Casefile True Crime - Case 199: Truro

Episode Date: December 4, 2021

During the summer of 1976 and 1977, seven young women mysteriously disappeared from the streets of Adelaide. Veronica Knight, Sylvia Pittman, Julie Mykyta, Connie Iordanides, Vicki Howell, Tania Kenny, and Deborah Lamb were all last seen near main roads or waiting at bus stops. --- Narration – Anonymous Host Research & writing – Elsha McGill Creative direction – Milly Raso Production and music – Mike Migas Music – Andrew D.B. Joslyn This episode's sponsors: Searching for Sarah MacDiarmid – New podcast from Casefile Presents Babbel – Get 6 months free with a 6-month subscription. Use promo code ‘CASEFILE’ OUAI – Get 15% off your entire purchase with promo code ‘CASEFILE’ Best Fiends – Download Best Fiends for free SimpliSafe – Get 40% off the entire security system ShipStation – Try ShipStation FREE for 60 days with promo code ‘CASEFILE’ For all credits and sources please visit casefilepodcast.com/case-199-truro

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Valda Thomas didn't sleep well on the night of Tuesday, April 25, 1978. That evening, her husband Bill and his brother Rupert had returned from a day of foraging for mushrooms in the bush near Churro, a small South Australian township 90 kilometres northeast of the city of Adelaide. During their hunt, they had found something that Valda couldn't stop thinking about. Partially buried under some light scrub was what appeared to be the leg bone of a cow. Although the brothers noted it as strange, they carried on mushrooming without giving it too much thought. When Valda heard about the bone, she was rattled. The bushland surrounding Churro was dry and brittle and definitely wasn't suitable for cattle grazing.

It was an inhospitable area for anything other than rabbits and native wildlife and Valda couldn't recall ever seeing cows during her previous visits out there. She went to bed thinking about the bone and when she finally drifted off into a restless sleep, a voice came to her in her dreams. It beckoned her to return to Churro, saying, come, come. Two days later, Valda urged Bill to take her to the spot where the bone was found. The husband and wife made the drive down the Sturt Highway,

past rolling acres of agricultural land and sweeping plains until they reached Churro. With the population of only 800 residents, the wheat farming town didn't offer much for visitors. Passes by had little reason to stop in the area unless they needed a break between travelling to other destinations. Valda and Bill ventured onwards for 16 kilometers, eventually pulling off the highway and onto Swamp Road, a dirt stretch that led to rugged flood plains scattered with mally trees and native scrubs. They parked the car and Bill attempted to retrace the steps that he and Rupert had taken during their hunt for mushrooms. Finally, he found the spot. The leg bone was still there, partially hidden under some brittle branches.

This time, Bill and Valda drew closer to inspect it. They pulled it up, and to their horror, they discovered that on the other end of the bone was a woman's shoe. Inside were the remains of her painted toenails. The next day 18-year-old Veronica Knight had been looking forward to Christmas of 1976 for months. Not only did she enjoy the festive season, but this year was particularly special. Veronica had plans to visit some close friends in Melbourne who had recently welcomed their first baby. The trip was a big deal for Veronica.

Having been raised in the foster care system and spent most of her life in institutions, she didn't have any close family. Her mother passed away when she was just a baby, and her father was an alcoholic who felt unable to raise her on his own. It wasn't until Veronica was a teenager that she really began to feel part of the community. She moved into a boarding home for girls and became involved with a local Anglican church. It was there that she formed a close bond with a married couple named Peter and Jeanette Woods. Veronica spent many happy weekends with the Woods, staying at their house, helping with church duties, and baking in the kitchen with Jeanette. When the Woods announced they were relocating to Melbourne to have their first child, Veronica was crushed, but she also looked forward to being able to visit them in the big city.

She spent the next few months working part-time to save enough money to facilitate the journey. By December of 1976, Veronica had everything perfectly planned out. Her train ticket from Adelaide was booked for the evening of December 26, and the overnight journey would see her arriving in Melbourne the morning after. She would spend a week with Peter and Jeanette before returning to Adelaide on New Year's Eve. Veronica had a few purchases she needed to make first, so on the evening of December 23, she and her friend Jenny made their way into Rundlemore, a pedestrian shopping strip in the heart of Adelaide's CBD. The city was bustling with last-minute Christmas shoppers, and the girls browsed happily, soaking up the festive atmosphere.

Veronica bought some new clothes and a present for the Woods' baby. After a few hours, Jenny noticed it was getting late. The girls had recently moved into a Salvation Army boarding house, which enforced a strict curfew of 11.30pm. They decided they'd better head to the bus stop to avoid getting in trouble. Along the way, they passed through the city cross-arcade and made a last-minute decision to have some photos taken in a black-and-white photo booth. Afterwards, they were almost at their bus stop on King William Road, one of the city's main thoroughfares, when Veronica stopped short. She realized she'd left one of her shopping bags in the photo booth. She told Jenny to go ahead without her and that she'd run back to grab her bags, then catch the next bus home.

When Jenny arrived at the boarding house without Veronica, the house matron was immediately concerned. She waited up to make sure that Veronica got home safely, but as the minutes ticked by, there was no sign of her. By 1am, the matrons' worries peaked. She found Veronica's address book and phoned some of her friends to check if Veronica had perhaps stayed at one of their homes, but nobody had seen or heard from her. The next day, the matron filed a missing person report. The police didn't seem overly concerned. It was an unusual for young women to run away or go off with friends without telling anyone before reappearing unharmed a few days later. Those close to Veronica knew how excited she was about her trip to Melbourne and hoped that she'd simply show up as planned.

On the morning of December 27, 1976, Peter Woods stood on the platform of Melbourne's Spencer Street station, waiting for the overland train from Adelaide to arrive. As he watched the passengers disembark, it became clear that Veronica wasn't among them. He called his wife Jeanette from a payphone and said, She didn't come. By the time Vowder and Bill Thomas discovered the human leg bone in the bushland surrounding Truro, Veronica Knight had been missing for 16 months. Given the opinion of police that she had run away, there hadn't been any searches for her, nor had her disappearance received any publicity. Police descended on the Truro area and searched a 600 meter radius from where the leg bone was found. They recovered the scattered remains of a young woman, along with a pair of jeans and a green cardigan.

It was Veronica Knight. Due to the skeletal state of Veronica's remains, there was nothing to indicate the cause of her death. The location near Swamp Road led investigators to deduce that Veronica had likely wandered into the bush in the summer heat without adequate supplies, where she became disoriented and died of dehydration. However, this explanation didn't entirely add up. Veronica had absolutely no reason to be in such an isolated place, and it seemed highly unlikely that she would have ventured so far given her upcoming trip to Melbourne she had been so looking forward to. Furthermore, the area of Adelaide where she was last seen was over an hour's drive from Truro, and she had no means of transport to get herself there. When Veronica went missing, she had been carrying a black purse with approximately $180 cash in it, a significant amount of money at the time, but the purse was nowhere to be seen. If she had simply gotten lost following a bush walk gone awry, surely the purse would still have been with her.

Investigators admitted that Veronica's death was suspicious, but with no evidence to suggest an alternative and no close family to fight for answers, her case was shelved. However, there was one investigator who wasn't prepared to accept that Veronica's death was a tragic accident. Detective Sergeant Bob Giles had been working in the missing persons division of the South Australian Police, and had noticed a strange pattern emerge. During the seven-week timeframe between Christmas of 1976 and early February of 1977, three young women had gone missing from the city centre after waiting for a bus. Four others had gone missing from the vicinity of a bus stop or main road on the city's outskirts. No witnesses had seen anything untoward, and each woman had therefore been marked by the police as voluntarily absent. Partly because of this, news of their disappearances had never been made public. Detective Giles wasn't buying it.

Although none of the missing women were personally connected in any way, he believed there were simply too many similarities between each case for the disappearances to be coincidental. These weren't vulnerable women living on the outskirts of society. Each missing woman came from good homes and had loved ones who were expecting them. They had all disappeared without making further contact or collecting any of their belongings. Although some of them had run off in the past, to Detective Giles, they didn't seem like typical runaways. His theory was far more serious. He believed that a serial killer was at play. South Australia in the 1970s was considered a relatively safe place.

The most notorious crimes related to children, including the mysterious disappearance of siblings Jane, Anna and Grant Beaumont as covered in episode 100 of Casefile, and the suspected abduction of Joanne Ratcliffe and Kirsty Gordon as covered in episode 163 of Casefile. Serial killings were unheard of, and most murders were committed by someone known to the victim. Therefore, Detective Giles's theory that a serial killer had been operating in Adelaide during the summer of 76 and 77 was extreme. Nonetheless, he presented his findings to the officer in charge of the major crime squad, who was flawed by the revelation. He agreed that the seven disappearances were likely the cause of a serial offender and immediately appointed an investigative team to launch a full inquiry. The investigative team knew the only way to bring attention to the pattern of missing women was for one of their loved ones to speak out. If they could raise public awareness, someone might come forward with information that could lead to their whereabouts.

However, many parents of the missing women were reluctant to speak publicly about their daughters. Some families wanted to avoid potential criticism, while others viewed their child's disappearance as a private issue. Detective Giles approached one of the only families he thought might be willing to help. 16-year-old Julie Makita was a trustworthy and sensible teenager, so when she phoned her parents at 9.30pm on the evening of January 21, 1977 and asked if she could stay out a little later, they didn't hesitate to give their permission. Julie's father told her to be home by 11, and she happily agreed. It was the summer holidays, and she was enjoying the youthful sense of freedom. Julie and her best friend Camilla had spent the day selling jewellery at a small street side stand in the city, each earning $10 for their efforts. When they closed up shop for the day, Camilla went home, while Julie and an acquaintance named Max returned the unsolved inventory to its owner in the Adelaide Central Market.

Julie and Max then went to the Majestic Hotel on King William Street to play a few rounds of pool. The pub was right near the bus stop that would take her home to the inner eastern suburb of St. Peter's. 11pm came and went, and Julie didn't return home. Her parents, Irush and Anne-Marie, hoped she had simply stayed at a friend's house and forgotten to call, but when she still didn't make contact the next day, they became worried sick. They tracked Max down to see if he knew where Julie could be. Max said that after playing pool, he walked Julie to her bus stop on King William Street at around 10.30pm. As he walked away, he saw a white car pull up to the curb and call out to Julie. Julie approached the vehicle as though she knew the occupants.

A man got out of the car, and Julie climbed into the middle of the front seat. The Makitas reported Julie's disappearance to the police, who mostly brushed it off as typical teenage antics, and assured the worried parents that their daughter would likely show up soon. Irush and Anne-Marie were convinced that Julie wasn't the kind of teenager who would run off with friends without letting them know. She was a good daughter and a student who planned on becoming a doctor. Maybe she had gotten into an accident or been injured and was unable to get in touch. Still, they had their doubts. Desperate for answers, Anne-Marie turned to Julie's journal and some letters she had written to her older sister who lived interstate. She discovered that perhaps she didn't know her daughter as well as she thought.

Julie wrote of partaking in risky behavior, such as hitchhiking. Anne-Marie was shocked. She questioned whether Julie had perhaps made the ill-informed decision to take off on an adventure after all, or perhaps join a commune. In hindsight, the last conversation Anne-Marie had with her daughter had been a strange one. Julie had asked about her mother's younger years and then said, We were very happy when we were children, my sister and I. Thank you for my childhood, mother. I just wanted you to know that. Anne-Marie wasn't sure whether to interpret that as Julie's subtle way of saying goodbye.

Adding to her doubts was a poem she had found that Julie had written. It read, The day is done. All that could pass, past. All that could live, lived. All that is, was. All that was now, is then. The day is done. Julie had been missing for nearly two years when Detective Giles approached the Makita family with his theory that Julie and several other young women had fallen victim to foul play at the hands of a serial offender. Anne-Marie didn't know what to think. She had tried her hardest not to let her mind go to a dark place and now she was being forced to confront her worst fears head on. She and Irush agreed to front the media to raise awareness about the pattern of missing women in the hopes that would encourage someone with information to come forward. If nothing else, they hoped that sharing their story might persuade other teenage girls to be more careful when accepting rides from strangers. Anne-Marie said that Julie was a fastidious child. If someone had offered her a lift and tried to force himself on her, she would have fought back. Perhaps that had led the offender to kill her out of panic and then hide her body somewhere. Irush said the hardest thing about Julie's disappearance was not knowing the truth. He likened it to being on an emotional seesaw that was tearing the family apart.

The Makita's story made local headlines, with reporters drawing a connection to other young women who had gone missing around the same time. But nobody came forward with information that shed light on any of the girls' whereabouts. A few weeks later, on April 15, 1979, a police officer was patrolling the Sturt Highway on his motorcycle. It was the Easter Long Weekend, a notoriously dangerous time on the northern roads as motorists flocked from the city to holiday on the nearby York Peninsula and in the Barossa Valley wine region. The officer was on the lookout for any reckless behavior when he was suddenly flagged down by a group of four young men. They'd been out hunting rabbits in the bush near Truro and had found something disturbing. They handed the item to the police officer wrapped in a sheet of plastic. It was a human skull. The youths directed police to the paddock where they had made the discovery. It was down Swamp Road, just 50 meters from the fence line. For investigators, this location immediately raised red flags. The location was less than two kilometers from where Veronica Knight's remains had been found by Bill and Valda Thomas a year earlier. The chances that two people had innocently lost their lives out in this remote area seemed incredibly unlikely.

A full-scale search of the area was ordered and it wasn't long before several more human bones were recovered as well as a pair of women's underwear and a small purse. When news of the discovery hit the media, many anticipated that the body would be identified as Julie Makeda. Married couple Andreas and Margarita Pittman were sitting down to watch the evening news in their home in Taperoo, a suburb 18 kilometers northwest of Adelaide. The house had felt quiet ever since their 16-year-old daughter Sylvia Pittman had vanished just over two years prior. Sylvia had dreams of becoming a model and not wanting to rely on her good looks alone, she had secured a job in a retail boutique in order to learn more about the fashion industry. On Sunday, February 6, 1977, she walked from her home in Taperoo to catch the bus to work on nearby Military Road and was never seen again. When Sylvia failed to return home that night, her parents were immediately worried but weren't sure what to think. Not long before her disappearance, Sylvia had run off to Melbourne where she'd ultimately been placed in a women's detention centre.

The whole experience had frightened her and she vowed to her parents that she'd never run away again. To avoid a recurrence, Andreas and Margarita had made an effort to give Sylvia more freedom and they didn't think she'd betray their trust for a second time. They had filed a missing person report but remained uncertain as to whether Sylvia had gone off on her own accord or fallen victim to foul play. Now watching the news, they saw that skeletal remains of an unidentified female had been found in a paddock near Truro for the second time in almost a year. An item of jewellery had also been recovered, a 14 carat gold necklace featuring a medallion of a guardian angel. Andreas and Margarita's hearts sank. There was no question that the necklace belonged to Sylvia. It had been given to her by her Austrian grandmother and she treasured it dearly. The Pittman's contacted police who used the dental records to confirm that the second body found near Truro was indeed that of Sylvia Pittman.

Any remaining doubts the police may have had were immediately quashed. It was now clear they were dealing with a serial killer. A search party was quickly amassed and 85 police officers and cadets set up camp in the bushland surrounding Truro. With a designated search area of 20 square kilometres, they worked around the clock, sleeping in tents and makeshift bunks inside horse floats. Cadets crawled through the rugged terrain on hands and knees while officers covered the area on horseback and motorcycle. They persevered through unseasonable heat and light rain, convinced that more discoveries were imminent. Foraging near the base of a tree near where Veronica's body was found, police came across a woman's shoe. It matched the description of one that was worn by another young woman who had gone missing around the same time as Veronica and Sylvia. Police had their suspicions as to who the shoe belonged to but awaited the discovery of any remains before making an announcement.

Then, on April 26, 1979, a team of mounted police carefully led their horses over a barbed wire fence bordering Swamp Road. They foraged around and spotted something under a large branch. It was a shallow grave. Crudely covered by light bush was the skeleton of 15-year-old Connie Yordanides. Connie had been having some ongoing conflict at home. The teenager sought a level of freedom that her strict Greek parents didn't allow and in turn they constantly butted heads. Following the advice of some school friends, Connie reached out to the Department of Community Welfare and lodged a complaint against her parents. She was temporarily placed in a foster home before the Department negotiated some conditions for her return to the family home. Connie's parents reluctantly agreed with the Department's recommendation that they should let her come and go from the house as she pleased.

It pained them to do so but they were just happy to have their daughter back home. At around 6pm on February 9, 1977, Connie had told her parents she was going to her boyfriend's house and then to a drive-in movie. Her boyfriend lived one kilometer from her home in the western suburb of Brooklyn Park and Connie planned to walk there. Her father offered to drive her but Connie declined. When she failed to return home that night, her parents thought she had simply run away. They made inquiries with Connie's friends and contacted the Department of Community Welfare to voice their concerns but four days passed before they reported Connie's disappearance to the police. Detective Sergeant Bob Giles had come across Connie's missing person file when piecing together the pattern of mysterious disappearances during the summer of 1977 and was convinced that she had fallen victim to foul play. Investigators came to the conclusion she may have lied to her parents about going to the drive-in and had instead headed into the city where she crossed paths with the killer.

When the third body found near Truro was confirmed to be Connie, her father Yordana partly blamed the Department of Community Welfare for his daughter's death. Had they not interfered with his family business, Yordana said he never would have let Connie go out on her own the night she vanished. He told reporters, I strongly believe it and that's what counts at the moment. Just 100 meters from where Connie's body was found, the same team of mounted police came across the remains of another young woman. Her platform sandal still perfectly intact. The victim was slightly older than the others, giving police an indication as to who it might be. 26-year-old Vicki May Howe worked as a nurse's aide. She was a divorced mother of three who lived with her boyfriend Harry in the western suburb of Corralta Park. At around 7pm on February 9, 1977, Vicki was washing the dishes after dinner when she overheard a conversation between Harry and his brother. She thought they were talking about her and became upset.

Vicki told Harry she was going outside to get some clothes off the line, but instead she walked outside onto Anzac Highway, a main thoroughfare connecting Adelaide CBD with Glenelg Beach. She was last seen waiting for a city-bound bus. Vicki had run off in the past, so Harry didn't think too much of it at first and was convinced she'd come home eventually. When Vicki still hadn't returned four days later, Harry told Vicki's sister, who reported her as missing. Detectives had an identified Vicki as one of the potential victims of the Truro serial killer. She was older than the others and didn't quite fit the same profile. However, after forensic investigators examined the fourth body found in the bush, there was no doubt that it was Vicki Howe. In addition to Julie Makeda, there were still two more women who the task force believed had fallen victim to the same fate. 15-year-old Tanya Kenny was a bright student who naturally excelled at school, but despite her academic achievements, she often clashed with her parents.

Tanya desired a level of freedom that her parents wouldn't allow, and this led to some ongoing problems. On December 31, 1976, Tanya had asked her parents if she could attend a New Year's Eve party at the Cliton Rock Surf Life Saving Club in Haberah, a coastal town 80km south of Adelaide. Her parents said no, but Tanya went anyway. She spent New Year's Day there too, before leaving to catch a bus back to Adelaide on January 2, 1977. Nobody had seen or heard from Tanya since, and her parents expressly forbid the police from seeking any publicity about her disappearance. The seventh and final woman that police believed could be a victim of the Truro serial killer was 20-year-old Deborah Lamb. Deborah was considered a loner who could be a little naive. In mid-1976, she gave birth to a daughter she felt she was unable to care for and had given up for adoption at six months old.

By February 12, 1977, Deborah was living in a caravan park in the north-eastern suburb of Windsor Gardens. At around 6pm, she boarded a bus into the city for a night out and never returned. Deborah hadn't spoken to her family for five months, but she was noticed to be missing when she failed to claim her unemployment benefits, or pick up some items of clothing that she had waiting for her at a church drop-in centre. Her bank account also hadn't been touched since the night of her disappearance. Investigators were convinced that the bodies of Julie Makeda, Tanya Kenney and Deborah Lamb were amongst those dumped in the bushland surrounding Truro, and the search for their remains continued for days. However, no further discoveries were made, and the search camp eventually disbanded,

with investigators instead turning their focus on catching the killer. The case quickly made national headlines, with the area described as a, quote, graveyard of missing girls. Members of the small Truro community were outraged that their quiet, safe town had become associated with such a grisly murder investigation. They firmly believed the killer wasn't from the area. If he was a local, he would know about the nearby mineshafts and would have dumped the bodies there instead, where they'd likely never be found. The community also resented the name of their town being tied to the crimes.

There were other townships closer to the dumping ground, but the media felt that Truro was more recognisable to the greater public. While the people of Truro agonised, residents of Adelaide seemed oddly indifferent. Despite there being four confirmed murder victims and three more missing women suspected of having fallen to the same fate, there was an astonishing lack of public outrage. The only witness to any of the alleged abductions had been Julie Makeda's friend Max, who had seen a man in a white car approach Julie on the night that she vanished. Partly because of this, people seemed to accept that the young women had likely accepted a lift with a stranger and therefore only had themselves to blame.

One journalist noted, Outrage and a hue and cry for the killer are noticeably absent. An article in the Sydney Morning Herald read, Adelaide seems to have accepted their deaths as if they are merely additions to the road toll, an abnormal willingness to treat them as an inevitable part of modern life. There were other reasons that public fears were subdued. For one, the distance between Adelaide and the dumping ground created a false sense of safety for those who lived in the city and its surrounding suburbs. Secondly, almost two years had passed since the killer last struck,

so the majority simply didn't view the serial killer as a looming threat. Given the skeletal state of the remains, there was also no forensic evidence to indicate how any of the young women had died. As one psychologist explained, this fact also hindered emotional reaction. He stated the remains were, quote, Just bones and rotten material, not young girls we can relate to. Undeterred by the lackluster public response, investigators worked tirelessly to solve the case. They reassessed more than 10,000 files of people who had gone missing from South Australia from 1975 onwards to see if any of them fit the same pattern as the slain women. They reexamined reports of attempted abductions that occurred during late 1976 and early 1977 and found they had a number of reports on file.

Anyone who had witnessed an attempted abduction during this time was asked to come forward and a reward of $30,000 for information that led to an arrest was announced. Anyone with information who wasn't directly involved with the murders was promised a pardon, but despite the reward being a significant amount of money for the era, nobody came forward. At the time, criminal profiling was in its infancy and this new technique was applied to try and pinpoint the likely traits of the Truro killer. A criminologist deduced that the perpetrator likely lived in the inner suburbs of Adelaide and came across as a normal individual who was indistinguishable from anyone else in the community. His first murder had likely stemmed from a sexual encounter with a woman that had gone awry and after realising he could get away with it with no public outcry, he gained the confidence to do it again. He kept returning to Truro to dump the bodies because he felt confident that they wouldn't be found. He might have been a lonely individual and interpreted his victims as troubled or unlikely to be missed.

One of the biggest questions was why the killer had stopped. His crime spree had taken place in a short period of time with a suspected total of seven women abducted and murdered within just a seven week time frame. Veronica Knight and Tanya Kenney had gone missing one week apart whereas Sylvia Pittman, Connie Jordanides and Vicki Howell vanished within just days of one another. This meant the killer had escalated at a rapid pace. Deborah Lamb then disappeared three days later and after that there were no more suspected victims. So why stop so suddenly? Criminologists believed the killer had either died or been arrested on an unrelated charge and incarcerated. They looked into criminals with a record of violent offending, hoping to identify anyone who fit the profile.

Desperate for answers, the reward for information was increased to $40,000. This time it was enough to encourage someone to speak. 32 year old James Miller was exercising in the remand yard of Adelaide Jail when he looked over and caught sight of a young man he had never seen before. To Miller, the young inmate didn't look like a typical criminal. He had a clean look with no tattoos and seemed to take pride in his appearance. Miller, who had weathered skin and was slightly balding, was instantly struck by the young man's good looks. Miller himself was no stranger to institutions. Born Melville Raymond Juss, before later changing his name via Deedpaal, he was raised in a poor family of six children in Adelaide's West.

He began stealing at a young age and by 11 he was sent to live in a reformatory in the eastern suburbs. By 15 he fled the reformatory, stole a car and drove it into state. He was eventually caught and sentenced to hard labor in New South Wales's Long Bay Jail. From that point on, James Miller was in and out of jail for a range of non-violent offences including theft, larceny and breaking and entering. He didn't have any close friends and considered himself to be a lone wolf. Miller was gay and when he caught sight of the young new inmate across the remand yard, he felt an immediate attraction. The inmate appeared to be in his late teens and was about five foot seven inches tall with shoulder length shiny black hair and a warm, friendly smile. The inmate introduced himself as 20 year old Christopher Robin Warrell.

Warrell had been raised by his grandmother and left high school to serve three years in the Royal Australian Air Force. He was discharged after being deemed incompatible with service life. This was his first time in jail, although he had a prior suspended sentence for armed robbery after he had robbed a hitchhiker of $1.50. This time he'd been accused of rape, a crime which he staunchly denied. Chris Warrell explained to Miller that he'd been drunk driving when he picked up a female hitchhiker and the two had engaged in sex. Afterwards, the woman accused him of raping her, but Warrell was too intoxicated to remember any of the details. Miller immediately believed Warrell when he said he was innocent. He was simply too good looking and too charming to have to resort to rape.

Miller and Warrell began chatting and over the next few days a friendship bloomed. They were an unlikely pair, Warrell was confident and arrogant, whereas Miller was self-conscious and submissive, but their opposing personalities meshed perfectly. Within a week, they had requested to move into a cell together. From that point on, the two men spent all their time together. They decided to solidify their bond by becoming blood brothers. A ritual that involved them each slicing their own wrist and then placing their two bleeding wounds together. One night, out of nowhere, Warrell turned to Miller and said, I am a psychopathic killer. Miller wasn't sure what to make of the comet.

Was Warrell being serious or just trying to scare him? He brushed it off, but Warrell's words stayed with him. Warrell was eventually found guilty of the rape and sentenced to six years in Yatla prison. Miller was released shortly after, but it wasn't long before he was arrested again, this time for stealing more than 4,000 pairs of sunglasses. He was sentenced to 18 months in Yatla and was relieved to be reunited with his blood brother. The pair's bond continued to strengthen and they began making plans to live together on the outside. On February 11, 1976, James Miller was finally released, but as an ex-con, he wasn't allowed to visit the jail until he'd been free for a year. To skirt around this rule, he began disguising himself as a woman in order to visit Warrell.

17 months into Warrell's sentence, he applied for parole. During his time behind bars, the only rule he had broken was owning a forbidden gold earring. Otherwise, he'd been a model prisoner. Warrell's parole officer visited his mother and stepfather to ask if they were prepared to accept Warrell back into their home. They weren't, saying they were worried that he'd be a bad influence on his younger brother. Partly because of this, his application for parole was denied. In June of 1976, Warrell applied for parole for the second time and this time his application was successful. After serving just two years of his six-year sentence, Warrell was released at the age of 23.

The two cellmates were reunited on the outside at last. They spent every day together, sleeping at Miller's sister's house or at the homes of other friends while they tried to get enough money together for their own flat. They borrowed cars from friends and co-workers whenever they could while saving up to buy a car of their own. Both men got a job doing outdoor work for the council and they spent their spare time cruising the streets of Adelaide, frequenting the local pubs and picking up women. Chris Warrell had an appealing charm and confidence about him and coupled with his boyish good looks, women were naturally attracted to him. He had no trouble approaching women on the street and convincing them to come for a ride with him. If they ever seemed wary about Miller's presence, Warrell would tell them that Miller was his father or uncle, which put them at ease.

Miller acted as Warrell's driver, eager to please the younger man in whatever way he could. When Warrell would pick up girls, Miller would leave them alone in the car to have sex. Although Miller himself had a romantic interest in Warrell, he was never jealous of Warrell's sexual exploits with women. It simply pleased him to see his friend happy. Warrell had an obsession with pornography and bondage and the two men began frequenting Adelaide sex shops so that Warrell could peruse the shelves for bondage magazines to buy and trade. Although Warrell considered himself to be heterosexual, he'd had dalliances with some male inmates during his time in jail. Outside, he also had some sexual encounters with drag queens. Miller avoided making any sexual advances towards Warrell out of fear of driving him away, but their relationship soon took a turn when Warrell allowed Miller to perform oral sex on him while he read bondage magazines.

Miller was thrilled about this development, hoping it would bond the two even closer together, but for Warrell, it was purely about pleasure. His focus remained on picking up women for quick one-night stands, women whom he referred to as rags. The more time the two men spent together, the clearer it became that there was more to Chris Warrell than the easygoing, charming person he presented himself to be. Warrell suffered from dark moods that would come on seemingly out of nowhere. The two mates could be having a great time, and then without warning, it was as though a dark cloud would descend upon Warrell. His carefree persona suddenly switched, and he started acting like a different person, as though he had entered a blackout and wasn't aware of how he was acting. These moods often caught Miller off guard. He didn't trust Warrell when a mood overtook him and did whatever he could to pacify his friend.

On one occasion, they were at the dog races when Warrell entered one of his dark moods. He walked out onto the busy main road and into oncoming traffic, as though daring cars to hit him. Miller left him alone out of fear that Warrell would jump in front of a car if he tried to intervene. He learned to back off and just wait for the moods to dissipate. They were typically brief, and Warrell would usually take himself for a walk and emerge from the darkness a short time later, as if nothing had ever happened. One day, Miller suggested to Warrell that he should see a doctor about his moods. Miller was concerned that his friend might have an underlying medical condition that was causing him to act irrationally. Warrell refused, leaving Miller to worry about him constantly and live on edge, not knowing when one of the dark moods would strike.

Miller believed the reason Warrell wouldn't seek help was because he feared he'd be forced to undergo electric shock treatment or be given medication that would alter the good parts of his personality. But the moods continued to get worse and more frequent. Things started happening that Miller had no control over. Bad things. Then one night, around November 1976, Miller and Warrell were out drinking at a pub when they met a woman named Amelia. She and Warrell immediately hit it off. Amelia had a strong belief in reincarnation and thought that Warrell had been a Native American chief in a past life. The two began casually dating, although Warrell continued to pick up women for sex.

One day at work, Warrell made a remark to his coworkers that sent a wave of panic through Miller. Warrell usually bragged about his exploits, but this day he said he was thinking of going on the straight and narrow. He thought it might be time to settle down and start a family. For Miller, this was terrible news. If Warrell left him, he would have no one. Warrell and Miller weren't the only ones going through a tense time in Adelaide. Their close friend, Debbie Scoose, was having troubles with her partner. A man Warrell and Miller had spent time with in jail, so the trio thought it might do them all some good to get out of town for the weekend. They decided to take a road trip to Mount Gambia, a small city on the limestone coast that lay halfway between Adelaide and Melbourne.

The five-hour drive would give them all some time to clear their heads, and a change of scenery would surely do them good. By this point, Miller and Warrell had leased a car from a car yard, but it had been playing up and was in the process of being repaired. They were able to borrow a replacement vehicle from the car dealer, an old white Plymouth Valiant station wagon. They departed for Mount Gambia in the Valiant late at night on Friday, February 18, 1977, arriving in the early hours of Saturday morning. The trip started out decently, with the trio visiting the famous Blue Lake and browsing some local shops. Miller and Warrell were looking through a sports store when they came across a shotgun. On a whim, they decided to buy it so they could stop and go rabbit hunting on the drive back to Adelaide. By chance, they then stumbled upon a historical aircraft display that was taking place at the Mount Gambia airport.

Warrell was a huge aircraft buff, so the trio decided to check it out. As they lined up for tickets, Warrell was chatting jovially when he suddenly entered one of his dark moods. He demanded they return to their motel immediately. Miller was used to these moods by now and recognized it as a warning sign. Not wanting Debbie to be exposed to Warrell's dangerous side, Miller suggested they drive back to Adelaide that afternoon. The others agreed. The day was blazing hot. They filled the Valiant with petrol, pumped up the worn out tyres and bought a carton of beer for the journey.

As Miller drove along the highway, Warrell was sullen and began drinking. They hadn't made it far out of Mount Gambia when they picked up a female hitchhiker which temporarily lifted Warrell's spirits. After dropping her at her destination, Miller was feeling tired and asked Warrell to take over driving. By this point it was around 5.30pm and Warrell had consumed several cans of beer. Although he didn't seem intoxicated, Debbie was worried that his drinking might impair his driving. Miller wasn't concerned at first, but as Warrell sat behind the wheel, it became clear that his dark mood hadn't yet lifted. Warrell pressed his foot against the accelerator and quickly picked up speed. From the passenger seat, Debbie begged him to slow down while Miller remained silent in the back, not wanting to upset Warrell further.

Debbie's fears only seemed to wag Warrell on. He drove even faster, telling Debbie, Go ahead, have a good cry. Suddenly, as they sped down the highway towards the coastal town of Kingston, there was a loud bang. One of the tyres had blown out. Warrell lost control of the vehicle, swerving it across the road as another car came towards them head on. He regained control, but only for a moment. The car flipped. It rolled over and over, feeling like it would never stop.

Eventually, everything was still. The car came to a stop, standing the right way up. Miller slowly crawled out. His shoulder was broken, but he was in too much shock to notice the pain. He looked around, and a short distance from the car, he saw Debbie and Warrell lying on the road, completely still, with blood pulled around them. Both had been thrown from the vehicle at high speed. Several other motorists had stopped and rushed over to help. Miller heard one of them say,

They are both dead. James Miller was utterly devastated by the loss of his best friend Chris Warrell. He blamed himself, convinced that if he hadn't suggested the group leave Mount Gambier a day early, that Warrell and Debbie's goose would still be alive. He didn't know how he was going to function without his sidekick around, the only person he'd ever been truly close to. To make matters worse, Warrell's family forbade him from attending the funeral. He went anyway, visiting the gravesite beforehand. He jumped into the hole and buried a treasured photo of Warrell with a note written on the back that read, Chris, please try and understand me.

I love you as a mate and always will. Hope to see you soon. Please forgive me. After the funeral, a small group gathered at the home of one of Warrell's friends. They stood in the kitchen, chatting about Warrell. Warrell's girlfriend Amelia was still trying to come to terms with the day's events. She was deeply upset about the sudden loss of her boyfriend and was overcome with grief. In a bid to comfort her, Amelia turned to Amelia and said,

There's more to it than you know. He asked if he could have a word with Amelia outside. She agreed and followed him into the back garden. Amelia then asked her a strange question. Did you like Chris? Amelia was taken aback but replied that yes she did. Amelia then said, Well, you wouldn't if you knew what I knew about him.

Amelia asked what he was talking about. Miller started to cry and responded ominously. Chris had to die. The weeks and months following the car crash dragged on for Miller. Without his sidekick, he felt completely lost and alone, describing that life without Chris was an empty sea. He quit his job with the council and spent his days wandering around aimlessly, doing menial tasks at homeless shelters for a place to stay overnight,

or otherwise sleeping rough. On the one year anniversary of the crash, Miller placed a memorial for Warrell in the local newspaper that read, Christopher Robin Warrell, memories of a very close friend who died 12 months ago this week. Your friendship and thoughtfulness and kindness will always be remembered by me, mate. What comes after death, I can hope, as I pray we meet again. By May of 1979, Chris Warrell had been dead for almost two years,

but Miller was still struggling to come to terms with his grief. Accompanying his grief was an impending sense of dread. The news of the bodies found at Truro was making headlines, and with the reward for information bolstered to $40,000, Miller felt like it was a matter of time before the truth was revealed. On Wednesday, May 23, the now 38-year-old Miller was mopping the floors at the Adelaide Central Mission Drop-In Centre near Whitmore Square in the CBD. He peered out the window and noticed a woman sitting in a car, watching him.

He wasn't sure if he was just being paranoid, but he didn't want to take any chances. He put down the mop and left the centre via a rear door, walking hurriedly around the corner towards the Adelaide Central Markets. Despite being one of the largest undercover fresh produce markets in the Southern Hemisphere, the aisles were mostly deserted. Traders didn't gather on Wednesdays, so the fruit and vegetable stores were bare, with no shoppers inside. Unbeknownst to Miller, a team of eight officers were surveilling him at that very moment.

They watched as he made his way through the deserted market aisles, his awareness of their presence becoming increasingly obvious as he quickly gathered pace. He turned a corner towards the market's southern entrance on Goodyear Street and began to run. He turned a corner towards the market's southern entrance on Goodyear Street, and began to run. That's when he heard a voice yell, stop. Miller was taken to a small interview room at the police headquarters just a few streets away.

The interviewing detective said they wanted to talk to Miller about something that happened two years prior. Miller said he had no idea what the officer was talking about. The detective pressed on, asking if Miller knew Christopher Worrell. Miller replied, Yeah, I've heard of him. The detective then said, We have received information that you and Chris Worrell have been picking up girls and killing them. Miller denied this accusation, saying,

Chris was a good looking bloke and didn't have to do that. He continued to answer questions about his relationship with Worrell, but said he had no knowledge about any of the women whose bodies had been dumped out near Truro. The detective pressed on for almost five hours, with Miller denying everything that was presented to him. That was until investigators revealed they'd spoken to Worrell's old girlfriend, Amelia. After all this time,

Amelia was still coming to terms with the conversation she had had with Miller following Worrell's funeral. Miller had been overcome with emotion when he told Amelia that she didn't know the real Chris. He explained about Worrell's dark moods and blackouts, and then made a shocking confession. He and Worrell had been picking up girls, and Worrell had been raping and strangling them. Their bodies were then dumped near Blanchtown, a town 45 kilometers east of Truro.

Miller told Amelia, quote, one of them even enjoyed it. Amelia had been speechless. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, but judging by Miller's emotional reaction, he didn't seem to be lying. She knew Miller and Worrell to be nothing but friends, she knew Miller and Worrell to be nothing but friendly and kind individuals.

She knew they both had a criminal history, but Worrell had told her he only served time for robbery and never mentioned anything about the rape charge. Miller had told Amelia that if she didn't believe him, he would take her out and show her the bodies. At the time, Amelia didn't know what to do. She had recently learned about Worrell's blackouts from his mother, who suspected her son might have a brain tumor caused by a head injury

that he suffered during his time in the Air Force. Amelia believed Miller's story, but was at a loss about what to do with the information. Miller insisted he only acted as the driver, and it was Worrell who had killed the girls. If this was true, Amelia rationalized there was no point telling anyone. The killer was dead,

and she didn't want to see Miller unfairly blamed for someone else's crimes. Amelia never called in the tip-off, but she confided in a friend who subsequently contacted the authorities when the reward money was announced. The detectives told Miller they had since spoken to Amelia, and she was incredibly distressed about the situation. Miller didn't believe them. He said that if Amelia had given them this false information,

she must have been desperate for the reward money. The detectives then claimed Amelia had told them she was worried that Worrell's soul would never be free unless the rest of the bodies were found. Upon hearing this, Miller knew the detectives must be telling the truth. Amelia was a spiritual person who had strong beliefs about reincarnation, so this seemed like a genuine concern that she would have.

The thought of Amelia being caught up in this mess upset Miller. He asked for a minute alone to think. He came to the decision that he would talk as long as Amelia and Worrell would be kept out of things moving forward. The detective agreed. Miller said, I suppose I've got nothing to look forward to whatever way it goes, so I might as well get it all off my mind.

I guess I'm the one that got mixed up in all this, so where do you want me to start? The detective asked Miller if there were more bodies out there. Miller replied calmly. There are three more. Miller was given the choice of continuing with the false information or showing the detectives where the final three bodies were hidden. Miller replied,

I think I'd rather show you where they are first and get it over with. That'll give me time to get my thoughts straight. By that point, the police had held Miller for six hours, which was the maximum time allowed without a formal charge being made. They couldn't hold him any longer without officially charging him for an offence. So, at 10.30pm, James Miller was charged with the murder of 15-year-old Conny Yordinates.

The detectives found themselves in a conundrum. Now that Miller had been charged, South Australian law dictated that he either be given death penalty or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty,

or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty,

death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty, or death penalty,

waited until the morning when Miller could be put before a magistrate, he might change his mind and refuse to reveal where the other bodies were hidden. He would likely seek legal advice by then, and his lawyer would no doubt advise him to remain silent. Ultimately, the detectives decided the risk was worth it. If Miller could lead them to the bodies, not only would they have solid evidence to prove he was involved with the murders, they'd also have resolution for the victim's families. They had to trust that a judge would understand their predicament and support their decision. They led Miller into the back of a police car, and three detectives took him through the dark,

cold streets of Adelaide and out towards Truro. A second police vehicle trailed behind, with officers prepared for the possibility that Miller might try to flee. They'd been given orders from the higher-ups to shoot him if he attempted to escape. On the contrary, Miller remained relaxed and calm the entire time. He chatted freely with the detectives, as though he was relieved to finally be getting this information off his chest. In fact, he was so cooperative that the detectives didn't bother placing him in handcuffs. They even stopped at a roadhouse and bought Miller cigarettes and baked goods. When they pulled into the outskirts of Truro, one of the detectives asked Miller if he

could lead them to Julie Makita's body. Miller asked them to drive slowly. He led them down a dirt road about four and a half kilometers from where the bodies of Veronica, Sylvia, Connie and Vicki were found. It was on the opposite side of the Sturt Highway, an area that had been missed during the extensive search. Miller gazed carefully outside until he finally spotted a gate that led to an old abandoned farmhouse. He directed the detectives to drive towards it. They got out and Miller pointed towards a clump of trees in the middle of a paddock and said, I think it's over there. As they took out their torches and began to look,

it was clear that Miller was afraid. He surprised the detectives by asking them, don't leave me alone. The men were soon joined by about 20 other officers, but despite Miller's directions, they were unable to find Julie's body. The conditions were against them. It was pitch dark and freezing cold, with mist in the air and a layer of frost on the ground. All they had to go by was their torches and car headlights. After about an hour of searching, Miller recognized a familiar tree. He pointed towards it and hid an amongst the salt bush scrub, where the perfectly intact skeletal remains of Julie Makita. She was fully clothed, the money she'd earned from selling

jewellery on the day she went missing still stuffed into the back pocket of her jeans. As one journalist described, quote, she was at rest, curled up like a cat against the cold. Miller told police the remaining two bodies weren't buried in the Truro area, but a little closer to the city. The first was in Port Gaula, an isolated tidal beach 42 kilometers north of Adelaide. Miller led the detectives down a dirt track to the sand, but couldn't find the location he was looking for. He had only visited the area once and wasn't familiar with the geography, especially in the dark. He directed them down another two dirt tracks, but the light from the torches was

too dim and Miller became confused. After an hour of searching, the detectives decided to leave and come back at daylight. From there, Miller directed the detectives back towards the city to the outer northern suburb of Wingfield. They drove around for a while before Miller was able to pinpoint the correct road where he said the final body was buried under some shallow earth in a rifle shooting range. They got out and poked around, but Miller was unable to find the burial site. At 4am, the detectives finally decided to call it a night. They returned to both locations the following day. This time, Miller was able to locate the burial site in Wingfield. Excavators were used to dig through the sandy ground,

and eventually the remains of Tanya Kenny were uncovered. The second visit to Port Gaulah was more challenging due to Miller being unfamiliar with the location and the fact that there was very little to distinguish one area of the beach from another. A team of 50 investigators dug in multiple spots until they finally came across the seventh and final body. Found buried deep in a makeshift tomb of wood and corrugated iron were the remains of 20-year-old Deborah Lamb. Unlike the other six victims, Deborah's body was the only one that showed any evidence of violence. Her hands and feet were bound with a thin nylon rope, while a pair of pantyhose were stretched approximately six times around her jaw.

However, it wasn't strangulation that had killed her. Traces of sand found in Deborah's lungs indicated that she was still alive at the time she was buried. When investigators lifted Deborah's remains, they found a small heart-shaped badge underneath. It held an image of two children kissing and was inscribed with the words, God's only law is love. According to Miller, it all started on December 23, 1976. He and Warrell were cruising down King William Street when they spotted Veronica Knight at a bus stop near the Majestic Hotel. Warrell approached her and asked where she was going.

She told them to the Salvation Army Hostel in the city and they offered to give her a ride. Veronica got in the back seat and when they took off, Warrell suggested that they go for a longer drive. For Miller, this was nothing unusual. He was used to Warrell picking up women this way and knew how it would go down. They'd drive to a quiet spot, he'd leave Warrell and Veronica alone and afterwards, they'd drop her at her destination. So when Veronica agreed, Miller knew what to expect. He drove towards the Adelaide Hills and eventually pulled over and got out of the car to give Warrell and Veronica some privacy. Miller then got back into the car and the trio decided to drive even

further through the hills and out towards Truro. When they got there, it was late and pitch dark. Warrell directed Miller down a dirt track off the main road and told him to go for a walk on his own. Miller did as he was told, returning to the car about 20 minutes later. Warrell told him to bugger off so he trudged off into the darkness for another 20 minutes. This time, when he returned, everything was silent. Veronica's body was lifeless in the back seat. Miller panicked and asked what had happened. Warrell said he'd raped Veronica and then had to kill her to stop her from telling anyone. Given he was already on parole, another rape allegation meant he'd be given a long prison

sentence. Miller started freaking out, but Warrell told him it wasn't the first time this had happened. During his days serving in the Air Force, he had been stationed in Western Australia. On two separate occasions, he had picked up female hitchhikers and killed them. One of them had been a messy stabbing with the blood spurting everywhere. The other he had killed by bashing her head in with a rock. Miller wasn't sure whether or not to believe Warrell about the hitchhikers, but seeing what he had just done to Veronica, he was terrified. When Warrell demanded he help move Veronica's body, Miller was too scared to say no.

They struggled to lift her out of the car and into the paddock, but eventually managed to drag her over the fence and dump her body under some bushes. On the drive home, Warrell was clearly deep in one of his dark moods. Miller believed Veronica's murder was a freak occurrence that would never happen again. They went about their daily lives like nothing had happened, returning to work the following morning and carrying on their usual routine of driving around at night and picking up women without any other incidents. One week later, on the morning of December 31, 1976, Warrell asked Miller to drop him off on King William Street so he could go for a walk through Rundlemore. It was no surprise to Miller

that when they met up again shortly after, Warrell had a pretty teenage girl with him. Her name was Tanya Kenny. She had just returned from her New Year's Eve getaway down the south coast and agreed to let Warrell and Miller drop her home. Warrell said they just needed to stop at Miller's sister's vacant house in the western suburbs to grab a few things on their way. Miller's sister was in the process of moving out and needed him to gather up his old things. Tanya agreed and when they arrived there, Warrell asked Tanya to help him out inside. He told Miller to wait in the car, so Miller parked in the driveway and waited patiently.

After some time, Warrell came out of the house alone. Miller could tell something was wrong by the look on his face and quickly raced inside. In his old bedroom, he found Tanya lying on the floor with her hands and feet bound together. A piece of tape was stuck over her mouth and there was a wound around her neck. Miller started screaming at Warrell, who threatened to kill Miller too if he didn't shut up. Miller was desperate to get Tanya's body out of the house before his sister found out, but it was broad daylight, so they hid her in the bedroom cupboard and spent the next few hours driving around looking for a suitable place to dispose of her body. They eventually decided on a paddock in the Dean rifle range in Wingfield

and dug a hole in preparation for the burial. They returned to Miller's sister's house at night, loaded Tanya's body into the boot of the car and then buried her in the makeshift grave. After Tanya's murder, Miller lived in fear that Warrell would strike once more. He tried to deny what was happening, blaming Warrell's dark moods and telling himself it wouldn't happen again. Weeks passed without incident until January 21, 1977, when the pair were driving down King William Street. They spotted Julie Makeda waiting for a bus outside the ambassador's hotel and Warrell got out of the car to chat her up. He eventually convinced her to go for a drive with them and the trio headed out to the northern suburb of Jepps Cross,

where they parked down a side street. There, Warrell tied Julie up, telling her it would be a bit of fun. They then drove a further 80 kilometers out to Truro, where Miller left Warrell and Julie alone. All he could do was hope that Warrell didn't enter one of his dark moods. When Miller returned to the car, Warrell had convinced Julie to walk out into the paddock. He told Miller to wait in the car, but he didn't listen and followed them instead. Miller heard a loud noise through the darkness and thought Warrell must have kicked Julie in the stomach. Fearing what was about to happen, Miller stepped in, but Warrell threatened to kill him if he tried to intervene. Warrell then strangled Julie and Miller reluctantly helped him cover

her body up with bushes. A little over two weeks later, on February 6th, Warrell started chatting with Sylvia Pittman and once again used his charm to convince her to go for a drive with them. They headed out to Truro, where Miller went on one of his usual lone walks. When he returned 45 minutes later, Warrell was alone. Miller asked where Sylvia had gone and Warrell replied, don't worry about it. The following day, Warrell met Vicki Howell in the city and struck up a conversation. She agreed to go for a drive with him out to the Barossa Valley wine region, so Miller came and picked them up. Miller liked Vicki immediately. She was older than the women Warrell usually picked up and he found her to be very ladylike. They went for a drive out

towards Truro, stopping at one point so that Vicki could go to the toilet. After that, Miller claimed he couldn't remember what happened. He assumed Warrell had done to Vicki what he did to the others, but he had no memory of the incident. He told the detectives, I liked her and I wouldn't have let Chris do anything to her if I had known. Two days later, on February 9, the two men were driving down King William Street when they pulled over on the side of the road. Connie Yordanides was waiting at a bus stop and started chatting with Warrell through the open window. She said she was on her way to pick up a package in the northern suburbs. Warrell offered her a lift and she agreed to go for a drive with them.

They headed out to Truro, where Miller left them alone in the back seat. When he returned, the three of them started driving back towards Adelaide, but Warrell asked him to pull over again down a side road. Miller left them alone and went for a walk, and when he returned, Warrell was alone. Miller said he didn't want to know about what had happened, to which Warrell remarked that Connie would have made a great girlfriend. A couple of days later, Miller and Warrell were driving down Hindley Street in Adelaide CBD when they met Deborah Lamb. She accepted Warrell's offer of a lift and the trio drove out to Port Gawler, where Warrell asked Miller to go for a walk.

He returned 30 minutes later and found Warrell burying Deborah's body in the sand. It was clear he had entered a very dark mood, refusing to say a word about what had happened. Miller was terrified about the frequency at which Warrell was now killing his victims and was scared about what would happen next, but he didn't have to wait long. One week later, the fatal car accident occurred and Chris Warrell was dead, putting an end to the crime spree. As Miller confessed to one murder after the next, the interviewing detectives couldn't believe what they were hearing. One asked Miller why he had helped Warrell instead of trying to stop him. Miller replied, I don't know. We'd picked up girls before and nothing happened. I couldn't

do much without endangering myself, and I really believe that. Much to his dismay, James Miller was charged with all seven murders. While he understood that he had to face some kind of repercussion for not stopping the killings or reporting the crimes earlier, he didn't believe he should be charged for the murders themselves. He staunchly maintained that he had no part in any of the killings and was, quote, just the chauffeur and the mug. As 1979 drew to an end, preparations were in place for James Miller's trial. There were fears that the decision to interrogate Miller and take him to the burial sites before he had the chance to

seek legal advice could harm the case against him. Because of this decision, it was possible that a judge might refuse to allow into evidence the 16 hours of police questioning during which Miller admitted to the crimes and provided his version of events. Without this, due to the lack of forensic evidence to indicate where or how the victims had died, there would be very little for the prosecution to present to a jury. However, the judge allowed this evidence to be admitted, and Miller's trial commenced in Adelaide's Supreme Court on February 12, 1980, exactly three years to the day since the last victim, Deborah Lamb, was last seen. Curious members of the press and public competed for a spot in the courtroom, with one reporter labelling it a, quote, raffle ticket drama. A security guard

was on standby to keep spectators in order, while James Miller sat behind a low iron fence with a bored expression on his face. The prosecution set out to prove that the murders were an equally joint enterprise between Chris Worrell and James Miller. Their case relied heavily on Miller's confessions to both police and Worrell's ex-girlfriend Amelia, who was a reluctant witness. On the stand, Amelia hesitantly explained that the reason she never came forward was that she believed the state was looking for a scapegoat. Had she dogged Miller in, he could be blamed for not only the Truro murders, but potentially any other unsolved crimes. She told the court, Miller convinced me that he was virtually the innocent one, and that Chris was the guilty one.

If I did go to the police, then I thought I would be dobbing in an innocent man, because I thought the guilty one was dead. It was only when Amelia was confronted by police that she learned the truth about Worrell and Miller's criminal histories, and realized that Miller might not be as innocent as he led her to believe. For the defense, Miller opted to prepare an unsworn statement for the court. It was a controversial decision. An unsworn statement is where an accused presents their version of events without having to swear under oath, and it isn't subject to cross-examination. No further questions can be asked by members of the court, and the accused isn't required to elaborate on any of the details.

By choosing this option, it meant that Miller's entire case relied on his own statement. The jury were advised by the judge to scrutinize Miller's version of events carefully, before deciding what weight should be attributed to it. Standing before the court, it took Miller close to an hour to deliver his 50-page version of the seven murders in detail. This description differed to the confession he provided to police after his arrest. Whereas Miller initially told the detectives that Worrell had raped the seven victims prior to strangling them, he now said this wasn't the case. He claimed the women had consensual sex with Worrell and let him tie them up,

before Worrell entered his dark moods and made the snap decision to kill them. Miller also added in additional details, including that after Worrell killed Veronica Knight, he threatened Miller at knife point, forcing him to help move her body and warning him not to say a word to anyone about what had happened. It was because of this that Miller feared for his life and continued to be complicit to the following murders. Miller also claimed to have lied when telling police that five of the murders had happened at Truro. He clarified that they had been killed closer to Adelaide and he and Worrell had then driven out to Truro to dump the bodies. Miller declared,

I admit that I helped dispose of the bodies and I admit that I was with Worrell before the girls were murdered, but I certainly did not think they were going to be killed and I certainly did not take part or help in their killing at all. I realize I have behaved very weakly and badly in not physically stopping Worrell and not reporting the matter to the police as soon as the first death occurred. By not telling the police about Worrell, I am probably guilty of some offence, but I am not guilty of murder because I did not want any of these girls to die. On each occasion, I was horrified and frightened. Miller's defense lawyer warned the jury against using Miller as a scapegoat for Chris Worrell's

crimes. He reminded them that Miller wasn't being charged with being an accessory to murder or helping to dispose of the bodies, but that he was being accused of the murders themselves. For them to find Miller guilty, they had to be certain he had agreed with Worrell to commit the murders or was present when Worrell strangled his victims and encouraged the behavior. In defense of Miller not reporting Worrell's crimes and continuing to help him dispose of the bodies, his lawyer explained. Through contact with Worrell, the accused stumbled into Worrell's problems. None of them is the accused's own making, but because of circumstances and Worrell's demands, the accused helps dispose of the first body and from then on is involved. Whether he likes it or

not, he is involved and he is left with little choice about the second body because that is in his sister's house. From then on, he is on the tiger's back. He cannot get off. In closing arguments, the prosecution stated that no man would accompany a rapist on seven expeditions unless he had at least a sexual interest in what was happening, even if it was only as an onlooker. They told the jury, ultimately it does not matter if that is the one reason why Miller went along or not. His role as the joint picker-upper, the driver, the body disposer, that of course is enough to render him liable in the eyes of the law to murder if there was this understanding in arrangement between him and Worrell to that end or alternatively if he realized

Worrell's game and played that part in it. The prosecutor continued, you might think that the evidence suggests Miller was so besotted with Worrell that he would stop at nothing and did stop at nothing, not even involvement in seven murders. Maybe Worrell did have a stronger personality than the accused. Maybe he was the only true friend he ever had. The simple answer to that is, so what? It might explain why seven girls were done to death. It doesn't excuse it. The judge clarified to the jury that if they accepted Miller's story that Worrell was solely responsible for the killings, they had to decide whether it was reasonable to assume that Miller knew that Worrell was going to kill his victims and did nothing to stop him. He used a robbery

committed by three men as an example. If one man stays in the car, one keeps a look out at the door and one enters the house to steal the belongings, all three of them are guilty of robbery because they were all involved in the plan and all knew what was going to happen. Had the man who entered the home unexpectedly come upon the owner and killed them, he would be guilty of murder while his other two accomplices would not because they hadn't agreed with this part of the plan. On March 11, the jury deliberated for eight hours before returning their verdict. For the murders of Sylvia Pittman, Julie Makeda, Vicki Howe, Connie Yordanides, Tanya Kenney, and Deborah Lamb, James Miller was declared guilty. However, he was found not guilty

for the murder of the first victim, Veronica Knight, as the jury believed it was plausible that Miller genuinely didn't know that Worrell was going to kill her. James Miller was sentenced to serve six consecutive life sentences with a non-parole period of 35 years. He lurched forward over the guardrail and yelled at one of the detectives, quote, you filthy liar, you mongrel. Miller's sister echoed his statement, screaming, you laughing swine. Two prison wardens grabbed hold of Miller and pushed him out the side door and into the holding cells, while another woman in the public gallery turned to the judge and yelled, you are just as guilty for letting Worrell out on parole. Miller was sent back to Yatla Prison, this time

without his blood brother by his side. Very few believe that James Miller was merely a bystander to his best friend's crimes. Whether or not he assisted in the killings remains a mystery, but at the very least, he actively facilitated them. Had Chris Worrell not been killed in the car accident at the peak of his crime spree, experts believe there would have most certainly been more victims. Professor of criminology, Paul Wilson, said, serial killers don't stop unless they are caught. I have never heard of therapy or anything else stopping serial killers. They may be very sociopathic, but they are not insane. Even James Miller agreed. He predicted that if Worrell had survived, there could have been

up to 70 victims, and he would never have doped him in. It remains unclear whether Worrell's claims that he murdered two hitchhikers in Western Australia were ever investigated. James Miller tried to appeal his conviction and argue for a retrial, but his attempts were unsuccessful. In 1984, he went on a 43-day hunger strike in protest against his conviction, but it didn't pay off. The following year, with the help of writer Dick Wordly, Miller published a book titled Don't Call Me Killer, which gave his detailed first-person account of his relationship with Chris Worrell and the Truro Murders. In the book, Miller staunchly stood by the version of events he gave in his unsworn statement. He made it sound like all seven

women happily consented to sex and bondage with Worrell, as though they were lucky to be chosen by him. In reality, the women had likely accepted a lift from the charming Worrell, feeling a false sense of security in his lie that Miller was his father or uncle. Once they were inside the car, there was little they could do as Worrell forced himself on them and launched a brutal attack, either with or without the help of his sidekick. In the final passage of the book, Miller wrote, If the blame for Truro should be pointed at any one particular person, then I feel it should be pointed at me. Chris had no control over his dark moods, and I knew that he must have had a serious

problem, and I should have done something positive about it to help him after the first murder, and I do not mean by helping him to dispose of the body. Somehow, I should have made sure that the person I loved more than anyone else received medical attention, but I did not. Thus, I must accept my guilt. One Chris Worrell was a killer. One Chris Worrell was a young man with a sickness he could not control. That Chris Worrell appeared in the courts. That Chris Worrell could have been cured of his sickness. That Chris Worrell was Truro. Another, the real Chris Worrell was not a killer. The real Chris Worrell was a happy-go-lucky, easy-going, friendly, considerate, sincere, and utterly appealing humane and beautiful young man who any parent would be proud to have

as a son, as I was proud to have him as my dearest friend. Seven years after his death, I find that I still love him, despite the cost. Miller was due for parole in 2014, but in 2007 his health took a rapid decline. He was diagnosed with lung cancer and prostate cancer and suffered from ongoing complications caused by Hepatitis C. On October 21, 2008, James Miller passed away in hospital from liver failure at the age of 68. In the wake of the Truro murders, the parole board's decision to release Chris Worrell after he'd served just two years of his six-year prison sentence for rape was strongly criticised. The truth of his rape conviction was that he'd picked up a female hitchhiker,

driven her out to a sports oval, and attempted to rape her at Knife Point. He'd been unsuccessful and eventually let her go after she promised she wouldn't tell anyone what had happened. Had Worrell been forced to serve his entire sentence, the lives of the seven young women could have been spared. The decision haunted Worrell's parole officer for years, even though he had followed the rules by the book. As part of Worrell receiving parole, he had to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. In hindsight, it served as an ominous warning, declaring, quote, Christopher Worrell denied having committed rape and told a good story of how he had been framed. He came across as presenting the picture he felt would most impress,

and one did not feel there was much sincerity in his protestations of future innocence. However, there is no history of convictions before the age of 20 years, and the circumstances of his rape offence made it inevitable that he was caught. One wonders if he was going through a temporary phase of readjustment at the time. Only the future will tell. Chris Worrell is buried in Adelaide Centennial Park Cemetery. His gravestone reads, Untold Love and Joy He Brought to War In 1997, 22-year-old Nikki was curious to learn more about her family history.

Nikki had been adopted when she was six months old and felt it was finally time to find out who her biological parents were. She contacted the relevant authorities, and when she walked into her scheduled meeting, the staff member said, You're the baby from the picture in the papers. That's how Nikki learned that Deborah Lamb, Worrell and Miller's seventh victim, had been her birth mother. When Deborah's body had been discovered, a photo of her holding baby Nikki had been used by the press. It would now be the only photo Nikki would ever have of her biological mother. As a teenager growing up in Adelaide, Nikki and her friends had been warned not to get into cars with strangers, or they'd end up, quote, like the Truro girls.

It was unbelievable to Nikki to know that her mother had been one of those girls. She felt robbed of getting to know her biological mother, but believed that Deborah would have been proud of the warm and loving upbringing Nikki received from her adoptive parents. She told Woman's Day magazine, For six months, she did one hell of a job trying to raise me by herself before she gave me up so I could have a better life. In the wake of James Miller's trial, the advertiser published an editorial that deeply upset the loved ones of the victims. It read, It is clearly the duty of the parents of the girls, particularly the naive, the gullible, and the misguidedly adventurous, to impress upon them the dangers

of walking alone in the streets at night, and accepting lifts in cars, and the fact that accepting lifts in cars offered by people unknown to them. Girls who tend to be free with their favours, are committing no offence by behaving as they choose, but they must realise that in doing so, they are exposing themselves to mortal danger. Ann Marie Makita was appalled. Not only did the article place the blame on the victims for what happened to them, but the young women weren't free with their favours, or roaming the streets recklessly as the article suggested. They were simply out living their lives. Several of the abductions occurred in broad daylight,

while most of the women were waiting for public transport. Some were meeting friends, going to work, or trying to make it home in time for their curfews. To place the blame on them for the atrocities they endured made Ann Marie Makita feel physically sick. She detailed her experience of loss and grief in a book titled, It's a Long Way to Truro, providing an emotional insight into what she and her family went through during Julie's disappearance, and the subsequent murder investigation. Ann Marie's experience also inspired her to start an organisation called, The Victims of Crime Services, to provide support for victims and families whose lives had been

changed due to a violent crime. By the early 1980s, the organisation had more than 1400 members, including Les and Kath Ratcliffe, whose 11-year-old daughter Joanne was abducted from the Adelaide Oval in 1973 and never seen again. Ann Marie became close with the Ratcliffe family, visiting Les on his deathbed as he prayed fruitlessly for answers about his daughter before tragically passing away from cancer. Through their shared experiences, Ann Marie also formed a strong bond with Judith Barnes, the mother of 17-year-old Alan Barnes, who was a victim in a string of murders committed by a group

dubbed The Family, as covered in episode 166 of Case File. Having both endured every parent's worst nightmare, the women found comfort in one another, and supported each other through court hearings and trials. In 1983, the body of 15-year-old Richard Colvin was discovered after he was abducted from the streets of North Adelaide. Richard was also a victim of The Family. His brutal murder had such a strong impact on the community that people demanded a return on the death penalty and called for a curfew on adolescents for their own protection. Despite everything Ann Marie Makita had gone through, she was vocally opposed to the idea of a curfew. She told reporters,

grief, fear and anger are what produce all this talk about curfews for children, but clearly it is not the answer. You can't keep adolescent children in a cage. You have to prepare them to face the world alone. I don't know what the answer is, but it isn't capital punishment, vigilantes and curfews. It's much bigger than that. It's us as a community. We have to be more caring. Following the arrest of James Miller for the Truro murders, a young woman wrote a letter to the advertiser. In it, she complained about the level of detail the newspaper had gone into when Julie Makita's body was discovered, saying it was in poor taste and showed no consideration for the feelings of Julie's family. On the contrary, it was this letter that upset Julie's mother.

Ann Marie didn't want Julie's death to be swept under the rug, but instead wanted people to know exactly what her daughter went through in the hopes it would raise awareness of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. In response to the letter, Ann Marie wrote an open message to the young women of Adelaide, wanting them to know that their sleepy city wasn't as safe as they thought. It read, I am sorry that the report of the finding of my daughter's body and the picture of the policeman carrying her offended you. But what would you have done? Do you want Julie to be just another statistic, hidden away in the paper, or perhaps not reported at all, so that nobody will be subjected to poor taste?

Julie was a person, a girl very full of life, as were Veronica, Sylvia, Vicki, Connie, Tanya, and Deborah. They were real girls just like you, and they died just as you could die, not because they had hurt anyone or angered anyone, but because they were on the street at the wrong time. That is what I find heartless and distressing, the fact that they were killed, not the fact that a humane reporter wrote about the discovery of my daughter's body as if she were a real person. I know now that girls are dragged from the streets almost every night, or they are enticed into cars, and later left hurt and frightened, raped maybe, maybe even dead. This is not something unfortunate that happened two years ago, this is something that

could happen tonight, tomorrow, to you. Every time you go out alone at night, you are at risk. Every time you get into a stranger's car, you put your life in his hands. I don't want you to be hurt or frightened for one moment. Every time I hear of a girl raped or injured, my daughter dies in my heart again. you