The filleting knife and a lottery win

This is a true story about violence in the Australian outback and a surprising twist to that tale.

I lived this story, but I have changed the names of the parties involved. Some families are still hurting from what happened, and some are trying to move on with their lives. Out of respect for both, I afford them some peace.

A Saturday night in August

Western Queensland in Australia is a harsh place. It was built by hard men and women who carved out a life for themselves and their families. It is renowned for things like copper mining or cattle farming across vast expanses of land. As the saying goes “they work hard, and they play hard”.

As a Detective in Western Queensland, I ran a lot of investigations, sadly mostly revolved around alcohol-fuelled violence. Because of the crippling heat people would drink a lot, because they drank so much they would get agitated, and because of this violence often resulted. I lost track of how many stabbings I personally attended over the years.

So, one Saturday night in August I was working a 2 pm to 10 pm shift when I got a call at about 8:30 pm from the Police Communications Centre. They notified me that there had been a stabbing at one of the stations about four hours away, and they patched me through to talk to the police officer on the scene. I preferred to talk to the officers on-site as often versions would get changed as they were relayed from one person to another. This night I was talking with Sergeant Dan Peff.

Me: Dan, what’s the go?

Sgt Peff: This sheila has stabbed her boyfriend. I’m just at the hospital now waiting for the flying doctor.

Me: How bad is it?

Sgt Peff: He’s not looking too good.

Me: Ok, is she in custody?

Sgt Peff: Yeah, she’s in the watchhouse.

Me: Alright, have you got a tape?

Sgt Peff: I do? What do you want me to measure?

Me: No, a tape recorder?

Sgt Peff: Oh no, mine is broken.

Me: Alright, well make sure you write lots of notes. If he dies, you’d better call me back.

I hung up the phone.

I had been tarnished by several years of working on these cases. So often you’d get called for a stabbing and then by the time you got to the hospital, the victim would be walking out and not prepared to give you a statement.

I started to walk back to the office to send an email to the day crew when my phone rang again. I answered and immediately recognized Dan Peff’s voice. He said, “He’s dead”.

Now it all changed. We had gone from a simple unlawful wounding or grievous bodily harm charge to a murder charge. The crime doesn't get much higher than that for a detective, so I was going to need to rally the troops. I called my officer in charge to notify him and arranged for a crew to immediately head off on the four-hour drive to secure the scene.

Next, I was going to need scientific officers, so I placed a call to my local Inspector. He was a bit of a shiny arse, so I wasn’t looking forward to that call. But I rang, notified him we had a murder in a town three hours away and that I would need to call out scientific. I should have anticipated his response, but I hadn’t, and when he said, “Oh do you need them to go there now? That will be a lot of overtime. Can’t you just go down and see if you need them, then if you do call them out?”

My constant frustration with policing had been penny-pinching, at this point I was a bit over it, so I replied, “With all due respect Sir, this is a fucking murder”. Apparently, my grumpy tone at this hour of the night wasn’t persuasive, so he said, “Well I’ve made up my mind, you go, and if you need scientific send for them after you’ve examined the scene”.

I had one last ace up my sleeve, the Regional Detective Inspector technically outranked my local Inspector, and as this was a murder, I was required to notify him as well. I once again gave him a very quick brief on the matter, and he replied, “Ok, so you’re taking scientific down with you?”

I was hoping he’d say that, so I started with “Well about that…” I went on to explain the exchange with the local Inspector and his response to me was, “But it’s a fucking murder?” I was delighted to retort “That’s what I said!” The Detective Inspector instructed me to call out scientific on his authority and that he would contact the local Inspector.

With all the arrangements made I set off for a three-hour drive in the Australian outback in the middle of the night.

Crappy roads and cockatoos

Most places in Australia do not have multi-lane highways. In fact, if you can find a well-maintained dual-lane carriageway, you’re probably in a capital city. Out west, you generally need to pull to the shoulder if a road train is coming in the opposite direction, otherwise, you risk collision or at least a smashed windscreen.

The journey down was slow. You had the constant risk of kangaroos or cattle on the road, poorly lit, and poorly maintained roads. Also, we tried to monitor each other for fatigue. There was me and two junior detectives in my department four-wheel drive. We took turns behind the wheel while others slept. It was going to be a long night by the time we got there.

We kept in contact with the crew that left ahead of us, to confirm they had secured the scene. Scientific was about half an hour behind us. I checked in with Sergeant Peff when we had phone or radio coverage. I got updates on the prisoner, and if she had said anything else. We also talked through our strategy for managing the investigation and were fed as much information about the suspect and the victim.

We stopped at the only truck stop that was open that hour of the night for some additional fuel and a bite to eat. I was still smoking then so I had a couple of cigarettes to keep me going the rest of the way.

We got to the police station at about 1:30 am and I had a quick chat with Sergeant Peff. I got the rest of the team to start setting up so we could get statements and collate evidence as needed. He took me to the scene. It was only a few blocks from the station, but in places like this, everywhere was only a few blocks from the station or a half-day drive, there was no middle ground.

I saw the Toyota Landcruiser that belonged to the crew that was sent to guard the scene and we pulled up behind it. I got out and started to shine my torch around the house, I could see the crew. Then I looked through the driver’s side door and saw both fast asleep. I tapped on the window, and they awoke with a jump. It seemed they felt that was the best place to keep an eye on the house in these cold conditions.

After about forty-five minutes of waiting, the scientific officer arrived. He and I performed a video walk-through of the scene. Entering through the front door it was already obvious there was a lot of blood spilled in this house. We stepped around the pools of red liquid on the floor and saw that the bulk of the blood was in the kitchen. In a room just off the kitchen, it was in darkness, I heard a scratching noise and thought that there may have been someone else in the house. I stepped gingerly through the doorway and turned on the light, as I did, I was met with an ear-splitting “Screeeeech”. I jumped back momentarily shocked.

When I regained my composure, I realized what had made the ear-splitting noise. It was a cockatoo in a cage. Obviously, a pet of either the deceased or the suspect.

In the kitchen, we found a black-handled filleting knife, covered with blood. We didn’t disturb it, instead, we placed a numbered yellow marker next to it and photographed it in situ. The scientific officer eventually seized it and took it with him for further testing.

We returned to the station and then the laborious task of investigating what had happened would now begin.

Country people

The beauty of a small country town is that everyone knows everyone. They remember when they have seen people, they recall what was happening and can usually piece everything together.

The suspect Shannon Knott was accused of stabbing to death her boyfriend Barry Walters. That we knew for sure. Shannon’s mother worked at the local café, when she heard detectives had to drive for hours to investigate her daughter allegedly killing someone, she was aghast. She appeared at the police station front steps wanting to take our coffee orders.

As we pieced together the night before we got a picture of how things had gotten to that point. Shannon and Barry had gone out for dinner at the local pub. They had a few drinks there and then a few more. Shannon was no shrinking violet; she was rough and tough and proudly carried with her the nickname of “Bush Pig”. Barry and Shannon had been dating for about six months.

Barry was no angel. He had his share of brushes with the law and certainly was not someone that would be held up for citizen of the year.

During the evening they had a disagreement and had gone home. It turned out that at home they drank more and argued more. Finally, Barry slapped Shannon across the face. Shannon was enraged and issued him with a warning “Don’t you ever hit me again, or I’ll fucking stab you!”

Barry was not a modern man; he didn’t believe in empowering women or even that women should stand up for themselves. He slapped Shannon again and this time said, “Don’t fucking threaten me”.

It was at this point that Barry learned that Shannon was a woman of her word. She walked into the kitchen, grabbed a kangaroo filleting knife, returned, and stabbed Barry in the chest. He looked down at the knife protruding from his chest and uttered the words “Geez, bit close to the heart there love”.

Almost immediately Shannon regretted her actions or perhaps she anticipated just how serious the injuries were. She drove Barry to the local hospital, although it doesn’t have a doctor. The nursing staff did their best to make Barry comfortable while they awaited the arrival of the flying doctor.

Barry expired about an hour after being stabbed.

As murder investigations go, it was open and shut. There was no manhunt to find the offender, there was no public call for witnesses, no need to offer a reward. I had Shannon sent to the main watchhouse by 1pm that afternoon. Except for the autopsy results I had everything needed to finalize a brief of evidence against her.

The committal hearing was one of the fastest I have ever attended. Even the presiding magistrate who, like me, had driven down for only this matter commented that he doubted he would even see a committal proceeding for a murder happen so quickly again.

By the time the trial came around, the public prosecutor had acknowledged that Shannon had been in a relationship punctuated by domestic violence. A plea for manslaughter was offered and accepted. At the sentencing, Shannon’s mother approached me with an elderly woman. She introduced me to Shannon’s grandmother “This is the nice Detective that arrested Shannon”. It felt weird saying, “I was just doing my job”.

Shannon was sentenced to seven years in jail with eligibility for parole after three years.

Nobody won out of this. Barry’s parents are still sad about losing their son. Shannon had a five-year-old son of her own at the time she killed Barry, he had to learn to live without his mother for three years.

An ironic epilogue

Sic years passed, and I had left policing. I was dealing with my demons and building a new life. Then out of the blue, I got a phone call. It was my old work partner, Jason, from my days as a detective in Western Queensland.

We exchanged our normal pleasantries and then he dropped a bombshell, “So, guess who just won $150,000 on a scratch-it? Shannon Knott”.

I couldn’t believe it. Turns out she had done her time, got out on parole, was working for her mom, and then bought a winning ticket. I took a few moments to process this information and then I replied, “Ok, get in a car, drive down there right now and arrest her”. His quizzical response was, “what for?” Anticipating the question, I said “Proceeds of crime”. This drew an even more confused “What?” from him so, I set about explaining my rationale.

“Look, if she hadn’t of stabbed Barry all those years ago, I wouldn’t have arrested her, she wouldn’t have gone to jail and on the date that she bought that scratch-it she wouldn’t have been there to buy the ticket that won her $150,000. It’s a proceed of crime.”

The phone fell silent for a few moments before I heard Jason say, “I think that might be too much of a bow to try to draw”.

I conceded that he was probably right. I hope that Shannon took that opportunity to turn her life around for herself and her son. It was a second chance that not many people get.

If you would like to read other interesting true crime stories about the Australian outback, have a read of my other story about the 1938 Mount Isa Train Robbery.