- Tracey Moss was just 17 when her father John died after years of unexplained illness, only for police to reveal he had been slowly poisoned with arsenic
- Nearly two decades later, Tracey’s mother, Lorraine Whyte, was convicted of murdering her husband after confessing to one of her daughters that she had killed him
- In a heartbreaking twist, Tracey discovered her father’s convicted killer still legally owned his grave
Here Tracey Moss, 59, Bendigo, Vic tells her own story in her own words.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said, as she placed plates of steaming roast vegies and pork on the dining table.
It was December 1983 and, aged 17, together with my siblings Colleen, 15, and Timothy, 13, and parents Lorraine, 35, and John, 38, I tucked into Christmas dinner.
Presents were stacked under the tree, but for me, having Dad home from hospital was the best gift.
For five years, he’d been battling with ill health.
A shadow of himself, when he was well, Dad loved tending to our vegie garden, rough-housing with us kids in the living room, and giving us endless piggy backs.
But when I was 12, Dad fell sick for the first time, suffering a fever and vomiting. His doctor put it down to a bout of gastro.
Over the next few years, though, his health fluctuated. Sometimes he’d come good and return to work at a local meat processing facility, only to fall ill again weeks later. With fatigue, dizziness and numbness in his fingers and toes, he’d also writhe with stomach cramps, and experience night sweats and diarrhoea.
The GP suggested he had leptospirosis, caused by exposure to pigs’ urine. Dad was given antibiotics but it didn’t work.
When I was 16, in 1982, within the space of two months, Dad went to the GP 13 times. Each test was inconclusive. It broke my heart to see him so ill.
Mum remained by his side when he was taken to hospital, while us kids stayed with his parents.
But his mystery illness left doctors baffled.
Back home, Mum became Dad’s full-time carer, helping him shower and use the bathroom. Still, he battled stomach pains and nausea.
‘I won’t let this beat me,’ Dad promised us.
As he was too weak to sit in lounge chairs, Mum moved a mattress to the lounge room so Dad could watch the footy with us. He went from a walking frame to a wheelchair.
‘Your dad had high levels of arsenic in his system, and we’re here to find out how it got there’
Some Fridays, Mum would wheel Dad to the local pub for a beer with his mates.
‘Your mum is a godsend,’ Dad said.
As time passed, he lost more and more weight.
Now, as we sat around the dinner table sharing a delicious home-cooked meal, Dad was in good spirits, despite being so bloated from medication.
We spent the next couple of weeks together as a family, sometimes wheeling Dad out into his beloved garden.
But he took a turn again. Dad’s toe became infected and doctors warned it was turning septic. He returned to hospital.
But seven days later, Dad died. He was just 38.
I was devastated.
When Mum got home that night, she hugged us close. I couldn’t stop crying.
Three days later police from the homicide squad in Melbourne visited. One of them introduced himself as Detective Jack Jacobs.
‘Your dad had high levels of arsenic in his system, and we’re here to find out how it got there,’ he said.
Poison?
It had to be a mistake.
After Dad’s funeral, Mum became unrecognisable.
READ MORE: Rebecca Lafferty: ‘My dad is a murderer’
She dyed her dark hair blonde, and started wearing skimpy outfits and more make-up.
Dad’s work mate Bobby Whyte began coming around more often.
‘Mum was charged with murder’
Police returned to take more statements, and it became clear they suspected Mum.
‘Could it have been an accident?’ I asked.
‘With so much in his system, experts say this was deliberate,’ Detective Jacobs said, explaining Dad had 80 times the normal level of arsenic in his body.
Quickly, my relationship with Mum fractured. I couldn’t understand how my mum, who used to drop off homemade soup at school on cold days, had transformed into a stranger.
Bobby moved in, but it felt wrong having another man in Dad’s house, so, still 17, I moved out.
More than two years later, in July 1986, Mum was charged with murder. But the case was dropped after a coronial inquest later that year concluded there was insufficient evidence to commit her to trial.
Tim and I stopped talking to Mum, but Colleen stuck by her, not wanting to believe she was capable of what she’d been accused of. That same year, Mum and Bobby got married.
In time, I started a family of my own, marrying my then husband in 1990, and welcoming my daughter Brooke two years later.
Life was happy.
Then, in April 2000, 16 years after Dad’s death Colleen, then 31, phoned unexpectedly. ‘We need to talk about Mum,’ she said, her voice shaking.
Not long after, she turned up at my door.
‘Mum confessed to killing Dad,’ she said, recalling how Mum believed she wouldn’t be prosecuted after 15 years.
She’d lied to us all this time, I thought, furious.
It felt surreal.
When Colleen left, I called Detective Jacobs. He contacted the homicide squad and, shortly after, Mum was arrested and charged with murder.
Despite what she’d told my sister, Mum pleaded not guilty.
In April 2002, my mum, Lorraine Alice Whyte, then 52, appeared in the Supreme Court of Victoria for her trial. The court heard that she’d poisoned Dad multiples times, beginning in August 1982, and increasing the dose in the months leading up to his death.
Shockingly, she’d even placed arsenic in his work lunches, which he often shared with colleagues, who had fallen violently ill too.
Mum was found guilty. And while Mum never gave a motive, Judge J Gillard believed she was tempted by her desire to begin a relationship with Bobby and the prospect of receiving a payout from Dad’s superannuation.
In handing down his sentence of 22 years’ imprisonment with a non-parole period of 18 years, the judge spoke of Mum’s deplorable act – pretending to be a doting wife while she’d been torturing Dad to death.
‘Your wickedness knew no bounds,’ he said, addressing my mother.
‘You were not nursing him to health, you were nursing him to certain death.’
What I’d suspected for years was now confirmed – Mum was a killer. Distraught, I never wanted to hear from her again.
During a visit to Dad’s grave in February 2023, I noticed damage to his granite plaque.
Planning to fix it, I contacted Remembrance Parks Central Victoria, and was told I couldn’t authorise repairs because I didn’t own the grave – Mum did. Horrified, I couldn’t fathom that my father’s killer still had custody of his grave.
After a 12-month process, my request to transfer ownership was denied. I was told I had to speak with my mother – who was released in 2020 – and ask her to voluntarily transfer it.
READ MORE: ‘My accountant gambled away my savings’: How this Aussie mum is fighting to get it back
I was furious, but I had no choice. In April 2025 I penned a letter explaining the situation, not knowing if she’d ignore it.
With many thanks, Love Tracey, I signed off.
Two weeks later I got news that Mum had filed the paperwork and I was granted custody.
I broke down in tears of relief.
I wrote to Mum again in February 2026, thanking her for her help.
To cope with losing Dad, I’d written my thoughts, feelings and memories down in my diaries years ago.
This year, I’m publishing my book, Who Owns Your Loved One’s Grave, about my experience.
I want others to know grave ownership does not automatically pass down through bloodlines – a painful truth I learned the hard way.
I feel honoured to give my dad the dignity he always deserved.
Not a day goes by where I don’t think of him.
Visit freemyfamily.com.au for more information and to order Tracey’s book.
Related stories
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
