All Fall Down (46 page)

One of the first things Murphy cited in his statement, for example, was his arrest of gaming-house keeper Luciano Scognamiglio in 1967. Scognamiglio had famously tried to put straight Licensing Branch undercover operative Kingsley Fancourt on the kickback payroll in 1974. Fancourt had also secretly taped Scognamiglio offering the bribe and naming his links with police officers like Jack Herbert and Tony Murphy during a conversation at the illegal casino at 142 Wickham Street, Fortitude Valley.

In his document Murphy also attempted to rewrite history. He argued that his name was never mentioned by Scognamiglio on the secret tapes, and ‘is … even if it were to have been said, quite innocuous’.

‘This verbal statement attributed to SCOGNAMIGLIO to the effect that he [SCOGNAMIGLIO] was friendly with me was not I am told identifiable on the tape recording produced in Court and so patiently listened to by the Bench,’ wrote Murphy. ‘THIS ALLEGED REMARK BY SCOGNAMIGLIO was proved to be a substantive part of the grounds called on by the ABC when
Nationwide
put to air a series of defamatory broadcasts in March 1982.’

Murphy’s ultimate contention, however, was a conspiracy of such grandness and complexity that it beggared belief. It was Murphy’s view that Chris Masters’ pivotal and damning
Four Corners
program, which triggered the inquiry, was ‘designed as a desperate tactical manoeuvre by the ABC to destroy the credibility of MR LEWIS and myself prior to the matter of our 1982 defamation suits being taken to trial’.

Logically then, the Fitzgerald Inquiry, which resulted from ‘The Moonlight State’, was also a part of that conspiracy on behalf of the ABC to get Murphy and Lewis before their legal matter got into a court. This was despite the fact that the case against Campbell, Fancourt and
Nationwide
had yet to see the inside of a courtroom in almost five and a half years.

Commissioner Lewis’s statement, on the other hand, was more straightforward but also more expansive. It was both a testimony to his glowing achievements since he joined the force and was sworn in as a constable on 17 January 1949, and an answer to his critics over many decades. Lewis’s literary life raft had some touching moments.

He recorded that during a particularly damaging flood in the Charleville region – where he had been posted by former commissioner Ray Whitrod [Murphy was sent to Longreach], Lewis underlined his dedication to duty: ‘I worked 33 days straight without a day off.’

He devoted just one sentence to him securing the top job over Whitrod, failing to mention the Machiavellian nature of the appointment and the involvement of Premier Joh Bjelke-Petersen in Whitrod’s demise. ‘I was appointed Commissioner of Police and took up that position on 29th November 1976,’ Lewis blandly recalled.

Also with an eye on the terms of reference of the Fitzgerald Inquiry, Lewis’s statement included an in-built historical excuse in relation to the prosecution, or lack thereof, of massage parlours and prostitutes. He said on taking up the position of Commissioner of Police under Minister Tom Newbery, it was the latter’s responsibility to heavily advise Lewis given the former inspector third class did not have ‘any previous administrative contact with Cabinet’.

He said Newbery’s advice was by and large given ‘verbally’, and traversed government policy. Some of that advice included: reducing the road toll; lowering the serious crime rate; halting the police resignation rate; and to improve the general morale of the force. ‘The Honourable Minister also touched on police buildings, housing, transport and equipment generally and also on the aspects of SP betting, illegal gambling and prostitution,’ Lewis wrote.

‘He [Newbery] stated that the Government wanted constant attention given to SP betting and illegal gambling as they deprived the Government of revenue, whereas with prostitution “it has been around for a long time and would be very difficult to eliminate”. He said police should give massage parlours attention but if they were being conducted in a tolerable manner they should not receive a high priority considering all the other serious matters requiring police attention.’

Lewis explained that this policy – clearly a government request – had been maintained for the past ten years. He then went on, page after page, about his achievements in the job, and his philosophy on effective policing. Furthermore, he provided an exhaustive number of attachments to his statement. Some laid blame on Ray Whitrod and his trusted men. Others skipped through almost every controversy Lewis had encountered as Commissioner. He also tried to put out fires before they’d even started. ‘Australian Royal Commission of Inquiry into Drugs – John Edward Milligan claiming association with me, A. Murphy and G. Hallihan [sic], in wrongdoings in connection with illegal drugs,’ the statement said. ‘The Commission found the allegations were baseless and untrue.’

And another: ‘1983/84 Paul John Breslin – claiming that he was a friend of mine and had been loaned a police vehicle and that there was considerable homosexual behaviour between cadets and Probationaries at the Queensland Police Academy. All of this and a lot of other information circulated by Breslin was false.’

And more still: ‘In early 1986, Mr Abe Saffron purchased two hotels in Queensland and Mr Merv Stubbins, Chairman of the Licensing Commission, said that there was nothing before the commission to indicate that Mr Saffron was not a fit and proper person to own the properties. I had a confidential conversation with the Honourable N.J. Harper, MLA, Minister for Justice and Attorney-General, and in March 1986 he recommended to the Governor in Council that the Licensing Commission’s stamp of approval be rescinded.’

Commissioner Lewis had kept one of Sydney’s career criminals from infecting Queensland. He also denied knowing any of the men named in the inquiry’s terms of reference. He said he did not know of ‘any member of the Police Force’ who was guilty of ‘misconduct, neglect or violation of duty’ when it came to policing such premises.

His clause 1(c) stated: ‘I have not received any benefit or favour, whether financial or otherwise, either directly or indirectly, from those same five persons for neglecting to enforce the laws in respect to any such premises.’

All in all, it was a curious document, a potpourri of self-defence, pre-emptive attack, personal aggrandisement, history lesson, a blizzard of statistics and an insurance policy. It had, too, in its structure and busyness, and with its mistakes in the spelling of the surnames of people like former police minister Tom Newbery and former Rat Packer and detective, Glen Hallahan, an air of desperation about it.

The Company Director

Sicilian-born Geraldo Bellino, adagio dancer and author of the musical
Sharon, Oh Sharon
, appeared before the Fitzgerald Inquiry on 18 August, neatly dressed with his fulsome moustache clipped. He gave his occupation as company director. Bellino, 45, told the packed court he had run seven illegal casinos in Brisbane, four during the inquiry’s terms of reference that dated back to 1977.

He had only a single conviction for keeping a common gaming house in 1978, following a massive raid by the Licensing Branch after Bellino had missed an illegal protection payment to police. Bellino gave evidence that he had earned a living off running illegal games since 1974. He said he had gone into partnership with one-time waiter, Vittorio Conte, in 142 Wickham Street. ‘I think there was some manilla at times, some games of chances, crown and anchor, baccarat, whatever people required,’ he told the inquiry.

The casino was open from 7 p.m. Monday to Saturday. Downstairs was a ‘health studio’, Bubbles Bath House. Bellino and Conte ended up buying the building at 142 Wickham Street in 1982, having previously leased it. He said the illegal casino was ‘more of a club’ – food and alcohol were served free of charge to patrons. ‘We had no membership; we just knew the people who came frequently,’ Bellino said.

The company director later estimated that he earned about $1 million a year from his illegal casinos. He described it as a ‘highly profitable exercise’. He said the only policeman he recalled seeing at 142 Wickham Street was retired officer Nigel Powell, who had appeared in the
Four Corners
program, ‘The Moonlight State’.

Bellino outlined how he owned the World By Night and The Beat nightclubs. He flatly denied being involved in the prostitution industry. His frank evidence was the talk of the town, and yet another rupture for the government. The press began to ask – how could Bellino have been running illegal casinos since the 1970s, by and large free of prosecution? Where were the police? And why had successive police ministers denied that illegal gaming existed in Brisbane?

One commentator reflected: ‘The inquiry is now four weeks old and so far the “show” rarely has failed to entertain with some spectacular revelations, elements of humour and occasional drama. Bellino had at one point shouted at Ralph Devlin, junior counsel assisting the commission, and then at Commissioner Fitzgerald. He later apologised.’

As for Vittorio Conte, he seemed to be the source of much mirth. ‘Mr Conte appears as cool as a cucumber as he tells of hiring crystal glasses for parties held at the illegal casinos to boost business,’ the column reflected. ‘He obviously likes to air his sense of humour, but one of his better lines was unintended. When asked how many police he would see in a night, he said as many as 15 would come to his World By Night strip club looking for “criminals”.’

Despite the jollity, the evidence of Bellino and Conte had prompted some very big questions.

Journalist Quentin Dempster, in his weekly column in the
Sunday Mail
, correctly assessed the gravity of the situation. ‘Pressure is growing for Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen and some of his Ministers to take the stand at the Fitzgerald Inquiry into organised crime and police corruption,’ he wrote in late August. Dempster said it wasn’t until the investigative work of Phil Dickie and Chris Masters that the government started to take notice. Previously, they had not ‘demonstrated any concern about the potential growth of organised crime and police corruption through these illegal activities’.

He posed the question: Why did Cabinet ministers consistently accept police department advice on these matters year after year?

‘Maybe it was because of the perceived immense power and influence of the Police Commissioner, who everyone knew had been hand-picked for the job by the Premier after the Whitrod years,’ Dempster wrote. ‘To countermand the Commissioner would be tantamount to crossing Joh, perhaps. And which junior Minister with any political nous would be silly enough to do that?’

Meanwhile, Commissioner Fitzgerald reminded police officers that those wishing to be granted an indemnity from prosecution in exchange for evidence before the inquiry had until Monday 7 September to step forward.

One of the first to do so was Senior Sergeant Harry Burgess.

Early Days

For the first six weeks of the inquiry, lawyers, politicians, police, the press and the public would have been forgiven for thinking they had a damp squib unfolding in the District Court. Lewis’s seemingly endless explanation about how the Queensland Police Force worked set a dreary tone, like a dud note derailing a symphony from the outset.

It was, however, a tactic from Fitzgerald and his team. It provided context; a base on which to build. Presumably it would have given Commissioner Lewis a measure of confidence. One inquiry source says the almost ‘pedantic’ opening to the inquiry was deliberate, and that patterns of malfeasance then emerged on top of that context.

Terry Lewis was less sanguine about the opening weeks of the inquiry. ‘We were able to answer some of their crap and Fitzgerald got very shitty and Gunn … I’m not saying I’m precisely right, Gunn got in touch with me and said that Fitzgerald had complained about police having access to police records,’ Lewis remembers. ‘And I said, “That’s not my fault” and Gunn said … “You weren’t to give your legal people any police records,” something like that.’

Lewis says he immediately rang the Premier. ‘Joh would have said words to the effect, “Now, you keep whatever your legal people want … they’re entitled to [have access to it].”

The problem was that police counsel were raising issues at the inquiry before they’d been run by Fitzgerald and his staff.

‘I believed we were going quite well because whatever was coming out of the inquiry we were able to give reasonable answers to it,’ Lewis says of the early days of the commission. ‘Cedric Hampson [QC, who represented the Police Commissioner and other senior police] phoned me … and said, look, Fitzgerald had been in touch with him and asked him where was he getting this information from?

‘Hampson had been involved in a number of royal commissions … and I said, they were just our files. He said he didn’t want anything brought up by anyone unless he’d been advised about it. But that was most improper. Anyhow … we were not to supply anything to Cedric that hadn’t been supplied to the Commission. And up till then they had the right to demand anything which they did and they got it. We couldn’t bloody hypothesise what they might want.’

Lewis believes there were darker forces at work. ‘And that really got them upset and that’s when they got … Fitzgerald had to get rid of me,’ Lewis says. ‘His target was Joh, that was his target, but then to get Joh they knew they’d have to get me because I would answer most of their queries.