Authors: Matthew Condon
‘Through lack of contacts in this area, we are unable to confirm or deny these rumours,’ he reported. ‘I have discussed this with Inspector [Allen] BULGER, relieving in charge of the Licensing Branch, and he can offer no information that would assist. He advised me that the Licensing Branch do not maintain records of the Gold Coast area and only go there on specific jobs.’
Thompson acknowledged that with the large number of people now involved in massage parlours and other forms of prostitution, ‘there must be a wealth of information available’ in the drug and other criminal fields. He pointed out that the Victorian BCI had three officers working full-time gathering intelligence from the prostitution industry.
Assistant Commissioner (Crimes and Services) Bill McArthur contributed to the debate with a confidential memo. ‘The area of complaint from detectives charged with the fight against general crime is that, more and more, there is indeed a great deal of criminality in and on the periphery of the massage parlour and associated industries. There is no in-depth intelligence gathering of that aspect of criminal activity. My view is that our overall fight against crime is hampered by present policy.’
McArthur recommended that a selected ‘cell’ of officers (perhaps two) from the BCI be allowed to operate within the massage parlour industry to gather intelligence.
But what some knew, and many didn’t, was that an embedded ‘cell’, as described by McArthur, would very quickly detect the vast corrupt network, known colloquially as The Joke, and the reach of its tentacles.
Detective Inspector Graeme Parker, in charge of the Licensing Branch, also added to the discussion. He said there were only 14 massage parlours in Brisbane, involving an estimated 70 prostitutes. He claimed ‘it had been the practice of members of this branch to elicit information from these persons’ and pass it on to the BCI.
He also assured Assistant Commissioner McArthur that officers of the BCI, the Drug Squad and the Licensing Branch had ‘joined forces’ and gathered intelligence on the Gold Coast.
He concluded: ‘The suggestion of BCI members visiting areas of the prostitution scene in Brisbane is worthy of consideration, however, the final decision would no doubt be a police matter for the department to consider.’
Assistant Commissioner (Operations) Ron Redmond put in his two cents worth. He believed the policing of the 14 massage parlours in Brisbane should remain the responsibility of the Licensing Branch. ‘It is my view that we must retain the present policy of this department in only permitting Licensing Branch personnel to police the parlours,’ he declared. ‘Should we allow police from other establishments to enter the parlours in a policing role, I am sure that we are only inviting trouble insofar as allegations of graft, standover tactics of the girls operating the parlours and other obvious reasons.
‘It is also the government’s view that policing of massage parlours must remain the responsibility of the Licensing Branch,’ he concluded.
The final word, of course, went to Commissioner Lewis. ‘It is considered that the present system is working well,’ he declared.
Every Little Bit Helps
It had been three months since Jim Slade had formally submitted his dynamite report on the drug trade in Queensland. The report had gone to Queensland’s Bureau of Criminal Intelligence and was then forwarded to Peter Vassallo on the Italian desk of the Australian Bureau of Criminal Intelligence in Canberra. Somehow it had gotten out of the state without being ‘choked off’.
Without doubt, Slade’s focus on the Bellino family had gotten around the department like a brush fire, yet Slade had received no blow-back through the Christmas and New Year period.
Commissioner Lewis had been preoccupied with the Dave Moore scandal since late 1984, and continued to try and manage the damage into the New Year. On top of that, Queensland was suffering from a major clash between the government and South-East Queensland Electricity Board (SEQEB) electricians. Bjelke-Petersen had denied them a wage rise and squared up for a brawl with the Electrical Trades Union (ETU). Hundreds of electricians went on strike causing major power blackouts from December.
The strike dragged on. Then, on Thursday 7 February 1985, the Premier – having learned of its political effectiveness during the Springbok Rugby Union protests of 1971 – called a State of Emergency. Once again, Queensland police became the government’s muscle in a protracted arm wrestle.
Lewis was called to attend a Cabinet meeting in the Executive Building in George Street, Brisbane, the next day. ‘State Emergency proclaimed over Power Strikes’, he recorded in his diary. ‘Police to ensure safety and peace at 83 SEQEB depots.’
That night, and unbeknown to Commissioner Lewis, Detective Constable Jim Slade was winding down with a few drinks in the Police Club at North Quay. He was joined by one of his superiors, Senior Sergeant Alan Barnes, of the Bureau of Criminal Intelligence.
‘It was fairly late at night, around 10 p.m., as far as I can remember,’ Slade later recalled. ‘At one stage Alan Barnes and myself were left alone and Alan said: “How would you like a bit of extra money?” and I said, “Yes, every little bit helps.”
‘He said, “As you know I have got my ear to the ground and I can organise most transfers that people want”, and I said, “Yes, I’m aware of that”.’
Barnes then mentioned a number of officers who ‘met at Jack Herbert’s place and that is where most of these things are sorted out’.
Slade was stunned by Barnes’ revelation. The following day, he discussed the Barnes offer with his colleague Ian Jamieson. He also telephoned his friend Peter Vassallo in Canberra.
The next month, on Saturday 30 March, Slade was again approached by his boss. Slade had just stepped off an Ansett flight from Mount Isa, and Barnes picked him up from the airport in his silver Commodore.
‘We had some conversation re[garding] the job in Mount Isa, and before Alan Barnes started the car he put his hand into his pocket and removed a number of $20 notes,’ recalled Slade.
The $100 bribe was clearly related to Slade’s Operation Trek report and his information on the Bellino family. When Slade got home to Marsden, 27 kilometres south of the Brisbane CBD, he took notes of the conversation and transaction with Barnes.
Back at work on Tuesday, Slade confidentially informed Inspector Col Thompson of what had happened in the car with Barnes. ‘I got the impression from Col Thompson that he was going to take it further with his superiors.’
Four weeks later, Barnes approached Slade again. At 2.48 p.m. on Monday 29 April (as recorded precisely by Slade), he was in the BCI Queensland office. ‘About halfway up the corridor Alan Barnes stopped and turned and handed me a folded pack of $20 notes.’
‘Here you are,’ Barnes said.
‘Thanks, mate,’ Slade replied.
‘Everything alright?’
‘Yes, no worries,’ Slade replied.
‘You haven’t told anyone about our little thing?’
‘Oh no, mate, no way,’ said Slade.
‘I trust you,’ Barnes said. ‘You know what would happen?’
‘Yes,’ Slade replied. ‘No worries.’
‘Keep it like this, a hundred a month. A hundred a month is not bad for doing nothing.’
‘I’ll say, mate. I’m happy.’
Slade returned to his desk. That night he and Ian Jamieson went to the Police Club for a drink after work. It was around 6.10 p.m. Barnes was at a table with colleagues just inside the door. Slade had some whiskey and sodas. Barnes later summoned him to the end of the table. ‘Listen, I picked the boss [Thompson] up this morning … [he] put it on me that I had told you to lay off Gerry [Bellino],’ Barnes said.
‘Oh, shit mate,’ Slade replied, ‘that’s not right.’
Barnes explained that when Thompson got in the car and before they headed off to pick up another Assistant Commissioner, he asked Barnes if he’d ever asked Slade to back off Gerry Bellino.
‘Shit, that doesn’t make sense,’ Slade countered. ‘We haven’t got a job going on Gerry, have we?’
‘No,’ said Barnes. ‘Anyway, he doesn’t have to get his money illegally, he is making a fortune out of that marble up north.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Slade. ‘Listen, Alan, are you worried about that?’
‘No, not at all,’ he replied. ‘The only thing is not to tell a soul about this.’
Slade and Jamieson made to leave when Barnes called him back. ‘Will you swear on the Bible you haven’t told anyone about the money I have given you?’
‘I haven’t told a soul,’ Slade said, ‘but I am really worried about what the boss said.’
Barnes reassured him that ‘no one knows about you’. And added: ‘The bloke I get the bread off knows I give $100 of the $300 I get off him to another bloke in the squad but he doesn’t know your name. But for Christ’s sake, don’t say a word.’
Slade had now taken two wads of cash. He packed the notes in exhibit bags and slipped in each bag a note recording the date, time and place the money was received.
Slade discussed the conundrum with his wife Chris. He was in a difficult position. He had liked and respected Barnes, and to rat on a fellow officer was against every professional fibre in his being. But it was impossible to accept the cash.
‘Only when Barnes offered that money, that’s when it affected me, that’s when I had to do something about it,’ he says. ‘If they hadn’t made it so fucking obvious, just after my report [for Operation Trek was submitted] … I used to take it [the cash bribes] home and I’d say to Chris … that mongrel Barnes wants to give me more money. We sat and talked about it and we put the money under our waterbed mattress. We were trying to work out what to do with it.’
Slade grew fearful for his family. He started sleeping with a gun under the bed.
The Shade of Nazis
In the final weeks of February, as Commissioner Lewis’s fifty-seventh birthday loomed and Slade was ruminating on the underbelly of corruption that he was unwittingly being dragged into, the ramifications of the government brawl with the Electrical Trades Union workers was being felt. Following the sacking of 1000 workers, the government found it difficult to quickly replace the huge number of retrenched linesmen and power supply from the stations was cut by half. The community tension, by this stage, was palpable.
On Tuesday 19 February Lewis wrote in his diary: ‘Premier phoned re security required at suite in parlt. Annex (sic) and at home in Kingaroy.’ And later: ‘Phoned Premier re addit. security arrangements.’
The next day, Lewis was discussing the possibility that police would be called upon to ‘perform functions at power stations’, and he talked to his deputy about ‘using Police to protect persons serving court orders on power workers’.
In parliament, the debate over the SEQEB crisis hit fever pitch. The brawl was bitter and long. ‘Queenslanders are absolutely tired of being held to ransom by dictatorial union leaders, supported by the Labor Party, who are quite content to see people suffer physically, mentally and financially while they practise their own form of industrial blackmail, which they are so expert in doing,’ the Premier fired. ‘Such action in essential industries will no longer be tolerated in the modern age.’
One of Bjelke-Petersen’s great political strengths had been to seize an issue and simplify it into an easily digestible narrative for his conservative followers. He did it well with the Springboks rugby fiasco in 1971. This time the story was not about fair rights for ordinary workers, but a tale of barbarians holding hostage good, hard-working families, over something as essential as electricity. His remedy was to change legislation to ensure the electricity industry was a ‘strike-free’ zone.
Leader of the Opposition Nev Warburton retaliated. He accused Bjelke-Petersen of deliberately prolonging the dispute in order to use the strike as a mask for the government’s hopeless economic mismanagement in general. He countered that ‘the Premier and his Cabinet of faceless men have deliberately set a course which has promoted hatred and division in our community’.
ALP member for Ipswich, David Hamill, rose to debate the issue of the State of Emergency, still in place and possibly, as hinted at by Bjelke-Petersen, to remain until May. He also questioned the Premier’s use of Police Commissioner Terry Lewis and his men in the dispute.
‘I now want to examine the role of the police and the other agencies that the government has employed to be the tools of its political action,’ he said to a heated House. ‘The action of the government is not industrial conciliation and arbitration. The action of the government is political action and ideologically based action.’
Hamill made references to the campaign of harassment of the families involved in the striking. ‘It was interesting,’ he noted ‘… that the Queensland Police Union yesterday acknowledged that the police had been used in a manner that was both scandalous and detrimental to the esteem in which the public would hold the force.
‘The Police Union yesterday undertook to make sure that there was a discontinuance of those intimidatory tactics for which the police were used in some areas. The Police Union recognised that the police had been used callously by the government for its own political ends …’
Hamill said he had received intelligence that Special Branch officers were also taking photographs of meetings of the sacked linesmen. ‘The government should hang its head in shame,’ he concluded.