When I travelled to Alice Springs to cover the story of Kumanjayi Little Baby, I thought I had prepared myself for the worst.

A little girl's body had been found on a riverbank after she was allegedly taken in the middle of the night by a man her family had known for years.

Riots had erupted across the town demanding justice. Police cars were torched, shops were looted and a paramedic was stabbed amid the chaos.

But nothing I witnessed in Alice Springs shocked me more than hearing somebody who should have known better dismiss the genuine suffering of a grieving family.

'Those people do have a way of making you feel sorry for them,' this person told me after I'd requested help getting a mattress for a grieving grandmother.

For a moment, I honestly thought I'd misheard.

Just days earlier, little Kumanjayi Little Baby had vanished from her bed in the middle of the night at Old Timers camp on the outskirts of Alice Springs.

The five-year-old, who was non-verbal, had been tucked into bed by her mother Jacinta at around 11pm on Anzac Day.

By 1am she was gone.

So too was 47-year-old Jefferson Lewis, a family friend who had drifted in and out of the camp over the years.

At first, there was hope.

Hope that she had wandered off into the bush confused and frightened. Hope that she was still alive somewhere in the darkness unable to call for help.

Police launched a massive search operation. Drones buzzed overhead, dogs tracked through scrub, and volunteers flooded the area after Northern Territory Police announced: 'If a thousand people turn up, we will put them to use.'

But before I could make the 2000km journey from Sydney to the Northern Territory to meet with the family, Kumanjayi Little Baby's body was found on a riverbed.

Hours later, Lewis was captured and beaten by an angry crowd before being rushed to hospital with serious head injuries.

I called Kumanjayi Little Baby's grandmother Karen White to offer my condolences and tell her I was still coming.

'Your beautiful granddaughter mattered and her story deserves to be told,' I said, and she told me where to find her, inviting me to the camp.

When I arrived in Alice Springs, my photographer and I drove straight to Hidden Valley camp where the family had gathered for sorry business, a period of deep mourning observed by Indigenous communities.

All day, people came and went quietly through the garden carrying food, drinks and supplies. Some offered hugs. Others simply sat in silence beside the family.

Karen was sitting on the porch in her wheelchair when I first saw her. Her eyes were bloodshot with grief and exhaustion.

'I'm so sorry this has happened to your family,' I told her, struggling to hold back tears of my own.

As a mother of five, the heartbreak of what this family was enduring felt impossible to comprehend.

Karen pulled me into a hug and sobbed into my shoulder.

I remembered once reading that Disneyland characters are told never to pull away from an embrace first because you never know how badly somebody needs that hug.

So I just stood there and held onto her.

Afterwards, she held my hand and spoke about Kumanjayi Little Baby, about leaving the home where she was last seen alive, and why she could never go back there.

She introduced me to Kumanjayi Little Baby's paternal grandmother Peggy and to her older brother Ramsiah, who welcomed me with warmth despite their unimaginable grief.

As more mourners arrived throughout the afternoon, I noticed Karen repeatedly wincing in pain in her wheelchair.

'Are you okay?' I asked. 'Can I get you anything?'

She rubbed her back before lifting her skirt slightly to reveal a heavily bandaged knee.

'I'm not well,' she admitted, explaining she was on dialysis and battling an infection.

Then she told me something that stopped me cold.

'I don't have a bed or a proper mattress.'

She had left hers behind at the house.

That was the mattress Kumanjayi Little Baby had been sleeping on the night she vanished.

For the first time, I noticed the sleeping arrangements around me. A few mattresses scattered across the porch. One small tent in the garden. Tarps spread over the dirt.

At least 30 people were staying there around the clock as sorry business continued day and night.

Later that evening, as I wrote the family's story, I could not stop thinking about Karen.

I called a local friend.

'Where can I buy a mattress?' I asked.

I was told of a place nearby that 'had heaps' and I could even get one for free. After all, many in the area had been helping the family and feeding volunteers and emergency workers.

The next morning, I went to the address and explained the situation.

'She left her mattress behind because it was the last place the little girl was seen alive,' I said.

'For obvious reasons, she can't sleep on that again. I was wondering if maybe you'd donate one?'

It never crossed my mind that they would say no.

Instead, I was spoken to like a child being scolded. I was told they could not make that decision without more senior approval.

Fair enough, I thought.

'Can we call them?' I asked. 'And if they say no, no problem, I'll just buy one myself.'

There was a pause. Then came the sentence I still cannot shake.

'Those people do have a way of making you feel sorry for them.'

My jaw nearly hit the floor.

'I do feel sorry for them,' I answered firmly.

'She just lost her granddaughter in the most horrific way imaginable. Australia feels sorry for them.'

I scribbled down my number and left shortly afterwards, furious.

Thankfully by the time I reached the car, my friend had already sourced a brand-new mattress on Facebook Marketplace.

When the woman selling it discovered who it was for, she refused to take a cent and even donated a second mattress.

Later, I received a call back. The same place where I heard that terrible remark was now telling me they would not be offering a mattress.

Over the next few days, I continued visiting the family.

Karen introduced me to Jacinta, who had briefly left the safe house where she had been staying under protection amid rising unrest in the community.

I held her hand as she sobbed for her little girl while also facing impossible questions about how this tragedy could have happened.

The nights in Alice Springs had turned bitterly cold and Jacinta sat shivering in a beanie beside Karen on the porch.

Every day, I asked if they needed anything. Food. Transport. Help getting to appointments.

They politely declined every time.

But the mattress incident stayed with me.

I've chosen not to name the place where this happened, and I'm sure they had their reasons - yet I won't soon forget how a grieving grandmother sleeping on tarps during sorry business could not get help with a mattress.

Earlier this week, I attended the first hearing for Lewis at Alice Springs Court and had seen Karen in a distressed state as she arrived with family.

Not wanting to intrude, I sent her a text to call me if she needed a lift home.

That night, I was back at the airport waiting to fly home to my own children, desperate to hold them tighter after witnessing such devastating grief.

Then Karen called.

'Can you drive me to the shops?' she asked quietly. 'I'm cold. I need a heater.'

I explained apologetically that I was already at the airport and we spoke briefly about me going home to my children and she wished me a safe flight.

After hanging up, I immediately started searching online.

Kmart had sold out of the type I'd seen others use. Bunnings had those heaters available, but the Alice Springs store would not allow online payment.

So I rang them.

'Can I pay over the phone for a heater and organise someone to collect it later?' I asked.

'I can ask my manager,' she said, 'who will be picking it up.'

The staff member paused after I explained further.

'I was part of the search and rescue team,' she told me sombrely.

'There wasn't a dry eye between us when she was found.'

Then she added: 'I'm on my lunch break soon. I'll take it to her myself.'

Within the hour, that woman had personally delivered the heater across town to Karen. Her manager even gave me a discount.

Just days earlier, a thoughtless remark had left me speechless. In the end, it was a stranger from Bunnings who restored my faith in humanity.

GET THE FULL STORY WITH DAILYMAIL+:

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Grim details emerge about 'payback' attack on Jefferson Lewis as he is charged with murdering five-year-old Kumanjayi Little Baby