When the bullets flew at the remote Thologolong property on Monday morning, ending Australia’s longest and most intense manhunt in years, the shot that killed Dezi Freeman didn’t just silence a double cop killer.

It ripped open a deep wound inside his own family – leaving behind a fractured clan torn between blood ties and the horrifying reality of what their relative had become.

For some, the news of the 56-year-old sovereign citizen’s death in a hail of police gunfire brought a quiet sigh of relief. For others, particularly his older sister, it triggered raw, devastating grief that has left them in tears and struggling to process the loss of the man they once knew.

Now, in an extraordinarily candid interview, Freeman’s estranged nephew Luke Filby has spoken out about the complex whirlwind of emotions ripping through the family – describing his uncle as a man with “evil inside him” while acknowledging the lingering, painful threads of love and family connection that refuse to die easily.

“It’s like mixed feelings, half and half,” Filby told reporters, his voice heavy with the weight of the past week. “Hard to pinpoint my feelings and emotions… it’s like hate and some kind of love there. I don’t know where, it’s hard.”

The nephew, who had been estranged from Freeman for nearly a decade due to the older man’s spiralling descent into conspiracy theories and anti-government extremism, said the dominant emotion for him – and many in the wider family – was one of relief that the nightmare was finally over.

“Now it’s come to an end… it is a sigh of relief,” he said.

But for his mother – Dezi Freeman’s older sister – the pain has been overwhelming. Filby revealed she was left “devastated” and in tears when she learned of her brother’s death during the dramatic three-hour standoff with Victoria Police’s elite Special Operations Group.

“I spoke to my mum last night, you know, she was in tears,” Filby said, his voice cracking slightly as he described the heartbreaking phone call. “She is going to feel it a lot differently.”

The starkly divided reactions within the Freeman family have laid bare the devastating human cost of the August 26, 2025, shootings in the quiet alpine town of Porepunkah, where Freeman allegedly ambushed police officers serving a search warrant related to alleged sex offences.

Detective Leading Senior Constable Neal Thompson, 59, a beloved family man and veteran officer, and Senior Constable Vadim De Waart-Hottart, 35, a dedicated young policeman with his whole career ahead of him, were gunned down in cold blood. A third officer was wounded.

Freeman fled into the rugged high country bush with the officers’ service pistols, sparking one of the largest and most expensive manhunts in Victorian history – involving hundreds of officers, drones, dog teams, and even support from interstate and federal agencies.

For seven agonising months, the nation watched as police scoured the steep gullies, caves and dense forests of Mount Buffalo National Park and beyond. A $1 million reward was dangled. Travel warnings were issued. Many insiders privately feared Freeman had taken his own life, his body lost forever in the unforgiving wilderness he knew so well.

Until last Monday, March 30, 2026, when tactical officers cornered him at a squalid hideout on Murray River Road in Thologolong, near the New South Wales border.

After more than 24 hours of containment, Freeman emerged from a converted shipping container wrapped in a blanket. During the tense standoff he reportedly confirmed his identity and, in a chilling admission, acknowledged his role in the murders.

When he lowered the covering to reveal what police believed was a weapon, officers opened fire. Around 20 shots were exchanged. Freeman was pronounced dead at the scene. No police were injured.

For the families of Thompson and De Waart-Hottart, it brought a measure of justice and closure after months of unimaginable pain.

But for Freeman’s own relatives, the emotions were far more tangled – a toxic cocktail of grief, shame, relief and lingering affection for the man who once hiked the mountains as a passionate bushwalker and photographer, before descending into the dark world of sovereign citizen ideology.

The nephew who saw the ‘evil’ up close

Luke Filby, who grew up knowing “Uncle Dezi” but became increasingly estranged as his uncle’s views grew more extreme and incoherent, did not hold back when describing the man who terrorised the high country.

He spoke of the “evil inside him” – a darkness that consumed Freeman in his final years, turning a once-familiar family member into a stranger obsessed with conspiracy theories, government overreach and rejection of all state authority.

Filby said he often wondered what had become of his fugitive uncle during those seven months on the run. The relief that washed over him when the news broke was palpable.

Yet even he admitted the feelings were not black and white. There was still “some kind of love there” – the complicated bond of blood that no amount of horror can fully erase.

He expressed particular sadness for Freeman’s children, who have been thrust into the centre of a national scandal through no fault of their own.

“I feel really sad for Dezi’s kids being dragged into all of this,” Filby said. “They didn’t ask for any of it.”

His words echo the pain felt across the family. While some branches have distanced themselves completely, viewing Freeman’s actions as unforgivable, others – especially his sister – are grappling with the loss of a brother they remember from happier times, before the conspiracy theories took hold and his mental state deteriorated.

The son’s raw Facebook plea

The divided family emotions spilled into public view almost immediately after the shooting.

Freeman’s eldest son, Koah, took to a local Facebook community page – the Bright and District Noticeboard – in an emotionally charged post just hours after his father’s death.

“I am not here to defend my father’s actions because I know what he did was wrong,” Koah wrote, his words raw and unfiltered.

“Just bear in mind that to you’s my father was a cop killer, but to me that’s still my father who raised me to be the man I am today.”

He lashed out at locals and online commentators he accused of “celebrating” the news, pleading for empathy as his family grieved.

“This is news that I’ll be grieving about while some of you disgusting humans celebrate online for ME to watch,” he continued.

“Before you have something smart to say, how about you try and experience 1 per cent of what me and my family are going through? If you can’t then highly recommend keeping your nasty comments and thoughts to yourself.”

The post highlighted the impossible position Freeman’s children now find themselves in – mourning a father while condemned by association with his crimes. Koah insisted he was not defending the murders, but simply asking for basic human decency towards a grieving family.

Other family members have remained largely silent, with some reportedly assisting police with their investigations.

A family fractured by ideology

Those close to the family say the rift began years ago as Freeman became more deeply entrenched in sovereign citizen beliefs.

Once a freelance photographer and avid hiker who knew the Mount Buffalo region like the back of his hand, he gradually withdrew, posting increasingly erratic commentary online and rejecting the legitimacy of police, courts and government.

Friends and former associates have described a man who spiralled into “gibberish” conspiracy theories, becoming paranoid and isolated.

Filby and others in the family had largely cut ties long before the August shootings. The nephew described the descent as heartbreaking to watch from afar.

His mother, Freeman’s sister, was left particularly devastated – not just by her brother’s death, but by the entire trajectory of his life and the innocent lives destroyed along the way.

“She was left heartbroken by her brother’s actions, his mental deterioration, and the brutal murders of the two police officers,” Filby explained.

The family had spent the seven months in a strange limbo, many privately believing Freeman had likely perished in the bush. The sudden confirmation of his death – and the manner of it – has forced them to confront feelings they had tried to bury.

Relief in the high country

In Porepunkah and the surrounding communities, the reaction has been far less complicated.

Locals who lived through the terror of the initial shootings and the months of uncertainty have spoken of a sense of closure. Many admitted it was “hard to feel grief” for the man who brought such violence to their peaceful alpine town.

One resident summed up the prevailing mood: relief that the threat was gone, mixed with sadness for the fallen officers and their families.

The small community, thrust unwillingly into the national spotlight, now hopes to heal and return to the quiet tourism lifestyle it once enjoyed.

Police hunt for the support network continues

While Freeman’s family grapples with their private pain, Victoria Police have made it clear the investigation is far from over.

Chief Commissioner Mike Bush and other senior officers have stressed that Freeman could not have survived seven months in the bush without significant external support.

The clues at the Thologolong hideout – three camp chairs arranged for company, a partially consumed box of beer, recent modifications to the shipping containers – all pointed to visitors and helpers.

Detectives are now aggressively pursuing anyone who may have harboured, supplied or assisted the fugitive. The $1 million reward remains active, and warnings have been issued that those involved “will be held to account.”

Electronic records, vehicle movements between Porepunkah and the border region, and intelligence from within Freeman’s sovereign citizen circles are all being scrutinised.

The movement itself has come under fresh scrutiny, with researchers and police noting how fringe ideologies can sustain dangerous individuals in Australia’s vast rural landscapes.

The human cost on all sides

As the dust settles on the dramatic operation at Thologolong, the human stories emerging are both tragic and complex.

For the Thompson and De Waart-Hottart families, there is justice, but no true consolation for the husbands, fathers, colleagues and friends stolen from them in a senseless ambush.

Neal Thompson’s partner, herself a police officer, had spoken movingly of the devoted family man she lost.

Vadim De Waart-Hottart’s colleagues remembered a promising young officer taken far too soon.

Their pain remains raw and unrelenting.

For Freeman’s family, the emotions are messier – a painful mix of love, hate, shame, relief and sorrow.

Luke Filby’s brave decision to speak out has shone a light on that complexity, humanising a story that many have viewed in stark black-and-white terms.

He does not defend his uncle’s actions. He acknowledges the evil that took root. But he also refuses to pretend the family bond simply vanished.

His mother’s tears speak to the enduring power of sibling love, even in the face of unimaginable horror.

Freeman’s children, caught in the middle, must now try to rebuild lives overshadowed by their father’s legacy of violence.

In the end, the bullets that ended Dezi Freeman’s life in that remote bush hideout did more than close a chapter in Australia’s criminal history.

They exposed the deep fractures within his own family – a family left to pick up the pieces of a life that spiralled out of control, dragging innocent people down with it.

Some will mourn the man they once knew. Others will quietly thank the police for removing a dangerous threat from the streets – or rather, from the bush.

And many, like nephew Luke Filby, will sit somewhere uncomfortably in the middle – feeling both the hate and that stubborn, inexplicable remnant of love.

The high country can now begin to breathe again. But for the families on all sides of this tragedy, the healing will take far longer than any manhunt.