Ian Cabrie, shares his story below
My brother Scott’s face went white with shock.
“How can she die just like that?” he asked.
“She was sick for a while, mate,” I replied.
The two of us were sitting in our mother Joan’s bedroom in Albany Creek, Qld, and had just watched her take her last breaths.
It was the year 2000, and she was only 62.
Scott was 25, I was 27.
Dad died from bowel cancer when I was 10, and a month later, Mum was diagnosed with breast cancer.
She fought it and raised Scott and me on her own.
We grew up on the outskirts of Brisbane, riding bikes and swimming in the creeks.
Scott hated school and dropped out in Year Nine.
He did odd jobs for a few years before moving to Airlie Beach, Qld, and working at a backpacker’s.
“It’s paradise up here,” he told me over the phone.
Eventually, he moved to Hervey Bay, Qld, and worked in vehicle transport.
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When Mum’s cancer returned, Scott came down to be with her, but then we drifted apart, calling each other a few times a year.
In 2019, I went to Golden Beach in Caloundra on the Sunshine Coast with my partner Rachel, a place Scott and I had visited on holiday many times as kids.
By now, I was working as a GP.
Scott was divorced.
I walked past the house we stayed in as kids and felt sentimental about my childhood, so I texted my brother.
“We had a lot of good times and I hope I’ve been a good brother to you. I love you mate,” I wrote.
“You have and I love you, too,” he replied.
After that, we tried to call each other more frequently, especially during COVID.
When lockdowns lifted, he told me about his new job as an Uber driver.
“It’s my dream job,” he said excitedly. “I get to pick people up and chat about their lives.”
Scott loved meeting new people. He even told me how he’d saved a person’s life with his job.
He picked her up and she sounded suicidal, so he drove her to the hospital, where she got some help.
It was good to hear he’d found his purpose in life.
Then, one Saturday in February 2023, I received a message from work saying I needed to call a guy named Wayne urgently.
Wayne was our childhood friend.
“It’s Scott…” he said when I called. “He’s been missing since Monday.”
Six days!
With my heart in my throat, I drove the seven hours to Hervey Bay. Rachel came with me.
We went straight to Scott’s place, which was swarming with police.
His neighbour, also named Scott, and many friends gathered at his house.
His mates told me how the burnt-out shell of his car had been discovered.
“But we haven’t seen him since,” his best friend Cam fretted.
The police told us to expect the worst.
That night, they arrested Tye Wayne Porter, 18, and a 17-year-old boy.
The next day, I received a phone call from the police.
“We’ve found a body,” they told me. “It’s Scott’s.”
I felt chilled to the bone.
Around a week later, his friends held a candlelight ceremony in Scott’s honour.
The coroner’s report showed he’d been stabbed through the heart and the liver.
“Who would do something like this to my brother?” I lamented to Rachel. “He was a pacifist. A people pleaser.”
In March 2024, the teen, who cannot be named under the state’s youth justice laws, pleaded guilty to murder, unlawful use of a motor vehicle, arson and armed robbery.
The following month, Tye Wayne Porter admitted manslaughter, unlawful use of a motor vehicle, arson, and armed robbery.
The court heard Porter and the teenager had been drinking heavily when they decided to steal a car.
They called an Uber, and Scott was their driver.
He drove them to the teenager’s house.
The two went inside, returned with a knife and ordered Scott to get into his boot.
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They then drove to a boat ramp, and when they opened the boot, Scott tried to escape, so the teenager stabbed him multiple times.
Next, they dumped his body in some bushes and set the car alight with the weapons inside.
After walking back home, they bragged about what they’d done to others, and even re-enacted it.
At the sentencing in October, the judge jailed Porter for nine-and-a-half years, but he’ll be eligible for parole after serving just 50 per cent of that.
The judge said the younger teen’s murder offence was “particularly heinous”, meaning he could receive a longer sentence than the nominal 10 years for a juvenile.
“Mr Cabrie was no threat to you, but you just could not let him go,” the judge said.
He sentenced the teen to 15 years behind bars, to be released after serving 60 per cent.
It sickens me that he’ll be out in nine years, after committing murder.
Neither of them showed remorse.
They were drunk and decided to kill someone, and my brother turned up in the Uber.
“Scott would give you the shirt off his back,” Cam wept. “He was a pillar of the community.”
He remarked that if anyone was to die that night, Scott, 47, would’ve wanted it to be him.
I regret not seeing him more, but I’m glad I told him I loved him.
I’ve decided the best way to honour him is to be a better person. To be kind and a pacifist just like him.
Because life is short, and for some, it’s shorter than others.
