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and Frances were not out back anymore. They had been moved into their bedroom and placed on the two single beds there, with a certain amount of respect. Each was wearing a cardigan. Anthony also had on a green flannelette shirt and blue King Gee trousers. Frances’ clothing included an apron now stained with blood. Each was face-up, their slippers arranged neatly beneath each bed, Frances with her dress pulled down modestly to her knees. It was as though the killer had cared, and yet he’d made a strange mistake for someone who cared—the bodies had been placed in the wrong beds.
    There were bloodstains on the patio and some of the outdoor furniture behind the house. Inside was a mess, with trails of tissue and toilet paper throughout and mineral turps, methylated spirits and cooking oil splashed around. Some of the kitchen hotplates were on, and what looked like acrude timing device of candles taped together was lying on the floor. Although the autopsies showed neither of the old people had drunk alcohol recently, there were also five empty beer bottles in the house. It seemed the murderer had either socialised with the couple beforehand, or stayed around for a few drinks after the killings. A bloodstained jacket was found in the laundry.
    After Albert found the bodies, many members of the family turned up. His daughter Colleen came with her boyfriend, David Taylor. Andrew arrived and ran up the drive, crying. Then there was a lawyer named Justin Birk Hill, who rolled up in his silver Mercedes 300E. Birk Hill had gone out with Colleen a few years earlier and remained a family friend. He had been a property developer in Queensland and, since 1982, a solicitor in New South Wales, running his own practice in Kogarah. He was an unusual lawyer, one who claimed to have been a founding member of the Mobshitters outlaw motorcycle gang, and did work, then and later, for the Black Uhlans, the Finks, the Rebels and the Nomads. He’d done some work for the Perishes, too, and had been advising the grandparents on their wills in the weeks before they died. This was not the first time clients of his had died violently: two years earlier, a man named Peter Wade and his girlfriend had been shot dead in a Surfers Paradise apartment Birk Hill owned.
    Birk Hill refused to be formally interviewed by police, but did say Albert was an authoritarian figure who suppressed his wife and children. Police told a subsequent inquest, ‘It was [Birk] Hill’s opinion that Albert was of an unbalanced mind, very cunning and gives the appearance of a stupid oaf. He also has a violent temper and is susceptible to violent moodchanges . . . [Birk] Hill stated that it was his opinion that the family was suspicious of Albert’s possible involvement in his parents’ deaths.’
    He described the family as dysfunctional, and said Anthony (junior) hated his father but was close to his sister Colleen. Anthony and Birk Hill had become friends after Anthony approached him for legal advice at the age of fifteen. The two men would later go to restaurants and rugby league games together. Sometimes Anthony, Andrew and Colleen would stay at Birk Hill’s place on Grand Parade, Brighton-Le-Sands, the Riviera of southern Sydney criminals. It was a nice house with six bedrooms, six bathrooms, a pool and gymnasium, not far from the beach on the edge of Botany Bay. Anthony did not turn up at his grandparents’ house that evening as he was still on the run. Birk Hill told police he knew where his friend and client was hiding, but declined to reveal the location. He was aware that Albert was in serious financial trouble and had discussed this with his father, who had been upset by his son’s business failures and his constant requests for money.
    For someone who did not want to give a statement about the family, Justin Birk Hill had a lot to say.
    The detectives who ran the subsequent investigation came up with twenty persons of