Chapter Six

MacDonald left Brisbane to live in Sydney in early November 1960. Under the name of Allan Brennan he rented a room in a boarding house at 77 Redfern Street, Redfern, a short walk from the centre of Sydney, the public toilets of Hyde Park and the numerous inner-city wine bars, hotels and parks that were the haunts of Sydney’s many homeless men.

‘It was a pleasant, clean and well-run establishment owned by a Mr Woods, whose son, ironically, was a policeman who worked at Redfern Police Station, around the corner,’ MacDonald says. ‘My room was on the second floor, and consisted of a single bed (and linen), a chair, a cupboard, a chest of drawers and a sink, and facilities to make myself a cup of tea. I shared a kitchen and bathroom. My neighbours kept to themselves.

‘It was a very quiet neighbourhood and I could come and go as I pleased without hardly ever seeing a soul. It suited me perfectly. I ate mostly at a Greek restaurant nearby; being only a moderate drinker I would occasionally have a bottle of wine with dinner. I spent most of my nights walking or reading true-crime magazines or books and listening to classical music on my battery-operated portable radio. I spent all my time alone. I preferred it that way.

‘I worked at casual labouring jobs until I did a short course in mail-sorting at the YMCA; in April 1961 that course helped me secure a position as a mail sorter with the NSW Government at the Postmaster-General’s Department in the Ships’ Section at Alexandria, the suburb next to Redfern, under my new name of Allan Edward Brennan.

‘The work didn’t require a great deal of skill, and was a short walk from home. It was shift work, but the hours suited me fine, and with overtime I made enough to live comfortably and put some money aside each week.

‘I dressed well and wore a tie to work each day. It was a placid work environment, and while I never attempted nor wanted to make friends with any of my workmates, we often talked about music and reading. I knew that they thought my behaviour was peculiar, but I think to them I wasn’t obviously crazy, just a little eccentric, and they seemed to accept me as I was.

‘I maintained my sexual routine by having a casual liaison about once a month with men I met in public toilets. Occasionally I cruised the wine bars and parks looking for likely victims to kill. My targets were rough-looking men of “the working type” who had had a lot to drink — they would offer little resistance and I could kill them quickly. While I saw many that would have been suitable, the urges to kill had temporarily subsided. Perhaps this was because I was content for the first time in my life.’

But it didn’t last long. Soon the voices were back, urging MacDonald to commit murder. On the showery morning of Saturday, 3 June 1961, Allan Brennan walked up to the counter at Mick Simmons Sports Store in George Street in Sydney and asked if he could look at a selection of knives.

He told the sales assistant that he was going fishing and needed something with a very strong, pointed, razor-sharp blade, as he may have to slice through some flesh and cut a few things up.

He gripped each knife by the handle and tested the sharpness of the blade by flicking it with his thumb. He selected the knife he wanted — it was one in a sheath, with a cross-guard on the handle and a stocky blade about two inches (five centimetres) wide and ten inches (25 centimetres) long. He paid the sales assistant 39 shillings and sixpence, put the knife into his carry bag and walked out into the morning showers.