28 February 1923
The Coroner, Robert Cole, inquired into the identity of the woman in the bags and the nature of her death. The inquest took four days. Among those who testified to her identity were her dentist and her father. They addressed their statements to the Coroner's legal representative, Scott Murphy.

In November 1920, dentist Arthur Trood had removed every last tooth in Bertha Coughlan's head. She was a plain girl; porcelains could only improve her thin, long face. His bumbling account of the operation betrayed his profound personal disinterest in his patient's identity and his professional interest in her cash payment. When Cole asked him to describe her face, he said he was 'concerned more with her mouth and the work I was doing than with her features ... I have seen hundreds of patients since then, probably thousands.'

John Coughlan was called to give evidence. He had reported his daughter missing in November.⁹ After two and a half months, it was not a shock to know she was dead. He now gave her description to Cole as best he could. He couldn't remember her birthday, but she was probably 27 or 28, he said, and he tried hard to remember how she looked. She was 'inclined to be slight - very slight. Her hair was dark brown or black; I think you would call her eyes hazel; I would not swear; they were dark eyes ... She had rather high cheekbones and was rather big in the features: she had strong features - long and strong.' Here Mr Coughlan paused, searching for the right words for his daughter's plainness, at once sturdy and sickly. He summed her up as best he could: 'She had not a baby face.' He began to tell the Coroner that Bertha had come to Melbourne to seek treatment for her chronic earache, but finished up telling the court about her chronic heartache.

1 November 1922
Bertha's mother had been dead for almost a year. Her brother, James, had died years ago, just after the war. She wore his medal on her blouse as a brooch. Now there was only her father, her younger brother, Leslie, and herself at the little farm in Hinnomunjie, a gold-dredging community on the Mitta Mitta near Omeo. Bertha had broken off her engagement to Arthur Lemmon in July, and hadn't seen him since. She was bored and lonely in remote Hinnomunjie. Lately her ear had been giving her trouble again and Dr McCardy in Omeo was no help. She was glad of the excuse to go to Melbourne.

Bertha and her father came by train from Bairnsdale, arriving in the morning of 6 November. She had an appointment with Dr Ewing, an ear specialist, who prescribed an expensive relief. Feeling crabby from the train ride and alienated by the city, Mr Coughlan objected to the price at three different pharmacies across town. It was late afternoon by the time Bertha had her medicine; she could have cried. They adjourned to the Bull and Mouth Hotel in Bourke Street.¹⁰

Tuesday was Cup Day. Bertha left her father in the bar at the Bull and Mouth, and caught the train to Dandenong to visit her Aunt Rebecca and cousins. They invited her to extend her stay; they were sympathetic about her impossible father. She accepted tentatively. On Wednesday she returned to the city for another appointment with Dr Ewing. Her ear medicine of mercury and almond oil was proving effective, and its nasty smell provided Bertha with a fine excuse for her ritual morning vomit.¹¹ Her father hadn't noticed, of course, but her Aunt had expressed concern.

Mr Coughlan saw her off at Flinders Street Station on Friday night. He complained that 'she had about as much luggage as an ordinary man can carry'. That was the last he saw of her: her little black dress buttoned modestly up at the neck, a slate-coloured cloche pulled low over her anxious expression, and her brother's medal pinned to her breast. Mr Coughlan went back to Warragul,¹² satisfied that his daughter was in someone else's care for the summer.

Bertha stayed with Aunt Rebecca for six days. As Aunt's curiosity and concern increased, so did Bertha's reservation and misery. On 13 November she packed some of her luggage and told Aunt Rebecca that she 'was going to Camberwell to a Mrs Forbes and some people in Elwood'. The day after she left, a telegram arrived. It read: 'Staying at Victoria Coffee Palace till tomorrow; come down today if possible, Elsie.' Aunt Rebecca didn't recall her neice mentioning this friend, but she kept it anyway, for when Bertha came back.

19 November 1923
It was Sunday. People drifted in and out of the house. Nurse Mitchell let her daughter, Queenie, check on the girls¹³ while she visited Nurse Laura Gidley's private hospital next door at 2 Burnley Street and spoke with Nurse Ilma Walters. A few days ago she had given Nurse Walters another girl who had taken bad; at least that one looked like she might improve. Nurse Walters was comfortingly matter-of-fact about patient mortality. Nurse Mitchell told her that Bertha had died because the placenta had been expelled before the foetus, and the foetus had got stuck high in the womb: placenta praevia.¹⁴ Nurse Walters frowned when she said she hadn't called a doctor. Nurse Mitchell suffered her righteousness for as long as it took to make sure her cast-off patient wasn't dead by her own hand - two murders at the same time would look like she was losing her touch. She returned home and went to her room, coming out only to drink coffee and make telephone calls.

She caught Mrs Spicer alone in the kitchen, mid-afternoon; things needed to be done.

Mrs Milward: Never mind, dear ... You will have a nice breakfast in the morning.

Nurse: Has Peg told you the news?

Mrs Spicer: No...?

Nurse: I have had trouble. The girl is dead.

Mrs Spicer: Why don't you ring the police?

Nurse: It is too late now, the girl is stiff. I want you to go on an errand for me.

Mrs Spicer: Where do you want me to go?

Nurse: South Yarra. [she gives an address] You must tell a certain gentlemanto smudge his lights and meet me at Victoria Street Bridge. Ask him would he bring a carand take a body away - would he do that, and offer £300 or £400. The money does not make any difference; can you do that?

But Mrs Spicer's mission was unsuccessful.

Nurse: How did you get on?

Mrs Spicer: He would do anything legitimate but he would not do anything crook. He said he had had a bad time with the police.

Nurse: I don't know what to do; what would you do?

Mrs Spicer: [not tempted to comfort her] I don't know. I'm going home.

By the time Bonfiglio returned in the evening, Nurse Mitchell had a new plan. She, Queenie, Mrs Milward and Bonfiglio all ate supper around the kitchen table. At 9.30 a taxi arrived;¹⁵ Bonfiglio answered the door. 'What have you got him for?' he asked Nurse. She replied enigmatically, 'Come for a drive in the fresh air.'