In the Shadows

The Malborough/Sarina Road used to be the busiest thoroughfare to get to far North Queensland from Brisbane along the old Bruce Highway. But now, a forgotten town occupies the Malborough/Sarina Road, and a road holds onto some of the darkest memories. 

Until the early 80s, the Malborough/Sarina Road was the major thoroughfare to get to Mackay from Brisbane, taking the inland route. During the 60s and 70s, this road saw several murders and unexplained disappearances. 

Along this very road, someone murdered my grandmother in the late 60s, which led to a ripple effect, resulting in the killing of my mother along the Flinders Highway. I found it peculiar that a killer would use a highway 30 years apart. It made me wonder, were there two murderers involved? Using two notorious Queensland highways was a brilliant idea.

My quest started the minute two mysterious boxes showed up at my desk. Both were filled with documents and diaries regarding the mysterious deaths of both my grandmother and mother. My van carried the information. I pinned my murder board on a pull-down board above my bed.

I stopped on the road to set up my vlogging camera, trying to hurry to reach the homestead before dark.

‘Hey everyone,’ I said as I pulled back onto the pothole-ridden road. ‘I’ve just gotten off the current Bruce Highway and I’m back on the road, heading to the Lotus Creek Homestead.’ 

I hit a deep pothole, causing Kimi to jolt awake, hissing at me. 

‘Sorry Kimi, I’ll be careful next time,’ I said, reaching over to pat her. ‘She’s not accustomed to driving yet.’

My sweet Tiffanie kitten wasn’t quite used to the road life yet, and neither was I. Getting used to living a minimum lifestyle in such an enclosed space was difficult and my journey was only starting. 

‘I have a meeting with a local who lives about an hour from here.’

In fact, I’ve got a few interviews with locals. Though they’re not directly related to the murders of my grandmother and mother, they will offer further insight into the circumstances from back then.

Someone killed my grandmother somewhere along here in the late '60s. She left stories of potential suspects. My grandfather was one of them. Still alive, still very much with it. He was a creepy man. I swore he drooled over me every time he saw me. I look just like she did. The striking blue eyes, soft facial features, and long hazelnut hair. I often pleaded with my dad to stop the visits, afraid that he’d one day do something that’d change my life. 

I felt like I was stuck in time, unable to move past the box that I received when I was 18, obsessing over the puzzle pieces. It was like the universe was calling me, begging me to solve two cold cases, one from 55 years ago, and the other from 25 years ago. Something obvious eluded my grasp.

Kimi purred in the passenger seat beside me, not phased by the swerving or jumps as I drove along the broken road. Grass and weeds were sprouting in the cracks in some areas.

The drive to Clarke Creek started peacefully, with open green land. But soon, the trees grew denser and shrubs clustered together. There was something eerie about this stretch and one that you should never do at night. I just want to get what I need and leave quickly. However, locating the previous crime scene would pose a challenge.

If Google Maps showed me anything, it was that I needed to keep an eye out for the areas that were blurred. They were probably crosses or just a glitch in the system. 

I was truly in the rural region now. One business in operation, and a good few kilometres up the road, a residence. 

The residence looked creepy with its boarded-up windows but yet seemed well kept. As much as I wanted to stop and ask my burning question, I couldn’t. I valued my life. 

Despite feeling unsettled during the drive, it didn’t hit me until I passed a very old sign. Aware of my surroundings, I stopped to take a photo of the old billboard. It was once a bright yellow. The sign has now faded to a pale yellow, with rusted poles and a potential missing word. The road’s nostalgic aura beckoned me to join.

Every few meters, there were dead animals - kangaroos, snakes, and possums. Their carcasses were fresh and swarming with flies. It made my blood run cold.

Then that’s when I spotted it.

A car.

My heart started pumping faster. It looked very modern, but I still decelerated, hoping that on the off chance, it was the old Ford. It wasn’t. My fears that Cyclone Debbie had taken it away were overwhelming, and I increased my speed again.

I didn’t lose faith, though. 

Soon, another abandoned car awaits me within a few hundred meters, perhaps even a kilometre.

Time slowed. It felt like a fever dream. The one where you’ve time-travelled to the past and you’re stuck there. I put gloves and a GoPro on and trudged over to the car. A sense of overwhelm washed over me, but I embraced it. 

There was no way for me to escape the heat. I had heavy-duty shoes and jeans on to protect me from the possibility of snakes. 

‘I really don’t like this, guys.’ I said. ‘Seeing a King Brown, or any brown snake, is the last thing I want.’

The area around the car showed nothing obvious. No bullet casings. No weapon of any kind. The inside of the car itself showed blood caked onto the dashboard and the gearshift. 

‘Guys? Are you seeing this?’ I remarked as I spotted something shiny in the back seat of the car. ‘Holy fucking shit!’

I moved to find a better angle, but I was faced with a knife. Blood is still on it. 

In my back pocket, I pulled out an evidence bag and pried open the car door. What I didn’t expect to see was a Stiletto switchblade. It’s rare to see them around. The fact that the police just left it was peculiar. Before putting it in my evidence bag, I take several photos of it.

‘This, everyone, is an Italian Swing Guard Stiletto switchblade. Very rare and goes for a good few hundred bucks on eBay.’

You become accustomed to different weapons when you’re a private investigator. What I’m not privy to is seeing the vintage weapons up close, let alone touch them. I’m not even sure if forensics will do much in the way of obtaining fingerprints or DNA from it, but it was worth a shot. 

There were still strands of hair that I collected.

It was an ordinary job for me. At times, things were overlooked, particularly in the past, when DNA tests were nonexistent. What isn't overlooked? A knife and a book. 

‘I just stumbled upon this under the seat,’ I remark as I place it in an evidence bag. 

This was getting interesting. I thought I wouldn't find anything, but I did. 

‘Could this be a setup?’ I whispered to myself.

A shiver went down my spine, and I closed the car up. Bolting over the road for my van. I checked the back of the van; nothing. 

Ignition on. Foot to floor. Zoom.

‘Just a bit up the road is the Clarke Creek Showgrounds. I’m just going to stop in there and check over my footage.’ I said to myself.

It was pedal to the metal for the next 10 minutes, veering onto May Downs Road, parking in the gravel parking lot between the town hall and the school.

The sound of the children playing sent shivers down my spine. Even their uniforms were doing my head in. Out of date.

I desired to go home.

Swiftly, I moved to the van's rear, bringing Kimi along.

‘Winnie?’ I heard a voice from outside the van.

I keep quiet. 

‘Winnie?’ It repeated. ‘It’s Jacqueline.’