If you are new to this re-creation of Ray and Jennie’s Outback Mystery, or have missed a part, you can catch up on the story so far here: Outback Mystery - The complete story, so far...
Or if that is too long to commit to right now, you could start on this one with some help from the timeline below.
Timeline of key events so far:
2014-2015 - Kehlets and [Miller] plan and train to abseil down abandoned mine shafts to find gold (refer Inquest Findings, sect. The Plan). Kehlets and Miller draw a mudmap of the Bell Chambers tenement, which includes a reference to a '1ST HOLE' (written by Miller). Kehlets tell a friend ([Maximus Whikser]) of their plans to abseil down abandoned mine shafts.
March 18, 2015 - Jennie Kehlet's final diary entry - "Hopefully go to Hole, fingers crossed".
March 19, 2015 - Kehlets (with their Great Dane, Ella) and Miller arrive at the Bell Chambers Camp.
March 22, 2015 - Miller leaves Bell Chambers before dawn and heads back to Perth. [Mark and Gina], a prospecting couple, see a man who resembles a grumpy small ornamental garden figurine traveling south on the Paynes Find-Sandstone Road at ~5AM. Two prospectors happen across the Kehlets’ campsite ~10AM, who don’t see anyone there except Ella the Great Dane. Miller’s GPS activates on the Paynes Find-Sandstone Road ~10:30AM travelling south.
The week of March 22, 2015 - fire extinguisher and tyre marks to south of Bell Chambers found on Atley Station by [Dianne].
March 25, 2015 - Two more prospectors happen across the campsite, who don’t see anyone there except Ella the Great Dane.
March 27, 2015 - Prospectors camp at the northern track into Bell Chambers and note foul odour from nearby abandoned mine shaft.
March 28, 2015 - Ella the Great Dane ambles into the Sandstone caravan park, emaciated and thirsty. Sandstone Shire unable to contact owner and must wait for microchip reader. 25mm of rain soaks the MidWest region in the following days.
March 31, 2015 - Family is contacted by Sandstone Shire. Family call satellite phone, Miller answers (satellite phone was understood to be left with Ray and Jennie). Family report the Kehlets missing. Sandstone Shire head to the Bell Chambers site.
April 1, 2015 - police from Mt Magnet head to the site. Prospectors camped on northern track report foul odour from mine shaft. Police confirm the odour, but attribute it to a dead kangaroo. Overnight AMSA infra-red plane search finds no trace of the Kehlets.
April 2, 2015 - LandSAR Phase 1 begins. Aerial and ground searches find no trace of the Kehlets. TRG look down that mine shaft and declare it ‘clear’.
April 3, 2015 - SES/DFES look down that mine shaft and declare it ‘clear’. Miller, the last man to see the Kehlets alive, assists police and is allowed to camp nearby the Kehlet’s camp, alone, with all Kehlet’s camp still set up (all roads otherwise blocked to the region).
April 4, 2015 - Family and friends of Ray and Jennie are interviewed by police to determine if Ray and Jennie may have domestic issues, or wanted a new life. Search suspended. Ray and Jennie’s camp is packed with minimal forensics testing. Jennie’s diary and mudmap found and submitted to LandSAR for possible new search parameters.
April 5, 2015 - Ella and camp equipment returns home with minimal forensic testing. Family indicate their belief foul play involved.
April 6, 2015 - LandSAR meeting held, phase 2 search confirmed. Friend of Ray and Jennie conducts desperate search, and indicates to police that he believes foul play.
April 7, 2015 - LandSAR Helicopter aerial search conducted, which yields no further clues, other than Urania Minerals obtaining VTEM survey of Bell Chambers.
April 8, 2015 - A media stunt unearths ‘highly decomposed’ human remains at the base of a century-old abandoned mine shaft.
Continued below…
Please note: The narrative and dialogue should be considered Creative Nonfiction at best, some characters are consolidated, and names are changed to protect the innocent and guilty; however, the overall timeline and locations of events are based on undisputed witness statements and submitted evidence.
14. The Siberian
The outback can be a fickle temptress, when all seems to be settled into a steady pace—dry heat, violent scrub, red dusted bowls—then in a sudden she will burst into a never ending carpet of wildflowers overnight, transforming the landscape after a small tipping point of atmospheric change is breached.
A singular rotation of the earth had occurred since Channel Five’s media stunt notified the world of a random person’s corpse unearthed, found down an abandoned mine shaft within arguably one of the most remote corners of the globe. The arrival of fresh police recruits to Sandstone over that evening and following day was a sight to behold. The Sandstone pub courtyard had burst into blue, the cockatoos all going Berko inside their cages after all the orange cacophony of the SES had scattered, replaced by premature blooms of police uniforms all descending on such a small town at once.
Officer AB, known to his colleagues in the TRG as The Siberian, lay in his bivvy bag writing notes from the day past, his amber eyes reflecting by camp light appeared radiant like the surface of the sun. He gripped his tactical pen in his left hand, his dominant hand, writing upside down against the all-weather diary that he packed on all assignments.
0400 - Departure … 0937 - Arrive Sandstone … 1000 - Forward command post ... The black-coated, heavy steel pen bounced in the light, its embedded glass breaker-cum-DNA sampler glinting at the tip, and shadows from a quote engraved along the shaft (文武両道) danced to The Siberian’s diary notation.
The TRG’s arrival had been whispered the night before. Tables of search volunteers were sharing accounts of that previous day, and riotously describing the hilarious coincidence that police had allowed news crews to film their guys abseiling down a shaft that was deemed all clear, so that they weren’t interrupting the main search, yet somehow—by miracle—another long-lost missing person had been found. Beers spilt and spittle showered the air in mirth. It was an utterly golden moment for the media crews, too, who could now smell newspapers selling faster than cold beers in the front bar.
In a dark corner of the beer garden, Gordo and Dave were meanwhile formulating a better plan for the coming day, now that they knew the lay of the town, and had, in their minds, worked out the rules of play after several beers. They had approached Scruffy to ask if he would take them on the lunch run, out to Ray and Jennie's camping area, as Neil had suggested, which Scruffy was happy to oblige. They also decided to crash the morning meeting at the amenities building, to see what insider information they could gather on the search so far. It all felt rather clandestine, so more beers were suggested. It was Gordo’s shout.
Gordo stood at the bar between elbows of oranges and blues, holding his card and smiled high to get the barmaid’s attention, ordered the beers, when he then overheard a mention of the TRG coming to town. The barmaid delivered the cold bottles back to Gordo, whose face had now turned to revulsion. He strode back to the beer garden with a wide-eyed stare. “The TRG are coming to town, Dave,” he exclaimed, “do you know what this means?”
“Ahhh, no Gordo, I do not?” the mumbled reply.
Gordo spat out the words, “They found another body today, Dave! Your bro and his wife are missing… There’s a bloody psychopath out here somewhere! They’re sending the TRG to find him!”
It was a logical conclusion delivered whilst inebriated - a potent mix. Over the course of the night, more and more police started arriving from Perth, the town turning from a sea of orange to blue, as SES were de-mobilised and replaced. The pair noted how prompt and dense the response appeared.
“You’re fek’n right, Gordo,” Dave lisped. “That’s what those psychos do! They always hang around where they’ve committed the crimes. It’s probably someone inside this pub!” In a town as small as Sandstone, this game of Cluedo had a small board.
It was Dave’s shout. Entering the front bar, which had thinned by the movement of the changing guard, he noted that the majority of patrons were now media crews and locals. Bellied by sufficient intoxication to render a dull form of wit, Dave decided to test the theory of his resemblance to his brother, the man whose face was displayed alongside his wife’s on every channel in the state, by facing and nodding at each reporter in the room while he waited to be served. He then elbowed Dwayne at the bar, spilt a beer on Clyde from Seven Sunrise, and trod on Becky’s white shoe on his exit from the room. The cream of WA’s investigative journalists all responded with nothing other than pursed lips and groans, before returning to the locals in the hope of finding an angle for their next exclusive report.
“Well, it’s definitely not one of the reporters, none of them are smart enough,” said Dave as he placed their fresh beers on the table. “Who do you reckon it is, Gordo?”
Gordo didn’t need a moment to consider his answer, it was already set. “It’s Scruffy.”
Dave took a swig of beer. “How did you come to that conclusion, Gordo?”
“Look at this place,” Gordo waved his upturned hand in a dramatic arc. “An outback pub devoid of regular income, now profiting possibly more than ever.”
“Bloody hell, you’re right! A serial killer would put this place on the map.” Dave took a large gulp of beer. “Any of the locals could be in on it, really. Have you seen the shady characters in the corner of the front bar?”
“Scruffy’s mates, Dave? Yeah. Yeah, I seen ‘em… why’d you have to get us killed, Dave? Why? We could be drinking Pina Coladas on the beach right now, Dave, but no… tonight we’re getting murdered instead.”
They both spat their beers out laughing. They drank another twenty beers to ensure they would die happy, then waddled off to the camp site, to their tents in the wide-open caravan park, ready for a certain murdering.
0400 the next morning, as The Siberian and his entourage left their Perth barracks toward the outback, Gordo and Dave lay prone upright listening to every single footstep, falling leaf, wind direction change, and the farts echoing from nearby camps ready to jump out, torch in hand, to stare into the eyes of the assumed Sandstone psychopathic murderer on the loose.
Gordo poked his head through his tent door after sunrise, one eye open and scanning the horizon, the other puckered closed in the shape, texture, colour, and no doubt smell of a cat's bum. Dave was boiling the billy, grinning at him like a madman. He crawled out and slumped into the camp chair. It was going to be a long day. “I need to go to the toilet,” said Gordo, “but I’m gonna leave it ‘til later, so I’ve got something to look forward to.”
The town of Sandstone soon descended on the amenities building for the morning search meeting. Media crews all milled outside the gates as police, SES and DFES teams entered. Gordo and Dave used the reporters’ incessant barrage as a shield, slipping by the gates and finding a spot up the back of the hall to listen in. The orange teams all soon left with instructions and maps for the day, while new recruits of police remained in their seats. Dave winked at Gordo, this will be when we find out what’s really going on.
“The TRG will arrive this morning, to assist with the recovery of human remains found in the mine shaft. Meanwhile, I want each of you assigned to a search team, to bag and tag anything found today. I know the conditions are rough, there’s not enough beds in town, but you will be supplied with all meals, plus one drink in the evening. Standard award rates plus overtime can be claimed for all hours. Let’s go.” A loud groan could be heard from the rear of the hall.
Three TRG officers arrived at the Sandstone Pub at 0937. The Siberian exited the driver’s door and stretched, his ginger hair ruffling in the breeze. His companions checked the trio in, then returned to their landcruiser and departed town toward the forward command post, thirty kilometres south. They arrived at 1000, as scheduled. Sergeant Hoskin, the Forward Commander, greeted the team and described the finding: Twelve metre deep shaft, bulb-shaped at the base, human remains are highly decomposed. Forensics officers would arrive soon, however the TRG were to provide support due to the danger and difficulty of extraction.
The TRG team began setting up their equipment alongside the mine shaft situated within a short walk and easily visible from the forward command. Hoskins noted the sheer size of Officer AB compared to the other TRG officers, even though they too were supremely built men. AB looked like he could run through brick walls. Which, coincidentally, was how Officer AB earned his nickname.
The Siberian was renowned in the TRG as the man sent in to dispatch the most violent and dangerous offenders. After the long, drawn out process of gathering intelligence, facilitating the plan, then finally standing at the threshold of the perpetrator’s door, soon to be smashed open using the enforcer (battering ram), The Siberian’s amber eyes would narrow to slits, his ginger hackles raise, defining dark brows scowling to the ready—many of the state’s hardest of criminals had simply frozen in terror over Officer AB’s years in the force, unable to move while a puddle of piss filled their pants, as The Siberian charged in to subdue them, effortlessly pinning them to the floor under his unassailable southpaw.
In the urban jungle, The Siberian was the apex predator. Although, truth be told, Officer AB was a man simply driven by his circumstances. The qualities that earned his reputation in adulthood were honed in adolescence, in the gyms of eastern martial arts training centres, after having been ridiculed in childhood. AB found his passion in the literature of the ancient Feudal East, when warriors were scholars and priests practiced the art of the sword. With years of combat sports under his belt by the time he came of age, AB had made the choice to use his supreme advantages in a profession to serve his base motivations: the eradication of bullies. So now, as a TRG officer in the prime of his life, The Siberian’s only worthy natural enemy was the sun itself.
The Siberian wrapped a shemagh scarf around his neck and face, then carried a crate of vertical rescue equipment to the abandoned mine. The TRG team assembled a Larkin frame over the shaft, so that they could lower and ascend men and equipment from directly over the opening, without disruption to the collar or walls. They each tested the gear, abseiling to the base of the shaft and return. Officer AB noted the position of the human remains, the skull and shoulders prominent to the shaft, and the body laying flat and face-up, away and into the cavernous base, far out of sight from the opening above. He returned to the surface, tidying equipment and surveying the ground while waiting for forensics officers to arrive.
Three cigarette butts were spotted on the ground, approximately three metres from the shaft opening, in a tight cluster. Officer AB also spotted the remnants of a small fire on a ledge on the opposite side of the shaft. He pondered the likelihood that the butts and ash, particularly the ash from the fire, could have lasted in the condition found given the recent weather reported. The officer poked around in the fire remnants, however nothing other than ash remained. Detectives from the forward command approached, so AB pointed the findings out to them, questioning why the evidence had not been gathered.
“This isn’t a crime scene, Bamm-Bamm,” the detectives sarcastically retorted.
Officer AB’s amber eyes narrowed, focusing on the three cigarette butts, the small fire, and recalled the scene at the base of the shaft. Not a crime scene? he wondered, ginger hackles raised as he stared back at the detective.
Scruffy was concurrently loading lunches into coolers back at the Sandstone Pub, ready for delivery to the search crews. He had enlisted the help of his friend John, a tall and hardened local prospector. Gordo and Dave were waiting to join them out on the side street, Gordo pelting Dave with blocks of ice from the eskies for having gotten him into the predicament of joining his two prime outback-serial-killer-suspects in their own vehicle, to drive out into the unknown. Dave took a photo of the numberplate and sent it to their wives, which did not seem to appease Gordo who instead landed an ice block perfectly aimed at Dave’s temple.
Scruffy drove the foursome fast and loose down the Sandstone-Paynes Find gravel shortcut, first stopping in a cloud of red dust nearby a group of SES volunteers who were searching along the roadside. They dropped the lunch supplies then quickly gunned it to the next stop, at the Bell Chambers forward command, a kilometre inland from the shortcut, on the northern prospector’s loop. Hoskins, John and Scruffy were in deep discussion, standing at the back of the ute while Dave and Gordo took in the scene. The TRG team were lowering themselves into a shaft at the top of the rise to the east. Media crews were nearby, filming a group of SES volunteers searching in the bush. They piled back into Scruffy's ute and turned back toward the shortcut. Scruffy said that the police had told him to not take them anywhere near where their current search and extraction was taking place, but he could show Gordo and Dave where Ray and Jennie were camped. Scruffy showed them the fence lines that ran along the south, the border to Dianne’s station, and described the same to the east of where they had camped. Then they drove off the main road again to the camp site.
It wasn't far off the road, just over a kilometre of rough but easily manageable bush track, which crossed over a dry creek bed. All that remained of Ray and Jennie’s camp was a compacted black ash pit from their fire, and the shade-providing acacia tree they had set up under. Recent heavy rain ensured that any tracks, or other sights or smells, were no longer Ray and Jennie’s. Dave walked around the site in a trance, flashbacks from childhood filling his mind. Rusted tin signs with bullet holes from sighting the rifles. A granite ridgeline with much to fossick around and under. Trees and boulders to climb. Tracks, ridges, creek lines, all congregating to where they had camped. The 'Tabletop' sight marker easily seen from anywhere in the area. The camp area looked to have been well chosen since it was a natural junction and therefore a safe bet that even if someone did become disorientated, they wouldn't have to walk far to find their way back to camp.
It seemed insulting to imply that either Ray or Jennie would have ever got lost there.
Dave came across a small pile of rocks, piled up on the edge of the creek bed—elongated flat rocks of similar sizes intertwined in a squared lattice stack, like a geological Jenga tower. He didn't disturb it. Perhaps Ray and Jennie would return to play their game.
They returned to Sandstone, bumping into Neil at the bar. Neil had run out of options to help, and wanted to get home to his family before having to head back to work, so would leave early the next morning. “There’s no way Ray would have got lost out there,” said Dave. Neil shook his head and looked down.
The TRG crew soon entered the bar, collecting their food supplies and rapidly departing. They would be there for another day, as they could not complete the extraction due to potential danger of the shaft collapsing.
“There’s no way Ray would have got lost out there.”
The police arrived in town, dismissing the advances of Dave to speak to them. The police suggested that Gordo and Dave head home, as they hadn't found anything more, and the search would likely be called off again. They promised the police that the pair would head home in the morning.
“There’s no way Ray would have got lost out there.”
Everything seemed abnormally cold, dark, and quiet in the pub that evening. None of the search crew stayed longer than to have dinner and their one allotted drink before leaving. There was little to no banter. Dave bought John a beer to thank him for the day—John couldn't even look Dave in the eye when he passed it to him, he simply took the beer and walked away to another table, head down. Darlene and Scruffy kept themselves busy behind the bar. Within an hour or so, the only people left at the pub were a few locals, Gordo and Dave, and the media circus.
Gordo and Dave decided to stay on an extra day and night; it just didn't seem like they could, or should, leave that next morning. Something wasn't quite right; there was a piece missing from this geological, geographical, Jenga puzzle.
There was no way Ray would have ever got lost out there.
… 1000 - Forward command post ... 1015 - extraction team at site … 12 metre shaft … body within cavernous base … splayed and upfacing … remnants of fire at shaft opening … three cigarette butts found nearby … “not a crime scene” … Officer AB completed his diary entry and closed his all-weather book, clicking the end of the Gerber tactical pen shut. He momentarily glanced at the quote engraved along the shaft, dancing in the camp light, 文武両道 (bunbu ryodō), The Siberian’s most treasured lesson from the ancient martial scribes: Pen and sword in accord.
The Siberian would now sip green tea whilst reading Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings, which he knew would take precisely two hours and thirty-seven minutes cover to cover, whereafter he will cover his face loosely with his shemagh scarf and sleep soundly with one eye open.
Thank you for reading. The next instalment will be a week or so away.
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The Man in the HOLE - public group
With your help, justice for Ray and Jennie will prevail.