Underbelly 11 Page 18

  Closing in

  PURANA detectives knew that the Williams team would eventually make a mistake, but how many would die before they found the weak link?

  In October 2003 police learned that the Driver, Williams’ trusted associate, had sourced an abandoned sedan rebuilt by a backyard mechanic – a perfect getaway vehicle.

  Police placed a listening device in the car and waited. But the Driver, having collected the car and driven it a short distance, noticed the brake light was on. He checked it, and found the bug, which he ripped out. He immediately told the Runner ‘we’re hot’ and wanted to cancel the job. But the Runner had lost his sense of risk and suggested they push on.

  ‘(The Driver) mentioned to me that he had found what he thought was a tracker in the car. I dismissed the thought because my mind was focussed on doing the job … I decided to keep going without the clean car. In hindsight it was sheer stupidity that I didn’t take notice of the locating of a tracking device, but my mind was elsewhere and I was feeling the pressure of the job and that we had already wasted enough time’.

  That night they met Williams separately in Flemington for new instructions but Williams’ growing sense of invincibility resulted in a massive misjudgment on his part. The one-time suburban drug dealer, with new-found ambitions of gangland domination, ordered his hit team to carry on.

  Inexplicably the Driver decided to use his own car (a silver Holden Vectra sedan once owned by Williams) to drive to the scene. But it, too, was bugged with recording and tracking devices.

  Police knew that the Runner and the Driver planned a major crime in a square kilometre block of South Yarra but did not know what that crime would be.

  In the week before the major crime took place, the pair repeatedly drove around the block of Chapel Street and Malvern, Toorak and Williams roads. Police suspected the pair were planning an armed robbery and identified potential targets including the TAB at the Bush Inn Hotel and two luxury car dealers.

  A week later, on Saturday October 25, the Purana chief, Detective Inspector Andrew Allen, was at work catching up on paperwork when he got a call from police monitoring the car.

  The suspects had been talking about guns, getaways and something ‘going down’. But the tracker failed (they drop out in the same manner as mobile phones) so police could not identify the car’s location. Detectives could only sit back and listen as they still did not know the men’s intended target. They could hear muffled gunshots and the suspects driving off. Police soon received calls that a man was lying in Joy Street, South Yarra. It was Michael Ronald Marshall, 38, drug dealer and nightclub hotdog salesman.

  Marshall had just got out of his four-wheel-drive, his five-year-old son still in the vehicle. The Runner later told police that he shot the drug dealer four times in the street before escaping.

  ‘I was jogging along the footpath towards Marshall’s driver’s side door as he hadn’t got out yet. Just before I got to his car I pulled the balaclava down over my face. I was about three metres away from the driver’s door, standing in the middle of the road when Marshall started to get out of the car.

  ‘I had the gun in my right hand and Marshall was out of the car and noticed me. We looked at each other briefly and I started to raise the gun as he went to lunge at me. As he lunged I fired a shot but I am unsure if this hit him. As the gun fired, the kickback, along with the combination of me taking a step backwards from Marshall’s lunge caused me to fall over. I also think the ground may have been a bit wet. I quickly got up again and was face to face with Marshall. He was a large person, over six feet tall and I was aware he was a former kickboxer.

  ‘I was concerned that he might overpower me so I just began firing shots at him at close range to the head area. I am not sure how many shots I fired; I think it may have been three or four. Marshall started to fall to the ground and I think I fired one more shot into his head as he was going down towards my feet. At no stage during the altercation did I see or realise that Marshall’s son was still with him.’

  On the way back the Driver said to the Runner: ‘Should I ring the Big Fella?’ Later the Runner rang Williams to tell him, again, ‘that horse has just been scratched’.

  Again they were stupid. The Driver had found a police listening device in his house but decided to leave it there – working on the basis that if he knew its location he would avoid making incriminating statements within its range.

  Perhaps he forgot but the ‘scratched’ comment was made around 5pm – after the last race of the day. Williams just grunted when told – but it was enough.

  Within hours the Runner and the Driver were arrested. The walls were starting to close in on the Premier.

  Police knew who killed Marshall and who ordered the hit, but it would be more than two years before they learned why. And it would support their long-held theory that behind the scenes millionaire drug dealer Tony Mokbel was attempting to pull the strings.

  The murders continue

  ON December 22, 2003, Williams and Andrew Veniamin met Mick Gatto at the Crown Casino in what were supposed to be peace talks. It was only days after Gatto’s close friend, Graham Kinniburgh, had been gunned down outside his Kew home.

  Kinniburgh was an old-time gangster who made his name as Australia’s best safebreaker. For three decades he has been connected with some of Australia’s biggest crimes. Police say he was the mastermind behind the magnetic drill gang – Australia’s best safe-breaking crew – that grabbed $1.7 million from a NSW bank, a huge jewellery haul from a Lonsdale Street office and valuables from safety deposit boxes in Melbourne.

  He had put his children through private school and was semi-retired but he was also a friend of Jason Moran’s father, Lewis, and therefore Williams saw him as an enemy.

  Kinniburgh was a man who rarely smiled but in his final few months he became morose. The keen punter and expert numbers man could read the play and knew there would be an attempt on his life. He began to carry a gun and told a friend:’ My card has been marked. ‘He was shot dead on December 13, 2003, while carrying his shopping from his car to his house.

  Williams told the author 36 hours after the murder that he was not involved: ‘I’ve never met him and I’ve never heard a bad thing said about him. I have nothing to profit from his death. It’s a mystery to me. I haven’t done anything. My conscience is clear.’

  Nine days after the murder Williams and Andrew Veniamin met Mick Gatto at the Crown Casino. It was an open secret that ‘Gatto was on Williams’ death list and this was seen as the last chance to stop the killings.

  ‘If anything comes my way then I’ll send somebody to you. I’ll be careful with you, be careful with me,’ Gatto warned. ‘I believe you, you believe me, now we’re even. That’s a warning,’ he said. ‘It’s not my war.’

  For perhaps the first time Williams wavered. He went to see the Lieutenant for a second opinion. Should he trust Mick and declare a truce?

  The Lieutenant said: ‘Ask Benji. He knows him (Gatto) better than me.’ Williams already had and Veniamin had no doubts. ‘Kill him,’ was his answer. Veniamin effectively passed his own death sentence.

  Gatto shot Veniamin dead in a Carlton restaurant on March 23,2004. Gatto was acquitted of murder on the grounds of self-defence by a Supreme Court jury in June 2005.

  Eight days after Veniamin died, Williams hit back.

  Lewis Moran was shattered by the death of his stepson Mark and his natural son Jason. But it was the death of his best friend, Kinniburgh, that destroyed his will to live. Someone who had known him for years said ‘Lewis loved money. He was rich but he didn’t know how to have a good time.’

  He was introduced to the drug business by his sons and embraced the wealth it generated. Friends said he liked to watch cooking shows during the day, do a little business in the late afternoon and drink from about 6pm. He was notorious for hiding money, much of which has never been found.

  Once he hid $14,000 in an oven and was shattered when someone turned it
on – shrinking the notes to the size of Monopoly money. But there was a happy ending. Kinniburgh found a compliant bank manager in Sydney who would accept the cash.

  Lewis, a former skilled pickpocket, tried to carry a gun after Mark and Jason were murdered but arthritis made him more a danger to himself. Once when he tried to load the handgun he fired a shot through the floor of a car.

  Moran had little formal education but, as an experienced SP bookmaker, he was gifted when it came to numbers. He could calculate odds in a flash and after Kinniburgh was murdered he knew his own survival was a long shot.

  When he was bailed on drug charges he saw his former lawyer, Andrew Fraser, who was in the same prison serving five years over his own drug conviction. Fraser said he’d see him later. Moran shook his head and said he wouldn’t. He knew what was around the darkened corner.

  Williams denied the existence of a death list and told the author: ‘I’ve only met Lewis once. I haven’t got a problem with Lewis. If he thinks he has a problem with me I can say he can sleep peacefully.’

  Not only was Williams a murderer but he was also, it would seem, a terrible fibber.

  Police knew Moran was a sitting duck and they successfully applied to have a court-ordered bail curfew altered so his movements would not be easily anticipated by would-be hitmen.

  Detective Senior Sergeant Swindells gave evidence in the forlorn hope he could save Moran’s life.

  He said Moran’s ‘vulnerability relates to a perception by the task force that if the curfew remains between 8pm and 8am … it is possible for any person to be lying in wait for Mr Moran to return to his home address’.

  But Lewis no longer cared. He knew that if he stuck to a routine he was more vulnerable but he continued to drink at the Brunswick Club – where he was shot dead by two contract killers on March 31, 2004. The killers were allegedly paid $140,000 cash (it is doubtful they declared the GST component). They were supposed to be paid $150,000 but were short-changed.

  As a friend said, ‘Lewis died because he loved cheap beer.’

  The false dawn

  POLICE knew they needed a circuit breaker and this would best be achieved by jailing Williams. And it was the Premier himself, always so cautious about phones, who handed them the damning evidence. He told his wife in one call that if Purana Detective Sergeant Stuart Bateson raided their house she should ‘grab the gun from under the mattress and shoot them in the head’.

  In a prison phone call the Runner complained of his treatment and Williams talked about chopping up Sergeant Bateson’s girlfriend.

  Bateson was not a policeman to be intimidated. He received the Valour Award in 1991 after he wrestled a gunman to the ground and disarmed him after the offender had forced another policeman to his knees at gunpoint.

  The tape of Williams’ threats was the break police needed and on November 17, 2003, the Special Operations Group grabbed Williams in Beaconsfield Parade, Port Melbourne.

  The arrest, captured by The Age’s photographer Angela Wylie, was the image of the man who thought he was beyond the law lying helplessly on the ground with detectives standing over him. It was a sign that the times were changing.

  Purana police believed they had enough to hold him but he was bailed for a third time. On the outside police suspect he was able to organise at least another three murders.

  In the two weeks before he was bailed, Williams befriended another would-be tough-guy in prison who was keen to be fast-tracked. He was an alleged heroin trafficker and amateur boxer with a big mouth who would finally bring the big man down.

  Needle in a haystack

  ONE of the most boring jobs in a long investigation is to monitor police bugging devices. The Purana task force virtually dominated the technical capacity of the entire crime department with many detectives in other areas quietly grumbling that their investigations were put on hold after Simon Overland ordered the gangland detectives were to be given priority.

  During the investigation Purana would log a staggering 500,000 telephone conversations – most of them consisting of the inarticulate ramblings of would-be-gangsters. They used listening devices to bug suspects for 53,000 hours and conducted 22,000 hours of physical surveillance.

  Police on the case found that listening to the Williams family was cruel and unusual punishment. ‘It was like being subjected to the Jerry Springer Show 24 hours a day,’ one said.

  At one stage Roberta was talking to Carl when the son from her previous marriage distracted her. ‘Put it down,’ she said, and then told Carl in a matter-of-fact voice what ‘it’ was. ‘He’s got the tomahawk,’ she said.

  In another conversation she was talking to Greg Domaszewicz, the babysitter accused of killing little Jaidyn Leskie who died in Moe in 1997.

  Roberta was complaining how difficult it was to look after the children when Carl was in prison. Domaszewicz suggested he could pop around and look after them if she needed a break. After a pause she responded to the offer. ‘You’re fucking joking aren’t you?’

  Carl Williams always assumed his phone, house and cars were bugged. When he wanted a business discussion he chose open parks or noisy fast food restaurants. This also suited his appetite as the big bloke had a weakness for chicken and chips.

  For police trying to trap the Williams crew through bugging operations was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

  But in late May 2004 they found it. Two of Williams’ soldiers sat in what they thought was a clean car and discussed their plan to kill a close friend of Mick Gatto and key member of the so-called Carlton Crew, Mario Condello.

  The two men in the car reminded each other of the importance of their mission. ‘We’re not just doing a burg,’ one said to the other.

  Williams saw Condello as the money man of the team he was determined to destroy. He also thought the former lawyer turned gangster would find the money to take out a contract on him if he did not move first.

  Condello and Gatto were close, so close that when Big Mick was in jail waiting for his trial over the Veniamin killing he asked Mario to keep an eye on business.

  He also advised Condello, ‘Keep your eyes wide opened; you can’t trust any of these rats. I would hate to see anything happen to any of ours.’

  The Williams’ team had done their homework. They knew Condello was a creature of habit and took his small dog for an early morning walk past the Brighton Cemetery most week-days.

  It was the perfect place for an ambush. Police agreed, but their plan was to ambush the hit team before they could strike.

  It was the beginning of a secret police high-risk, high-reward operation, codenamed Lemma. Detective Inspector Gavan Ryan was in charge of the 170 police needed to surround the area without spooking the hitmen.

  The would-be killers may have been committed but they weren’t punctual.

  Twice when they were supposed to kill Condello they simply slept in. The second time one of the team had chatted up a woman and preferred a hot one-night stand to a cold-blooded early morning killing.

  Finally they moved but were still using the car police had bugged and detectives could hear them preparing for the murder. But police also knew Condello had left the family home and moved into a city apartment. He also had heard he was on the hit list and moved out of his house to try to protect his family.

  But then Ryan heard one of the team spot a big man walking his small dog near the cemetery.

  One of the gunman was clearly heard asking, ‘Is that the man, is that the man?’

  Incredibly, another local with a similar build to Condello was walking a small dog on exactly the same route.

  ‘He shouldn’t bother buying Tattslotto tickets. I think he used all his luck that morning,’ the Director of Public Prosecutions, Paul Coghlan, said.

  With the would-be hitmen becoming jumpy Ryan knew it was time to move.

  Police arrested two men at the scene. They also seized two pistols, two-way radios and a stolen getaway car.

  They the
n arrested Williams at his mother’s home in Primrose Street, Essendon and Williams’ cousin Michael Thorneycroft in an outer eastern suburb.

  Thorneycroft would later tell police he was offered $30,000 to be the driver for the hit team and the shooter stood to make $120,000.

  For police it was a major breakthrough. But for Mario Condello it was only to be a delay. After the attempt on his life he was interviewed on Channel Nine and publicly addressed the Williams’ team: ‘My message is stay away from me. I’m bad luck to you people. Stay away. Don’t come near me please.’

  He also expressed a poetic wish that the violence stop ‘and everything becomes more peaceful than it has over the last however many years, because after all we are not going to be here forever.’

  He was right.

  Mario Condello was shot dead as he returned to his East Brighton home on February 6, 2006. He was on bail charged with, among other things, incitement to murder Carl Williams.

  But the arrest of the hit team outside the Brighton Cemetery was the beginning of the end of Melbourne’s underworld war. It meant that after five years of trying police were finally able to put Williams inside jail on charges that guaranteed he would not be bailed.

  According to Ryan the arrest of the hit team was the moment that police finally seized the initiative – four years after Williams declared war with the murder of Mark Moran. ‘For us (Operation Lemma) it was the turning point. It was the first time we were in front of the game.’

  The mutiny

  CARL Williams had previously done jail time easily. But this time he was in the highest security rating and locked up for 23 hours a day. In one video link to court his lawyers argued that Williams had not been able to hold or touch his young daughter since his placement in maximum security.

  No-one mentioned the feelings of the children of the men he murdered in the previous five years.