Season 1 
Keren Rowland: The 50 year Mystery

Episode 1 - End of the Road

Created & hosted by journalist, history investigator & author, Nichole Overall.

 

It’s a heartbreaking tale tinged by fading memories, skewed recollections and warped re-imaginings.

So mysteriously sinister was the incident that came to pass on a fine, moonless summer evening in a Canberra of half a century ago, it continues to haunt the Australian capital.

Friday, February 26, 1971: the opening of the 42nd annual Canberra Show. The place is abuzz with locals and thousands of visitors descending on the modestly-sized city for the occasion.

One resident, an attractive, 20-year-old once Sunday school teacher and Scout mistress, having made the rounds of the rides and Sideshow Alley a few hours earlier, is on her way to join her sister and some friends at a popular hotel on the other side of town.

She never meets up with them.

Just past midnight, her increasingly worried father contacts the authorities. It won’t take them long to locate her abandoned - though locked - white Mini-Minor on Parkes Way, a thoroughfare running alongside the northern edge of Lake Burley Griffin, the central body of water around which Canberra is set. 

Later, a lone, single-strap wooden sandal similar to a pair she was wearing is discovered nearby an historic stone cottage perched on the edge of the Lake, for decades the home of the pioneering Blundells. Many a year though has it been since anyone living has, at that time of night, looked out the unblinking eyes that are its shutterless windows and who may have given witness to what transpired on that fateful night.

Keren Ellen Rowland, a vibrant young woman at the cusp of life, is never seen alive again.

 

****

Fifty years on in 2021, along with what happened to Keren ranking as close to Canberra’s most enduring unresolved mystery, it’s one of a number of chillingly similar cases to have occurred in the Australian capital in the time since.

I’m Nichole Overall, journalist, social historian and author, and this is Capital Crime Files, exploring the unsolved and unexplained at the heart of a nation.

The following original investigation has been researched and written by me based on in-depth interviews as well as a range of other sources, all listed on my website, capitalcrimefiles.com.au. In the interests of privacy and to avoid prejudicing a potential trial, some names have been omitted or changed.

 

****

 

“Keren would have turned 70 on December 9 in 2020.”

Keren’s brother, the youngest of three Rowland kids, is a warm, down-to-earth man who’s fashioned a successful life - a business owner for more than a quarter of a century, a dad and grandfather who’s looking forward to some deserved leisure years adventuring with his wife in their newly acquired caravan.

A faint guardedness in his blue eyes is the only hint of the tragedy which has weighed so heavily upon his family for so long; a residual effect of loss in circumstances almost impossible to fathom. An inescapable burden interspersed with sudden jolts of hope and potential discovery, like the existential press of a tongue on a sore tooth.

He was 16 when he said goodbye to his oldest sister that final morning.

“We were exceptionally close. Got into more than a bit of trouble together too,” he chuckles before becoming sombre once more.

Not once in 50 years has he previously commented publicly on the impact of a seemingly random event - although he’s spent most of his own life still searching for answers.

“People are never quite sure how to address it”.

“I have absolutely no problem in talking about Keren - I want to talk about her - but most shy away from the topic.”

“It’s only by discussing it openly and candidly that we might uncover the truth, even after so long.”

 

****

Sound Effect: Radio being tuned.

[Young woman's voice]

 

The cherubic young woman smiles broadly at the camera, her shimmery blue eye shadow dramatically framing her almond-shaped, dusky blue eyes. A long, darkish fringe bobbing over the tops of her eyebrows and soft curls bunched gently on her shoulders.

It’s the youthful, hopeful face of someone with much to look forward to, celebrating a christmas that she cannot know will be her last.

 

****

 

Keren’s disappearance that Friday night, sparks an intensive though fruitless search. Weeks stretching into months. Summer fading to autumn.

News coverage changing from a local plague of “long-horned” grasshoppers swarming street lights and infesting office buildings, to preparations for Anzac Day.

And young people’s attention turning from one of their own to the upcoming "Aquarius Festival of University Arts”, a major cultural event for the capital.

Then, on a crisp morning in May, clothed remains are stumbled across in a lonely, forested area beyond the Canberra airport on the capital’s north-eastern outskirts.

A woman’s body near the bottom of a gully, partially obscured with “debris and branches”, almost hidden by a row of pine trees.

Decomposition makes identification virtually impossible. Equally is it difficult for the cause of death to be determined.

Suicide, or something more frighteningly malevolent?

 

****

 

Australia in 1971 is a shifting landscape: “knock-about” Liberal Prime Minister John Gorton will be replaced by his former Treasurer, the polarising William McMahon; Evonne Goolagong, winner of the French Open and Wimbledon and the first Aboriginal person to represent the country in tennis, is awarded Australian of the Year; the confronting local film Wake In Fright hits the big screen while Young Talent Time gains good ratings on the small; the “Big 3” of Australian car manufacturing - Holden, Ford and Chrysler - release their most popular “muscle cars”; and come the end of the year, the first McDonald’s opens in Sydney.

Canberra in 1971 is still essentially an over-sized country town, its population hovering around 150,000. Routinely - and often disparagingly - referred to as the “Bush Capital” for its rural environs.

Australia’s only fully planned creation, it’s then not even 60 years old.

Architects Walter and Marion Griffin, of Chicago extraction, had secured the title of designers in a 1911 competition.

The location was a political compromise that ensured the new Australian centrepiece was closer to Sydney - almost 300 kilometres south-west of the NSW capital - than the capital of the state of Victoria, Melbourne, 660-odd kilometres away.

In addition, far enough inland from the continent’s eastern coastline to be protected in the event of an invasion. Still though, within a relatively easy drive to those sparkling beaches that remain a lifestyle drawcard, aiding in the offset of complaints that the city that rose up from a vast, sheltered flood plain was little more than “a good sheep paddock spoiled”.

After decades struggling to attain its proper place as the heart of the Australian Commonwealth, as well as some degree of street credibility - speaking of which, even its roads are generally named for those famous in the development of the country and “thoroughly characteristic of Australia”, as well as incorporating Aboriginal words - as nonetheless intended, Canberra had increasingly become “Washingtonian” in style and demographics, if not size.

-

Over the weekend the “happy-go-lucky” Keren Rowland vanishes, stories vying for space on front pages of The Canberra Times are the ongoing war in Vietnam and the inquiry into the tragic flash-flood in the capital a month before on January 26, the date marked as Australia Day.

A “one-in-100 year” natural disaster, almost 100mm of rain in an hour left devastation in its wake. Creeks and waterways swelled rapidly and so forceful was it, cars were washed into storm water drains and even a bus was swept away.

With seven dead, all aged between 6 and 20 years old and including three siblings, and millions to be spent on infrastructure repair, another potential run-away may initially have been dismissed by many.

By the end of April, 1971, as many as 104 missing persons cases will be lodged with the Australian Capital Territory - the ACT - Police. Most are teenagers, and almost all are returned safely to their families inside 72 hours.

In the course of the year, there will be just two murders investigated.

Three days after Keren has failed to return home, on Monday, March 1, a small lead article on the front page of the local paper acknowledges a few alleged sightings, but in the face of extensive police inquiries, having found no trace of her, they hold serious “fears for her safety”.

 

****

 

[Sound Effect: Radio tuning.

Young woman's voice]

 

She’d been looking forward to the end of the week and spent it with her friend, shopping, going to the hairdressers, and after work, wandering through the crowds at the Canberra Show.

As they’re preparing to leave, she spots a small bracelet she thinks is a lovely birthday gift for the 11-year-old sister of another girlfriend - it’s not expensive, but she knows she’ll like it. She even asks the vendor to engrave it with her name: “Lynette”. Safely tucking it in her handbag, they make their way back through the crammed carpark.

Having dropped her companion at home, she’s feeling a little drained, glad their plans to go to the pictures fell through. She thinks it’s best if she has an early night.

Fate it seems, will have other plans.

 

****

 

Keren had spent most of that day with a female friend, Maureen*.

A widow with a young child, the two had become close over the previous few months.

Picking the older woman up just after 9am from the old southern, upmarket suburb of Red Hill, that outcrop a central feature of the Canberra design, where she’d been working as a “live-in housekeeper”.

Around 20 minutes drive from where the Rowlands lived in Downer to the north, an area formerly devoted to agricultural research for the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO) and used during WWII as an opium poppy plantation to produce medications. Named for a two-term Premier of South Australia and member of the first Australian Senate of 1901.

Back to Hackett - its denomination courtesy of a West Australian newspaper proprietor - and not far from the Rowland residence, to leave Maureen’s daughter in the care of her grandparents.

The two women then retraced some of their route along the primary north-south running Northbourne Avenue, the four-and-a-half kilometre long thoroughfare into the Civic Centre, intending to indulge in a little retail therapy.

The Central Business District is immediately recognisable for the landmark Sydney and Melbourne buildings on opposite sides of Northbourne’s southern tip.

The imposing, two-story “inter-war Mediterranean style” constructions with their multiple colonnades topped with graceful arches, near replicas of each other and for years the only commercial buildings in the capital.

-

Delighted to get a normally hard-to-find park on inner Alinga Street - its name, an Aboriginal word for “sun”.

Right outside the Blue Moon Cafe, the popular, long-standing milkbar with its Greek owners, American-style booths and glass-fronted counters. Opposite, the double-storied, art deco Hotel Civic of 1935, preferred watering hole of construction workers, racing identities, students and civil servants alike.

The women on time for their appointment at the nearby Vienna Salon; having their hair done in preparation for their planned evening outing to the Capitol Cinema with some other friends.

Once done, some shopping on the first floor of the less than decade-old Monaro Mall, Australia’s first fully enclosed, three level, air-conditioned plaza. Then downstairs for a few items in the department store that was a regional icon - JB Young.

On dropping Keren at her workplace at 1pm, in the southerly Deakin, the suburb that hosts the official residence of the Australian Prime Minister, Maureen kept the car.

In the process of moving back into her parent’s house, she’d use it for a few of her own trips during the course of the afternoon, including taking her younger brother to the Canberra Show over on the northern edge of town following its official opening at 2.30 that day.

Just before 6pm, Maureen, her brother still with her, collected Keren at the end of her shift.

A last-minute change that undid the plans to see Richard Burton as King Henry VIII and Genevieve Bujold as Anne Boleyn in “Anne of the Thousand Days”, saw the women decide to instead take a look round the Show together - even with its entry fee increasing from 60c to 80c, it was still the cheaper option.

An almost straight route through the middle of Canberra, a distance of about 13 kilometres, they’d stop in at Hackett again for a quick cup of tea. Then it was off to the Show’s first evening session at 7pm.

Everything from wood-chopping to kite-flying, stalls manned by slick salesmen, and dancing girl performances.

Not missing one of the great drawcards, a visit to the Agricultural Pavilion, filled to the brim with prize-winning dahlias, pumpkin’s as big as a man’s head and as impressive an array of bottled fruits and jams as they’d seen, including 29 winners for a Mrs Buckmaster.

Some of the best sheep, cattle and horse-flesh in Australia on display as well.

As The Canberra Times headline the very next morning would boast, the country had come to the city.

Of a less rural nature, the police marquee leaving eyes widened and minds whirring, particularly in relation to the rather “gruesome” exhibition by the Drugs Squad on the effects of taking illegal substances.

Aside from bumping into Keren’s younger brother, who tried to wheedle an extra few dollars from her, the only other person they’d chat with briefly, a fellow who’d been a patient at a dental surgery where Keren used to work.

-

Done by mid-evening with the garish carnival rides, thumping music and the jostling of cowboy-hat wearing visitors, toffee-smeared toddlers and excitable teenagers, Keren returned her friend to Hackett before making for her own home at about 8.50pm.

Although a little fatigued, she sparked up again after walking into the kitchen to find her mum on the phone with her sister, Keren deciding to meet up with her, her fiancé and another male friend.

According to her dad, Keren taking up the opportunity seemed to have been “on the spur of the moment”.

 

That apparently spontaneous decision, in conjunction with, in her sister’s words, “about six pieces of fate, coincidences”, will forever change a family and a city.

 

****

[Sound effect: Radio tuning

Young woman's voice]

 

She knows she needs to take care. Although she’s not showing, she’s far enough along that she tires quite quickly.

It was good though, to do things that kept her mind elsewhere. A catch-up with her sister and a few friends couldn’t hurt.

Things might have been a bit up and down between them in the year or so they’d been together, but she was devastated when he broke off their engagement after finding out the news. She even hoped they might be able to get things back on track but she didn’t want to dwell on it. She’d already struggled enough in that regard.

As it is, her parents are very supportive and she’s been busy preparing for it all.

She was getting back into the swing of things, too. She had plans for next weekend, and she’d just today agreed to get together with a male friend on Monday night. It wasn’t anything serious, but they’d been talking during the course of the week and she was looking forward to it.

Things were going to work out for the best, she was sure.

 

****

 

When she vanished, Keren was still living at home with her family. Father, Geoff, a 43-year-old former ambulance officer and mortuary assistant, by then in the security game, her 41-year-old mum, Hazel, and her younger sister and brother.

They’d moved about a bit.

Born in St Leonard’s, Sydney, Keren’s earliest years were spent in the city’s northern suburbs.

With two new siblings, according to Steve Rowland, their father was provided a flat in the historic CBD area of The Rocks as part of his job.

“We were brought up above the now old Coroner’s Court and City Morgue in George Street”.

“After dad went into the security business, in 1966 we moved to Wingham on the Mid North Coast near Taree”.

“Dad had a few health issues and decided the Canberra climate might help his asthma, so that became home in 1969”.

Finishing school while in the small Wingham, Keren had trained as a dental nurse. On arrival in the capital, she found work as a receptionist at the busy Prosser Pool in Deakin.

Set behind the small shopping centre of the upper class suburb, the facility was a popular place.

Described at the time of its 1966 construction as “the most modern in Australia”, for years it was the only heated pool in the Canberra area.

The brainchild of former Olympic swimming coach, Sep Prosser, it also boasted celebrity staff - the first manager, John Konrads considered “one of the all-time greats of Australian swimming”; his assistant, Pat Hay, a squad member in the 1960 Olympics.

Inevitably, it attracted a diverse array of Canberrans from all over the city.

-

Content in her job and home life and with a good social circle, Keren had also been in a relationship for around a year with a raffish young bloke who was almost a neighbour; he lived with his parents only a few minutes drive from the Rowlands, in the suburb next door, Watson - named for Australia’s third Prime Minister.

In the lead up to her boyfriend’s 21st birthday in October, 1970 - for which Keren would note her affections in the “Family Notices” of The Canberra Times, on August 29 of that year, the handsome couple announced their engagement.

With the ink barely dry on the public notice of that event also in the newspaper classifieds, the break-up would occur in December after Keren learned she was unexpectedly pregnant.

Between that time and this, despite reconciliation with her once fiancé a possibility in Keren’s mind, he’d apparently already moved on.

According to some who knew the good-looking young man, he inevitably attracted the attention of admirers.

For one still local, a former nurse, although she hadn’t known him personally, when she was around 17, she recalled seeing him at the swimming pool in the also northern suburb of Dickson. He was usually talking with young women - perhaps it may even have been where he first met Keren.

As an onlooker only, in the nurse’s recollection, he’d caught her attention because of his confident swagger and tousled, blonde looks.

-

Unsurprisingly, the effect of the end of the relationship on the normally bubbly Keren was pronounced; well might 1970s women be striving for liberation but the status of single mother was one that continued to largely be frowned upon.

She was shaken enough to be briefly admitted to the Canberra Hospital to address what her doctor termed a “nervous disorder”.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to regain her equilibrium, bolstered by the bonds of a family who continued to make it clear they knew “she was a good girl” and were “not ashamed” she was expecting a child out of wedlock.

Her brother agrees unequivocally.

“We were all really excited she was going to become a mum, that we were going to have another family member”.

Her friend Maureen also confirmed that along with having already attended prenatal classes, just that day they’d been looking for baby items. During their time together that morning Keren had also visited her solicitor to discuss the matter of her ex-partner’s financial responsibilities for their child.

“I am 100% certain there is no way Keren was preparing for anything other than to be a mother”.

 

****

For some years and despite escalating demands from Trade Unions for trading hours to be restricted to 9am to 5pm five days a week, Fridays for Canberrans offered the opportunity to shop until 9pm.

On that cool February evening, shortly after closing time, Keren pulled up in her white Mini outside the Central Pharmacy, on Alinga Street back in the City Centre, where her sister had just finished work.

The two spoke together for a few moments while their male companions waited nearby.

The intention was for Keren to follow them in her car, first to the friend’s place in the Woden Valley, southside of the Lake, and from there on to the nearby Statesman Hotel in the suburb named for a war-time Prime Minister, Curtin.

Although supposed to wait for the blue Fiat the other three were travelling in to exit the carpark at the rear, according to Steve, “Keren went whizzing off like she normally did, heading south through the city”.

In the meantime, the trio in the other car had a change of heart, deciding the Dickson Hotel, just a suburb over from the Rowland home, would be a better venue.

Having to catch Keren up to try to flag her down, they overtook her, attempting to telegraph the change in plan.

Already across the Commonwealth Avenue Bridge, the Fiat took a left to double-back over the parallel-running Kings Avenue Bridge about three kilometres to the east.

With Keren unaware of what was going on, she followed them nonetheless.

The two cars re-crossed the Lake before merging left at the bridge’s end onto Parkes Way.

Just a handful of kilometres on, the lead vehicle slowed to enter one of the many large traffic roundabouts for which Canberra has earned a reputation. Onwards for access to the western suburbs and another round-about, to the right of which is the Civic Centre again; second exit right at this juncture to Anzac Parade, at the top of which rises the imposing central dome of the Australian War Memorial of 1941.

Taking this route, having passed through the first set of traffic lights, the three in front realised that somehow, somewhere within that short distance, they’d lost sight of Keren in the rearview mirror.

Parking by the side of the otherwise deserted road, almost directly outside the gate opening onto the graveyard and church of the Anglican St John’s of 1844, they’d waited for her to catch up.

Craning for a glimpse behind, to their surprise, what they thought looked like her Mini-Minor rounded the same concrete circle with its central, French-inspired water feature, Rond Pond, before heading back along Parkes Way in the opposite direction - towards the NSW border town of Queanbeyan.

Wondering if her sister might be “in a huff” because of the last-minute alterations and the lateness of the hour, they agreed it was probably best to make their way back to Downer to meet her there.

And so, onwards they drove.

They didn’t look back.

 

****

She drives over the city’s second bridge. Although she’s a Sydney girl, she’s lived here long enough to know it’s named in honour of George V, monarch when Canberra came into being in 1913.

 She’s confused about why they’ve changed direction but, still trailing the sportscar, she duly exits left; merges onto the Lake-hugging thoroughfare.

Its shore is encumbered by parkland, the angled three-columned musical monument to Canberra’s 50th anniversary opened by Queen Elizabeth II just the year before, and an empty old house only accessed by history buffs and sightseers.

As she nears this, she realises something else is wrong - she seems to be falling too far behind.

Her sister, sitting in the lead vehicle’s middle seat, doesn’t turn around. Visible through the rear window, her head becomes smaller and smaller as the distance between the two cars increases. 

 Now she can only make out the tail-lights as they disappear right into the Parade which marches on to meet the forecourt of the War Memorial where it keeps an almost solitary vigil against its bush backdrop.

As her Mini sputters to a stall, she coasts off the bitumen, closer to the edge of the ornamental watercourse and close enough to tears.

Somewhere in the distance behind her, she thinks she can just make out the sound of another car approaching.

 

****

Parkes Way then was a somewhat different affair to now.

From Kings Avenue Bridge to the round-about leading to Anzac Parade - the memorial avenue opened Anzac Day 1965, the 50th anniversary of the nation-altering WWI Gallipoli landing - is a distance of less than three kilometres. Between the same Bridge and the Civic centre is approximately five.

Nonetheless, the area as it extends eastwards has always been the city’s nether regions.

Named for Sir Henry Parkes, long-serving NSW Premier and one of the primary agitators for the Australian colonies to unite as a Federation, the first stage of the four-lane arterial road opened at the end of 1961, according to the attendant newspaper report, “sweeping” along the northern shore of a “future lake” that wouldn’t appear for another three years.

To the north-west is Civic. Winding east, morphing into different sections over some 15 kilometres, it’s out to the now regional city of Queanbeyan.

Before meeting the NSW border, at various points along both sides you’ll find the 140 acre Mount Pleasant Nature Reserve - at its base, the Duntroon Military College spread over 370 acres; more than 180 acres of the Jerrabomberra Wetlands; the semi-rural Pialligo Estate covering 110 acres almost opposite the large area taken up by the Canberra Airport and the industrial suburb of Fyshwick.

Close by where Keren’s Mini-Minor came to a standstill, the Lake side is still overseen by only the inanimate: the National Carillon with its 57 bells, its three column design representing the British Government, from whom it was a gift, the Australian Government and the City of Canberra; standing 50 metres tall on the small water-bound outcrop ambitiously declared “Aspen Island”.

Also the tiny stone then 113-year-old farmhouse built for a local ploughman back when the structure was itself an island in a sea of paddocks.

It was pre-1963 when any would have last gazed out its timber-framed windows after hours, its occupation from that point as daytime tourist attraction for the “Canberra & District Historical Society”.

On the furthest side of the roadway, today there’s growing outcrops of high-rise apartments, some with a vista over the open expanse of water; on its opposite shore, various cultural and political institutions including the old Parliament House of 1927 and the one built to replace it in the year of the country’s Bicentenary, 1988.

Some of those apartments offer an eagle’s nest view of any would-be act of nefariousness.

In 1971, the area was predominantly undeveloped, populated by little more than partial office constructions, parking spaces and open grassland interspersed with yet to establish scrubby trees and low bushes.

There was no lighting along the roadway - in fact, in May 1972, Geoff Rowland wrote a “Letter to the Editor” of The Canberra Times expressing his concern at the serious safety issue that continued to pose.

At the Rond Pond round-about exit onto Anzac Parade, flanking each side of the dual carriageway with its wide, red gravel centre, stood the low-rise concrete-box “gateway buildings” of Anzac Park East and West; home during business hours to the Bureau of Mineral Resources and the Department of Defence respectively.

From the late 1960s they’d stood sentinel for the city-side boundary of the “Defence” suburb of Russell; one of Canberra’s smallest, eventually hosting numerous government offices but no private residences.

By 2018, the years-long deserted and boarded up eastern block of the pair would be demolished to make way for the modern lifestyle towers and a shining new piece of modernity housing the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation - ASIO.

Deeper behind, in the shadow of Mount Ainslie, an 843-metre high hill with panoramic views of the city below and named for one of the first arriving Europeans to the area, is the suburb of Campbell. So designated for its role between 1825 and 1911 as the estate of overseer James Ainslie’s boss, the merchant, politician and pastoralist, Robert Campbell.

Permanent suburban occupation there came as late as 1958.

Initially, large though few houses on large and few blocks. Much area reserved as Reserves; evidence of the capital’s commitment to nurturing nature and the preservation of civilised neighbourhood life.

In other words, relatively sparsely inhabited, close and yet far enough, with not much going on in the late hours of a Friday night.

No street lights, no glow of office fluorescents, and apparently, virtually no one to either see or render assistance.

 

****

It was mere minutes, barely a few kilometres between them.

She tries to quell the fluttering panic welling in the same part of her body her baby is now growing.

How was the tank on empty and why hadn’t she noticed?

 What on earth is she to do now, out here by herself, close enough to the middle of the night?

Turning off the radio and the headlights, the dark presses in upon her. Taking a few calming breaths, she weighs up the possibilities.

In the unlikely event the others come back for her, they’ll have to go all the way to the top of Anzac Parade to circle the round-about there and head back - a few kilometres in total.

Then they’ll be on the eastern side of the divided carriageway. Nowhere for a u-turn until some distance on: the round-about at the turn-off into the Russell Defence Offices.

It would be natural for them to re-think such an idea because there’d be a greater chance the cars would pass each other by in opposite directions.

Perhaps they’ll instead pull over and wait for her to catch them up?

For either option, first they’d have to know they’d lost her.

And how long would they wait before thinking she might have driven straight on to take the next round-about back into Civic?

What then, is the likelihood she can walk to find help?

Houses in Campbell were possibly near enough, but she baulks at the thought of wandering alone through the darkened areas, mainly carparks and scrub, that separate her from the affluent suburb.

The city proper is still a way off, though she might catch the others up somewhere along the way if she heads in that direction.

Or, is there any chance she might secure a lift from a friendly passerby?

Should she stay or should she go?

 

****

When it was found quite quickly at 1.30am on the Saturday morning, inexplicably, Keren’s car was out of petrol.

It had been refuelled just the day before, as close as it could be to full.

Its petrol cap also remained secured.

The police were “very bothered” about how Keren wouldn’t have noticed her gauge on empty.

So too, her mother, described as being “on the verge of a breakdown”.

She couldn’t account for any use that may have resulted in such a rapid depletion.

Almost everywhere in Canberra is close - the longest distance between the far north of the city and the furthest point south, no more than 50-odd kilometres at the outside.

The car had done a number of trips during the course of that day, approximately 120 kilometres all told - including the five hours it was in the possession of Keren’s friend, Maureen.

In addition, Keren probably covered another 30 kilometres on the Thursday after filling it up.

An early Mini’s fuel tank capacity is just over 27 litres, equating to around 300 kilometres of usage.

Keren’s brother, who owned the vehicle, agrees it was very economical: “you would have had to drive to Sydney for it to have run out”.

If there was any chance the Mini may have been tampered with, they’d never know.

“We had to go and collect the car that morning”.

“We had spare keys for the car itself, but not the petrol cap, so we had to break that off. Then we refilled it and drove it home.”

“There was no indication that there was anything else wrong with the car - there weren’t any leaks or anything like that”.

“Even if it had been driven more than we realised, or, if someone had helped themselves to some fuel from it at some point, how would Keren not have noticed that?”

“Running out of petrol wasn’t something she - or any of us - had ever done before, and she’d had opportunity to fuel up again if she’d needed”.

Is there any possibility then, there was more to it than mere unfortunate serendipity?

 

****

If you drive the route Keren took that night, a few things become distressingly clear.

One is just how close her sister and friends were in the first vehicle: from where they pulled over on Anzac Parade after exiting the round-about, past the first set of traffic lights, looking back diagonally, they could almost have seen Keren from their position if it wasn’t for the Anzac East building then still standing, blocking their line of sight.

On Parkes Way, there’s a marking on the kerbside that indicates the approximate position Keren’s car came to a halt - almost equidistant between the exit point of the Kings Avenue Bridge and the Rond Pond round-about; the Carillon behind, Blundell’s Cottage a little further along.

Almost directly opposite on the northern verge, a former blankness now filled with the curved glass ASIO building glaring down over most of that stretch.

Of the many what-if’s, one of the most stomach-churning: with just a few more millilitres of petrol, a couple of hundred at the outside, Keren would have made that round-about where there were lights, a clearer view - and potentially, people to save her. 

 

****

The slim silhouette walking by the road’s edge is caught only in the glare of passing headlights.

There’s a small white car behind her, and she’s heading in the direction of the just visible glow of Civic. 

Idling a short distance in front, “a dark, medium-sized NSW registered car”.

Whether she accepts a lift, those brief flashes don’t provide enough illumination for certainty.

 

**** 

Next time on Capital Crime Files:

As the wind whispers through the rustling pines, it’s a place that makes you feel you’re miles from anywhere - and yet, just beyond a rise to the west are the bright lights of the heart of the Australian Commonwealth.

The haunting - and potentially haunted - nature of the lonely location has become deeply embedded in local folklore.

This latest disturbing discovery does much to perpetuate that.

 

****

My heartfelt thanks to those involved in this podcast, including Keren’s family and the small team who helped me bring it together.

Thanks to Dana Milde for additional voice-over, Nick Overall socials, Ed Reading for the original music with Lindsay Heffernan on guitar, and promotional photography by Greg Nelson.

If you have any information you think may be even remotely relevant, please contact Crimestoppers, or reach out to me directly at capitalcrimefiles.com.au.

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* Indicates where names have been changed in the interests of privacy and/or in order not to prejudice or impede a potential trial.

©Nichole Overall 2021

 

ADDITIONAL SOURCES:

Witness statements

Coronial Inquest documentation

ACT/NSW Police Archives

“Wanted” by Timothy Hall, 1976, Angus & Robertson.

Trove

newspapers.com

NSW State Library e-resources

ACT Electoral Rolls

ancestry.com

Interviews with friends, witnesses, police, journalists, and those with information and knowledge of both Canberra and the events of the time.