Bad

by Michael Duffy

  The reference was to the popular volume Gotcha: Best of Underbelly by Andrew Rule and John Silvester, which Tong had previously shown Christiansen. A copy had also been found in the house of Lyle Pendleton when he was arrested.

  After Christiansen made his statement to Joe Doueihi and Matt Fitzgerald about the killing of Paul Elliott, they had a team at the Brighton-Le-Sands address within hours, with detectives interviewing neighbours while crime scene officers carefully went over the house. In the room where Christiansen said the shooting had occurred, a large portion of carpet and underlay had been replaced. The rooms were checked for blood traces using Luminol. The reagent is sprayed on a surface in darkness, and if blood is detected it glows with a blue light known as chemiluminescence. Positive reactions were found on some carpet and a piece of underlay, and also on floorboards. Swabs were taken, and the DNA from the blood on the underlay was matched to that of Paul Elliott.

  Also after Christiansen’s statement, detectives spent many hours reviewing the surveillance records of the Kennards lock-up. These showed Christiansen coming in and collecting a gun a day or so before the murder. He returned with a backpack containing a large quantity of drugs (his payment from Tong), and later the gun and Elliott’s bumbag. Following Christiansen’s confession, they could see how these movements matched the chronology of the murder. It was chilling to think that, thanks to the surveillance they’d been conducting, they had actually recorded the arrangements for a killing. But at the time they had no idea of this.

  The one action that didn’t fit the chronology was Christiansen placing Elliott’s bumbag in the lock-up, which did not occur until a fortnight after the murder. This seems to be because, as soon as the body had been given a ‘Sydney send-off’ out at sea, Christiansen and Urriola had done another job unrelated to Elliott—a drug run to Perth—that took them away. Christiansen must have kept the bag somewhere else until his return. Police were puzzled that he would keep the bumbag with Elliott’s identification in it. The only reason they could think of was that he was so convinced Elliott’s disappearance wouldn’t be solved, he’d been considering using the driver’s licence and other items for some sort of identity fraud. But it was still a reckless act.

  Tuno still didn’t know the real name of the man Christiansen called Tong, but over at the Crime Commission, which was also looking at Elliott’s murder, the analyst got to work on the records for various phones that had been seized, and found that Lyle Pendleton, who’d originally brokered the protection contract, had spoken a lot to a man named Thanawat Chudtalay. And Chudtalay’s phone had him talking often to a man named Tuan Anh ‘Andy’ Tran.

  Phone records indicate the approximate location of their users because they show the mobile phone tower used for each call. With this information, the analyst was able to ascertain that Tran had been in the same area whenever Christiansen said he’d met Tong, so Tong and Tran were probably the same man. This important information was passed on to Tuno. Still not having enough information to charge Tran with involvement in Elliott’s murder, they arrested him on unrelated drug charges on 11 August 2009. Not only did he decline to talk, the detectives had a real problem with the issue of identification.

  As we’ve seen, after Christiansen told detectives the location of the murder, police ‘canvassed’ nearby houses, asking the occupants if they had any memory of activity at the location around the time of the killing. They soon heard a bizarre story. In one of the neighbouring houses, a few boys had been hanging out in a room on the second floor while the parents of the one who lived there were at work. Over the course of the afternoon, they’d taken an interest in the comings and goings next door, and had seen the white van arrive and the toolbox being lifted out and carried into the garage. Later, they’d seen a black Statesman turn up, and soon afterwards heard some banging sounds, like gunshots. The boys had been watching movies, so their observation wasn’t continuous, but they had seen the same men who’d carried the toolbox out of the van carry it back to the vehicle later, and noticed that this time it seemed a lot heavier. When the mother of the boy who lived in the house came home that night, he told her he thought someone had been shot next door. She told him not to be silly, and that he’d been watching too many films.

  The next day the boys got together again, and while one kept watch, the others got into the house and found a patch of carpet had been removed in the front room. While they were inside, a small car arrived and two Asian people got out with cleaning equipment. The cockatoo panicked and, trying to buy time for his friends still in the house, told the cleaners, ‘We thought we heard gunshots from in there yesterday.’

  ‘No,’ one of the Asians replied. ‘We’re just doing some renovations and using a nail gun.’

  The boys accepted this, at least to the point where they did not say anything to the authorities, until police came knocking. Then they gladly told their story, but it contained one detail that created a huge problem for the police. The boys said one of the men they’d seen carrying the toolbox was dark-haired and huge—Christiansen—and the other was Asian—Tran—and had a pale mohawk haircut. That last detail seemed completely wrong: when Tuno arrested Tran he had average-length dark hair, and it was unlikely he’d had time to grow out a mohawk since the murder. Tran still wasn’t speaking to them, but no one who knew him—including Christiansen—had any memory of a mohawk haircut, pale or otherwise. The detectives obtained what photographs of Tran they could from previous years, and in all of them his hair was quite ordinary.

  The detectives came to the conclusion that the boys had made a mistake. Probably it had happened because one of them had been in error about what he thought he’d seen, and in discussions afterwards his memory had been accepted by the others; such errors are less rare than most people realise. This one presented a problem to the police: they would have to disclose it to the defence, who would naturally make a great thing of it in court.

  Tuno and the Crime Commission decided to use covert listening devices to record some of Tran’s conversations while in custody, particularly with Thanawat Chudtalay, his co-offender in the unrelated drug matter for which he’d been arrested. Chudtalay was a close associate of Tran, and his DNA had been found on the bag of drugs located in Christiansen’s lock-up. The police installed the listening device, told the two men they were being investigated for the Elliott murder, and sat back and waited.

  On 14 August 2009, Tran told Chudtalay not to talk to police, and also relayed some advice he’d apparently received from his lawyer, whom I’ll call Dave. His English was not good: ‘Just stick to that, man, because, like, what, from what we know now, they have hard-core—Dave go to me my only escape, see what, what the situation is, switch that into self-defence.’ In subsequent conversations he was more explicit, and the police recorded him admitting to arranging the meeting at which Elliott was killed, to being there, and to helping Christiansen put the body in the toolbox.

  A year after Tran’s arrest they were able to charge him with the murder. (Although Christiansen had fired the gun, Tran had set the whole thing up.) He pleaded not guilty at first, only changing this to a guilty plea on the eve of his trial in late 2011. He was sentenced to twenty years, with a non-parole period of fifteen.

  •

  In the end, just about everyone pleaded guilty to something, except the Perish brothers and Matthew Lawton—and Curtis’ associate Jay Sauer. On 18 December 2003 police stopped Sauer’s car and searched it, finding 132 grams of methamphetamine and $1,500 in cash. Sauer said he had no knowledge of the drugs. Searches of his home and business premises found more drugs, including eighty-one mauve ecstasy tablets with a Donald Duck logo on them, and a further $27,260 in used notes that Sauer said was working capital for his Harley shop. He was given six years with a non-parole period of four.

  In April 2010 Marcelo Urriola was sentenced for helping dispose of Paul Elliott’s body at sea and for supplying cocaine. He asked that a further sixteen offences be taken into account, m
ost involving the possession of anabolic steroids. Justice Elizabeth Fullerton noted Urriola had had a ‘pathological dependence on Christiansen for the supply of various drugs of addiction’ and an ‘utterly misplaced regard and respect for this man’. She gave him a discount of forty-five per cent on the first count for his plea of guilty and for assistance provided. For the first offence Urriola received a total sentence of six years, with a non-parole period of four years and six months, and for the second, a fixed term of two years and six months, to commence three years after the first sentence. He appealed against the length of his sentence and the judge was told to make a relatively minor alteration to the overall sentence.

  On 15 April 2010 Craig Bottin, after serving seven years for various other offences, was arrested at his parents’ home in Mortdale and charged with his role in the Falconer kidnapping and other offences committed with Brad Curtis. In addition he was charged with obtaining a loan of $28,450 from Esanda Finance by securing it against a property he did not actually own. In fact it was his parents’ place. He was sentenced in May 2011 to three years, with two non-parole.

  In May 2010 Brad Curtis was sentenced for eight offences, including kidnapping Terry Falconer and shooting Gary Mack and Raniera Puketapu. He asked that a further fourteen offences, including the BOC Gases robbery, be taken into account. Judge Deborah Sweeney observed that Curtis was thirty-nine years old and his only criminal history was for drink-driving in the Children’s Court back in 1989. Since 2005 he’d been working in occupational health and safety management positions with organisations including Railcorp and the Wesley Mission.

  The court heard that since Curtis’ arrest in early 2009, his children’s behaviour had deteriorated and some were suffering severe anxiety. His wife had acquired a major depressive disorder.

  The judge noted that a psychologist who’d examined Curtis said there was no history of substance abuse, mental illness or significant pathology. Curtis himself expressed only qualified remorse for his crimes; for example, still distinguishing between ‘fighting gangsters’ and ‘hurting innocents’. Therefore, said the judge, ‘my assessment of his prospects of rehabilitation must remain guarded given the cold-blooded approach he demonstrated in many of his offences without any psychological condition which may have provided some explanation for his conduct’. For this accumulation of criminality he would have received a sentence of forty years, but the judge noted that the assistance he had provided police—and was to provide in the future, when he gave evidence in court—was ‘of a very high order. It can probably be described as exceptional.’ Therefore Curtis received a discount of fifty per cent, meaning his final sentence was twenty years, of which fifteen must be served.

  In September 2010 Jake Bennie was sentenced to five years, with a minimum of three, for his role in the abduction of Terry Falconer. The judge had taken into account the BOC Gases robbery and gave Bennie a thirty-five per cent discount for assistance provided. Bennie struck some observers as a strangely cheerful man, even in jail, one of those who seem to go through disasters untouched.

  In November 2010 Jeremy Postlewaight was sentenced for assisting with the disposal of Paul Elliott’s body and for the robbery of BOC Gases. Justice Elizabeth Fullerton noted that unlike Urriola, Postlewaight, who was thirty-three at the time of Elliott’s death, was not psychologically dependent on Christiansen, and had also provided the boat used to take the body out to sea, so his criminality was worse. He had also been in jail before, for supplying drugs.

  Her Honour noted that Postlewaight’s lawyer claimed his client had said a prayer ‘out of respect’ before dropping the toolbox into the ocean. ‘Even if that is true,’ the judge said, ‘I do not consider that it carries any weight at all as evidence of remorse, or that it has any bearing at all on the issue of rehabilitation, whatever else it might reflect about this offender’s conscience or his faith.’

  After applying a discount of twenty-five per cent for the guilty plea, Justice Fullerton sentenced Postlewaight to nine years, of which six years and six months must be served.

  Michael Christiansen was almost like a kid when talking to police after he was caught, claiming that everything bad he’d done had been an accident, certainly not his fault. Apparently he hadn’t intended to kill Elliott—even though he’d taken the toolbox coffin to the house. When telling these stories to police he would adopt a subservient and vacuous expression, but they figured he wasn’t as dumb as he pretended. His generally successful criminal career suggested otherwise.

  In July 2011 Christiansen, who had pleaded guilty, was sentenced for four offences, including the murder of Paul Elliott and for supplying a large quantity of drugs. He asked for an additional twenty-one offences to be taken into account.

  Like Curtis, Christiansen had helped police and, as a result, his life and the lives of his family were in danger. He would serve his sentence in protective custody within the prison system, which meant his conditions and access to courses and jobs would be restricted.

  Justice Megan Latham had received a letter from Christiansen saying, ‘I take full responsibility for my part in the death of Mr Elliott and expect to be punished accordingly.’ It was the judge’s view that Christiansen’s ‘prospects of rehabilitation appear sound, if only on the basis that, by the time of the offender’s release from jail, he will no longer be an associate of those who engage in large-scale drug dealing. The offender’s criminality appears to be almost wholly related to his participation in that milieu.’ After applying a discount of thirty per cent for the murder as a result of the guilty plea and the help provided police, the judge sentenced Christiansen to twenty-one years, with a minimum of fifteen years and three months.

  ‘The only upsetting thing about the investigation is the sentences don’t reflect the crimes,’ said Tuno detective Joe Doueihi when it was all over, ‘because most of them rolled and got discounts. Christiansen got fifteen years on the bottom for a contract killing where the body’s never even been recovered. It doesn’t get much worse than that.’

  The arrests and subsequent confessions were an impressive success. Unfortunately this had been achieved alongside the continuing decline in the personal and professional relationship between Gary Jubelin and Glen Browne. The only thing they had left in common was a commitment to the investigation.

  JUSTICE

  They have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.

  12

  THE FIRST TRIAL

  There is no peace, saieth the Lord, unto the wicked.

  Anthony and Andrew Perish and Matthew Lawton had all been charged with conspiracy to murder Terry Falconer. Anthony Perish and Matthew Lawton were also charged with the actual murder. They’d all pleaded not guilty, so there would be a trial. In the case of the murder charge, it would be necessary for the Crown to prove not that Perish and Lawton had actually killed Falconer, only that he’d died as a result of actions carried out by them with reckless disregard for human life.

  The first step in the trial process is a committal hearing before a magistrate, where the Crown presents its case—including some of its witnesses—and the defence challenges it. The magistrate decides if the case is strong enough to proceed to a trial before a jury.

  This committal occurred before Magistrate Alexander Mijovich in the Downing Centre in Sydney in June 2010, with trial advocate Roger Kimbell representing the Crown, along with solicitor Victoria Garrity. Often defence lawyers are paid for by the state, through Legal Aid, but in this case the accused paid for their own defence. According to one informed observer, by the end of the trial they would have spent more than a million dollars, all provided by Anthony Perish.

  It was fascinating to see how the state set out to prosecute, on the cheap, criminals of the stature of the Perishes. The Director of Public Prosecutions did not even allocate a Crown prosecutor (a barrister) to the committal, instead allowing a solicitor to take on three top barristers. As for the police force, you might think they would have provided
a dedicated, crack squad to protect the lives of the three protected witnesses whose evidence would be vital for the case, but in fact the detectives of Tuno had to look after Tod Daley, David Taylor and Tony Martin themselves. They booked cheap hotel rooms that they shared with the witnesses for the course of the committal (and, later, the trials), staying with them twenty-four hours a day.

  As most of what occurred at the committal was a rehearsal for the trial, it will not be described here, except for an incident on the morning of 9 June, after Tod Daley had been escorted into the courtroom by detectives. It was his second day in the witness box, and on the previous one the Perishes had alternated menacing stares with mocking laughter. Now, as the courtroom waited for the magistrate to appear, they took things to another level. First Andrew stared at Daley and made his right hand into a gun shape before placing it against his temple, then both Perishes got to scribbling on the pads with which they’d been provided, and wrote words that they held up for Daley to read. Anthony’s said ‘DOG’, while Andrew’s was ‘FINK’.

  It wasn’t a physical attack, but it was the best the Perishes could do in the circumstances, and for a man in Daley’s situation it was unsettling. The police charged the brothers with witness intimidation and hoped they would would be tried before the murder trial, so convictions would be on their records at that point. (As there was CCTV in the committal courtroom, and the makeshift signs had been seized by police, there was little doubt they’d be found guilty.) But for some reason the matter did not go to court until after the murder trial.

  The committal went for two weeks and at the end, Magistrate Mijovich decided there were cases to be answered. A trial date was set for 2011: the wheels of justice tend to move slowly, especially when there is a need to coordinate three busy defence lawyers. Experienced barrister Mervyn Grogan was assigned to be the Crown prosecutor, and he consulted with Roger Kimbell and Virginia Garrity (who would be at the trial too). He read the extensive brief—which occupied dozens of thick ringbinders—and began to work out how he would run the trial. This included determining in detail what evidence was admissible, and deciding which witnesses to call and the order in which to present them.