Speaker 1: She climbed the stairs. The beep came from Laura's bedroom.
Speaker 1: She pushed the door open and saw a scene she'd
Speaker 1: never forget no matter how much she tried. It shot
Speaker 1: thousands of practice rounds with glock service pistols over the years,
Speaker 1: and now it showed. He dropped the clipboard he was holding,
Speaker 1: pulled his pistol and fired twice from the hip. I'm
Speaker 1: Andrew Rule. This is life and crimes. Some crimes have
Speaker 1: great resonance. We remember them for decades, mainly because not
Speaker 1: only they are terrible crimes, but they go unsolved for
Speaker 1: a long time. They become famous cold cases, and it's
Speaker 1: the mystery element that makes people wonder about them and
Speaker 1: wonder who done it, who's out there, who got away
Speaker 1: with it. Others are equally terrible crimes, but they don't
Speaker 1: capture the same attention because sometimes they are solved reasonably quickly.
Speaker 1: Today we're going to talk about one of those, and
Speaker 1: it's a case that, on the bare facts, is every
Speaker 1: bit as terrible, every bit as haunting as the notorious
Speaker 1: Easy Street case in Collingwood in nineteen seventy seven. This
Speaker 1: is a double murder of two young women from the
Speaker 1: country like Easy Street that happened almost thirty years later
Speaker 1: in the year two thousand and six. It involves two
Speaker 1: sisters from Talamba, which is a little tiny town just
Speaker 1: south of Sheperdon. A hellish hour after the killer forced
Speaker 1: his way into the sisters home, one of the girls
Speaker 1: managed to dial triple zero. The call was cut off
Speaker 1: after five seconds, and so oh it wasn't answered. What
Speaker 1: happened after that is the stuff of nightmares. Laura Urban
Speaker 1: was twenty one, working in her dream job in television
Speaker 1: production at Channel ten. Her sister, Colleen was twenty three,
Speaker 1: a promising photographer who had just been promoted at her
Speaker 1: job in a camera store. They were their parents' only children,
Speaker 1: country kids who'd come to Melbourne to make their way
Speaker 1: in the world. It's twenty years ago this month since
Speaker 1: Laura and Colleen were raped and murdered by a paroled prisoner,
Speaker 1: a violent sex offender who it turned out, had spied
Speaker 1: on them from next door after cutting down a palm
Speaker 1: tree so he could see their bathroom window. It was
Speaker 1: clearly premeditated. It happened in the early hours of a
Speaker 1: Saturday morning, January twenty eighth, t and six. Colleen, the
Speaker 1: older sister had come home from a housewoman party around
Speaker 1: twelve forty five am to the unit that she shared
Speaker 1: with Laura in Miller's Road, Eltona North. He was a
Speaker 1: big man. He was waiting for her. He attacked after
Speaker 1: she got out of her car. Colleen, barely more than
Speaker 1: half his weight, had no chance. He forced her to
Speaker 1: the door and used her keys to get inside where
Speaker 1: Laura was asleep. After spending a quiet evening at home.
Speaker 1: That was at twelve forty five of thereabouts. That call
Speaker 1: to triple zero was at one forty four am an
Speaker 1: hour later, and of course that call was cut off
Speaker 1: by someone in the murder house after five seconds, and
Speaker 1: so it didn't last long enough to be a transferred
Speaker 1: to an operator who could raise the alarm. This is
Speaker 1: one of the things that must haunt the Irwin girl's parents.
Speaker 1: The girls always called home every day, sometimes several times.
Speaker 1: Their parents, Shirley and Alan Erwin, lived at Talamba, where
Speaker 1: they brought the girls up most of their lives. Talamba
Speaker 1: is on the southern edge of Shepardon. It's one of
Speaker 1: those little country towns that the locals call a small
Speaker 1: town with a big heart. The girls had gone to
Speaker 1: school in shep they'd played sport locally, and they'd worked
Speaker 1: in the fruit caneries to save money to get where
Speaker 1: they wanted to go. Shirley Erwin knew something was wrong
Speaker 1: when her daughters didn't call on that Saturday, and when
Speaker 1: her calls to them went unanswered. She was worried. So
Speaker 1: was her husband. So was the girl's best friend, Candace Osborne,
Speaker 1: who it lived in Melbourne and had a key to
Speaker 1: their unit. Eventually, Candace went around to the sister's unit
Speaker 1: in Miller's Road and she opened the door. It was
Speaker 1: late on that Saturday, was in the evening. Downstairs, everything
Speaker 1: looked normal. Candace walked through the kitchen. She called out,
Speaker 1: No one answered. She almost left, she said later it
Speaker 1: felt weird snooping through their house, so she nearly left.
Speaker 1: But then she heard a faint electronic beep. She recognized it.
Speaker 1: It was Colleen's phone. It was set to beep to
Speaker 1: flag any unanswered calls and text messages. Candace was alarmed.
Speaker 1: She climbed the stairs. The beep came from Laura's bedroom.
Speaker 1: She pushed the door open and saw a scene she'd
Speaker 1: never forget, no matter how much she tried. Colleen was
Speaker 1: lying on her back, naked from the waist down. Laura
Speaker 1: was beside her. Both of them had been stabbed to death.
Speaker 1: It didn't take the police long to deduce who they
Speaker 1: were looking for. They did not make his name public
Speaker 1: for legal reasons, but the obvious suspect was the sister's neighbor,
Speaker 1: William John Watkins, whose form as a violent sex offender
Speaker 1: was chilling. Not that they knew that. They knew nothing
Speaker 1: about him. Watkins, who was thirty eight, had been committing
Speaker 1: crime since nineteen eighty five, which was almost as long
Speaker 1: as Laura had been alive. He'd been jailed in May
Speaker 1: two thousand, six years earlier, for rape and aggravated burglary,
Speaker 1: and he had prior convictions for serious assault, been sentenced
Speaker 1: to more than four years, but was released after a
Speaker 1: minimum of two. When police identified Watkins and his prior convictions,
Speaker 1: he was officially quote a person of interest, but significantly
Speaker 1: he had vanished. His employers notified the police on Monday afternoon,
Speaker 1: January thirtieth that he had not turned up for work.
Speaker 1: It wasn't until then the police got a warrant and
Speaker 1: searched watkins home unit next door to the murder scene.
Speaker 1: Watkins had left just after dawn on that Saturday morning,
Speaker 1: January twenty eight. He'd withdrawn what little money he had
Speaker 1: from a nearby atm at six forty four a m
Speaker 1: exactly six hours after ambushing Colin Rman. It was late
Speaker 1: on Monday before police were confident that Watkins was probably
Speaker 1: the killer, but they did not flag his name and
Speaker 1: prior convictions to interstate police, nor make it public in
Speaker 1: media reports. That decision, or that oversight, nearly cost a
Speaker 1: brave Western Australian policeman his life. Watkins had fled in
Speaker 1: his white Toyota Lexton station Wagon, a vehicle identical to
Speaker 1: a Holden Commodore in everything but badging. He had a
Speaker 1: two day start. No one knew which direction he'd taken.
Speaker 1: Around nine thirty Tuesday morning, January the thirty first, a
Speaker 1: white Commodore station wagon as it appeared to be, pulled
Speaker 1: into the Fortes Q roadhouse at Mardi, one hundred and
Speaker 1: ten kilometers from Caratha in the Pilbra region of Western Australia,
Speaker 1: bordering a vast area of the north where Victorian fugities
Speaker 1: sometimes fled to hide to get lost. The driver filled
Speaker 1: the car with eighty dollars worth of petrol and then
Speaker 1: drove off northwards without paying. It was a drive off
Speaker 1: the roadhouse attendant called Karatha police to report the theft.
Speaker 1: Sergeant Shane Gray caught what seemed a routine job. The
Speaker 1: other on duty officer didn't have his police belt, pistol
Speaker 1: and handcuffs with him. Rather than wait for his mate
Speaker 1: to grab his gear, Sergeant Gray headed out alone, driving
Speaker 1: south in a marked patrol car to watch for the
Speaker 1: white station megan. He was playing the car radio and
Speaker 1: as luck had it, his favorite song came on American
Speaker 1: Pie by Don McLean. Just as he saw a car
Speaker 1: approaching in the distance, the song hit the last line,
Speaker 1: this will be the day, that are day. It almost
Speaker 1: was the approaching car, the wanted white station wagon. The
Speaker 1: policeman flashed his headlights, did a U turn and hit
Speaker 1: the siren and lights. The wagon kept on at a
Speaker 1: steady one hundred and ten kilometers an hour for a
Speaker 1: short distance, then pulled over on a straight stretch about
Speaker 1: fifteen k's from Caratha. Sergeant Gray parked well behind it
Speaker 1: and called in the car's details, only to be told
Speaker 1: there was nothing known about it or its driver, meaning
Speaker 1: that in the eighteen hours that Victoria police had known
Speaker 1: that a double murder suspect was on the run in
Speaker 1: his readily identifiable car. Their interstate counterparts had not been warned.
Speaker 1: No other police outside Victoria knew anything about Watkins or
Speaker 1: his car. Assured that it was nothing but a petty
Speaker 1: petrol drive off. Sergeant Gray walked up to the car.
Speaker 1: Small job, but when he saw the driver he felt
Speaker 1: a pang of caution. The man was at least a
Speaker 1: hundred kilograms and muscular and hard looking with it. The
Speaker 1: policeman later described him as looking like a rugby player.
Speaker 1: The big man showed his driver's license quite willingly. He
Speaker 1: admitted he had stolen the petrol because he had no money.
Speaker 1: In fact, he said he'd done it earlier, in the
Speaker 1: same trip which he had. Sergeant Gray went back to
Speaker 1: the police car and called in the details the name
Speaker 1: and dated Bertha the driver William John Watkins born twenty
Speaker 1: fourth of April nineteen sixty seven. The Karathur officers checked
Speaker 1: the name inquiry system on the police computer and told
Speaker 1: the sergeant that Watkins wasn't on the West Australian data base.
Speaker 1: No problems. Sergeant Gray replied that he was going to
Speaker 1: try and arrest the bloke, but he said, he's a
Speaker 1: big guy, so can you send out a secure vehicle
Speaker 1: to take him back in? He meant paddy wagon or
Speaker 1: Divvy van whatever. He didn't feel like putting him in
Speaker 1: a sedan with himself. A police fan was sent, but
Speaker 1: no one had any clue they could be dealing with
Speaker 1: a double murderer on the run, probably the most desperate
Speaker 1: man in Australia that month. The sergeant told Watkins he'd
Speaker 1: have to come to the police station in Karatha. The
Speaker 1: big man stayed dead calm and was strikingly co operative.
Speaker 1: He locked his car and he walked towards the police car.
Speaker 1: Sergeant Gray did the right thing and he stayed towards
Speaker 1: the middle of the road to keep a little bit
Speaker 1: of distance between him and the offender. But it wasn't enough. Suddenly,
Speaker 1: Sergeant Gray saw a white flash, as he described it later,
Speaker 1: and a vicious blow hit him on the left side
Speaker 1: of the head. It was the worst punch he'd ever
Speaker 1: copped in a long career. The policeman went to the
Speaker 1: ground on all fours while Watkins rain punches on him
Speaker 1: and kneading twice Wakins told him, you're a dead kid,
Speaker 1: with chilling calm. It was a promise, not bluster. The
Speaker 1: policeman was scared for his life, and he knew that
Speaker 1: his life was in danger, that any second now he'd
Speaker 1: be dead. But the muscle memory from his training kicked in.
Speaker 1: He said later that he'd shot thousands of practice rounds
Speaker 1: with clock service pistols over the years, and now it showed.
Speaker 1: He dropped the clip board he was holding, pulled his
Speaker 1: pistol and fired twice from the hip as Watkins closed
Speaker 1: in for the kill. The first shot hit the big
Speaker 1: man in the torso. In fact, it went up through
Speaker 1: his lungs, and it was a fatal shot. He grunted
Speaker 1: and spoiled sideways. The second shot went wide. William Watkins,
Speaker 1: rapist and murderer, had picked the wrong man. A proficient
Speaker 1: shot under pressure wasn't Shane Gray's day to die, but
Speaker 1: he had come terrifyingly close. Watkins had hit him so
Speaker 1: hard that his nose had virtually disappeared and was pushed
Speaker 1: up under one of his cheek b His teeth were
Speaker 1: cracked and his ribs battered. It was as if he'd
Speaker 1: been run over. Sergeant Gray would later tell a hushed
Speaker 1: coroner's court he was going to kill me, simple as
Speaker 1: that he had the ability and the means and everything
Speaker 1: to take me out. I was gone. I was going
Speaker 1: back to the ground. As soon as I was on
Speaker 1: that ground, I was gone. He could have punched me
Speaker 1: one more time to the head and I would have
Speaker 1: no doubt he would have taken my firearm, finished me off,
Speaker 1: and then driven into the sunset. Instead, Watkins had a
Speaker 1: forty caliber bullet in his vital organs. He collapsed a
Speaker 1: few steps away. He was dead by the time the
Speaker 1: police van arrived minutes later. By then, Shane Gray was
Speaker 1: also spoiled on the road, injured and totally shattered by
Speaker 1: his brush with death. The quiet policeman was in hospital
Speaker 1: before he found out the truth about the monster who
Speaker 1: tried to kill him. By then, four and a half
Speaker 1: thousand kilometers away in Talamba, Shirley and Alan Irwine were
Speaker 1: facing the first terrible week of the rest of their
Speaker 1: lives when a detective called late to say they got him.
Speaker 1: It meant a lot. William Watkins's death could never bring
Speaker 1: their girls home, but it built a bond between two
Speaker 1: families living a continent apart, Shane Gray, the injured policeman
Speaker 1: and his wife, and the grieving parents became firm friends,
Speaker 1: glued together by terrible events and fear and grief. Shirley
Speaker 1: Erwin struggled later to describe how close she felt to
Speaker 1: the brave and humble man who'd shot the beast who
Speaker 1: killed her girls. Shane doesn't want to be called a hero,
Speaker 1: she said, but he did Colin and Laura justice, and
Speaker 1: he did the world of favor. Thanks for listening. Life
Speaker 1: and Crimes is a Sunday Herald's Sun production for True
Speaker 1: Crime Australia. Our producer is Johnty Burton. For my columns,
Speaker 1: features and more, go to herold's son dot com dot
Speaker 1: Au forward slash Andrew rule.
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