Chapter 16

Strange Bedfellows

One of the most ludicrous and bizarre schemes that the old drug squad attempted to bring to fruition involved the chief financial officer of the Victoria Police, a café waitress, an old photo and the informer known as supergrass.

Supergrass was presented to the courts as Informer 4/320. But as I’ve said let’s call him Gavin. He was released on bail and allowed to travel overseas on the proviso he gave evidence against Tony Mokbel. At the time there was a bounty of one million dollars on Gavin’s head, allegedly put up by Tony. It’s always amused me as to how anyone would actually collect this huge bounty. I can imagine the reception Tony would have given the bearer of the news that the supergrass hit was a success. Pay up on a million? More likely the messenger would have been put to the sword, as they did in olden times.

Tony and others allegedly put up the $150,000 to hit Lewis, his key target after Gavin turned and ran. But according to statements from the hit men, only $140,000 of that was paid. Did my life have a worth of only $10,000, not paid because I survived? Being a constant companion of a marked man, my presence probably did up the price a little.

Prior to being Tony’s new top target, Gavin and another informer were instrumental in the downfall of corrupt drug squad detectives and the disbanding of the old drug squad. He also obtained evidence that led to the charging of Lewis Moran and six or seven others on various major drug charges. Gavin was a silver-tongued man about town. He mixed with various celebrities and was always on hand to provide all the good things in life – the best coke, imported eggies and more.

Gavin the supergrass knew all the right people and things to win over Mark Moran. Mark said to his father: ‘This bloke is gold, if he wants 50,000 flippers, give them to him. He’s the best bloke you’ll ever meet.’

Strangely enough, Gavin was at Mark’s funeral in June 2000, while already working undercover for the drug squad. His world as a criminal free agent had come to a crashing end sometime earlier, at a factory in Campbellfield. Arrested with others, he was charged with the possession of two and a half pounds of cocaine, over half a million dollars in cash, a pill press and hot cars.

Gavin buckled when the drug squad gave him an opportunity to work for them. His reward: maybe no jail time and the continuance of his partying ways, for a while at least. Ever the enterprising rat, Gavin eventually turned on the drug squad as well. Much to the horror of various squad members, he spilled details about their not so legal activities and blew their squad out of existence.

Another person well known to me and Gavin – as he did the dirty on us and the drug squad – was a café waitress I met about 12 years ago. After we learnt a little about each other we started a relationship. She was divorced, had four children aged in their teens to early 20s, knew some of the same people I did and when married lived next door to friends of Lewis. She also worked at the same coffee lounge frequented by the Morans, the Mokbels, myself and everybody in our crew. One of her best customers was Mark’s mate, Gavin. Informer SCS 4/320. Supergrass.

My waitress partner was bringing up her children in a rented house in Essendon, with her two youngest still going to a local school. I helped her out financially, with money for kids’ camps, courses, a first licence, rent and the like. She had told me her ex-husband was a public servant with a new wife and kids, and didn’t contribute much to her or any of his first lot of children. She also loved her drugs and in me found the perfect partner, able to access the best available from Gavin, the Morans and others.

Around the time Mark was murdered, I helped her move to a better house. But rather than motivate her two eldest kids to work, it simply landed them at home longer. Then her daughter had twins, which meant I had to contribute even more. It didn’t faze me too much, though; Lewis was flying and I shared in some of these schemes. I also made my own killings.

It was after the arrival of the twins when I made a shock discovery about my partner’s ex-husband. Just imagine my fucken mazement when I arrived at her home one night to see an unmarked police car parked outside. Fully kitted up it was, with two or three radio aerials and the like; a classic unmarked jack’s car. So that was when she finally let on that her ex the public servant was actually the chief financial officer for the Victoria Police.

Imagine the amazement the drug squad must have felt, when they found out their tame public servant – who they kitted up and took on drug raids – had an ex-wife in bed with me, Lewis Moran’s driver. I was a key target in an operation designed to find the killer of Mark and shut down the operations of Lewis and his associates. All with the help of Gavin the supergrass.

My partner’s ex-husband also owned a pizza parlour in Keilor, and the eldest son would do deliveries in his work car. Sometimes the son even took it overnight, parking it at his mother’s place.

I got to meet the ex as he called in to see his new grandchildren. Then one night I arrived at my partner’s home, not long after he had left, and was handed a photo. It was a photo the homicide squad had taken from Mark’s home as they hunted for clues to his killer. It showed supergrass and Mark’s brother-in-law, kicking a ball around while on holiday in Queensland. I was told her ex had found it at the back gate when he arrived.

What a coincidence. More like the photo was handed from the homicide squad, to drug squad, to the chief financial officer. I just took the photo with me. What were they thinking when they dreamt up this ridiculous scenario? Maybe I’m stretching a long bow, but put everything together and you get smoke. The kind of smoke that makes me more sick than high. They were putting the sting in – trying to stir me up to see if they could get anything out of it.

How often are supposedly desk-bound public servants, albeit working for the Victoria Police, used as operatives actively targeting criminals and the like? How far up the chain of command do these things go? Or are they developed by rogue elements with no oversight from above. We’re all familiar with the axiom, from a little acorn tall oaks grow. The potential for corruption often comes through innocent enough association. It’s common knowledge that a prominent politician’s brother-in-law and brother were often at the Laurel Hotel drinking with Lewis Moran over many years. And there should be no guilt by association applied to them, as many relative innocents shared a beer or three with Lewis.

On one occasion in the late 1990s, even Victoria’s own head of justice, former Attorney General Rob Hulls, was hugely embarrassed by a beer ambush, organised by none other than the habitual name-dropper Steve Drazetic. Hulls obviously had no idea who Drazetic was about to introduce and include in a beer round. It was Lewis Moran, a name of some notoriety already. Hulls’s instant discomfort about the situation showed as his right foot shuffled back and forth, as though looking for a foot hold from which to launch a sprint, soon after Steve introduced them. No sooner had Steve ordered a round than Hulls had an excuse to make a hasty departure and left the pub quick smart.

There is a dark underbelly to policing, not only in this state but entrenched in law enforcement agencies worldwide. Just a small flex of their muscles can sometimes topple people in the highest offices of the land. Has the latest Melbourne gang war simply exposed the tip of the corruption iceberg? Is the dark side simply lying dormant until the time is again right to erupt into activity with breath-taking results? It’s not a good time to be in charge of the Victoria Police.

Very few people would yet know the real extent of the supergrass pasture, I believe. And the whole scenario where I’m handed a photo of him was just senseless. At the time of writing, Gavin languishes in a Netherlands prison cell awaiting extradition to Australia. But it’s clear from his past activities and the disbanding of the drug squad he tainted that the supergrass fields are awash with blades of blue.

It’s little wonder supergrass did a disappearing act as soon as he gained bail and permission to travel. While he was in Port Philip Prison in 2002, not long before he took flight, Gavin had the shit scared out of him by none other than Tony Mokbel. Tony was on remand for some heavy drug charges and decided the time had come to flex some muscle. So he bribed a quartet of prison guards, at a cost of $50,000, so that he could be granted a midnight meeting with Gavin, Informer 4/320 and Supergrass.

Without warning, the door to Gavin’s cell was flung open. It came as a great surprise of course – his was no ordinary cell but a secure protection unit cell, with fortified doors that are supposed to be impossible to breach. Tony had been spirited through the prison grounds by his crew of corrupt guards, from his mainstream unit to Gavin’s cell, and stood squarely in the door­way. Tony had a menacing stare fixed on Gavin, who just froze in fear for his life, like a paralysed rabbit cornered by a fox.

With a tremor, as my spies tell me, Gavin then lifted his weight from the bunk, but just enough to falter and fall to his cell floor. He knew that if Tony could get to him in a protected cell, anything was on the cards. Still struck mute by his nemesis, Gavin stumbled to his feet and promptly pissed his prison-issue greens. But even Tony had his limits and a deal was struck. One sided it may have been but with it came the promise of life.

The rest is history as both participants in that drama fled overseas to eventually be captured and are now awaiting justice, and their ultimate fate.

When supergrass was arrested in Europe it was reported he was instrumental in smuggling cocaine into Australia. How could this be? Police informer one moment, international drug baron the next? As an informer, our Gavin was certainly very fluent in the currency of disclosure. ‘Tell all’ was his catchcry from the day he was busted with drugs at that grubby factory at Campbellfield. And tell all he did on the Victoria Police drug squad too.

As I’ve said, Gavin partied with the best, proved a natural at informing on friends, and also allegedly managed to spearhead an international drug cartel while on the run. All of this he managed to achieve in comfort, though of course always at someone else’s expense, as if he had been born into it. And indeed he had!

Gavin was a Walter Mitty type of character who had a thorough grooming in clandestine ways to win friends only to give away their secrets. His after-hours schooling was the stuff of Ian Fleming novels. From his father, and often without his knowledge, Gavin learnt to play both sides of the fence, where false identity papers could be found, how to best avoid detection by the authorities. Gavin had a truly James Bond world, created by himself, where he was right at home. The supergrass brain was a sponge, soaking up any information that might be of future use.

No doubt, in his lonely European prison cell bereft of the luxuries he once enjoyed, Gavin reflects on his life of deception, betrayals and broken promises that ruined so many. For sheer audacity, he was unbeatable. During the Melbourne war where I was shot and so many others killed, supergrass changed sides as easily as he’d don his Zegna suit, his Valentino cashmere jacket or custom-fitted Gucci slip-ons.

Does his future hold a reunion with Tony Mokbel, or someone similar? Or will his future only last as long as it takes for a fellow inmate to wield a shiv and slice his neck? Loyalty was not a word he could ever uphold or utter. All he knew was greed and deceit. Maybe one day he’ll die a free man, but I wouldn’t count on it. Nor do I envy him his future, what there is of it.