Jealousy’s Grave at Lake Parramatta

On a damp November afternoon in 1937, the serene Lake Parramatta Reserve turned into a scene of quiet horror. 

Frank Gilbert was tending his property when he spotted a chaff bag leaning against a fence, nestled in a thicket of wild quince bushes. Thinking it might be abandoned rubbish, he approached with little caution. 

What he found inside chilled him: the body of a woman, her legs partially drawn up, her form shrouded in two hessian bags. One pulled over her head and shoulders, the other draped loosely over her lower body. She had been dead for 10 to 14 days, her features unrecognisable from decomposition. 

Police were summoned, and Detective-Sergeant Allmond took charge, noting the snapped fence palings that suggested the body had been hastily lifted over.

The victim was a mystery at first with no bullet wounds, no fractures, just unanswered questions. She was well-nourished, around 20 to 25 years old, 5 feet 3 inches tall, and about 57 kilograms. 

Her clothing was fashionable: a blue raincoat, a striped fuji silk dress with a red ribbon sash, pink undergarments from "La Mode," brown stockings, one black lace-up shoe, and a green bangle. 

Her nails were polished red; her brown hair sculpted in shapely waves. The location where she was found puzzled detectives, for it was near a popular road for bathers and evening drives, yet was overlooked for days.

Investigators believed she had not died there; the bags implied she had been killed elsewhere, perhaps in a home, and transported by car. "Likely more than one involved," Allmond noted, given her weight and the post-mortem rigidity. 

Theories pointed away from locals: perhaps a stranger aiming for the lake but deterred by the presence of swimmers.

Sydney's newspapers buzzed with headlines: “BODY IN BAG” and “Parramatta MURDER!” 

A post-mortem autopsy was conducted but could not confirm the cause. Poisoning was possible, as was strangulation or suffocation. 

A search of reported missing women focused on Parramatta and its surrounds; however, identification was obtained from the description of her clothes in the press. A friend identified the blue raincoat with white dots as well as her jewellery at police headquarters, though the body had decomposed beyond recognition. 

The victim’s name was Margrethe Greta Boesen, age 20, from Victoria, and had been living in King's Cross under her maiden name. But she was married: Mrs. O'Brien, wed to Dudley Lorraine O'Brien, a 22-year-old from Windsor, since 1935.

She married at age 17 and now had a two-year-old son, Neville. Their union had been rocky with separations, a halted divorce, and financial woes. Greta worked as a typist. She was vibrant and stylish; she loved dinners and theatres and was said to draw many male admirers.

Detectives traced her last day to November 23. She had left work at 5:30 p.m., feeling unwell. Phone numbers scribbled on scraps of paper in her Bayswater Road flat led to men: Jack Paxton, a motor driver she had dated; "Lou," a casual acquaintance; and even her boss, James Wilson, whose letters hinted at affection. 

Hence, jealousy loomed as a motive and missing items stirred suspicion: her right shoe, halo hat, gloves, handbag, perhaps lost in a scuffle or kept as souvenirs. Police theorized a mysterious admirer, perhaps from her secretive life, driven by a passionate rage born from frustration. 

Meanwhile, at Greta’s funeral, her husband Dudley wept uncontrollably, calling her name, supported by relatives. 

"How could anyone do this?" he sobbed to reporters. His mother-in-law, Mrs. Boesen, embraced him. Dudley cooperated fully with the investigation, detailing their stormy marriage but insisting on love. Police noted his alibi that he had been out dancing and pursued other angles. 

Headlines screamed of a "mysterious killer," perhaps a jealous stranger hauling her body in a car, chaff bags from a rural source. "Net closing on phantom suspect," the papers claimed, as detectives scoured suburbs for the man she had met that fateful night.

Optimism grew with the revelation of clues like a lifting jack near the body, tyre marks, and burnt rubbish hinted at a breakthrough. 

Public tips flooded in with claims the missing shoe had been found, but none matched. Detectives reconstructed the events leading to Greta’s final breath while Dudley's grief painted him innocent and friends vouched for his gentle nature and post-illness fragility. 

As weeks passed, the press reported of detectives honing in on a suspect and although the case seemed poised for a dramatic capture the public was deprived of any hint as to who it could be.

On December 5, police made an unexpected announcement. They had caught their suspect and he was in custody. He had confessed, after initial denial, meeting Greta, driving to Liverpool and arguing over her admirers.

"She teased me about Jack [Paxton] and other lovers... she went limp in my arms, my hands on her throat." 

Panicked, he said he had circled roads, then frantically dumped her by the Parramatta Lake.

"I loved her... I didn't mean her harm…

“She was my wife!” 

Evidence piled against the weeping widower. His car seen at a nearby farm’s gates; similar chaff bags in his possession and Greta’s missing handbag found in bushes near his cousin's house. The "phantom" was the grieving husband and jealousy was his undoing.

The inquest at Glebe Court unfolded tensely. Paxton admitted past intimacy and Dudley confessed his final argument with Greta was over her love for Paxton. Dr. Palmer stated that a "slight throat pressure could kill via shock." Coroner Williams ruled murder by choking and committing Dudley for trial. 

At Central Criminal Court in March 1938, the Crown argued premeditation citing evidence as bags for the deed and rage since seeing Greta with her lover. The defence argued an accidental crime of passion. Dudley, tearful in the dock professed his love, recounting their history and fatal quarrel over her confessions. 

“In my anger I called Paxton a numbskull, and my wife said, ‘Don’t say that. I love Paxton. He is a better man than you’ll ever be, and that is all about it.’ 

“I clean lost control of myself. I swung my arm and said, ‘Don’t talk like that.’ My wife went limp. I picked her up and shook her and tried to rouse her with all my heart.” 

The jury deliberated only 90 minutes and returned a verdict of not guilty of murder. Manslaughter? Acquitted. Dudley walked free, expressing regret: "I loved Greta... justice prevailed." 

In the end, the trial of Dudley Lorraine O'Brien left more shadows than light. Acquitted of murder and manslaughter in a swift 90-minute verdict, he walked free, his tearful claims of love and accidental passion swaying the jury. 

Yet doubts lingered. The murky cause of Greta’s death, his shifting tales from denial to confession, and the chaff bags hinting at darker intent. 

One can only question if it was truly Dudley on trial for murder, or if it was Greta on trial for her infidelities? 

By Elliot Lindsay