I took B to the first of two detective interview rooms on the second floor of the Angas Street building, past the reception desk for the Bureau of Criminal Intelligence. There are two interview rooms, including one with a two-way mirror. Detectives and bosses accessed the viewing area by going into an adjacent office and stepping into a small room, not much bigger than a broom closet, which did not let in light which could possibly destroy the effect of the two-way mirror. The mirror allowed private viewing of suspects sitting in the interview room. Obviously, a suspect could be watched to observe any mannerisms or if he was trying to hide any property or drugs in his clothes but I don’t know of any cases where the private viewing produced any additional evidence.
I spoke to B for six hours and typed his statement. It was eighteen pages long with seven additional pages of notes and drawings. What he told me was sensational.
He was was in his early twenties and had been active in the gay scene for about five years. He said he was bisexual — he also had sex with women. He said that he was now heterosexual but the sweet young guy with him at the pub made this statement questionable. B had first met von Einem in June 1979. By my calculations, that would have made it just before Alan Barnes was murdered.
Their first encounter was on a Sunday afternoon at the Torrens, near a boathouse. B described Number One beat near Jolly’s Boathouse on the south side of the river. He knew the area well. He mentioned the half-dozen boat sheds on the southern bank and the other three on the northern side near where Mark Langley disappeared. B said he was sitting on the lawns covering the banks of the river when von Einem approached him and asked if he wanted a drink. Their relationship developed from there. B knew von Einem was a homosexual but said he never had sex with him.
I recorded B’s words. I typed them directly onto paper as he recounted his graphic story. Taped interviews, either by tape recorder or video recorder, weren’t being done in 1983. We were still typing word by word. B described von Einem’s activities and said that von Einem had his own beat. His beat was not one of those around Adelaide’s public toilets, as have been described previously, he had his own beat on which he cruised to pick up boys. I kept typing as fast as I could to keep up with the story.
‘King William Street between North Terrace and Scotty’s Motel . . . that was his beat. He used to cruise up and down from Parliament House through North Adelaide to Scotty’s Motel and back again. He used to do it all the time.’
Scotty’s Motel is just to the north of Adelaide, past the inner suburb of North Adelaide. It’s well known to people because a tall statue of a Scotsman stands on the front wall of the motel. At the other end of von Einem’s beat, South Australia’s Parliament House stands on the corner of King William Street and North Terrace, next to Adelaide’s Festival Theatre, which separates Parliament House from the River Torrens. On the opposite side of the road, about 100 metres away, is Number One beat. The main road out of town starts at Parliament House, crosses the River Torrens, goes through North Adelaide via O’Connell Street, where Richard Kelvin saw Karl Brooks off at the bus-stop, and continues north past the motel.
B graphically described how, together, he and von Einem had picked up two boys.
‘I don’t know where I met up with Bevan that night but it was at night-time, probably a Saturday night; but it was definitely after midnight when we picked up two hitchhikers.’
I started to learn about von Einem’s modus operandae. The duo picked up the boys in von Einem’s bronze Falcon sedan and offered them a drink.
‘We gave them booze and Bevan gave them heaps of Rohypnol and they went out to it in the car. He would give them at least eight to ten Rohypnol. Bevan always keeps booze in the car. Normally, there is an esky in the boot and one on the back seat, which he keeps covered with clothes in case he is pulled up by the cops.’
The mention of Rohypnol — possibly one of the drugs which were in Richard Kelvin’s system — was a great piece of information, further completing the jigsaw. Speculation had always existed over the disappearance of Mark Langley. He was tall and strong. He worked as a plumber, which built up his muscles and strength. People wondered how someone could abduct a growing young man of his size. Mark Langley, as with all the boys, showed no signs of defence wounds, which are caused when a victim tries to protect himself, and are very obvious, say, in knife attacks. The victim will have cuts to his hands and forearms, caused when the hands are raised trying to fend off the attacker. Cuts to the leg happen when the victim kicks out trying to hold off the attacker, and are less common, as are defence wounds when a shooting occurs. The speed of a bullet will not allow the victim to do much. However, if the victim sees what is about to happen, then the victim may raise his hands to cover his face in fear. If the gun is fired towards the victim’s head, then the bullet may hit a hand or arm before passing through to the skull.
I imagined an angry and upset Mark Langley storming away from his friends parked on War Memorial Drive. He already had drink in him from the party. He was probably walking on King William Road or one of the nearby roads thinking about how he was going to get home when a good Samaritan stopped
