The Gangland War (8 page)

Later, when Williams, Mokbel and The Runner were out of jail, they continued to associate. But it was no wine and cheese club. ‘Although a lot of the meetings were social in nature they also involved conversations about business,' The Runner said.

He gave information that showed how Mokbel tried to pull stings without getting his hands dirty. ‘Tony would also provide Carl with information on the movements of Jason Moran.'

The Runner told police that shortly after the murder of drug dealer Willie Thompson (gunned down as he sat in his car in Chadstone on 23 July 2003) he met Williams, Carl's father George, the gang's Lieutenant, Mokbel and others at the Red Rooster store in Moreland Road, Brunswick. ‘Tony was upset and angry about Thompson's death, he mentioned that he went to school with him and was a very close friend. He made clear that he wanted to exact revenge on whoever was responsible.'

According to The Runner, Mokbel was obviously unaware there had been a treacherous double-cross: ‘I was surprised because I knew that Carl was behind Thompson's murder but it appeared that Tony had no idea of that. That is why I didn't ask any questions. I was surprised that Tony didn't know what had really happened.'

And clearly Carl Williams was not about to fill him in over a chicken and chips snack-pack.

A few weeks later, according to The Runner's confessions, they met again at the same Red Rooster store and Mokbel was ready to put his money where his mouth was.

‘At this meeting Tony confirmed that he believed Michael Marshall was responsible for Willie's death and he wanted him
dead. Tony offered Carl and I $300,000 to kill Marshall. When I shook hands with Tony he passed a piece of paper to me, which had the details of Marshall's address.'

The agreement was that The Runner was to be paid $200,000 and Williams $100,000. But The Runner was understandably wary. After all, for the Moran murder, despite Williams' assurances, he had still only paid $2500. This time he wanted a serious down payment. According to the statement, Williams gave him $50,000 in a manila envelope outside a South Melbourne coffee shop saying, ‘Here, this is from Tony.'

Most of the blood money disappeared at the casino and the TAB. It wasn't only Tony who backed the wrong horse.

The statements against Mokbel were part of the brief of evidence against Williams and were, quite properly, handed to his defence team.

Police would later claim in court the statements were then, quite improperly, handed to Mokbel by one of his many lawyers, the glamorous Zarah Garde-Wilson.

‘Mokbel has been named by a Victoria Police informant as having paid for a contract murder and provided the firearms to commit the murder,' a federal police statement lodged at the Supreme Court alleged.

‘A statement had been provided to this effect and is suspected to have been made available to Mokbel by his former solicitor and current girlfriend, Zarah Garde-Wilson.'

Justice Gillard said, ‘Australian Federal Police were told on Friday 17 March 2006, that Victorian police proposed to arrest the prisoner and charge him with being involved in the murder.' In another unrelated hearing, Detective Sergeant Andrew Stamper, of the Purana taskforce, claimed in evidence, ‘I understand that Ms Garde-Wilson is involved in an on-off sexual relationship with Mr Mokbel and is living in a house that belongs to him.'

The puppet-master who pulled the strings was no longer looking at a long but manageable jail term for drug trafficking. If charged and convicted of a gangland murder, he was facing life with no minimum.

During the Crown's final address, federal police took the unusual step of asking for Mokbel's bail to be revoked. But they did not tell Justice Gillard that the accused had just learnt he had become a Purana target and was facing imminent murder charges. If they had, perhaps the judge would have placed him in custody. As it was he would have revoked bail when he began his charge to the jury early the following week.

But if police suspected he was about to flee, they did not have hard evidence. If they had, they would have told Justice Gillard or, at the very least, put Mokbel under surveillance. They did neither.

There has been much implied criticism of Justice Gillard for not revoking bail, but in reality he was given no reason to take that step.

Mokbel must have sat in court on that Friday, knowing that if his bail was cancelled, it may have been his last moment as a free man. Facing inevitable conviction on the drug charges, he would have been out of the way as Purana investigators worked on their murder case against him. Then he would have been charged again and again and would have faced jail for the rest of his life.

But the Crown did not back up its claim — police were nowhere near ready to charge Mokbel with murder and had no evidence he planned to flee. At the end of the court day, he was free to go. So he went … as far as he possibly could. There was only a small window of opportunity and Fat Tony slipped through it.

He was confident that those left behind would continue his drug business and he could take on the role of absentee landlord. Over the previous few years he had secretly moved money overseas and was ready to go.

On 20 March 2006, he did not report to South Melbourne Police Station, as dictated by his bail conditions. He left his three mobile phones, his regular girlfriend, his frozen assets, his city apartment and his high public profile and vanished.

Without a client, his legal team, led by Con Heliotis, withdrew. But as all evidence had already been led, Justice Gillard allowed the case to run. Mokbel was found guilty of drug trafficking and sentenced in his absence to a minimum of nine years jail.

‘I think he has had an exit strategy in place for some time,' said a policeman who has worked on him for years. ‘Tony never liked to back losers.'

FOR years Tony Mokbel survived because his underlings gave him unquestioned loyalty. They went to jail knowing they would be rewarded when they were released and their families would be cared for while they were inside.

But the Purana gangland taskforce started to work on some of the players, reminding them that this time there would be no reward on release because they might stay in jail until they came out in a cheap coffin or were ready for a nursing home. Professional hit men were likely to be sentenced to life with no minimum. ‘Hop on the bus or risk being run over' was the blunt message they got.

Faced with the so-called underworld code of silence, police and prosecutors began playing a deadly game of Let's Make A Deal. And, for the first time, prosecutors were prepared to cut deals with trigger men.

The Runner was one Williams' hit man who took a seat on the bus, but there was another who jumped on board, too, and that was more bad news for Mokbel.

The first official sign that the underworld code had been smashed came in May 2006, when Supreme Court Justice Bernie Teague sentenced a career criminal we shall call, ‘The Journeyman',
to a minimum of nineteen years for two contract killings.

The Journeyman was the equivalent of a washed-up boxer who refused to retire. He was the product of a third-generation criminal family and connected with at least six killings. He once shot an unarmed policeman during a bank robbery and was a key figure in a vicious war inside Pentridge prison. Violent, manipulative and an underworld tactician, he presented during the gangland underworld war as an expert who was quoted in the media as a retired practitioner turned crime historian. But behind the scenes he could not bear the thought of being left behind. A contemporary said: ‘He forgot that an underworld war is a young man's game. He wanted to be a part of it and jumped in. He was always a fool and now he's just an old fool.'

The Journeyman was a gunman who became the loose cannon, prepared to do jobs for both sides, and one-off hits on a freelance basis.

There is little chance he will ever reform. Put simply, he is no good. That is, except to the Purana taskforce.

In November 2005 The Journeyman was found guilty of shooting and dumping fellow gunman Lewis Caine in Brunswick on 8 May 2004. But after fighting the first case, he had a change of heart and pleaded guilty to the murder of Lewis Moran, shot dead in the Brunswick Club in Sydney Road on 31 March 2004.

The Journeyman usually persuaded someone close to him to take the fall. He repeatedly managed to paint himself as an unfortunate who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when shots were fired. But this time he knew he was trapped. In sentencing him to a minimum term of nineteen years, rather than life with no minimum, Justice Teague opened himself to critics claiming the sentence was under the odds.

Surely a career killer who was prepared to murder for cash should be jailed for the rest of his life? But ultimately, police and prosecutors concluded — and Teague agreed — the old hit man
could be of more value in a witness box than spending a lifetime in a prison cell.

The Journeyman, then 53, was an old-style gangster who would not have survived a lifetime of crime without being able to sniff the wind. For instance, once when he had been suspected for a murder committed during a robbery, he was left a short message by a homicide squad detective. The message was: Come to the homicide squad to be interviewed or risk having the armed robbery squad shoot you in bed for resisting arrest. The next day at 9am, he was at the St Kilda Road crime department complex, freshly showered and well-dressed, ready to be interviewed. He felt safer there. Soon, four men were charged over the armed robbery and murder. According to police, The Journeyman used his own form of plea bargaining. He gave one of his co-accused a simple choice: plead guilty or die. The man pleaded guilty.

The other three were then able to blame the guilty man for the murder and The Journeyman was sentenced to thirteen years for the armed robbery, but was not convicted of murder. Until now.

Earlier in 2006, he asked Purana detectives to visit him in jail. He was ready to talk. This does not mean he suddenly found morality and remorse that had evaded him all his life; he just knew that if he remained silent, they would throw away the key.

By cutting a deal with the prosecution to give evidence against long-time associates in gangland murder trials — and providing new leads on others yet to be charged — he gave himself a chance of walking out of jail an old, but free, man.

With time served, he could be 71 when released. More importantly, he would not have to do his jail time in 23-hour solitary confinement.

For police, the idea of allowing The Journeyman to dodge the rest of his life in jail must have been repugnant. He had once shot a policeman and had lied and cheated to save himself for years.
But the move to deal with him showed that police and prosecutors were prepared to deal with the hands-on killers to gather sworn evidence against those who pull the strings.

It was a move that brought an unexpected dividend. After he was sentenced, The Journeyman confessed to a senior Purana detective that he had carried out another gangland murder — calmly dropping the bombshell that police were allegedly directly linked to an organised crime hit. His allegations were serious enough for a special taskforce to be set up to investigate his claims, which ultimately led to the explosive public hearings by the Office of Police Integrity in November 2007 that resulted in the disgrace of an assistant commissioner and a senior public servant, and internal divisions in the powerful police union. But that was later.

The Journeyman came to the negotiating table with another powerful bargaining chip. He was prepared to talk of Tony Mokbel's alleged direct connection to one of the murders.

According to The Journeyman, his hit team was to be paid $150,000 by Carl Williams and Mokbel to kill Lewis Moran. A few days after the killing, he was paid $140,000. He planned to get the remaining $10,000 later. It is now unlikely he will ever collect his debt.

In sentencing him, Teague said Moran's murder, ‘was a callous, planned, premeditated execution for money. To some people, life is not as sacred as it should be. To some people, life is cheap'.

Police were confident they could make a case against Mokbel for murder. But they had to find him first.

Teague said: ‘In your case, the indications are that the benefit from the co-operation will be extremely high.'

The Journeyman was reminded that if he tried to renege on the deal, he could be re-sentenced less sympathetically.

Others have also turned. At last count, eight underworld witnesses
have been hidden away from the public glare to give evidence at a later date.

One Melbourne gang built on unquestioned loyalty and drug money has been destroyed. One of their hit men is dead, three have been jailed and other key figures are believed to be co-operating with police.

There can be no doubt that underworld solidarity has ruptured. Purana detectives and homicide investigators claim they have laid charges or have made inroads in seventeen recent underworld killings.

They say that in seven cases, the gunmen responsible were later themselves killed in the underworld feud.

Detective Superintendent Richard Grant, the head of police tasked operations, said, ‘Our aim is to destroy the code of silence so the crooks can't trust each other.' So far, so good.

WITH The Runner, The Journeyman, The Cook, The Driver, The Lieutenant and many others lining up to tell tales on him, Mokbel was under siege. His asset base was frozen, his brothers jailed, he was under investigation for murder and he had a nineyear jail sentence waiting for him. And he was losing his hair.

But he had another powerful enemy — a man he had never met. A Melbourne figure with close connections to a famous northern suburban football club had been watching the underworld war develop in the streets of the city where his family lived and he wasn't happy. And this Melbourne man controlled one of the most feared gangs in Australia.

His name was Peter Costello, then the Treasurer of Australia and ultimate overseer of the tax department.