Don't prod that snake.
That was the warning given to me by the late New South Wales coroner, Kevin Waller, in 2013 when I told him I was writing a book on the Family Court murders. "Make no mistake," he warned me. "The prime suspect is still a free man. This story could get you killed."
I knew from my research that this was not an idle warning.
The story of the Family Court bombings and murders — an unrelenting crime spree in Sydney in the early 1980s which hit at the heart of our judicial system and left three dead, dozens seriously wounded, and still more who miraculously escaped death — was not one I could ignore.
Even more incredible was that, more than three decades on, these were the coldest of unsolved cases — despite overwhelming circumstantial evidence and a blood group that matched the prime suspect, fireman Leonard Warwick.
A vengeful litigant in the revolutionary new Family Court formed under the Whitlam government, Warwick had engaged in a bitter battle with his former wife, Andrea, for custody of their young daughter Trudi.
I couldn't turn away
I started researching the cases in 2012 at Channel 7's Sunday Night program. My first approach was to Warwick at his home outside Sydney. I was alone and, in no uncertain terms, he ordered me off his rural property. That walk back down his driveway, during which I prayed he would not shoot me in the back, was the longest of my life. In hindsight, this was the day Warwick went on high alert that his days of freedom were numbered.
I was on high alert, too. I had prodded that snake. Would the snake now strike me?
But I couldn't turn away. I tracked down Warwick's former wife Andrea and daughter Trudi, as well as other victims and their families, and witnesses. Every person I spoke to claimed they had not heard from NSW police for more than 30 years. Each was still terrorised by the thought that the Family Court killer would return.
The journey into the dark heart of these stories was so surreal that I struggled to believe it had happened in my country and my lifetime.
I had held the hand of Justice David Opas' widow, Kristen, as she wept while recounting how she tried to save her husband after he was shot at point blank range at their courtyard gate. I also held the hand of Joy Wykes, widow of Graham who was killed by a bomb explosion as he bent to pray at a Jehovah's Witness service.
After my story aired, NSW Police formed a taskforce to re-examine the cases. By now, the Family Court victims had lost all faith in the police and judicial system.
My interest in true crime was fuelled by another murder
I understood that only too well. My own interest in true crime and justice was accelerated by the murder of my partner Ron Jarvis in 1992 and my pursuit of his killer, Stephen Standage.
Ron was just 37 when he was shot in remote Tasmanian bushland. His body was not found for seven months, during which time I went after Standage and he, in return, went after me, threatening that if I didn't back off I would end up wearing cement boots.
Standage murdered another man, John Thorn, in identical circumstances a decade after killing Ron. It was his undoing. It had taken 22 years to bring Standage to court, where he was sentenced to a record 48 years' imprisonment. In my victim impact statement, I told him I hoped he would never again see the sky as a free man.
My book, The Family Court Murders, was published in 2014. Months later, in July 2015, Warwick was finally charged.
When I received news of his arrest, I was at the hospital with my greatest supporter, my beautiful 86-year-old mother, Monnie, who had suffered a stroke. "That's wonderful news, darling," she said, when I told her what had happened. They were the last words she spoke to me. Monnie died a week later.
The centrepiece of Warwick's abuse
The Family Court Murders is a story that bears all the hallmarks of a crime thriller: a serial killer in a cat and mouse chase with police and judiciary; a changing modus operandi of guns and bombs; a stalker who hunted his hunters. But tragically, this is not fiction. At its heart is the story of a man who stopped at nothing to achieve his ends. His victims were simply collateral damage.
The centrepiece of his abuse, of course, was Andrea, whom he violently assaulted, stalked and harassed. The price she paid to stop the murders was a heartbreaking sacrifice that no woman, no victim of domestic abuse, should ever have to pay.
So how did Warwick, who consistently and brazenly flouted Family Court orders, outwit both state and federal police for more than three decades? Why was he not charged in the 1980s when so much evidence was stacked against him? What happened to his sister, Eileen, who has not been seen since 1965? Warwick was charged but found not guilty for the shooting murder of his brother-in-law, Stephen Blanchard. If he didn't kill him, who did?
I interrogate these and so many other questions in my new four-episode investigation on ABC TV. But what is not in question is that, like Stephen Standage, Leonard Warwick will never again see the sky as a free man.
I called Kristen Opas the day Warwick was sentenced. She cried with relief. "That's wonderful news, darling," she said.
Debi Marshall investigates the attacks that hit at the heart of the judicial system in The Family Court Murders on Tuesdays at 8:30pm on ABC TV and iView.
