- Debbie Sheppard, 65, moved from the UK to New Zealand in 1973 with her family
- Three years later, her sister Tracey Ann Patient, then 13, was tragically murdered
- It’s been 49 years and Debbie is still looking for answers
Here she shares her story in her own words.
Ducking under the waves at Muriwai Beach, I turned back to the shore.
‘Come in!’ I urged my little sisters Tracey, then 11, and Denise, six, who came charging into the ocean.
It was 1973, and with our parents, June and John, we had recently moved from London in the UK to Henderson, New Zealand.
It’d taken some time for me and Tracey to warm up to the idea.
But after settling in, we found some great mates at our new school and enjoyed going to the beaches, cinema, and local record stores.
With just two years between us, Tracey and I were incredibly close, but it didn’t mean we were immune to squabbling!
But no matter what, we always had each other’s backs.
We always had each others backs
As the years passed, we remained thick as thieves.
During the summer holidays in 1976, when I was 15 and Tracey was 13, we’d swim, have barbies in the garden, and hang out with mates.
On January 29, we went to the cinema with our mum and Denise.
That night I was looking forward to going to a Doobie Brothers concert, while Tracey was going to see her friend Lynette, so we left the house together.
Back then, it felt safe to walk to the shops or friends’ places alone and Lynette only lived about 20 minutes away.
Reaching the T-intersection at the end of the road, Tracey turned to me. ‘See you later’ she said, heading left as I went right.
‘Yeah, see you later,’ I replied, without turning around to give her a proper goodbye.
Only my boyfriend stood me up, so I never went to the concert. I waited an hour, then gave up and got the bus home.
Walking in the front door at 10pm, I saw my parents’ faces were painted with worry.
Tracey was due home half an hour earlier but there was no sign of her.
Mum had already called Lynette’s mother to ask if Tracey had left, and was told Lynette had walked her half the way home before they parted ways.
She might have bumped into a friend on the way and decided to stay with them as it was late, I thought.
This was out of character for Tracey, but it was the only reason I could think of for her not coming home.
Dad and I drove around the neighbourhood searching the dim-lit streets for Tracey while Mum stayed home with Denise, then eight.
Henderson was a safe neighbourhood, so I never imagined something bad had happened to my sister.
But I could tell Dad was on edge.
With no luck after about an hour, we went back home and Dad rang the police to report Tracey missing. By then Mum and Dad were out of their minds with worry, but Mum insisted I go to bed.
The next morning, when Tracey still hadn’t shown up, our neighbour, who was a police officer, drove Dad to the local police station. When he arrived back, I instantly knew something was really wrong.
‘When is Tracey coming home, Daddy?’ Denise asked.
‘She isn’t coming home,’ Dad choked through tears. ‘Someone killed her.’
Mum broke down sobbing, while I was frozen with shock.
Horrifyingly, Tracey’s body had been dumped in the bush in the Waitakere Ranges, around 15 kilometres from our home. It wasn’t on the route from Lynette’s place to ours.
We later discovered she was found by a man walking his dog.
She’d been strangled with a pair of tights that had been attached to a stick to use as a garotte.
I couldn’t believe someone had murdered my little sister and cruelly disposed of her body.
The following weeks were a blur as we tried to come to grips with what had happened.
Police had several hundred potential suspects, and a number of vehicles that’d been seen around the area where Tracey went missing were also the subject of investigative work.
As we desperately hoped for a breakthrough in the case, I’d often dream of Tracey then wake up to find she wasn’t in her bed in the next room.
I kept thinking that she was going to walk back up our driveway, with a big smile on her face, and tell us it had all been a joke.
But she never did.
In February 1976 we had a memorial service in Henderson. The church was overflowing with people, some standing outside.
Shortly after, the four of us moved back to London to be closer to family.
We brought Tracey with us, to be buried at the same cemetery as our granddad John.
Seeing Tracey’s coffin, it finally felt all too real.
In November 1977, police received an anonymous tip saying a signet ring Tracey owned was found in a rubbish bin in Avondale, NZ, eight kilometres from our Henderson home and 16km from where Tracey’s body was found.
They also told police the number 126040 was significant, but wouldn’t elaborate further.
Police weren’t able to trace the caller and, sadly, they haven’t been able to determine the relevance of the number.
We tried to get on with our lives, but none of us were ever the same again.
Often I’d be out and about when I’d see someone that looked like Tracey. Other times, when something good or funny happened, I couldn’t wait to share it with my little sister.
Then the harsh reality would come crashing down. She was gone.
I kept my grief to myself to not worry my parents. But I let the tears fall openly on Denise’s 13th birthday – the same age Tracey was when she died. Denise was the spitting image of her.
She should be here, I thought, devastated.
I felt the same way when I fell in love with my partner Gary, especially when we welcomed our beautiful daughter Jess in 1993 and when Gary and I married in 2002.
Over the years, there have been cold calls and leads from strangers all over but still no result.
Since my sister’s death I’ve been on forums and websites posting call-outs and searching for clues.
In 2016, 40 years after Tracey’s death, I was asked by Waitemata Police to fly to NZ for a media appeal.
It was the hardest thing I’d ever done – for the first time visiting the bush where my sister’s body was brutally dumped.
‘We all love and miss you so much, Tracey,’ I said, putting down flowers and cards from family.
By then, police had looked into 850 suspects, but the offender has still not been found.
Mum, now 86, is healthy and active, but we sadly lost Dad in July 2020 without ever having any answers. He’s now buried with Tracey.
Today I’m a grandmother of four beautiful children and always make time for family.
It’s cruel to think Tracey was robbed of the opportunity to be a wife, mother and grandmother – but I know she would’ve been brilliant at it.
Forty-nine years on from her tragic end, I’ve never forgiven myself for not turning around to say goodbye to Tracey that night.
Still looking for my sister’s killer, I’m part of the Facebook group Justice 4 Tracey Ann Patient where people post suggestions and theories about the case.
Someone out there knows who killed her. And, whether the murderer is dead or alive, I urge people to come forward so our family can finally have answers.
If you have any information, contact NZ Crime Stoppers crimestoppers-nz.org on 0800 555 111
