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The Underland is a true crime podcast that delves into the dark heart of Australia’s criminal underworld. From the Pettingill family's bloody legacy and the Walsh Street police murders, to the rise of Carl Williams and the gangland wars that left Melbourne streets soaked in fear — this series unpacks the real stories behind the headlines. The Underland shines a light on the families, enforcers, and victims at the centre of Australia’s most notorious criminal empire. Beneath the surface lies a world few dare to enter. Welcome to The Underland.

In the still hours before dawn, on a quiet suburban street in Cairns, a young woman was found slumped on a bus stop bench—unconscious, bleeding, and barely alive. Her injuries were brutal. Her attacker had vanished without a trace. No witnesses. No weapon. Just one chilling clue: a brief, anonymous phone call made from a nearby pay phone... and then silence.

April 28th, 1996. A day of horror, of unspeakable violence, and of tragedy that reshaped a nation. But the story of Port Arthur’s darkest day did not begin with the first shot. It began decades earlier, in the mind of a man whose life would spiral into infamy.

It began with a routine call to a 24-hour electrician. An apartment had lost power. The tenant said there was an issue with the oven. When the electrician arrived, he noticed a strong, unpleasant smell coming from the unit — a smell that was impossible to ignore. It was the first clear sign that something inside was very wrong. What started as a simple maintenance call quickly became the catalyst for a police investigation — and the discovery of a crime that would shock the community.

April 11, 2022. The Sydney Royal Easter Show was alive with colour and energy, pulsing with the sound of laughter, music, and the buzz of excited conversation. The evening air was thick with the smell of hot chips, donuts, and sizzling meats drifting from food stalls. Fluorescent lights from carnival rides flickered against the dusk sky, casting streaks of pink, blue, and yellow over the crowds that moved steadily through the showgrounds like a tide. Families meandered through the showbag pavilions, arms heavy with glossy plastic bags filled with treats and toys, while wide-eyed children tugged at their parents' sleeves, begging to visit one more attraction before bedtime.

No one could have imagined that within that crowd—beneath the flickering lights and beside the laughter—something unimaginably dark was about to unfold.

 7:00 AM, November 18, 1994. The first light of dawn stretched across the horizon, bathing Collaroy Plateau, a northern suburb of Sydney, in a soft golden glow. A crisp breeze carried the scent of the ocean up from the cliffs, rustling the leaves of towering gum trees that lined the quiet suburban streets. The houses, their windows still dark, stood in neat rows, their driveways empty save for the occasional parked car. Birds stirred in the treetops, their morning calls breaking the hush that settled over the neighborhood. A lone jogger padded along the footpath, their breaths rhythmic, their mind lost in the familiar routine of their early run. The sound of their sneakers tapping against the pavement was the only disturbance in an otherwise undisturbed street. The jogger spotted a taxi, sitting idle by the roadside. At first, it seemed unremarkable—just another vehicle left overnight. But as the jogger approached, something felt wrong. The car’s engine was silent, yet it hadn't been abandoned. A man, who appeared to be the driver, sat slumped in the front seat, unmoving. 

In December of 2012, Michelle Reynolds and her friend Wayne Jones would find themselves in the sunny city of Coffs Harbour. Michelle and Wayne like many others who visit the city, were on a holiday to enjoy some downtime. But in a motel on the south side of town, their beachside getaway would soon turn in to a gruesome tragedy.

On the 13th June, 2014, just after 5am. Scott Collingwood on a morning walk, not far from his home, made a disturbing discovery.

At the base of an external set of stairs to a second floor apartment, lying on the ground was 25 year old, Michael Phillip Martin. Michael was bound at the hands and feet and blindfolded with gaffer tape, struggling to move and calling out for help. 

Scott quickly approached him and removed the tape. 

No longer bound there came an emotional plea from Michael... 'my Dad’s up there!  they got my dad! I think he’s dead'