Chopper Unchopped (39 page)

IN October, 1991, Read's close friend in H Division, Frankie Waghorn, was convicted of the murder of smalltime drug dealer John Turner, 41.

The Supreme Court was told that Waghorn and another man repeatedly stabbed Turner as the victim pleaded for his life.

The court was told that the pair stole Turner's jewellery, valued at $10,000, before burying the body in a backyard rubbish heap.

Waghorn shared the house with Turner before the murder.

The Crown alleged that a woman in a nearby bedroom heard Turner say, ‘Please no, there must be some other way'.

An autopsy showed that Turner was stabbed 38 times in the head and chest.

The woman said she heard a voice say: ‘Give me your knife; these other knives are breaking'.

Waghorn was convicted of the murder, but he appealed and won a re-trial. He was convicted again at the second trial and sentenced to 17 years with a minimum of 13.

I HAVE mentioned that one of the few men who has stuck with me is Frankie Waghorn, the big bald beach ball who, I reckon, could punch the teeth out of an elephant. I have said before that the number of sooks in jail who cry that they are innocent can be numbered in their thousands. They all say they were innocent but there would only be a couple I have ever met who have a legitimate case.

Now Frankie may be a mate, but let me say that I believe that Frankie is one of the few who can rightly claim he has been hard done by. I know for a fact that Frankie had nothing to do with the murder of that two-bob junkie gangster, Johnny ‘Beeper' Turner.

Far be it from me to speak ill of the dead, but Turner was a junkie, a bigmouth, and a rat. And they were his good points.

His only claim to fame was that he was the nephew of the old time heavy Joey Turner. Big deal. Joey was only a fetch and carry boy for a big time crook called Jack Twist.

If Frankie Waghorn had backhanded Johnny Turner, then Turner would have been in a coma. Frankie could stop a raging rhino with a left hook. Frankie has never needed weapons; he is the last of the true bare knuckle men. The hardest puncher I have ever seen, he is bloody deadly with a punch in the mouth.

He killed a Turk one day with just one punch, and he was found not guilty. To think that Frankie Waghorn would need to repeatedly use a knife in order to kill a physical flea like Turner is laughable.

Frankie Waghorn is doing life over this rubbish and I will scream long and loud that he is not guilty.

Junkie false pretenders told lies about him and he got life. Frankie is no angel. He is a crook, but whatever he has been guilty of, he did not kill Johnny Turner, believe me.

He is the only truly innocent man convicted of murder that I know. Mind you, if you listen to blokes inside, there's not a guilty man in any jail in Australia.

MAYBE Johnny Jones could tell the real story. Johnny Jones is a two-bob thug and crim who had big dreams of being a tough guy until the spoon and needle got the better of him.

He has done time for various crimes of violence, including a manslaughter charge where he buried the victim in the backyard. Now he is doing a life sentence over the murder of Johnny Turner. Surprise, surprise, Turner was also buried in the backyard — but this time at Frankie Waghorn's house.

Both Turner and Jones were house guests at Frankie's. Jones got arrested on an armed robbery charge, then asked for bail and promised that he would tell police about a murder. He then told them that Frankie Waghorn had put Turner off.

After several changed statements and assorted stories, Jones was charged with murder, but he wanted to bring Frankie along for the ride.

Jones is now in strict protection in Pentridge because if Frankie tosses just one punch at him it will be lights out forever, believe me. Jones is just another example of how drugs can pervert, corrupt and destroy the very soul of a man.

In return for trying to help Jones and Turner and trying to get them off drugs, all Frankie got was cruel betrayal.

ONE-legged private investigator Tom Ericksen was a master of living in the shadowy world between the police and the underworld.

In the 1950s Ericksen, the son and grandson of policemen, was an insurance salesman who sold policies to members of the force.

He then became a private detective and debt collector, and was the leading repossession agent of a major credit firm.

Ericksen made a number of contacts with junior police who were struggling on poor wages. He employed them during their days off to work in the repossession game.

Some of them went on to take senior positions in the force in the 1970s and 1980s. Ericksen was a master at attempting to exploit his past relationships with these men.

Another man he employed at the time was Gianfranco Tizzoni, the man involved in the murders of anti-drugs campaigner Donald Mackay and dope dealers, Isabel and Douglas Wilson. Tizzoni later turned ‘supergrass’ and informed on mafia boss, Bob Trimbole.

Both Ericksen and Tizzoni carried documentation giving them authority to act for the now defunct Federal Narcotics Bureau. Ericksen acted as a bodyguard for a well-known Melbourne lawyer in the 1960s.

He loved mystery and used electronic gear in a bid to compromise people he thought could be exploited. He once used a Melbourne lawyer in a bid to set up one of the top detectives in the state.

He bugged the lawyer’s chambers in the hope of recording the policeman making admissions which could be used against him. The bid failed because no admissions were made.

Ericksen kept a dirt file, where every scrap of information about prominent people in the criminal justice system was kept to be used against them, and he traded information between police and criminals. He claimed to have major contacts with the PLO and Libyan agents and travelled the world, claiming to be a diplomat or an ambassador. He often used a Hutt River Province passport to move between countries.

Ericksen used Melbourne hitman Christopher Dale Flannery as his muscle, and once used the paid killer to methodically bash a city retailer in his Exhibition Street office.

After Flannery disappeared in 1985, Ericksen began to lose his influence. He was targeted by the National Crime Authority in Operation ‘Viper’ and was charged with 195 counts of giving secret commissions and 11 charges of making threats to kill.

But he didn’t live to stand trial. He died a blind diabetic with heart disease, in August 1988. He was 52.

‘HOPALONG’ Tom Ericksen was a private investigator with a wooden leg, a lot of enemies and some friends in high places. I was approached to kill him in 1987. I gave it some serious thought and planned to plant a series of jumping jack mines along his driveway. I had the gear to do it but the deal became complicated because of the people involved.

I was supposed to be paid $250,000 for the hit. The price seemed like bullshit and when there was no deposit coming I got suspicious. I don’t knock people on credit.

Then certain police advised me to steer clear of the whole episode. Even men with no ears must learn when to listen and this was one of those times.

Anyone who got involved with Tom, friend or foe, was dancing up the road of insanity. Even police involved in trying to convict him ended up half paranoid. Nothing about Ericksen could be believed.

He was the perfect conman, because he believed his own lies. He acted in a manner which suggested that he was some sort of secret agent. He told me he not only had PLO connections but was on side with the IRA and had done work for the outlawed Italian secret society, P2.

Tom was the master of disinformation and played the police and the underworld off against each other. Alice in Wonderland lived in a world of total reality compared with Tommy, believe me.

The police had a code name for him, they called him ‘The Viper’. Funny name, that. I’ve never seen a snake with a wooden leg. The underworld had another name for him: ‘The Riddler.’

I am now told about the contract I was supposed to take to kill Tommy, that in fact he was the man behind it because he wanted an attempt on his life as part of some mysterious mind game. He was a dangerous Walter Mitty of the highest order. His favorite bedtime reading was Sherlock Holmes. James Bond, and other thrillers that he tried to turn into real life.

Tom made a small fortune through his trickery and protected it in a world of paranoia, suspicion and intrigue with the cops and crooks dancing like puppets.

Chris Flannery and Ericksen were close for some time. Ericksen convinced Flannery he had high government connections. In his personal diary he carried the number of the CIA in Washington and Virginia. But the truth is he got them out of the American telephone books.

I agreed to be a witness for him against the National Crime Authority. He and I had agreed on a number of matters and I sent Margaret to see him. The bloke had a mini-tape recorder inside his wooden leg. As I look back on it there is no doubt that ‘Hopalong Tom’ was a complete nutter, and a dangerous one.

There must be a host of criminal figures, high-ranking police and a few media people who must cringe with embarrassment to think they ever got involved with ‘Hopalong’. I must include myself in that, as he played all of us like a violin.

THROUGHOUT the years I have been dealt with and confronted by and questioned by all manner of police — state, federal and the National Crime Authority, the Victoria Police internal security unit, the Federal Police internal investigation division and various state and federal task forces. And, in my experience, I must confess that the most paranoid and secretive outfit was the NCA.

I was questioned by the NCA in relation to my involvement with Tom Ericksen. On each visit to the NCA I noticed that they tended to speak in riddles — in a sort of code. I will give a classic example of NCA-speak …

‘Hi, Chopper. Well, we don’t have to tell you what this is about.’

To which I would say: ‘No. What do you want to know?’ And they would answer something like ‘It’s about the one-legged bloke. You know. T.E.’

‘Oh, yeah’ I would answer.

Then the NCA bloke would say: ‘Well, we know what’s going on. What we want to know is why you’re putting your head in’.

‘My head in what?’ I would say.

‘Well, it’s been on TV that you’ve been paid to kill him, and we know you’re in touch with him and that you’ve been involved with him for years. So what’s the go with the court case? What are you getting out of it?’

‘What the hell are you on about?’ I asked.

‘We know you’re going on his side against us,’ they would say. ‘We know what Tommy’s up to’.

By this time I was getting peeved. ‘So what do you want to talk to me about,’ I said.

‘We are just letting you know it won’t work, and we can’t offer you a deal. But if you come good on this our way, we can whisper in a few ears. You know how it goes. Don’t worry. We won’t somersault you. All we want to know is what Tom’s game is. Which way he intends to jump.’

To which I replied: ‘All I’m willing to say, gentlemen, is that I was approached by two men who I now know to be NCA informers in relation to me killing Tom Ericksen, and I knocked the approach back’.

‘Look, if you side with Ericksen, you’ll lose. We have him on the PLO thing. We have him on tax. We have him all the way. Introducing you to discredit our witnesses won’t work. But if you’re willing to walk away, wipe Tom, lose your memory and tell him to piss off … well, you know’.

I said: ‘Well, I know what?’

‘Well, one hand washes the other. Strings can be pulled. How much is Tom paying you?’

By this stage I had a bloody headache. After three visits I was totally confused as their double talk and riddles became more scrambled. Then Tom died — and I got a letter from the NCA saying ‘We can’t help you’.

I never asked them for their bloody help. The NCA lived in a world of their own. Total insanity.

My agreeing to be a witness for Ericksen against the NCA could have created big problems for me. As a police force the NCA was a dangerous comedy. They lived and acted like paranoid spies, confusing themselves and everyone else … and Ericksen was twice as mad. With him in one ear and the NCA in the other it was unbelievable.

They spoke in riddles and code in case they were being bugged. Meanwhile, they were bugging me. It was total comedy. I must add that dealing with ‘Hopalong’ Tommy would have sent any policeman a touch mental. I wasn’t sorry to see him die. Had he not ended up dying I probably would have ended up shooting the old trickster myself. Ha ha.