The wheels, tyres and tubes were examined. One of the tears in the head lining would permit a hand to be inserted. Constable Bates from the Transport Division reached up, groped around and produced two documents: a payslip dated 3 February 1961, being the day of the escape, and an envelope bearing the name Thomas McGregor, being Shortcliffe’s alias, dated 8 February 1961.
Based on these documents, Bates believed the head lining had been torn—or interfered with, at least—on or around 8 February 1961, five days after Nash’s escape. The damage to the rest of the car was estimated to have been done around this time, too, as it wasn’t recent. It was possible Nash knew where the dough was hidden and when he escaped made his way south and pulled the car apart to retrieve it.
Discussions were held about returning the vehicle to Shortcliffe and whether he was in any condition to be formally interviewed. But, before a decision was reached, Frank Shortcliffe telephoned CIB to say Tommy had been discharged from hospital on 10 June and had died on his way home. Frank Shortcliffe said he had told detectives everything he knew, but thought Tommy might have told more of the story to his own son, Allan.
Detective Sergeant Shannon reluctantly interviewed ten-year-old Allan McGregor at school in the presence of his principal, who was far from happy about it. Allan told police he didn’t know anything about the robbery or any hidden money. There was nowhere else to go, so this line of enquiry effectively ceased. There was no way to absolutely prove Thomas Shortcliffe’s involvement other than what he had told the informant in 1957 and his father in May 1961. Shannon and Whangarei CIB subsequently made discreet enquiries into the financial affairs of Shortcliffe’s next of kin, but there was nothing to suggest any of them had come into the possession of large sums of money.
The police photograph taken after Thomas Shortcliffe’s arrest for his post-war burglaries show a dashing young part-Māori man (he was 25). Although by the time of the Waterfront payroll robbery, ten years of hard living had taken their toll and he had put on considerable weight, you could look at that photograph and imagine that Shortcliffe could have passed for the ‘Italian or Dalmation of about 40 years and strongly built with large, flashy eyes’ whom witness Eric Thomas had seen walking from the direction of the rear entrance of the Northern Steamship Company building that morning, in the company of another fellow. The only anomaly was that Thomas was sure he had heard the man talking in a foreign accent.
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Frank Shortcliffe stated his son said four men including the driver were in on the actual robbery. In 1957, Thomas Shortcliffe had drunkenly told the fizz he was on the job with Harold Kendall. In 1961, he confessed to his father that he had done it with Nash and another fellow whose name Frank Shortcliffe did not catch.
Kendall had been a key early suspect and was considered to be one of the very few criminals who could plan and execute a robbery of such magnitude. Although he figured on the suspect list during initial enquiries, he had gone to ground and could not be found. Several years later, Les Schultz learned Kendall had shot through to Perth, where he was living under a new identity. This squares with what retired safe-breaker Johnny Angel stated he heard: namely that the main robber had his exit strategy worked out from the outset and had shot through almost immediately after the robbery.
Harold Kendall hailed from Taranaki and worked the Central Districts and South Island, only occasionally venturing to Auckland when there was something big in the pipelines. He had few connections, in that gangsters and fellow safe-breakers only tended to know he had hit town after he had left. Quite how he came to learn about the lucrative Waterfront Industry Commission payroll is unknown. To have acquired such an in-depth knowledge of the inner workings of the commission and the building would have required a great deal of research, and there is no record Kendall spent much time in Auckland during 1956. He was by habit a meticulous planner and wouldn’t have left anything to chance. If he did conduct extensive reconnaissance on the building, he must have had help or, as he often did, made frequent late-night excursions into town, telling nobody but a few trusted sources.
Kendall usually recruited local mugs for his jobs. It is not known how he and Shortcliffe were connected, although military records that were eventually made available to the CIB indicate they served in the same battalion during the war. Kendall seems to have been an acquaintance of Trevor Nash from an earlier team-up. After Nash was extradited back to New Zealand in 1961, Detective Constable Brien wrote in a summary report that enquiries made in Australia indicated Nash didn’t intend to remain in Melbourne for long; he was planning to shoot through to Perth to connect with Harold Kendall. This was the first confirmation police had of Kendall’s location other than loose fizz talk. How and from whom this information was obtained is not recorded.
Kendall and Shortcliffe could have been the pair seen by Eric Thomas on the morning of the robbery. Over the next few days, he viewed hundreds of police mugshots and would undoubtedly have cast his eye over shots of Kendall and Shortcliffe. Shortcliffe’s mugshot was taken ten years earlier when he was in much better shape. It’s possible Thomas simply did not recognise him.
Then there was Nash. Shortcliffe stated four men including the driver participated in the actual break; that is, three men actually broke in, and one remained in the car. Barry Shaw also heard it was the job of two mugs plus the driver. Johnny Angel heard two men busted in and went and fetched Nash after they couldn’t blow the safe. This squares with the police belief that after the abortive blast the robbers left the premises for a time. Kendall had some association with Nash and decided to bring him in at the last minute because he knew he could accomplish the task, or Nash was in on it from the start and left to collect his safe-cutting equipment halfway through. But then, if Kendall and Shortcliffe were the men seen by Eric Thomas, where was Nash, unless he left the building from its front entrance?
If these men committed the Waterfront payroll robbery, they would have to have retreated to a safe house close by to divvy up the taking, if Kendall was to make his connection and leave the country. You would think that Nash, being the one who successfully opened the safe, would have been rewarded with an equal cut and first dibs, yet he seems to have received his share in difficult-to-shift £10 notes. Shortcliffe took his in £5 notes and may have told the others where he intended hiding his share, planning not to spend up until he was sure they had got away with it. This could account for someone else, probably Nash, heading to Waiuku and pulling the car to bits after his escape in February 1961. There is a possibility Nash didn’t want to take his entire share at once in case he was caught, and so he entrusted Shortcliffe with a percentage to stash with his.
The lookout and getaway driver has never been identified. Eric Thomas, whose testimony was heavily relied upon, caught a fleeting glimpse of the vehicle and described it as a large blue or black American import. Such a vehicle was spotted parked up outside Bubs Magoon’s safe house in Ponsonby in February 1957. Safe-blower George Tunstead admitted he had recently purchased it from Atlas Motors but it was a clanger and had broken down. While on the lot, this vehicle may well have been hired out by Archie Banks and Percy Over for the Waterfront job. If detectives ever called back to check Atlas Motors records, it is not recorded in the files.
So much for the car. Retired crooks spoken to say the actual driver could have been anybody. ‘Getaway drivers did not necessarily belong to the criminal underworld,’ Ray Jennings recalls. ‘There were a few jobs I did that I got the brother-in-law to be my driver. He was a farmer, but agreed to do it for a bit of extra cash. He was an upstanding guy in his community. No one in the world would have suspected him.’
Whoever it was would have had to have been hand-picked by Kendall.
Based on this theory, those responsible were Kendall, Shortcliffe, Nash and the getaway driver, who may have been an Average Joe. Rounding out the six were the silent partners or nonactive participants. First, there had to be a ‘tipster’—someone who was familiar
with the inner workings of the Waterfront Industry Commission prior to 1953. It had to have been an ex-employee—someone who still thought the safe was located in what had become the stationery cupboard. Suspicion fell only on those ex-employees with criminal convictions, and of these James Lloyd was the only plausible candidate. Lloyd was in the Big House doing time for fraud, and while he could have blabbed, his employment was for one brief week in 1954, a year after the safe was moved to its new location in Gill’s office.
The commission had a high staff turnover throughout the early 1950s; people came and went for various reasons. Of course, you didn’t need to have a conviction to have had an association with criminals, to whom you might pass information in return for a drink. On this basis, the insider could have been any number of ex-staff.
The sixth was the man who allegedly turned a blind eye to events that night. This was the night watchman on duty, John Sharp. He denied any involvement and claimed not to have seen or heard anything. The night watch supervisor indicated it was common for the watchmen to do the bare minimum and fudge their logs, but there was a great deal of rather conspicuous activity throughout the night—an explosion, comings and goings, heavy equipment being brought in and lugged up and down the stairs. An alert guard, if he was reasonably close by, ought to have detected something!
From the outset, police believed Sharp played a part. It was accepted he couldn’t have had any intimate knowledge of the layout or inner workings of the commission, so he was not considered to be the tipster. It was believed he merely agreed to look the other way. An aspect of his statement made shortly after the robbery was discovered—namely, his assertion that he had talked to the cleaners—was shown to be false. The timings that the cleaners and Sharp respectively reported did not line up. As Nash’s defence counsel Davison was quick to point out, Sharp had also made comparatively trivial mistakes during his testimony in Nash’s trial, indicating he was at best unreliable and perhaps even untruthful.
Les Schultz maintained an interest in Sharp for some time afterwards and was ready to pop him as soon as it looked like he had come into some money, but if he was given a cut, he never appeared to have anything to show for it. Schultz was also convinced that if consistent pressure were applied Sharp would eventually squeal. But he never did. Sharp retired and died several years later. Schultz made enquiries and found he had left no substantial sum of money.
But perhaps Sharp was never offered a direct monetary reward per se. Perhaps money had been placed on his bar tab at the Freemans Hotel? Perhaps he wasn’t offered any money at all—perhaps he was merely threatened to keep his mouth shut?
Once it was known that Harold Kendall was in Perth, Les Schultz was desperate to head across to put the heat on. But since the only man who could possibly finger him for being the mastermind, Thomas Shortcliffe, was dead, the chief cited budget restraints and denied Schultz’s request. Nash was doing some serious stir time for the crime. The feeling was that he should carry the can for the whole damned thing.
Case closed.
EPILOGUE
AFTERMATH
Trevor Nash served his full sentence for the robbery and was released with little fanfare in 1966. He hadn’t volunteered any information and left prison adjudged bankrupt. His infamy made it difficult for him to secure a decent job, but he found work here and there and largely kept to himself. So far as anyone could tell, he had honoured his pledge to return to live quietly with his wife and four children at 8 Bridge Street, Papatoetoe.
However, it wasn’t long before he was back in the headlines. In October 1966, an off-duty prison guard swore he saw Trevor Nash dressed as a woman loitering outside Marriott’s Store on Karangahape Road. He telephoned police and was patched through to CIB. Nash hadn’t actually committed a crime, but he was believed to be scoping the place out. A close watch on his movements was mounted.
The fact that he was supposed to have been dressed as a woman was of interest to the upgraded Modus Operandi unit. When Nash was arrested in 1957, detectives found it hard to believe that the person responsible for a crime as sophisticated as the Waterfront payroll robbery was only a petty criminal, with only four convictions to his name over an eight-year period. But, if he were responsible, then it indicated he was shrewd enough to have committed other crimes and escaped detection. With his 5-feet-9-inch, wiry frame and high cheekbones, he could conceivably pass as a woman. Then there was the testimony of the road worker who believed he’d seen Nash dressed as a woman in Gus Parsons’ car shortly after his prison escape; perhaps it had been Nash after all, and not Phyllis Bailey. Maybe he had been dressing in drag for the purposes of committing crimes for many years. In fact, during the still-unsolved Newmarket Wines and Spirits robbery in June 1956, the last thing the staff member who was coshed saw before he lapsed into unconsciousness was a woman’s shoes.
On the night of 17 October 1966, Marriott’s store was broken into, the safe busted open with chisels and a sizeable sum of money taken. Early next morning, a team of detectives armed with a search warrant arrived at 8 Bridge Street and tore the place to pieces.
‘You cowardly fucking bastards!’ Nash shouted. ‘This is just fucking harassment! And doing it in front of my wife and kids? How low can you cunts go?’
‘So you say you had nothing to do with last night’s job, Nash? What about this lot, then?’
Nash looked aghast as a set of burglary tools—three torches, gloves, a balaclava, black stockings, a tomahawk, a battery-operated headlamp, screwdriver, jemmy, black canvas bag, bolt cutters, chisels, a hatchet, a home-made hammer and assorted keys—were brought in from the garage, where police had found them. When they returned later that day, more chisels were found.
When it was found that these chisels had traces of green paint on their tips—the shade exactly matching the colour of Marriott’s safe—it seemed like the icing on the cake.50 Nash was arrested and charged with being a rogue and a vagabond and in possession of burglar’s tools. He was remanded in custody, but by contrast with his demeanour during previous arrests he was vocal in his insistence that he had never seen the tools before and that someone was fitting him up. He engaged maverick lawyer Kevin Ryan to represent him.
On 28 October 1966, Nash appeared in the Auckland magistrates’ court in front of Mr Rosen SM. Ryan sought bail, arguing that Nash had struggled to find work when he was released but had finally secured a legitimate job in a factory. Being held in custody was placing his family in considerable hardship. In his book Justice: Without fear or favour, Ryan recalled that he was highly dubious about the chisels with the green-paint contamination, but was refused permission to cross-examine the Crown’s scientific witness on his findings. Possession of these items was later omitted from the charge.51 Nash was remanded in custody for a further three weeks and then, several days before he was due to go to trial, all charges were suddenly dropped and he was allowed to go home, a free man once more.
Nash’s arrest had come as no surprise to a number of older detectives, but there was an uneasy feeling that something was not quite right. A parallel investigation was launched and, while Nash awaited trial, detectives arrested Noel Johnson and Gavin Forrest, charging them with carrying out fifteen burglaries around the North Island netting a total of £6945. At the time of his arrest, Johnson was a serving police officer in Auckland. Forrest had only just resigned from Auckland police. Another man had been arrested for acting as their lookout, relaying warnings to the pair by way of police walkie-talkie. In his summing-up at their trial in the Auckland magistrates’ court, Mr Coates SM told them, ‘Your crimes were carefully planned and carried out with considerable skill. Each of you made use of the knowledge and training acquired in the police force to carry out these burglaries.’52
While it was never stated in so many words in the trial, it was clear that the paint-marked chisels and probably some—if not all—of the other implements had been deliberately planted in Nash’s garage to frame him for the robbery.
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On 10 July 1967, a few short months after Nash’s release, New Zealand changed from the old imperial pounds-shillings-pence system to decimal currency. The New Zealand dollar was introduced to replace the pound at a rate of two dollars to one pound.53 If Nash was still sitting on any portion of the stolen money, it would soon be valueless. Detectives knew he was only sporadically finding work, and the more cynical amongst their number reasoned that, with no regular income, Nash would be forced to resort to another high-stakes robbery sooner or later.
On the morning of 20 December 1967, three staff members of the Hunterville branch of the Australia and New Zealand Bank arrived early at work to prepare for 9 am trading. Around 8.40 am, a man dressed in black and his face covered with a balaclava appeared from the toilets pointing a revolver at them. He ordered them to turn off the burglar alarm and unlock the vault. The bank staff were herded inside and instructed to fill a canvas bag with $11,648 (today worth $201,74254), before locking the men in the vault despite their protests that they would suffocate.55
The robber then walked calmly outside and straddled a 50cc Honda motorbike parked nearby. He proceeded to stamp on the kick-start, but the bike wouldn’t catch. His kicks grew increasingly frantic, and muffled curses emerged from his helmet.
A well-meaning teenager who was walking by stopped and asked if he could help.
‘Yeah. I’m in a big hurry,’ the man growled. ‘I’ve got a sore leg and I can’t get the bloody thing going.’
The youth climbed aboard and fired the bike up with a single, swift kick of his leg. He stepped off and stood aside as the man climbed back on and roared off. The trapped bank staff found a way to sound the alarm and were soon freed.
The Great New Zealand Robbery Page 23