All Fall Down (27 page)

Slade denied he had told Thompson.

The two men talked about loyalty between police officers. Barnes became emotional. ‘There was nothing in the money that I gave you,’ he told Slade. ‘I never asked you to do anything or not to do anything.’ Barnes was drinking a combination of coffee and cask wine that he had brought with him; he drank it straight out of the foil bladder. He told Slade that the Bellinos only ran a few games in Brisbane and that there was nothing wrong with them. ‘Why did you do it?’ demanded Barnes. ‘Why did you do it to me?’

At that, Chris Slade interjected and demanded of Barnes: ‘Why the hell have you done it? Well, why have you done this to us?’

Slade had already made a decision that he would not record their conversation. He still considered Barnes a mate, and believed that to record him covertly would have been a form of betrayal. The emotional conversation between the two men ended after 3 a.m. and Barnes left.

In the end, the bribe money was returned to Barnes, who claimed he had given the money to Slade as a loan. No internal charges were laid. Barnes was transferred to Longreach. Slade remembers: ‘I don’t think Barnsey could ever kill anyone. We all had guns. Potentially there was a lot at stake, you just don’t know. At that time I was very desperate and saw I had one chance of survival. We talked about what we were going to do. We didn’t know who to turn to.’

Slade’s problems, however, were only just beginning. He was sent down to the ‘punishment’ station at Beenleigh. ‘The greatest thing was that every shit-stirrer against [Commissioner] Lewis was in Beenleigh,’ he recalls. ‘In town [the Brisbane CBD] you were treated as a dog. You had to be careful. I was fully armed all the time. They threatened me continually.

‘I had to take certain action … if not, I’d be in gaol. It was the only time in my whole life that I have ever been extremely ultra-violent. From that point on nobody ever touched me again. It was probably a good move, unbeknown to me. I was being threatened by everyone.’

Slade still refuses to divulge the violent action he was involved in.

‘As soon as I came down to Beenleigh I was told – these are the rules,’ he says. ‘The inspector said to me, “I don’t know what you did down there, but congratulations. I don’t want any bullshit. I don’t want you to bring any skeletons in here. Work hard. You do not leave Beenleigh unless one of us is with you. You do not go into town by yourself.” They really looked after me.’

Slade, one of the state’s top investigators, knuckled down and policed his new beat, but it didn’t last long. All of a sudden, a new detective was put in charge of Slade’s unit and the whole thing changed. ‘I was very lucky. I wasn’t subject to the terrible things that happened, the first six months after I reported Barnsey. Fucking childish … all to protect this fucking Joke. Can you imagine if the effort that was put in[to] The Joke was put into policing …’

Slade’s career was on the rocks, and the threats remained. In desperation, he contacted his old mate, Peter Vassallo, in Canberra.

‘You’re in deep shit, you’ve got no one. You know what they’re capable of,’ Vassallo told him.

‘Yes, my arse is grass,’ said Slade. ‘In no time at all I’ll be in court on a major crime, no doubt about it.’ Slade feared being framed. ‘From this stage on,’ he said to Vassallo, ‘if there are dead bodies found and I’m one of them, you’ll know why there is. There’s no way in the world I’m going to be charged on a criminal offence that I’ve been fitted up with. No way in the world.

‘I’m going to be around for as fucking long as they are.’

I Know It Was Murder

Des Sturgess, the respected lawman and Director of Prosecutions, had been working on his inquiry into child sexual abuse, prostitution and pornography for about six months when he sat down with two working Brisbane prostitutes and heard their story. What they told him was so shocking that Sturgess felt impelled to alert the Queensland police to the allegations.

Detective Inspector R. Dargusch and Inspector B. Webb met with Sturgess on 17 June 1985. The legal eagle said he was greatly concerned over the dramatic growth in the number of escort agencies and massage parlours, and expressed the opinion that this was only possible if it had been allowed by the Licensing Branch.

Sturgess, in turn, provided the officers with two unsigned statements from prostitutes, Dawn and Jennifer, and arranged for the two officers to interview the women in his office. The revelations were astonishing – what both women provided, in essence, was a window into The Joke.

Dawn, 24, of North Road, Woodridge, had been a driver for the proprietor of an escort agency since January 1984. She told police his name was Alan Miller and he lived on Scenic Drive at Tweed Heads, just over the Queensland border. Dawn had driven cabs for three years and when she saw the position advertised in the
Daily Sun
newspaper she applied for the job and got it. Her job was to drive prostitutes to their jobs. She was paid on a commission basis – $5 for a half-hour job and $6 for an hour. Miller had three cars for such purposes, she said. She worked from 6 p.m. until the early hours of the following morning.

‘Miller owns one agency located at 150 Logan Road, Buranda,’ Dawn informed police. ‘It was called “Just a Tough” and is now called “Champagne Escorts” … When I started there were 14 girls working there. I was also told that [the] Licensing [Branch] only permits six girls.’

Dawn would arrive for work at 5.30 p.m. and make sure the cars were clean and filled with fuel. She sat and watched television until the jobs came in. The cars had two-way radios. ‘The fees charged were $70 [for a] half hour and $110 [for] one hour,’ she told police. ‘Prices went up and down with what Licensing said. Licensing fixed the prices. Prices never went any higher than $80 [for a] half hour and $120 [for] one hour. Bisexual acts were charged more.’

Dawn worked with Pepper, Alice, Jodi, Tammy, Debbi and others. ‘The girls seemed to get younger in the last five or six months,’ she said. ‘The youngest girl [Jemera] who started work there was very tall and we became friends and shared a flat at Greenslopes. She told us she was 18 but her birthday came around in April and she said she was only 16. I later found out that police caught Jemera in possession of marihuana and took her to the Juvenile Aid Bureau … they found out she was 14 years old. She had worked for Miller for at least six months. I told Miller to get rid of her. He said no.

‘There were three girls who we knew were underage. Licensing used to come to see identification of girls. [When] they didn’t come as often, it was easier for Miller to turn a blind eye to the age of the girls.’

She said Miller had a high staff turnover rate. Many of the girls were not even paid. Miller got 50 per cent of each job. The working girls got the other half, but had to pay the drivers. Dawn gave a detailed account of the involvement of the police. ‘Licensing Branch came around on a Tuesday night before 8 p.m.,’ she said. ‘They came two to three times a month. A phone call would be taken by the receptionist, sometimes the call came from Miller, warning him they were coming. Licensing [officers] would arrive. They would walk in, have a look around and leave.

‘Licensing had an occasional phoney bust. They would ring Miller and tell him to have a girl ready tomorrow night. She would be booked into a room at the Southern Cross [Motel], Kangaroo Point. The girl goes there and is busted and charged with soliciting. Miller would pay the fine and the girl would be given $500 for taking the rap.’

It appeared, too, the Licensing Branch and uniformed officers used massage parlours as personal clubs, day or night. The code for officers from the branch was ‘black’. Regular, uniformed officers were ‘blue’.

‘Licensing would walk in and say hello,’ Dawn said. ‘They would check that no one was running out. They would take a list of names. They would ask for identification and ask how business was. They would always have a beer, which was kept in the fridge for them, and then leave.

‘Over a 14-month period I guess there were 30 to 40 times when uniform police would just arrive, pull up, come in, have a beer and stagger down the front stairs when they were on duty. They used to stay for hours and drink and flirt with the girls.’

Dawn also noticed an increase in drug use among the working girls, including heroin. ‘I found a girl dead in a flat at Kangaroo Point,’ Dawn recalled. ‘Her name was Barbie [working name]. Her real name was Lisa.

‘John, the manager, said he had had a phone call from Miller to say there was trouble at Lisa’s place. We arrived at her place and the door fell open and she was dead – had been dead for three days. She was black and blue and fully dressed. She was 18 years of age. The cause of death was said to be a heroin overdose. We know that she had not touched heroin for months. She was into pills and marihuana. Lisa was to be a witness in the trial of … an agency owner. She had gone to the police and she told them she would give evidence.

‘Police insist it was a heroin overdose. I know it was murder.’

As for Jennifer, she told police she had worked in the escort business for about five years. She reported that Miller’s businesses were earning him up to $10,000 a week. ‘Most men ring up and ask how old the youngest girl working there is,’ Jennifer said. ‘I would say 18’. They would ask if there were any girls who looked younger than 18. They would ask if there were any girls aged ten or 11. I would say “no” and they would say that they would ring where they knew they could get somebody that young. I would get five to six calls like this per night.’

She knew of girls as young as 14 working in the industry. She gave a withering description of the police, verifying Dawn’s information. ‘Licensing is a total joke,’ Jennifer said. ‘They come in once every four to six weeks for an official visit.

‘They would make a false booking for one of the girls to go to a hotel and bring her back in their car. It was arranged for one of the girls to take the rap. There were standard questions asked and standard answers given. They would take a statement from the girl and leave, and business carried on as usual. They would come back the next night with the typed statement and the girl would sign it and after it went to court you would get a fine in the mail.’

Jennifer offered an alarming insight into Brisbane’s vice industry. ‘Hector [Hapeta] is violent towards girls,’ she said. ‘He owns parlours and escort agencies, Brett’s Boys and Bubbles [Bath House].

‘The organisation and Licensing [Branch] control the whole operation – prices, conditions etc. The members of the organisation all sit at the top table at Bubbles. None of them are under 45 and all of them look to be Greek or Italian. The organisation would control all massage parlours in Brisbane one way or another.’

Her statistics were wildly at odds with official police data. She said there were ‘hundreds of prostitutes’ who worked in Brisbane, with some parlours employing up to 20 girls per shift.

The scenarios as outlined by Dawn and Jennifer were refuted at length by Superintendent Graeme Parker – head of the Licensing [Branch] from April 1981 to August 1985 – in a formal written and signed statement. He said the average citizen could easily be confused by the complicated legislation surrounding charges in relation to escort agencies, parlours and prostitutes.

Parker said the Licensing Branch Escort Staff had to visit escort agencies ‘to collate information on girls employed there so their movements from Agency to Agency or Agency to Massage Parlours could be monitored’. To this, he added most emphatically: ‘The Licensing Branch has nothing at all to do with how these areas of prostitution operate or the prices or conditions applicable. Licensing Branch personnel have the responsibility of collating all available information and the enforcement of those statutes relating to prostitution.’

In the end, Dargusch and Webb concluded their investigation into the stories of Dawn and Jennifer: ‘Our investigation failed to reveal any evidence to substantiate any impropriety on the part of the Licensing Branch.’

Revolting by Community Standards

Paul John Breslin’s trial for indecently assaulting Aboriginal teenager Ricky Garrison finally came before the courts in July 1985, after numerous adjournments. He was represented by Shane Herbert, QC, known among his legal colleagues as ‘Sid Vicious’, after the member of the 1970s punk rock band the Sex Pistols.

Breslin, 36, by now unemployed of 30 Jarrup Street, Jindalee, was charged with intent to facilitate the commission of an indictable offence by administering to Garrison a stupefying drug, namely Quinalbarbitone; that on 19 January 1984, in an apartment in Coronation Towers in Auchenflower, he indecently dealt with Garrison, a boy under the age of 17 years; and that he unlawfully assaulted Garrison and did him bodily harm.

Breslin pleaded not guilty.

The exhibits tendered included a drawing of the accused’s unit, photographs, a brown-painted baton, the complainant’s jeans, shirt and shoes, two sets of handcuffs with keys, samples of Garrison’s urine and blood, some sofa vacuuming’s, the rear seat of Breslin’s Ford Fairlane, pubic hair and a photograph of Breslin’s press pass. He was found guilty of the second two charges.

During the trial, the arresting officer, Peter Gallagher, having been transferred out of the city to Beenleigh, south of the CBD, was ordered by his superiors to stay away from the trial. After giving his evidence he wanted to return to the trial to see the outcome of the case. He was told to keep out of the court.