It’s one thing watching murders on the television.
But when it happens at your doorstep, in your home that you considered the safest place in the world, and to someone you saw alive just hours ago – no words can truly describe that ominous dark cloud that descends on you.
This has to be experienced firsthand to truly understand what it’s like, as I did on July 21, 1994 – the day young Anthea Bradshaw-Hall was brutally murdered in Brunei, far away from her family in Adelaide.
The timing, location and unusual circumstances surrounding Anthea’s death have left everyone, including myself, with more questions than answers right up to this day, 30 years on.
When I heard from Channel 9 reporter Ben Avery early this year about his podcast investigation on Anthea’s murder, I was glad to know the case was being revived.
I sensed Ben’s genuine commitment to uncover the truth, and I was happy to help in any way.
My countless conversations with Ben since then brought up many memories, accompanied by sleepless nights reliving that day to recall every little detail that could help with the investigation.
In doing so, I started to jot down what I remembered – which has resulted in this piece of writing.
To appreciate why Anthea’s case is so unique, you first have to understand a bit about Brunei, its culture, and the exclusive medical facility where Jeff Hall (Anthea’s husband) and I were employed.
I was living in Singapore when I was offered the job at Jerudong Park Sports Medicine Centre (JPSMC) in Brunei, a small Islamic country on the island of Borneo.
I was very young and not quite sure what to expect, but it seemed an exciting venture as I set off to Brunei in March 1994.
The Bruneians were quite used to having foreigners in their midst.
Not surprising, considering it had a large expatriate contingent that made up around one-third of the country’s population of 300,000 during my time.
Reflecting on my own five-year experience there, I can only describe the local Malays as friendly and peace-loving people who embraced their beliefs in a quiet, non-threatening way.
Violence and serious crimes were quite out of place in Brunei – a country often referred to as “the abode of peace”.
The Jerudong Park area itself was very different from the rest of the city, quite special.
Always vibrant and lit up with the outstanding Crystal Arch fountain – a landmark structure with its gold mosaic tiled columns topped with a large replica diamond.
I heard it symbolised the ring given by the Sultan of Brunei to his first wife.
The arch was set within a roundabout which I passed through each day on the short journey to work.
I was housed in Jerudong Park, within a private apartment complex exclusive to staff.
My block had three levels, with four apartments per floor.
All of them were set up and furnished identically, right down to the last little detail. I was on the second floor.
Although it was a very comfortable setting, I was filled with some trepidation about living alone, away from my family, for the first time in my life.
But it wasn’t long before my concerns were abated.
I felt completely secure, knowing I was surrounded by the people I worked with.
Besides, it felt like the safest place in the world.
Security guards and boom gates at the entrance to the complex.
Main entry door to each block fitted with a unique numeric keypad plus a spyhole on my apartment door itself.
Safety was certainly not an issue.
As for working at JPSMC, it was a unique experience that’s hard to describe to anyone who didn’t work there at the time.
Quite “out of this world”bin many ways.
It was an exclusive facility owned by Prince Jefri, the younger brother of HRH Hassanal Bolkiah, the Sultan of Brunei.
Designed to cater for the Bruneian Royal Family and their VIPs, it was tucked away from the eyes of the general public.
Gurkhas guarded the main gates, and you had to go through a winding road to get to it.
At night, it seemed enveloped by an air of mystery, as you drove along that secluded path lined with rows of trees brightly lit up against the sky, before you got the first glimpse of the building.
Jeff Hall was introduced to me when he started work there as a radiographer.
He was housed on the third floor of my block F, directly above my apartment.
In July, I met his wife Anthea who had come over from Adelaide to visit him for 10 days.
I heard they were only recently married, and she looked happy to be there with Jeff.
For those of us who didn’t drive, a minivan service provided transport to and from work, including lunch breaks.
That day began like any other weekday. Off to work in the morning, then back home on the minivan for my one-hour lunch break.
When I finished lunch and opened the main door to exit my apartment block, I saw a man standing outside as if he was waiting for someone or something.
He appeared to be of Asian descent.
I had never seen him before and wondered what he was doing there, but it didn’t bother me at the time.
It took me less than a couple of minutes to walk up to the minivan parked inside the front entrance of the compound.
By the time I got in, sat down and looked up, the stranger had disappeared.
I had a window seat facing the apartments, with direct line of sight towards my block.
When I couldn’t see where the stranger had gone, I looked up – and that’s when I saw Anthea.
She was wearing shorts (dark beige, I think) and a red top or t-shirt.
She was standing on the balcony of Jeff’s apartment.
I had seen her a number of times and exchanged quick greetings in passing, and I knew she was heading back to Adelaide the next day.
Shortly after, the rest of the staff got in and we drove off.
When I returned home from work that evening, just after 5pm, everything seemed perfectly normal.
For a short while at least, until I was startled by a huge commotion outside.
Screaming and loud voices.
I opened my door to find many of my colleagues on the landing, some of them in tears.
I was completely horrified when one of them told me Jeff had come home to find Anthea dead; brutally murdered and lying in a pool of blood on her apartment floor.
It felt like a terrible dream, except it wasn’t. It was very real.
All I could think of was my last sighting of Anthea just hours ago.
As reality hit me, I slowly turned to look back into my own apartment, then up at my ceiling (towards Jeff’s apartment).
I really can’t describe the sensation of dread in that instant; how everything around me suddenly appeared different; almost unfamiliar and menacing.
For the first time in Brunei, I felt fear.
We left the building soon after and gathered around the central courtyard within the compound.
It wasn’t long before staff from the other blocks joined us, having heard what happened.
All of us stood around in a state of disbelief for what seemed like hours, not knowing what to make of Anthea’s murder.
We were stunned and lost for words.
A murder in our midst was the last thing we would have expected to encounter in our safe and peaceful world.
We were all racking our brains with the same questions:
How could this happen? Why Anthea? Was it a random killing? Could it have been one of us lying dead right now instead of her? How could an outsider get into our secure complex to commit such a crime?
And then, perhaps the most horrific thought that remained unvoiced: is there a murderer amongst us?
Not wanting to be alone that evening, a few of us got together at one of the apartments.
I remember someone suggested we turn on the television for some distraction.
As unbelievable as this might seem, the movie playing was Psycho – right at that scene with Norman Bates stabbing the woman in the shower.
The television was very quickly turned off amidst some of our screams!
The next morning, I went to the Brunei police station along with a few others to provide my witness statement.
I was asked to do a photofit of the man I had seen outside my apartment block.
It felt like a pointless exercise – attempting a facial composite of a stranger based on a quick sidelong glance, especially as the man had his cap pulled down shielding the top of his face.
I wouldn’t have recognised him with certainty if I saw him again.
I was also concerned it could possibly incriminate an innocent person (as I told the police).
But they insisted and wouldn’t let me leave until I had picked a set of eyebrows, eyes, nose, mouth, etc to make up a composite.
I also went to the police station a few times to go over the photofit and answer more questions.
The whole process was mentally exhausting.
We came to know that Anthea had been strangled to death before she was stabbed multiple times.
It occurred to me that the Brunei police were probably treading on eggshells on having to report to the Royal Family in connection to the murder at the staff apartments.
I did wonder if they had ever dealt with a crime of such magnitude within the expat community over there and how equipped they were to handle the forensics.
Meanwhile, Jeff Hall was taken into custody.
When a few of us went to see him at the police station, he broke down in tears insisting he was innocent.
We had no knowledge of the facts or evidence, and felt sorry for what he was going through.
Police ultimately did not lay any criminal charges against Jeff Hall. He has always maintained his innocence and multiple witnesses place him at work at the time of the murder.
The days that followed felt quite surreal.
We were given strict instructions not to speak about the murder to anyone external, apart from the police.
All of us lived in staff accommodation and it was quite a close-knit expat community.
We practically lived, worked and socialised with the same people every day.
So back at work, it was hardly business as usual.
The murder was constantly at the top of our minds.
The mood, the atmosphere, everything changed.
The usual corridor banter replaced by low whispers.
Peace of mind overcome by fear.
Cheerful camaraderie and some friendships clouded by suspicion and speculation.
As for me, that knife that ripped the life out of Anthea that day also ripped apart any semblance of safety, security and peace of mind that I’d felt up to that moment in Brunei.
The apartment that was my home didn’t feel like a safe haven anymore.
I went to bed every night with the sofa pulled up against my front door and my bedroom door locked with metallic objects hanging off the doorknob to awaken me, just in case.
Eventually, we did manage to put it behind us and things returned to normal.
Over the next couple of years, JPSMC expanded to a 100-bed hospital, rebranded as Jerudong Park Medical Centre (JPMC).
But of course, with the Royal Family connection, it was no ordinary medical centre – more like a five-star hotel version of a hospital, with a world-class gym, spa and swimming pool; glamorous rooms with views of the Indian Ocean; the VIP suites with real gold fittings; and more.
I should mention here that JPMC today is not the same as what it was back then, due to political circumstances in late 1998 that initiated an overhaul of its leadership and operations.
And the country itself has experienced a massive shift in legislation with the introduction of the Sharia Law in 2014.
But my time working there (1994-1999) was a unique and memorable experience, marred by one unforgettable tragedy – Anthea’s murder.
Even after leaving Brunei, I would occasionally check online, disappointed to see the case still unresolved.
Things seemed to start moving when the Bradshaw Bill was passed in 2015 allowing Australian police to pursue suspects in Anthea’s case; and in July 2016 when I was interviewed by the Australian Federal Police who were heading off to Brunei soon after; as well as the 60 Minutes story in 2017.
But the story eventually died down, offering no closure.
I sometimes wonder why I couldn’t put this tragedy behind me.
Perhaps it’s just my inherent nature that leads me on a constant quest for answers, fuelled by my vivid memory of Anthea on her balcony not long before she was killed.
And knowing it was the last known sighting of her alive.
Listening to the Bradshaw family on the Just Married podcast, it’s clear that it wasn’t just one life that was lost the day Anthea was murdered.
Life as they knew it came to a halt for her parents and brothers too.
What they’ve continued to endure all these years is heartbreaking.
Going through the motions of everyday life while constantly plagued with unanswered questions about what really happened, who did it, and why.
Their existence driven by one goal – to bring Anthea’s killer to justice.
I hope Ben Avery’s relentless investigation and the global exposure of the podcast will elicit the evidence needed to finally resolve Anthea’s case, and bring long-awaited solace to her family.
I pray with all my heart that it happens soon.
Then I too can finally wave goodbye to that image of Anthea on her balcony which has continued to haunt me since that fateful day, 30 years ago.
