‘Tom Irving is the only detective who has been in on this since the start, right back to the Waterfront heist. He was there when Nash was arrested and I’d say he’s one of only a few who could go over and positively ID that prick and tell the whole damn story.’
He rang Irving at home and told him he would be flying out to Melbourne from Auckland the very next day. Brien would meet him at Auckland Airport at Whenuapai with his tickets and the paperwork necessary to satisfy the Melbourne magistrate.
Irving arrived in Melbourne on 17 July, and was driven to Russell Street City Watchhouse, where he was met by Henderson and Davy. After formalities, he was escorted to the cells.
‘I depose that the man you have in custody is Trevor Edward Nash,’ he said.
He and Nash eyeballed each other. Irving tried not to look smug—but he didn’t try too hard. Nash, as usual, gave nothing away.
— — —
At a hearing in the Melbourne City Court, the proof of Nash’s identity was used to validate the Victorian state warrant to arrest Nash for escaping from prison. Irving also produced the original warrant committing Nash to seven years’ gaol for the Waterfront payroll robbery on 14 November 1957. After the magistrate was satisfied of its authenticity, he endorsed the warrant as executable in the State of Victoria, pursuant to the Fugitive Offenders Act 1881. This then permitted the court to order Nash’s extradition back to New Zealand. Nash wasn’t represented, and although he was invited to ask questions he refused to speak.
There was the question of the cash and property found in Nash’s possession when he was arrested—£2600 in New Zealand banknotes and £93 Australian, the watches, transistors and camera. These were withdrawn as evidence for the unlawful possession of goods charge, and handed over to Irving to be passed on his return to the New Zealand official assignee. Nash was remanded in custody overnight.
On the afternoon of 21 July, Nash was escorted to Melbourne Airport, where he boarded a flight handcuffed to Irving.
Detectives on both sides of the Tasman speculated as to who could have assisted Nash out of the country. The Australians had no idea, which meant that the shit fell locally. Around the time of his arrest, it was learned a suspicious character with dyed red hair named Robert West had bought a motor vehicle in Auckland and sold it at a loss five days later in Tauranga; in Melbourne, Nash had been using the name John West. The Modus Operandi group riffed on it, figuring the name was a composite of Robert—as in Steele—and West—as in Norma, Steele’s partner in life and in crime. It was a guess, as Nash still refused to spill his guts.
Irving relayed this theory to Henderson. Nash had a sizeable bankroll to finance his departure from New Zealand and enough left over for a new identity and fresh start in Australia. Fresh enquiries into the now five-year-old Waterfront payroll robbery had learned that one of the original prime suspects whom they could not locate, safe-breaker Harold Kendall, had surfaced in Perth. A number of informants snitched on Robert Steele as having helped facilitate his departure; perhaps Nash had gone the same way?
Henderson dutifully informed his boss of the Steele connection and the information was passed across state. New South Wales Police Detective Fred Krahe was assigned to track down Steele. Three weeks later, Krahe reported that Steele ‘was nowhere to be found in Sydney, and none of the gangsters spoken [to] have seen him since his release from prison and it is believed he has shot through to parts unknown’. Police accepted Krahe’s explanation and there the Australian end of the investigation ceased. His lines of enquiry and findings were never questioned.
— — —
Nash and Irving were escorted to Melbourne Airport by Detectives Henderson and Davy. It was a wet night, and Irving extended the hand of mutual respect to Henderson. Irving was eager to get back home, but his enthusiasm wasn’t shared by Nash, whom he had to forcibly haul aboard. It would be interesting to know what they talked about during the flight back to New Zealand, but we’ll never know. Those who recall working under Irving believe he wouldn’t have relaxed or removed the handcuffs. The pair arrived at Whenuapai, where the press was gathered to greet them in the early hours of 22 July, and from there they were driven straight to Auckland CIB.
Nash was quickly processed, with Brien and Hughes observing. They wouldn’t miss this historic moment for the world. All the same, Hughes—champion ex-navy boxer and one-time potential Olympics contender—was disappointed by the appearance of the notorious Mr Nash. ‘One punch would fuck this cocksucker,’ was his considered opinion. But he became aware that, alongside him, Brien was about to lose it. He, along with Hughes and Irving, had for six months solid, sometimes around the clock, busted his gut on this guy. He wanted to beat the crap out of Nash. Hughes grabbed his arm. Brien took a few deep breaths and calmed down, although he enthusiastically assisted in hustling Nash through to Detective Chief Inspector Hill’s office. There they bombarded him with questions.
‘So who helped you escape, Nash? What rat hole have you been hiding in since then? Who helped you ring-bolt?’
Nash sat back and looked around the office smugly. ‘Seems like I’ve been here before,’ he said, referring to the day four years before when Irving and other detectives were quizzing him after his arrest in Newmarket. ‘I never said anything then. You don’t think I’m going to spill my fucking guts now, do you? You’re wasting your time. Just take me to the Big House.’
This time, Brien did lose it, and before he could be restrained he had seized Nash by his lapels, hauled him out of his chair and shoved him up against the wall.
‘Where’s the fucking money from the Waterfront job? Who are the others, you fucking prick?’
Nash went limp. ‘Fuck you.’ He smiled wanly.
Brien let him go. Nash slid to the floor.
Nash consented to be fingerprinted but refused to sign the form, reminding them he was only obliged to submit to fingerprinting.
— — —
The photograph of Nash and Irving walking blearily into the airport terminal was splashed across the front pages of every newspaper, and his recapture was a major talking point for the nation. The questions people were asking were the same as the questions police were asking themselves. How did he remain at large for so long? How the hell did he skip across to Aussie?
One young man sitting down to his breakfast did a double-take and spilled his coffee. He sat there staring at the front page for a minute and realised he had some of the answers. Shit, he thought. Do I want to get involved in this?
After a minute or two, during which he realised that he already was involved, and that, if he didn’t come to the police, they would sooner or later come to him, he picked up the phone and called them.
Nash was due to appear at the Auckland magistrates’ court on 28 July to hear the charges against him. On the afternoon of 27 July, Detective Chief Inspector Hill and Detective Sergeant Irving visited Nash in his cell. The prisoner appeared tired. He was again invited to talk but declined.
‘You should know we’ve found out what you’ve been up to, Nash,’ Irving said. ‘Tomorrow when you go to court there’ll be witnesses to testify against you.’
Nash slumped forward with his head in his hands. Without looking up, he sighed. ‘I’m going to plead guilty, all right? Now fuck off.’
Police took no chances in case he shitcanned them. Security, particularly at the magistrates’ court, was minimal, so Detective Constable Brien arranged for extra constables to be on hand. There was still a large amount of the stolen money unaccounted for, and there was a distinct possibility that Nash might have paid off gangster colleagues to bust him out. In the morning, when it was time to take him to court, he was hustled into a police van, handcuffed to a constable, with another three riding shotgun.
CHAPTER 15
ON THE RUN
When Nash walked into court on 28 July 1961, he glanced around the public gallery for familiar faces. The gallery was packed. He may have noticed his sad-looking wife and parents; there ma
y have been others there whom he was expecting to see, although he gave no sign. As he scanned the court he may have spotted young Robert Ricketts sitting at the rear of the court with his head down, deliberately avoiding his eye. A week earlier, Ricketts had woken up expecting to start another mundane working day. Instead, after his phone call to police, a lot of things had happened fast. Now he was thrust into the centre of the biggest criminal case in recent years.
Prior to that call, the police were enduring yet another round of frustration on Nash’s account. Part of Nash’s movements while he was on the run had been learned only two days prior to his escape hearing. Within an hour of learning of his arrest in Melbourne, senior detectives in Auckland CIB had held an emergency conference to recall Brien from Police College to resurrect enquiries and to fetch Irving from Rotorua and despatch him to fetch the fugitive back. Meanwhile, Detective Senior Sergeant Les Schultz, who now headed the newly established Consorting Squad, got the green light to let his squad loose on the criminal underworld to find out who had been responsible for harbouring Nash, on the grounds that someone might be prepared to squeal now that he was safely locked up again. As before, though, no one knew anything, or nothing they would let on about—at the time, that is.
Gradually, over the course of the 1960s, the whispers began, and bits and pieces started to emerge in statements and informants’ intelligences. Together with what Ricketts had to tell the court, it’s now possible to advance a fair theory on Nash’s movements from the time he wriggled through the Mount Eden Prison fence to the time he put down his cup of coffee, folded his newspaper and got up to stroll along Bourke Street in Melbourne.
— — —
Trevor Nash began 1961 utterly dejected. After he had exhausted his avenues for legal appeal in 1957, he seemed to settle into prison routine, prepared to serve his lag knowing things would be cushy when he was released. After all, he assumed that if he served his full sentence he would be able to keep the money from the Waterfront heist. When, during the bankruptcy hearing in September 1960, he learned his life would be made difficult until he turned over the money, he realised he had been mistaken. He gave up—or at least began to direct his considerable mental agility towards planning and executing his escape.
Ray Jennings was a safe-breaker who served a stretch in Mount Eden at the same time as Nash, but was released earlier in 1959.
What the screws didn’t know was there was a pretty reliable prison grapevine going and you could get your message out there, even to the outside if you wanted. It was an effective method. Even the stoolies [informants] kept quiet on it because they would have cause to use it, too, from time to time. Yes, Nash did keep to himself, he didn’t trust anybody, but there were a few solid cons he did confide in, and guys were keen to help him for who he was. He was held in high regard because of the Waterfront job.
Nash told a select few of his plans. Leonard Evans was one of these. ‘I was the one who helped Nash escape,’ he admits.
He told me some time earlier, but I didn’t know when he was going to go. I worked in the tinsmith shop just along from where he worked. He asked for a tin cutter, like scissors. On the day—it was a Friday—he came into the shop and gave me the nod, and I gave him the cutters and he was off. Didn’t say a word. I covered things up so the screws wouldn’t immediately notice. I thought, Good on you, mate. We all got a hard time, bloody swish, but never admitted anything.
Gus Parsons had been seen outside the prison earlier that morning. This could have been dismissed as coincidence had Parsons not been seen in the same spot on the day another prisoner named Bennett had jumped the fence. Most believed Parsons was involved in Bennett’s escape. Many believed he was waiting in the area to drive Nash away, too.
The connection between Parsons and Nash was never made clear. Police at the time doubted it because Parsons was a big-noter and Nash wouldn’t have tolerated someone like him. But Parsons was connected to Australian gangster Robert ‘Jacky’ Steele, who operated between New Zealand and Australia, and who would have been in a position to get Nash across the ditch.
After Nash broke out, he headed through the Colonial Ammunition Company yard next door. If he spotted and spontaneously stole Archer’s bicycle, it was his second stroke of luck (the first being the rain that mucked up his scent for the tracker dog). It was apparently common knowledge throughout the prison that 166 Dominion Road was empty, and despite Manuel’s denials to police, Nash may well have confided his plans to Manuel and learned of number 166 from him. However he found out about it, he seems to have pedalled there, arriving a little under ten minutes after he cut loose.
Several empty food packets and tins estimated to have been enough for two days’ stay were found in the house. Nash wouldn’t have had any money on him when he escaped, so someone must have visited with a view to checking 166 was empty and to planting the supplies. This was common practice in a well-planned prison escape. There were a number of ‘food plants’ in empty homes, caves and secluded locations throughout Auckland; a number had been found in the course of the Nash escape investigation. One informant directed Detective Constable Stewart to a food plant allegedly left for Nash in a hidden cave at the top of cliffs at Judges Bay in Parnell. Stewart found empty food packaging and copies of newspapers dated 4 February and 6 February 1961—the day after Nash’s escape and the first issue after Sunday respectively. Nash may well have been holed up there, although detectives considered it far more likely he had availed himself of 166 Dominion Road instead, due to the presence of Archer’s bicycle at that address. If so, who knows who used the Judges Bay cave?
Parsons may have big-noted about his role in the escape, which would have prompted the call on late Sunday night to the CIB urging them to watch Parsons and his crew if they wanted to find Nash. It’s believed that Parsons may have suspected he was under scrutiny, and arranged for Nash to be shifted either late on Sunday night or early the next morning. Nash’s new hideout is thought to have been 48 East Street, Newton, off Karangahape Road. This was an address well known to criminals and detectives alike, being the home of career criminal Archie Banks and his wife, Kitty. It is surmised that Kitty Banks assisted in disguising Nash as a woman—a clever ploy, as with his slender build and distinctive high cheekbones Nash was well able to pull it off.
All the same, the game was nearly up on Monday morning, when the ex-prisoner on road-works duty at the corner of East Street had seen Parsons drive towards him from the direction of Archie Banks’s house. As noted, in his call to the CIB the ex-prisoner said he thought the passenger looked like Trevor Nash in a wig and woman’s clothes, but when police located Parsons later that afternoon on Symonds Street he was in the company of his latest girlfriend, Phyllis Bailey, and police decided that the information from the road-gang employee was wrong. It wasn’t until 1966 that detectives investigating another matter entirely realised that it was indeed likely to have been Nash, not Phyllis Bailey, in the car with Parsons that morning.
That day, police executed search warrants on houses connected to Gus Parsons. After being stopped in Symonds Street, Parsons himself agreed to drive to CIB to make a statement. The heat was well and truly on and he was feeling the pressure. He would have needed to distance himself from Nash quickly.
A police file report from Constable Hensleigh around this time reads:
I respectfully report that, acting on instruction from Inspector Doole, I interviewed Ann Karina Hoffmann [sic] regarding her reported association with prison escapee Trevor Edward Nash.
Hoffmann informed me that she knew Nash but had no knowledge of his whereabouts. She denied ever having been with Nash at the Princes Wharf on the 8–10 February 1961. I am certain that Hoffmann was telling the truth, as she has assisted me on many previous occasions in locating wanted persons. She allowed me to search her flat at Studio Flats, and I found nothing there that would indicate that Nash had ever been there.
The reason Hoffmann was interviewed is that the police had recei
ved an anonymous telephone call saying a man who looked like Nash was loitering around Princes Wharf, near where SS Mariposa was berthed. He was doing his best to stay out of sight and was accompanied by two women. Senior Sergeant Jones of Wharf Police had noticed Anna Hoffmann and Charmaine Walker in the area. A notorious ring-bolter, it was suspected Anna was planning her next escape.
‘Oh dear. Old Roger Hensleigh said that?’ Hoffmann herself said when interviewed in 2013.
I remember him. He was charming, a regular visitor to Studio Flats that one. Someone saw three people walking around the wharves and assumed it was me and Trevor Nash. Well, not that time. I was on the waterfront with Charmaine and Big Al [Australian gangster Alan Dalton], who was at that time wanted by the police. We pretended to be walking, but it was a ruse to get him on board one of the vessels bound for Sydney. The funny thing was that Trevor had been holed up at the Studio Flats with me for a few days. George [Walker] arrived sweating in a mad panic one night wanting me to put him up. George had this dodgy Jaguar with a dicky motor and was supposed to have taken him out to one of Tom Hartigan’s safe houses in Avondale, but there were lots of cops on the road and he didn’t want to risk the ride out west. George then left saying he would be back in a day or two, but Trevor Nash ended up staying here for a few days, actually. He slept during the day and I was working and brought back dinner. He insisted I buy all the newspapers because he was eager to read about his escape and where the police were up to. He was pretty calm about it. In the evening we played Scrabble or he would read the papers. He was a very chauvinistic man, but he never pressured me for anything. I suppose I was flattered to be helping him out. We talked about getting away. I was mad keen on heading back to Sydney. At that time, I was all over Truth for getting involved in some scandal or another, and we joked about the headlines: ‘Trevor Nash and Anna Hoffmann leave New Zealand’.
The Great New Zealand Robbery Page 20
