The Gangland War (37 page)

 

In your decision-making, ladies and gentlemen, you must put aside sympathy and you must put aside prejudice and decide the case solely on the evidence led here in court. Put aside completely any previous publicity. You must not decide the case on prejudice or on extraneous considerations or on sympathy but solely on the evidence led here in front of you in this court, just as you have sworn or affirmed to do.

Proceed in your decision-making, ladies and gentlemen, as you would expect and wish a judge to proceed, because each of you now is a judge, fairly, calmly, analytically and solely on the evidence. … In this case, ladies and gentlemen, the accused Mr Gatto, gave evidence in front of you and was cross-examined. Mr Gatto could have remained silent throughout this case and not come forward to give evidence and be cross-examined, and that is because, as I will come to in a moment, an accused person has no burden to prove anything in a criminal trial. The person who has the burden to prove in a criminal trial is the prosecution because the prosecution has brought the charge. So when you are assessing the evidence of Mr Gatto, you apply the same principles as you apply to other witnesses in the case: Is the witness telling the truth or lying? And is the witness accurate
and reliable or not? But with Mr Gatto, the accused, you also are entitled to take into account in his favour that he gave evidence in front of you when he had no obligation to do so.

To be convicted of murder, the accused has to kill another person. There is no dispute about that in this case. The accused Mr Gatto says he did kill Andrew Veniamin by forcing Andrew Veniamin's finger to pull the trigger, forced by Mr Gatto by squeezing Veniamin's hand and that killed Mr Veniamin. There is no dispute about element number one, ladies and gentlemen. … The issue here is: Who had the .38? The prosecution says Mr Gatto had the .38, he took the deceased out the back, Gatto produced the .38 and shot the deceased repeatedly with it. That is the prosecution case. The defence says the .38 was Veniamin's. Veniamin arrived at La Porcella with the .38 hidden, and when they both went out the back, Veniamin produced the .38 and was going to shoot Mr Gatto with it. So that is the issue in a nutshell, ladies and gentlemen. No-one has suggested in this case, ladies and gentlemen, that if Veniamin had the gun and Veniamin pulled the gun on Gatto, threatening to kill him, that Gatto was not entitled to act in self-defence. No-one suggested that. If Veniamin had the gun and Veniamin pulled the gun on Gatto and threatened him, you must acquit Mr Gatto of murder. So the issue is: Who had and pulled the gun?

The accused does not have to prove he acted in self-defence. The prosecution has to prove he did not act in self-defence at the time he killed the deceased and must so prove beyond reasonable doubt. That is the burden of proof, ladies and gentlemen. Despite the use of the words ‘self-defence', the accused does not have to prove he acted in self-defence. The prosecution has to prove, and prove beyond reasonable doubt, that the accused did not act in self-defence.

So, what does that all come down to, ladies and gentlemen? Who had the .38? And that is what this case has been about, ladies and gentlemen. For a conviction of murder, the prosecution must prove beyond reasonable doubt that the accused Mr Gatto produced the .38 at the restaurant and shot the deceased with it. … So, that is what it all comes down to ladies and gentlemen. Has the prosecution
proved beyond reasonable doubt that Mr Gatto had the .38? If the prosecution has proved beyond reasonable doubt that Mr Gatto had the .38 you would convict Mr Gatto of murder. If the prosecution has failed to prove that beyond reasonable doubt you must acquit him of murder.

 

The jury returned with a verdict on 15 June 2005, after less than 24 hours. Gatto stood in the dock, plucking at a thread that had come away from his elegant grey tie in the long minutes before the jury members returned to decide his future. His wife and daughter were in the public gallery behind him. He told them repeatedly that he loved them. He spoke calmly, quietly, assuring them everything would be all right. He and his wife, a pleasant-looking and charming woman, spoke warmly. He appeared to be more concerned for them than for himself. He made an obvious effort to control his emotions, not wanting to increase their concerns. He talked to his daughter gently about domestic matters. She said despite her father's absence some things hadn't changed — her room at home was still messy. He laughed.

When his son arrived, nervous and distressed, Gatto smiled again, telling him everything would work out fine, trying to remove the building tension. It was hard not to be impressed. If a measure of a man is how he deals with life-defining moments, there was no myth about Gatto that day. He told them that the most important words he would ever hear would be from the jury. The foreman would say either one word or two — ‘Guilty' or ‘Not Guilty'. One of the authors who happened to be sitting with the Gatto family speculated that it would be two. Gatto responded, ‘I hope you're right.' To his family downstairs and his friends upstairs he repeatedly gave a Roman-like salute, right clenched fist across the heart, then fingers to the lips.

The jury of six women and six men filed in. Some were smiling, others emotional. His son had his head in his hands, shaking and close to tears. His daughter's right leg bounced with nerves.
His wife just looked at her husband. As the jury came in he smiled. When the foreman announced the verdict of ‘not guilty' Gatto showed emotion for the first time, pushing his glasses back as his eyes welled with relief. He then turned to his family. He thanked the judge twice as he was told he was free to go. One lawyer had previously asked him how he had remained so strong during the trial. He said he feared his family would collapse if he gave way.

Outside was the usual media throng and backslappers. Gatto told them, ‘Thank God for the jury system, thank God for Robert Richter, a top barrister.' His lawyers had every reason to thank their client in return. The rumoured fee for the defence team was $400,000. That night Gatto's many supporters returned to his house for a celebration with wine, beer and pizza, ending Gatto's fourteen-month prison-inspired diet. A few days later he posed for a
Herald Sun
photographer as he relaxed in Queensland. The picture did not impress some friends of the late Andrew Veniamin.

Gatto was inundated with media requests and said he was prepared to talk for a fee to be donated to the Royal Children's Hospital. For years he had donated to the Good Friday Appeal — he even managed to contribute $5000 from his prison cell while in solitary confinement. He told 3AW's award-winning breakfast team and budding investigative duo, Ross Stevenson and John Burns, ‘If there is a media outlet or a talkback show that is prepared to pay a six-figure sum that goes directly to the Children's Hospital I would be more than happy to give my input and have a chat — no problem'. He confirmed he had lost 30 kilograms in jail but said he doubted if people would like to follow the program. ‘I have always maintained I would rather have been fat and free. I used to shadow box in my cell because as you know I was locked up for 23 hours a day. They were calling me Hurricane Carter in there. I did it to keep focused and my mind right, otherwise you just go off your head.

‘There are plenty of people in there who lost the plot and went mad. Imagine being locked in your bathroom for 23 hours then you'll sort of understand. A lot of people didn't recognise me. Some thought I had fallen ill, but I intended to lose the weight. It was the only good that came out of it. He said that following the verdict he wanted to keep out of the headlines. ‘I just want to be low key and be left alone to do my own little thing. I'm going to concentrate on the building industry … it's been pretty good to me. I want to forget about all this other nonsense. It's really got nothing to do with me anyway.'

He said he didn't feel he needed to look over his shoulder in the future and did not feel in danger while in prison. ‘No, I was never in fear. That was all trumped up. There was never a problem there. I was happy to go out in the mainstream handcuffed. I said “Send me out in the mainstream handcuffed”. I didn't want to be a hero but I just knew that all this nonsense was blown out of proportion. I've got no enemies. I've done nothing wrong. The bloke tried to kill me. What am I supposed to do, let him kill me? So at the end of the day I can walk around with my head held high. I'm not worried about anyone.'

Two months after his acquittal he chanced to meet one of the authors in Lygon Street. He looked at peace with the world. He smiled and pulled back his jacket to show his stomach and said he'd put on ten kilograms.

He tried to carry a gun but
his arthritis meant it
was more of a liability
than an asset.

 

LEWIS Moran was a traditional criminal with traditional tastes. And that, in part, led to his violent end in the front bar of the Brunswick Club on 31 March 2004.

For many years Moran's regular pub had been the Laurel Hotel in Mount Alexander Road in the inner western suburb of Ascot Vale, strategically placed mid-way between Moonee Valley and Flemington racecourses.

The Laurel was a pub of choice for gangsters of discernment. Moran's son Jason once pulled a gun on another drinker there. Graham ‘The Munster' Kinniburgh popped in for a drink in the bar there before he headed to a meeting with Alphonse Gangitano in January 1998 on the night Big Al was murdered.

But when the old style pub turned trendy and began to serve foreign Tooheys beer, Lewis was disgusted.

The Moran clan had drunk at The Laurel for years and while Lewis was comfortable surrounded by friends and associates
there, he decided that if the pub didn't have his favourite Carlton United product on tap it was time to try the Brunswick Club in Sydney Road — a few hundred metres from the local police station and near a proposed redevelopment Tony Mokbel claimed would turn the tired shopping strip into a little piece of Paris Down Under. Which piece he didn't say.

Melbourne is known for its exclusive establishment men's clubs but the Brunswick Club is not one of them. Moran the elder felt welcome there and became a fixture. Several times a week, he would turn to the left when he walked in and stand at the bar to sip seven-ounce glasses of beer.

All his friends knew they could find Lewis at his favourite spot, known in the trade as his ‘lean'. The trouble was, so did his enemies. In fact, they could see him through the window from the street.

Lewis Moran knew he was marked for death but, according to friends, he ‘was too stubborn to take any notice'. The elder statesman of the crumbling Moran crime dynasty was facing serious drug charges and police had already tried to keep him in jail for his own protection. When he insisted on being released on bail, police tried again: varying the reporting conditions to make his movements harder for a hit man to track. But all their good work was wasted because he could always be found at the Brunswick Club.

Lewis Moran may have wanted a quiet life but crime was all he knew. Detectives had given evidence in the Melbourne Magistrates' Court that he had been involved in drug deals worth $10 million over the previous four years.

Senior Detective Victor Anastasiadis told the court one informer gave Moran $5.5 million in pseudoephedrine-based tablets, used to make amphetamines, and was to receive a share of the amphetamines in the deal with Moran. That's why the 57-year-old grandfather was facing 17 charges, including trafficking
commercial quantities of amphetamine, hashish, ecstasy and pseudoephedrine.

He had been charged with his old friend, Bertie Wrout, a senior citizen and likeable rogue who later had heavy calibre reasons to wish he hadn't been Lewis' drinking mate.

Senior Detective Anastasiadis said he feared for the informer's safety if the accused pair was released. But the informer was not in as much danger as the pair of old crooks.

On 22 July 2003 — after nine months on remand — Lewis was granted bail despite police opposing it, officially on grounds he would seek retribution for his son's murder and pose a threat to a police informer. He was released on condition he reported daily to police, obeyed a night curfew and would not contact witnesses.

His lawyer also argued he should be freed so he could act as a father figure for his murdered sons' children.

Violent death ran through the generations on both sides.

In October 1978 Leslie Herbert Kane had been shot dead in his Wantirna unit. His body was never found. But it was one of his children, Trish, who eventually moved in with her childhood sweetheart — Jason Moran — and had children with him.

Les Kane's brother, Brian, was also shot dead — in a Brunswick hotel in November 1982, apparently as revenge for the brazen shooting of Raymond Patrick ‘Chuck' Bennett in Melbourne Magistrates' Court three years earlier.

Among the mourners for Brian Kane was a young Jason Moran.

In the same month, in an unrelated shooting, Mark Moran's natural father, Les ‘Johnny' Cole, was shot dead in Sydney as part of a NSW underworld feud.

When the decision to kill Lewis was made is still a matter of speculation, but police believe it was probably at a reception centre near Keilor Cemetery the previous evening.

It was there that many of the western suburbs' most dangerous criminals gathered for a wake for Andrew ‘Benji' Veniamin, shot dead in a Carlton restaurant on 23 March 2004.

After all, straight after Benji was shot dead, Williams had said, ‘Here we go again, fasten your seatbelts' and he was not planning a trip at the time.

Police tried to protect Lewis but he had lost his will to live. His arthritis meant carrying a gun was now more of a liability than an asset. The former light-fingered pickpocket could no longer make his fingers work.

He gave up the gun idea after firing a shot through the floor of a car while trying to load his new weapon.