longer. With his build and temperament, it was easy to pick up the kind of work that tends to attract aggressive young men full of bluster and belligerence. He began work as a nightclub bouncer. While it suited him for a while, it wasn’t long before he grew restless. Clubs were trying to clean up their acts and w
ere demanding stricter standards of behaviour from their staff. They were instructing their bouncers to reason with troublesome punters rather than to hustle them out of the door with a show of muscle, recruiting more women and implementing stricter dress codes.

  Besides, he was growing bored. Albany is beautiful, with great beaches, good swimming and fishing, and wondrous scenery, but for a young man in his prime, it’s hardly dynamic. Murdoch found it tough adjusting to the demands of a wife who wasn’t happy that he wasn’t sitting on the sofa with her every evening, and still less the needs of a small, crying baby. This wasn’t the life he’d envisioned for himself at all. He wanted thrills, he decided, even if they did come with spills. He phoned an old bikie mate in Bunbury and asked him if he knew of any work going. The man, again thought to be a Gypsy Joker, asked him if he fancied driving trucks up north. The work was hard and involved long hours, but it paid well.

  ‘Yep, count me in,’ replied Murdoch. He felt it was time to really stretch his wings. ‘When can I start?’

  FOR THE NEXT FIFTEEN YEARS Murdoch drove trucks around WA and the Northern Territory, leaving his wife at home bitter and disillusioned, and his young son without a father. Today, she leads a quiet life, and hasn’t had any contact with her ex-husband for years. ‘I don’t want to see him either,’ she says. ‘He’s nothing to do with us. He wasn’t interested in being a family. We’re better off without him.’

  Up in his cab at the wheel of a massive truck, pulling as many as three trailers at a time in a road train and thundering across the deserted Australian outback with a gun often at his side, Murdoch felt like a true road warrior, all-powerful and all-conquering. He was the king of the road, a real Mad Max with the gravel spitting beneath his wheels, the sun in his eyes, and the cry of freedom in his heart, needing nobody and nothing.