Chapter 18

Why the Morans had to Die

Who would benefit most from the death of the Moran clan? Carl Williams you say? Well, in my books you’d be dead wrong.

Lewis, his family and trusted associates, were all doomed, even before the halcyon days of unlimited money made from drugs, SP bookmaking, extortions and the Melbourne gangland wars. To understand this you must go back to the times of Lewis and Des ‘Tuppence’ Moran’s younger days. Their mother, a kitchen table abortionist, was tied in with an ex-policeman on the take, and corrupt police such as Jack Ford, Jack Mathew and Marty Jacobsen. You have to go back to their father, an SP bookmaker himself, their friends and allies, Brian and Les Kane, numerous standover men and illegal bookmakers. Tuppence at the age of 16 or 17 was the taxi driver for desperate pregnant girls and women, taking them to Langs Rd, Ascot Vale, to be butchered on the family’s kitchen table. He then returned them bruised and bleeding, their unwanted pregnancies terminated, back to where they were picked up, while the results of their unwanted pregnancies were flushed into the sewers of Melbourne.

Perhaps it was there that Tuppence lost his humanity and became a cold, unfeeling, no-conscience brute. Then there was the debt collecting, where he would inflict no small measure of pain on unfortunate victims unable to settle their outstanding wages by the end of the week. From the accounts I’ve heard, Tuppence and Lewis bonded like hell during these debt collection sessions. Together they came to relish, and would later reminisce about, the pain they visited on others in their early days. When they told a story about how so-and-so shit himself with a few tickles from the flame of a blowtorch, it was like a pair of footy players comparing a winning passage of play. The Moran brothers senior got to practice and perfect their evil ways many times over. And none of this could have occurred without the protection of various police, some of whom I have named and were eventually jailed for their bribe taking, protection and dealing in drugs.

It was probably in those days that Tuppence – and to a lesser extent, Lewis – having honed their butchers’ techniques on a diet of poor dumb animals at the Newmarket Abattoirs, came to look upon their fellow men and women as prey for the taking. Lewis, taking in his friend Jack Coles’s widow, Judy, and her son Mark, proceeded to practise his cruelty on both. There were the regular bashings of Judy Moran and the ritualistic torture of young Mark. Their screams echoed far and wide throughout the neighbourhood of their abodes.

My apologies again to the many friends of Tuppence who thought he was just a harmless bloke always ready for a laugh or drink, which in his later days he mostly was, but you don’t get to be a feared standover man in Melbourne unless you’ve well established that you are able to cause considerable pain. Tuppence’s friends will take umbrage and probably wish revenge on me for the following, but the truth is now to be told, the truth that finally led to the death of the entire Moran clan. When Jason and Mark were much, much younger, many things were covered up. Tuppence was an unfeeling monster, the classic monster who was feared by friends and foe alike. So much was hushed up in the early years, even a murder or two. As the years went by the Morans did what they knew best, cultivating police contacts, contacts who would cover the worst excesses of this amoral family.

Lewis was noted in his police dossier as a suspected homosexual, womaniser and more. Tuppence was a woman basher and a lot more. He left no one out, did Tuppence. Ten or 11 years ago, he broke his girlfriend’s jaw with one smash of his huge fist. And terrified as she was, she agreed to accept $7500 to not press charges. Lewis was the go-between acting for the mother, corrupt police and Tuppence. It was at an inner suburban police station that they gave her the money, with Lewis handing the money to a corrupt cop who handed it to the ex-girlfriend. I won’t mention any names but I feel confident that, upon reading this book, the girlfriend will come forward with her tale now she realises that the Morans cannot hurt her any more.

Tuppence was also named as a drug payment negotiator for Lewis in a heavily black-lined ‘protected’ police document released for my committal brief. In a report dated 8 February 2001, from the since disgraced drug squad Detective Sergeant Wayne Strawhorn, police informer 4/199 stated he owed Lewis Moran $5000 for previous deals.

Collected during Operation Kayak, the document states: ‘4/199 is prepared to tape up with Lewis Moran, repay the $5000 and obtain one ounce of cocaine which will cost $4500…4/199 believes [sic] will be able to do a series of buys off Lewis Moran culminating with an order for one kilogram of cocaine whereby Lewis Moran could be intercepted and only that seizure declared. This would put 4/199 in a position of power as Lewis Moran would owe for the price of the cocaine. 4/199 would have to negotiate with Tuppence [Desmond Moran] for repayment of the debt.’

So while many in Tuppence’s wider circle of friends still refuse to believe he was involved in any drug dealing, the evidence clearly indicates otherwise.

Running through all these years and crimes is the same constant: the Moran clan and their ever present guardian angels, corrupt Victoria Police. Some latter-day serving members, who come to share in the huge profits generated by illicit drugs, were caught and jailed. There is a litany of police names who have been proven corrupt: Strawhorn, Rosenes, Paton, Meichel and others. Some who sensed the impending storm chose to resign while others tried to bluff it out.

Why the Morans had to die is simple really: someone with extraordinary influence over the still operational corrupt Victoria Police had decided it was their time. Where the corrupt police and the known bad guys had a fairly even say on certain things, or an understanding as it was in the old days, the coppers were fairly content. But the Morans had taken things too far, they were openly out of control and started to show they had ceased to care what the cops thought. Violence of the most horrific kind was taken from the back rooms of old, straight into everyone’s front lounge, with the bloodied victims of Jason’s and Alphonse’s nightclub savagery on everyone’s television screen.

The madness that gripped the Morans was fuelled by drugs and the huge drug profits that were generated. And a healthy cut of cash was always slung to the protectors of law and order, many of whom greatly profited from the Moran clan. They gave, the Morans gave; a two-way street. And it was these present-day members – who think they are safe and secure now that the Morans are gone – who really killed the Morans and their allies. Not directly perhaps, but certainly through collusion, misdirection, inaction and subterfuge. The evidence is simply staggering, should anyone care to really look.

This core group of corrupt members are still fed by the informers who broke ranks with the Morans.

I have had death threats, some implied, others passed on to me by honest and genuine Victoria Police concerned for my safety. I survived once and will not be cowed by those suits and uniforms who would rather not even let this book see the light of day. I’m not frightened by the names I know, nor am I an informer or give up, unlike the weaklings they have reactivated from the former ranks of the Morans and their allies. What’s the best they can do? An unseen assassin’s bullet in my head, hired by weaklings who pretend they are men but in reality are weak pitiful cowards? I won’t hide; I am not frightened by intimidation. I died once and I’m still here. Now it’s time to tell the real story.

Let’s start with Mark Moran, the best of them all, and a threat in the making, unbowable and uncowed – he had to go first. I’m probably signing my own death warrant but if I get whacked, I’ll die a man, not a snivelling coward cloaked in the anonymity of a police suit or uniform. Mark Moran was under constant Victoria Police surveillance by a camera positioned diagonally opposite his front gate. But the camera was conveniently turned off the day before he was gunned down at the very place where the camera was aimed. There was a small piece in a newspaper about this anomaly, but a spokesman for Victoria Police could never give a convenient explanation or excuse.

Then came Victor Peirce, who undoubtedly was under Victoria Police surveillance at the time. Even if he wasn’t, it’s now generally accepted and has been written about that Andrew ‘Benji’ Veniamin was the gunman. Recently the getaway driver was convicted of murder and another man acquitted of any involvement. Victor was an ally of the Morans, so we’ll go for him being under surveillance. Nik ‘the Bulgarian’ Radev shot in Coburg on 15 April 2003, lured to his death after attending a dinner with some associates. It’s 100 per cent he was under Victoria Police surveillance. He was another victim who did business with the Morans and it’s now believed he was shot by Benji Veniamin.

Jason Moran and Paddy Barbaro were next to go. Both shot dead while Lewis and I were languishing in Port Phillip Prison. Lewis Moran was never to face trial, and my own charges, brought by corrupt members of the old drug squad, were dismissed at my committal. Of course Jason Moran was under surveillance. His killer – now convicted and a known police informer – was part of the Williams crew. He also would have been under surveillance and I can guarantee he was, as were the Moran and Williams gangs and sundry others.

What about Willy Thompson, shot dead at Chadstone in July 2003? Or Michael Marshall, friend of Thompson, both allies of the Morans and sometimes of Williams? Marshall’s execution in front of his son outside his South Yarra house was a travesty. Police had the killer’s car bugged, heard everything, the cocking of the pistol, the cartridge chambered…And their lame excuse was that they were powerless to stop it, even though they had followed the car by tracker and taped the audio with another bug. The same gunman who blasted Jason and Paddy Barbaro away in front of scores of witnesses at a kids’ footy match was convicted along with Carl Williams of the Marshall murder.

Spare me, how far can credibility be stretched? A litany of murders committed under the eyes and ears of Victoria’s finest. Brings to mind the statement by Roger Rogerson, the disgraced Sydney detective who said, ‘NSW has the finest police force money can buy.’ Try drawing a parallel with Victoria’s finest here and you will see and understand why the Moran clan had to die.

Next came Graham ‘the Munster’ Kinniburgh. He was most surely under police surveillance because of the investigations by the old drug squad into Lewis and his associates, of which I was one. The Munster was Lewis Moran’s best friend, confidant, keeper of the secrets, placer of the spoils and much more. Without thrusting aspersions on anybody, friend or foe, legitimate or otherwise, on that day in December 2003, Graham Kinniburgh had to go. The gunman, or gunmen, who silenced the Munster that day have never been caught and it is my belief they probably had a green light from corrupt police.

Then came Andrew Veniamin himself, perpetrator and alleged hit man for so many murders. He would have had more tails and bugs on him than a monkey would have fleas. The Carlton identity acquitted of Benji’s death on the grounds of self-defence did everybody a favour, or so Lewis Moran and I thought at the time.

But worse was to come. Lewis and I, out on bail, were being watched not only by an NCA task force, but the drug squad. Under heavy suspicion themselves, the drug squad wanted us to do something, anything, that they could arrest us for – an excuse to search us and find us carrying firearms, even if we really weren’t. That would break our bail conditions and result in us being returned to the dangerous confines of jail. Then there was the almighty Purana Task Force. Not only did one of Lewis Moran’s associates – yes, I did say Lewis Moran’s associates – from Purana, tell him that we should be carrying, but that a blind eye would be turned in the event that this advice and warning became apparent. But cocky as he was, and not going to be stood over by some upstarts, Lewis thought he had it covered. And we knew Purana had an observation post opposite the Brunswick Club: a room in a block of flats located behind a church allowed them to observe every movement in the club.

Three lots of surveillance on us, and the few stalwarts that were left. Is it becoming clear now why the Morans and their insiders had to die?

After the gunmen burst into the club and murdered both Lewis and I that night, which incidentally was a day or so after Andrew Veniamin’s funeral, and scarpering away like the vermin they were, who do you think were first on the scene? Members of the Purana Task Force, from their observation post across from the club.

I can imagine in the next day or two the covert meetings, the whispered conversations that took place, all with the common thread: ‘objective achieved’, the Morans are gone, no more need to worry about long-held secrets, long-standing friendships and mutually beneficial deals.

No, the Williams crew didn’t wipe out the Morans; it was a colder and more calculated agenda that finally achieved its task.

Over the years, minion that I was, kitchen hand so to speak, I learnt enough to know not to approach Lewis when he walked out of earshot and conversed with his associates from the other side. At times I would be told, ‘No talking tonight when so-and-so comes in.’ It would usually be two or three main players who constantly dealt in private with Lewis. I remember once when Lewis was incapable of driving we went to Coburg and I observed him conversing with a drug squad member I recognised. When he returned to the car he placed a pistol between the seats that he had received from the disgraced and jailed Detective Steven Paton.

After the shooting, when I had mended enough to go out and drink and socialise again, I sometimes drank with Tuppence Moran, and it was always the same warning: ‘So-and-so is coming for a drink tonight, so be careful what you say.’ Tuppence was not so reticent as Lewis and sometimes he would actually tell me certain things he had learnt, and from who. There was one Purana member who dealt with three informers; what a task, controlling people who were murderers, drug dealers and registered informers.

These doings, these murders, these coincidences, the elimination of the Morans. Here’s more: the Duke, who killed a husband and wife 20 years ago, enacted his vicious crimes with police informer Hodson, who was himself murdered by the Duke along with his wife, in 2004. Hodson was murdered after paperwork implicating him as an informer was stolen from the Police Complex in St Kilda Rd. Hodson is also the same person Lewis Moran offered $40,000 – a miserable amount – to find someone to murder Carl Williams. This in turn led to former drug squad detective Paul Dale being implicated and charged with murder. But as we know, the charge was recently withdrawn. Had it been able, the Crown would have alleged Dale hired the Duke to kill the Hodsons. Lewis could never see the big picture, what with one blind eye and the other a dollar sign. By this and the involvement of corrupt police, Lewis Moran himself killed the Moran clan.

It was the only answer to everyone’s problems. As I’ve said, it wasn’t just Roberta and Carl Williams and his gang saying kill the Morans and their crew. Other Moran associates I’ve written about breathed a sigh of relief when the Morans were eliminated.

Now we come to the last of three generations of Morans. Tuppence Moran, gunned down on 15 June 2009, at a coffee shop in Union Rd, Ascot Vale. This was a coffee shop that was under NCA surveillance due to other matters. Tuppence was also under surveillance after being shot at some weeks previously. The 9mm bullet lodged in the steering wheel of his Mercedes, thereby saving the life of his friend who was in the driver’s seat. Tuppence told me a couple of weeks later at a friend’s funeral that the gunman was wearing a balaclava so big that he recognised him, pasty little junkie weasel. They, the shooters, were obviously so stupid or drugged that they gave the wrong balaclava to this puny rat.

Not only was Tuppence under surveillance, but the people who I cannot name, but who have all been charged with murder in an open court, and with it received much publicity – would you believe they themselves were under tight surveillance. Funny that, and just when Tuppence was gunned down in a barrage of bullets by two assailants in front of shocked and horrified onlookers, the many surveillance teams in cars and on foot had lost their prey for those vital few minutes. The rest is history: the arrest of the perpetrators, their amateurish attempts to escape retribution and their complete lack of attention to detail. Thus ended the last of the adult Morans. So for all of you out there who think Carl Williams and his gang were the only ones who wanted the Morans and their gang permanently silenced, think again. They had help, the inefficient enforcement officers of the Victoria Police who had the most to hide. In my opinion, they were the real killers, through inaction and supposed errors.

In hindsight again there were other losers, and I again apologise to Tuppie’s stalwart friends. These include the ‘horsies’ from the racing world who could always rely on the drugs they treated their horses with if supplied by Tuppence. And let’s not forget the ‘showies’, the workers behind the family institution that is the Royal Melbourne Show, who now had to look elsewhere to procure their eggies, marijuana and more that they had come to rely on from good old Tuppence. What a pity. But also what a godsend for the four insider scumbags who, within an hour of Tuppence being shot, retrieved all the drugs, the money and almost all guns from his home. Led by a well-known Ascot Vale identity and confidant of Tuppence, they stripped the home in record time.

Victoria Police do not give out all details but I am privy to information that vindicates my story and identifies that these nothing more than thieves acted to save their own skin and gain an unknown bonanza for their own benefit. There are a lot of things Tuppence owned that I have not seen go to auction, items in his house that when sold would have gone to the trust fund created for Mark Moran’s and Jason Moran’s children.

What inept fools the Victoria Police were that day, with large amounts of drugs, both human and animal, huge amounts of money, possibly divided up by so called friends and foes alike. And what of the pistols taken from their hiding place, two .22 Derringers, three other large calibre pistols, all taken by the one insider, whose words were: ‘They’re all claimed.’ Claimed by whom and for what purpose I ask? Of the insiders at the Victoria Police who had most to gain share in these spoils? Think long and hard about it.

Now I suppose you want me to name names. Don’t think I’ll do that right now and probably never will, even though I’ve suffered and had my life shortened, I’ll keep my integrity thanks. Sure I’ve bagged some people in this book, but in the long run they are only shitmen, informers and bad reporters. And I’m not going to give any more detail than what is here to anyone in the Victoria Police Force. They’ve got a new commissioner, Ethical Standards Department, Office of Police Integrity – whoops, by December 2011, almost gone, perhaps because it was prone to gross incompetence or worse – and an ombudsman. The government has just introduced legislation for an independent broad-based anti-corruption commission, the IBAC, to replace the OPI by early 2012. So, with an impressive armoury said by the media to include bazookas, grenade launchers and machine guns, perhaps the IBAC investigators will also feel empowered to ask the right people the right questions.

I’m sure they can root out the corruption that has spanned the life of the force itself, and there will be a shiny new era of clean policing in Victoria. I also believe Santa is real and that Carlton United did the right thing by tinkering with the VB beer formula.