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if the phones are bugged?’ Bernie’s voice was high and strained. But he knew it was too late to keep the police out of it. Detective Duncan was due to arrive shortly to take a statement.
    Bernie now felt a terrible urgency. Kerry might be tied up, gagged or in pain. He could not imagine his wife as a hostage. Using his mobile phone, he dialled Parramatta detectives.
    Allan Duncan had just finished typing the situation report when he answered the phone and heard a man’s voice speak, taut and tripping over his words: ‘Detective, it’s Bernard Whelan. I’ve, I’ve just received a letter. They’ve got her. They’ve got her!’
    ‘Slow down, mate,’ Duncan said. ‘What’s happened exactly? You’ve received a letter, have you?’
    ‘I’ve just opened a letter. A ransom note,’ Bernie said lowering his voice.
    Duncan could hear the distraught children in the background. ‘Oh God, why is this happening to our family?’ a girl’s voice cried. ‘Why us?’
    Duncan asked Bernie to read the note to him slowly. As the detective took down the words, Duncan could not help but notice how long it was. Highly unusual for a ransom note.
    Bernie was now trembling uncontrollably. He pleaded for police to get there immediately. The kidnappers might be outside his property. ‘I don’t know if they’re watching the house,’ Bernie said. ‘I’ve got my guns from the cabinet. I’m armed and ready.’ It was bravado, but there was real fear in his voice.
    ‘Whoa, whoa,’ Duncan said, trying to calm him. ‘Mate, I know how you’re feeling and we’re going to get police out as soon as possible. Be aware the detectives will be in plain clothes. I’d appreciate it if you’d put the guns aside. Guns are not going to achieve anything.’
    Duncan lived in a rural setting similar to Kurrajong. He knew about physical isolation and could well understand Bernie’s predicament, but he repeated that firearms would exacerbate the problem. After hanging up, Duncan ordered a police car to head to the Whelan house. It was protocol in a major incident to telephone the police duty officer, who would immediately page one of the most senior officers in the force, Chief Superintendent Rod Harvey.
    Back at Willow Park, the Whelans waited. The last twenty-four hours had seemed like a week. They could barely stand another minute. Tony Garnett, Bernie’s best mate, had only just left the house before the discovery of the ransom note. Shane Whelan called him: ‘Uncle Tony, it’s Shane. You’ve forgotten your house keys. Could you please come back immediately?’
    Garnett hesitated, feeling the house keys in his trouser pocket.
    Shane repeated to him in a loud voice, through clenched teeth, ‘You’ve left your house keys here. You need to return to the house.’
    Garnett realised something was amiss. ‘Righto,’ he said, ‘be right there.’
    Garnett sped back to the Whelans, arriving around 8 p.m. Bernie rushed out to meet him. ‘Someone’s got her, mate, there’s a note.’
    ‘Oh please God, surely not,’ Garnett said.
    ‘It came in the mail and could have been here for hours because I’ve only just opened the mail.’
    Bernie ushered him inside and insisted that everyone stay in the house. He ordered Shane to make sure all the doors and windows were locked, saying: ‘The house could be bugged so we’ve gotta be careful where we talk.’ Garnett directed him into the bathroom to discuss what to do. Meanwhile they waited for the police.
    In the kitchen, Shane mulled over who might be responsible. He thought about his older brother, Trevor. Bernie and his first wife Helen had adopted both boys before Helen conceived Marita. Trevor, thirty-seven, bore a tremendous animosity and resentment towards his father and Kerry, who he called a ‘money grubber’. He blamed her for the marriage break-up between Bernie and his mother, Helen, and was convinced that had fuelled her alcoholism and caused her subsequent death. So upset was