Could Falconio's body be here?

Former crime reporter Paul Jackson leads Today Tonight on the search for Peter Falconio's body, which he believes is at the bottom of a well. Courtesy Channel Seven.

This is where Today Tonight claims Peter Falconio's body may be buried. Source: DailyTelegraph

THE body of Peter Falconio, the British man murdered in the Australian outback, has never been found but this evening Seven's Today Tonight show claimed to know the spot where it was dumped - and next week plan to reveal its exact location.

The 28-year-old Yorkshireman was killed when he pulled over on the isolated Stuart highway in July 2001, north of Alice Springs. Bradly John Murdoch also handcuffed Joanne Lees, who had been touring with her boyfriend in their Kombi van, but she managed to escape.

Producers claimed to have found a witness to the aftermath of a murder after all this time and trailer footage shows a green paddock with eucalyptus trees and a well. One of their investigative team was a woman who is an expert in locating hidden burial sites.

We thought we'd remind readers of award-winning News Corp Australia reporter Paul Toohey's frustrating and bizarre search for Falconio's body back in 2010.

NEVER again. But that's what I said last time. And once again, I find myself - along with four others - on an extraordinary archaeological quest in central Australia, being led by a grimly intent grandmother who is holding a pair of TIG (tungsten inert gas) welding rods, who claims she can find the bones of Peter Falconio.

How is it I came to plunge nude into a remote dam, digging blindly through the stinking black mud for human remains? How is it that the Northern Territory Chief Minister's number one media minder would come to be hiding gemstones from a clairvoyant? All because of a pair of TIG welding rods.

Paul Toohey takes the plunge in his search for Peter Falconio's remains. Source: News Limited

"Show me the bones of Peter Falconia," said Lorelle Trickett, rods in hand, as we set off from Alice Springs in the dark hours of Saturday morning

"Falconio," I gently suggested. "That's what I said," said Lorelle. "Falconia."

For the next three days, she would ask the rods again and again for the bones of Peter Falconia. This may be one logical explanation - in a journey that was otherwise void of logic - for why we never did find Peter Falconio or, for that matter, Peter Falconia.

Lorelle Trickett tests out her crystals on the Barrow Creek map with Larry Cook and the Daily Telegraph's Paul Toohey at Barrow Creek in the Northern Terriotry. Source: News Limited

(I hope I'm not spoiling the ending by prematurely revealing the mission's failure, but had we found Falconio, those of us on this expedition who are The Daily Telegraph staff would have resigned by now, signed up with Harry M. Miller and would be watching the big euros rolling in from somewhere in the south of Spain.)

But first, to borrow from Charles Dickens, let me strike the keynote before pursuing the tune.

You need the background on how this adventure grew legs and led to a handful of adults succumbing to corpse fever, feverishly digging holes into the red desert, looking for whatever is left of poor Falconio.

It started a few weeks ago, when I wrote a story about how the unremorseful Bradley John Murdoch, convicted of murdering Falconio on July 14, 2001, would never disclose where he'd dumped the Englishman's body.

Convicted of the murder: Bradley Murdoch. Picture: AFP Source: DailyTelegraph

There was an accompanying story about how an anonymous water diviner had provided the GPS co-ordinates for what he said was Falconio's grave. It was, he said, a few kilometres south of Barrow Creek, which is 280km north of Alice Springs (a location only 14km south of the murder scene).

Suffice to say I went there and found no grave. I vowed I was through with clairvoyants. But then I got a phone call from Mrs Lorelle Trickett, of Gosford, NSW. She said she could find Peter Falconia in central Australia. And she said she could demonstrate her prowess.

I listened politely and hung up, setting her from my mind. But for some reason I called her back the following day. She said she was still willing to submit to a test.

She said she had located a body submerged underwater near Woy Woy but police refused to believe her. And then, she said, the body floated to the surface right where she said it was. If I went to a cemetery, any cemetery, and found some names on some headstones, she said her rods would lead her straight to the graves.

I spoke to my Sydney-based colleague Janet Fife-Yeomans, who said that in her many years of crime reporting she had never heard of a clairvoyant finding a body. But Janet said she'd put Lorelle to the test. What was there to lose?

Toohey stands next to Larry Cook, who is digging a hole next to the Sturt Highway, guided by Lorelle Trickett.. Source: News Limited

Janet first visited Waverley cemetery and selected three names. Then, a few days later, Lorelle went down from Gosford to Sydney. She came with her friend, an ex-copper and naval officer named Larry Cook, who had come to believe in her abilities. Lorelle was taken to Waverley, where, in quick time, she found the grave sites. Photographer Brad Hunter and video-journalist Adam Taylor documented it. They were taken aback.

Janet said she didn't know how Lorelle had done it. But she had. At that point, Falconio fever kicked it. Not only would we go to Alice Springs and find him, but also Azaria Chamberlain. And then the Beaumont children and Griffith anti-drug crusader Donald Mackay. We would solve the mysteries of this nation.

Lorelle didn't come across as an Earth Mother-type or even a white witch ... just a nervy woman of delicate temperament who wants to help people find their lost loved ones. It was decided that Larry, a true believer, should accompany her to Alice to keep her unstressed and focused. After all, it's a big land out there, and she'd need all her skills to locate Falconio.

I phone-conferenced with Brad and Adam. They were still blown away by what they had seen at Waverley. They couldn't explain it. The general sense, the leaning, the betting, the hope was that maybe - just maybe - she really could do it.

On Friday evening, the five of us rendezvoused in Alice Springs. Lorelle was feeling pretty good. On her flight from Sydney, Falconia had been talking to her, saying: "Come on, hurry up and find me." He was sick of lying about in the ground and wanted this matter ended once and for all. Lorelle added,

as an aside, that she expected to find the murder weapon, it being a pistol or revolver. She had also "hovered" over the burial site, in the manner of an eagle, and said she had the impression it was near a mountain range.

We studied topographical maps at the pub, Lorelle dangling her crystal over them. She circled several areas up the track and took the maps back to her room that night to do some further crystal research.

Toohey and Cook dig for evidence. Picture: Brad Hunter. Source: News Limited

We met in the carpark of the Diplomat Hotel at 5.45am on the Saturday and were soon on the road. That's when I first saw the welding rods. I would come to quietly despise those rods.

The first reaction was just north of Alice Springs, at a quarry. The rods, which Lorelle held loosely in her hand, pointed (they didn't bend like a water diviner's wires) sharply to the left.

Lorelle, sitting in the passenger seat, her confidence high, gave me a knowing look.

But her first task was to visit the crime scene, north of Barrow Creek, and use that as her starting point. Peter Falconia said it must be so. We motored north and passed a spot just south of Ti Tree, on the Stuart Highway. The rods were reacting, pointing down a track west of the highway. It was, she said, a strong pull. Even though Peter had said to go to the crime scene first, she thought we should follow the track. We turned off into a grape-growing area. The rods were now crossed in Lorelle's hands, which was their way of saying "go straight ahead". The rods led us down a little dirt access track past a small store, a farmhouse and some sheds - and then alongside the vineyard ... where the rods suddenly flung to the left.

"Stop here," she said, quietly. We got out of the cars and looked at each other. Could it really be this easy? Pay dirt on morning one? Lorelle walked about 40m south of the fenceline and came to a nondescript patch of red earth. Next to it, the earth was mounded. Using the rods, she walked slowly over the patch.

Whenever the sticks flung backwards she knew she had reached the outer limits of the point of interest. She marked out a grave-shaped rectangle. The rods were pointing at the flat patch, not the mound. We found this strange, but then Brad saw the reason: Falconio would be under the flat part because the mounded dirt would be the leftover dirt from his hole!

Yes!, we all agreed. Lorelle switched to her crystal and asked: "Is Peter Falconia here?" It swung sharply back and forth. That, apparently, meant: "Yes." So Lorelle stood, closed her eyes, breathed through her nose and said solemnly: "Does someone want to get the shovel?"

Toohey and Larry Cook at Barrow Creek. Source: News Limited

Larry, making use of himself, dug while we stared into the hole expectantly. Lorelle said he was two foot down. We hit that depth. Lorelle asked Larry to stop.

She pointed the sticks into the hole and said: "Dig another two feet."

It had occurred to me that Bradley Murdoch, looking to dispose of Falconio, would not have driven at night past a farmhouse to bury Falconio, not when he could choose a million uninhabited bush sites. But logic disappears when the rods are talking. You start rationalising all the reasons why Murdoch might have come here. You can't find any, but it doesn't matter - Falconio fever has struck.

Then we hit hard ground which clearly had never, ever, been disturbed. Falconio was not here. Lorelle was not too put out by this - and neither were we. She's allowed a bit of wriggle room.

We drove to the crime scene, north of Barrow Creek. The rods were wildly circling, hitting Lorelle in the face.

They told Lorelle that Falconio was buried to the southwest of here.

We found a gate south of Barrow Creek and followed a low mountain range, Lorelle remarked it could be the one she "flew" over. The topographical maps gave us a rough idea of where we were but, really, it was a bit unwise to be out in these parts with no local knowledge. Larry, however, urged us on, confident that he could find a way out.

Lorelle was getting confused and tired with all the bush bashing and the rods were now pointing northwest of our location. I was getting concerned about relying on dirt roads marked on dated maps. But we made it back to the highway and prowled around some more.

The rods were now pointing northwest. So we headed back to the crime scene. Here, just north of where Falconio was shot, a gated dirt road headed west. The rods were pointing straight down it.

We had driven about 8km when the rods twitched and swung left. Lorelle looked at me with that worried look - a look of sadness, finality, of history about to be made. Something was here. That something was Peter Falconia.

Toohey looks at a piece of bone found at Barrow Creek. Source: News Limited

"Fal-cone-ee-o," I said. "That's what I said," said Lorelle. "Falconia."

She marked out another perfect grave shape. We dig. Again, nothing. Afterwards, as we headed south to spend the night at the Aileron Roadhouse, Lorelle worried about her lack of success. But she awoke feeling better. The roadhouse owner Greg Dick joined us for breakfast. He said he'd always believed Falconio was nearby and encouraged Lorelle, telling her she looked like "a morning rosebud waiting to open".

She blushed. Greg said he'd marry her, only she'd always know if he was playing up. Lorelle was revitalised, back on track. She told us Peter was cross because he

had told her - very clearly - to only ask the rods to take her directly to him. But yesterday she'd fussed around with other questions, such as asking the rods to find the murder weapon. Sleep has improved outlooks all around. Lorelle now felt sure she could take us straight to the body.

We headed north and stopped again at the crime scene. The rods pointed down the gated road we had been to yesterday. "I can really feel it now," said Lorelle. "I think I'm going to spew."

"Drink too much last night?"

"No," she said. "I can feel him."

Adam persuaded me to do a piece to camera. As a print journalist, I needed to summon the spirit of Mike Munro. And back we went, down the track. The rods didn't react when we drove past where we had dug yesterday. They are supposed to point to Falconio's body but they point straight ahead at every road we take. We come to a funny little dam, perfectly round, surrounded by thick, green grass.

Again Lorelle got that worried, knowledgeable look. She got out of the car and started climbing to the top of the dam. She's got a strong feeling: the rods don't react to dams unless they're spring fed.

This one isn't. It's got a solar-powered turkey nest pumping water into it.

"I think he's in here," said Lorelle.

This is not the answer we want. It doesn't suit us that he's in the bottom of a dam. This will involve someone getting wet.

"How sure are you, Lorelle?"

"I'm sure," she said.

Clairvoyant Lorelle Trickett searches for Peter Falconio's body. Picture: Brad Hunter. Source: News Limited

Other psychics have said Falconio was in, or near, a dam. We drove off. But then we stopped. We can't drive off ... someone's got to have a fossick around the bottom of the dam. As nominal expedition leader, I call for volunteers. The silence is profound. I had to do it.

Because I had chosen to wear no undies, certain issues of modesty arose. Everyone promised to wait by the cars while I went for my nude exploration. My toes had barely touched the water when I heard Brad's camera firing off. Adam was filming. Larry too. I probed with feet and hands into the filthy slime depths, which stirred up a black world of stink. No Falconio. And why would there be? Murdoch wouldn't have weighted him down and thrown him in a dam. Despite the remoteness of this place, people visit these little oases all the time to make sure the bores are running and the cattle troughs are full.

A darkness was strangling my disposition. Lorelle shed a tear or two.

Larry, who'd vouched for Lorelle and wants her to come through, developed a headache from hell and headed back to Alice. We dug a few more stupid holes and headed back ourselves. Lorelle was sensing my mood and becoming anxious. I tried to sound unconcerned, but the fact is that no matter what she did in that cemetery, she wasn't doing it here.

Later, Brad, Adam and I drank beer and talked. Brad, who was very understanding of Lorelle, and a nicer person than me, thought she was losing her focus under the stress of getting a result. Adam, like me, was starting to get a bit aggravated. I suggested with all the "negative vibes" I'm giving out, maybe tomorrow I should not sit in the car with Lorelle.

Everyone agrees this is a good plan. We go out to dinner. Lorelle is telling me detailed stories about people she knows who've had their legs amputated or had deformed unborn children terminated.

"Why are you telling me these things?" I ask, perplexed. "I thought it was interesting," she says. "Well," I reply, "it's not." Hearing myself, I realise what a callous ogre I am. My negativity has been destroying any chance of finding Falconio. I must step back and let Lorelle do her thing tomorrow, the last day of the search.

So Monday, at 6am, we departed Alice and headed north. Brad and Lorelle are ahead in one car, me, Adam and Larry behind. At the crime scene, the rods were telling Lorelle to head back down the same track that took us to the dam. Oh dear.

We followed, hearts heavy. But then, instead of going straight, the rods ordered Lorelle to take a sharp right along a fenceline and then right again back towards the highway. We stopped at yet another nondescript patch of dirt behind some bushes. We were about 10km northwest of the crime scene and it is not inconceivable that Murdoch might have headed north to get rid of the body.

Lorelle's rods were whirling and she declared - after consulting her crystal - that Falconia's skull was a metre below the surface. We dig. Nothing. She then "found" another body part a few metres away. We dig. Nothing.

I am overtaken again by a savage contempt for clairvoyants. I have foolishly surrendered my cynicism to greed. That is what it is: a greed to find Falconio.

Lorelle was picking up handfuls of dirt, running the rods over them. She was now looking for micro-bones in what amounted to a handful of dust.

Adam and I had had enough. We drove on and hit another fence line. Lorelle was still getting strong readings. Her rods took her to a sun-bleached cow bone.

I suggested, as a last possible test, that we blindfold Lorelle and drive back past the spot where she said his skull was and see if the rods point at it again. We did this. The rods did not react and we headed back to the highway. Lorelle's rods, however, were still reacting. Brad found some bits and pieces of bones. The crystal told Lorelle that these belonged to Falconio.

We dug another hole. Nothing. We are now, as a group, officially, collectively insane. We are getting positive Falconio readings from roadkill. More bones - kangaroo, cattle - were found. Lorelle was understandably upset. But it's not her fault. It's ours for coming on this journey.

Bones found on the side of the Stuart Highway at Barrow Creek. Source: News Limited

That evening, I ran into Territory Chief Minister Paul Henderson having a beer at Lasseters Casino and watching the Socceroos play New Zealand. He's with his media minder Lidija Ivanovski, who decides to join our deflated party for a beer. She listens, politely embarrassed for us, as we tell our tale of woe.

Larry, who had such great hopes, reminds us that Lorelle succeeded in locating that body near Gosford and she did do something remarkable in Waverley cemetery. He says Lorelle has some human bone (a wisdom tooth) in her hotel room, along with vials containing sapphires and gold.

Larry says we can hide them anywhere in the vicinity and Lorelle will find them.

Lorelle agrees this is so. Lidija says she would like to see Lorelle find these three items. So would I. Because I had never seen her powers succeed. Lorelle goes to get them ... and comes back five minutes later saying she can't find her room.

After locating her room, Lorelle returns. Lidija conceals the tooth in a pot plant, the gold in her pocket and the sapphires in the nearby garden bed.

Lorelle is tasked with finding the bone first and wanders about among the drinkers with her rods. She can't find it.

It's getting beyond the pale and my hair, I feel, is about to start falling out in clumps. Lidija eventually surrenders the gold from her pocket and says the tooth is in the pot plant. Lorelle explains that she must have been getting confused. Lidija decides she's going to bed and says the sapphires are down in the garden bed.

Toohey helps Lorelle Trickett through a fence to get to a location to search at Barrow Creek. Source: News Limited

Lorelle wanders about with her rods. She can't find them. And she starts getting very, very upset. Adam tries to calm her as we tear through the garden bed, looking for her sapphires.

People are leaving their drinks behind and coming down to offer to help find whatever it is we're looking for. Lidija, after I ring her begging for help to end this misery for me, comes down from her room, pointing to the general vicinity where she left the sapphire vial.

Lorelle attacks Lidija for hiding them. This is now beyond ridiculous. Wasn't Lorelle supposed to be able to find them?

We are going to resume the search in the morning and Lorelle is distressed. All blame is directed at Lidija.

I am woken in the morning by a call from Larry. He says Lidija has a "very cavalier" attitude about the whole thing and that if she is not down helping with the search instantly, he'll go straight to the police with a "prima facie" case that Lidija stole the sapphires. I try to picture a front-desk police sergeant listening to the hard facts being that because a clairvoyant couldn't locate her sapphires in a garden bed it must follow, therefore, that they were stolen by one Lidija Ivanovski. Thank god: this story's finally going somewhere after all. Then Larry finds the sapphires, more or less where Lidija said they were.

The four of them are now headed to the airport to catch their plane to Sydney.

Adam has just done a piece to camera with Lorelle, saying she can still find Peter Falconia. He's up the Tanami Track.

I check my email. A Perth clairvoyant has sent me a message announcing Falconio is buried just north of Tennant Creek. If I had any feelings left, I'd weep.