The Good Cop

by Justine Ford

  ‘I went straight to the front bedroom and found Carl and his wife Roberta there,’ Ron continues. One of the couple’s associates was in a room at the back of the house, too. Fortunately, no one made any trouble and Williams had a fully fleshed story for the police. ‘Carl told me he wasn’t involved in Mark Moran’s murder and gave an explanation where he was that night,’ Ron recalls. ‘He said he’d driven to Gisborne to see somebody and that he’d stopped at a petrol station with a convenience store, and had bought some water.’ Ron and his team looked into Williams’ story and found CCTV footage of him buying water, just as he’d said. ‘I later wrote a report which said Carl did have a motive to kill Mark Moran but on the fact that there was CCTV, it was highly unlikely that he was responsible, although he might have set it up.’ (In 1999, Moran shot and wounded Williams, who had started to move into the drug trade, which had been dominated by the Morans.)

  The Purana Taskforce eventually took over the investigation into Moran’s murder and subsequently charged Williams with murder.

  To Ron’s surprise, he was subpoenaed to give evidence for Williams at the committal hearing. ‘That was on the basis of my previous report and also around the fact that we’d checked the CCTV and confirmed the time he bought the water that night,’ he says.

  Ron did not think Williams had pulled the trigger and was not afraid to say so, even though it was in direct contravention to the case his Purana colleagues had built. ‘Given the time of the murder it would have been impossible for Carl to drive to Gisborne unless he exceeded the speed limit and crashed every red light, but the Purana investigators were saying you could do it if you sped. Carl was committed for trial but ultimately that charge was withdrawn.’

  Ron would have testified for the devil himself if it meant telling the truth. ‘It came to me through Carl’s legal team, but also through Roberta, that Carl was surprised I stood up and told the truth as I knew it,’ he says. ‘Carl thought I’d support the detectives from Purana and that my evidence would not conflict with the charge he was facing.’ Ron had great respect for the Purana team, but had to tell it as he saw it.

  He says that, from then on, Roberta Williams occasionally called him. ‘There were times when she rang and said, “Carl will only trust you. Can you go and see him in Barwon Prison?” ’ Ron visited Williams there at least once. When he first arrived, he noticed Williams was ‘a little bit apprehensive, but only on the basis that other prisoners want to know what police are seeing them for’. He adds, ‘Other than that, he was fine and we chatted about the matters he wanted to discuss.’

  But Ron didn’t always go to see Williams when he was invited. ‘That’s because there was a view held by some that he might be trying to manipulate the process of justice by constantly asking for me,’ Ron says. ‘But again, I had the view, never close down the line of communication. I’d been around for a long time. I was always cautious and careful dealing with criminals, and I always documented it. But it was just a fact that there were times when people would tell me things they wouldn’t tell others.’

  As it turned out, after giving evidence for Williams, members of the underworld reached out to Ron in unprecedented numbers. ‘Other criminals would ring me – some I’d never met before,’ he says. ‘One said, “I’ve been in jail for over twenty-five years, I’m out, and I’m told that you’re trustworthy”. I went and met him on several occasions and he ended up providing information that actually prevented homicides.’

  Ron’s association with the Williams family continued, and in November 2008 he was called out to a suspicious overdose at a unit in Moonee Ponds in Melbourne’s north-west. It was Carl’s mum, Barbara Williams. ‘Roberta turned up at the home while I was there,’ he recalls. ‘I know that Roberta and Carl – even though he was in prison by that time – took some comfort in knowing that I was there.’ Ron says there was speculation Barbara’s death had been a murder, not a suicide. Either way he intended to get to the bottom of it. ‘We wouldn’t leave any stone unturned,’ he says, adding that the cause of death soon became known. ‘From examining the scene, looking at a note that was located, and CCTV from a shop opposite, it all showed that she had taken her own life, which is what the coroner found.’

  *

  Ron went to the scene of so many underworld hits from the mid-1990s into the next century, he has lost count. ‘There was an escalation after Mark Moran was shot,’ he says. ‘We were up to about fifteen underworld killings in two years. Investigators started talking about who they thought would be next.’

  Among the cases Ron was called out to was the death of Graham ‘The Munster’ Kinniburgh at home in Kew in December 2003, the shooting of Andrew ‘Benji’ Veniamin at a Carlton restaurant in March 2004 (Mick Gatto was charged but ultimately acquitted of murder on the grounds of self-defence), and the shooting of Lewis Caine in Brunswick two months later. ‘Lewis Caine had no ID on him,’ Ron remembers. ‘But he had a mobile phone with two SIM cards in it. It was quite common for the underworld to have multiple SIM cards, so that, coupled with the fact that he’d been executed, told me he was part of the underworld.’

  The murder on 31 March 2004 came as a shock: Lewis Moran was dead. ‘I had a call from Tuppence – Des – to say, “Ron, you won’t believe this. Lewis has been gunned down”. I couldn’t believe it.’ He’d been shot at the Brunswick Club in a hit organised by Carl Williams. ‘By the time Lewis was murdered, Mark Moran was dead, and Jason Moran had been shot too.’

  Years later, in June 2009, Des Moran also ended up on the wrong side of a gun. It was just a few weeks after he’d told Ron he was worried because someone had opened fire on his car. ‘He was shot at his favourite coffee shop in broad daylight, and it turned out to have been arranged by his sister-in-law, Judith Moran,’ says Ron. ‘I was somewhat shocked, as he was not involved in the underworld as such but had a name that was. His death marked the end of an era and, to some extent, the end of the Moran name.’

  And as history shows, in April 2010, the man widely considered to be the underworld’s most powerful player, Carl Williams, was also killed – bashed to death in Barwon Prison by a fellow inmate.

  So much wasted life – more than thirty in the end. And for what? All around greed, drugs and in-fighting. ‘They turned on their own,’ Ron says. ‘Thankfully they’ve stopped, but will there be another era? I don’t know.’

  During these killings, which left many Melburnians, innocent and guilty, nervous, Colleen knew her husband was digging into the lives of some of Australia’s most dangerous underworld criminals. Had she begun to consider the possibility that one night, her husband might get caught in the crossfire and not make it home?

  ‘No,’ she replies, ‘that was his life. That was what he did. I always knew there was a risk but what could I do? I was a policeman’s wife.’

  *

  One of Ron’s greatest fans, curiously, was one of the underworld’s most famous identities – Mark ‘Chopper’ Read. He’d heard through the criminal grapevine that Ron was a cop of his word.

  Ron first met Chopper in 2002 when a Tasmanian detective phoned and said he wanted to interview the former standover man about a missing person case. Ron drove to Chopper’s house in Collingwood to sound him out. ‘He said something like, “I don’t know you but I’ve heard a lot about you”,’ Ron recalls.

  Chopper rang his solicitor for advice, then drove to the Homicide Squad office with his fiancée, Margaret Cassar, who remembers the day well. ‘In the lift, Ron said, “I believe you guys are getting married. What date?” ’ She replied the ceremony would be on 19 January, adding, ‘Nothing’s going to get in the way of that!’

  The Tasmanian detectives interviewed and released Chopper, who started calling Ron periodically. ‘It might have been as simple as, “I want to go overseas but I’ve got a criminal history – can I get a passport?” ’ Ron remembers. Another time Chopper wanted advice about how to buy a car. �
��Sometimes it was just around basic things, because he was someone who had spent a lot of time in prison. While he was street-wise, there were some things that he didn’t know how to do.’

  Not all cops are on good terms with career criminals but Ron maintains that, so long as the relationship is professional, they should be. ‘I always had the view, never burn the lines of communication because one day those people might pick up the phone and give you information that might solve a crime,’ he says. ‘You should never close the door to those who reach out to you. In some cases there may be an ulterior motive, but detectives should always be prepared to listen.’

  Sometimes Ron used to run into Chopper by accident. From time to time he and Colleen had dinner at an old corner pub called the Leinster Arms in Collingwood. It turned out to be Chopper’s local. ‘He was often there with his wife, Margaret, and their son Roy,’ Ron says. ‘If I was in the restaurant he’d leave the bar and come over. He’d always say, “How are you, Mr Iddles? How are things going?” ’

  For someone who’d spent so much time in Pentridge, Ron always thought Chopper’s manners were impeccable.

  Ron was always mindful to note in his diary any interactions he had with Chopper, or any other underworld identity. Gifts were out of the question. ‘One night he offered me one of his paintings, which was hanging on the wall at the pub,’ Ron recalls. ‘His paintings were unique. In my view they wouldn’t have won an artist’s award!’ Not that Chopper was trying to win any prizes. ‘He said, “I just put a canvas up in my backyard and splash paint all over it. And people pay for it!” ’

  ‘But as he said, he had to do something,’ Colleen remarks. ‘Because who was going to give him a job? He had to do something, and at the end of the day he was a dad who wanted to provide for his family.’

  At first Colleen was amazed her husband knew Chopper Read, but she quickly separated the man from the myth. ‘When you actually knew him, he was gentle and kind. He was always interested in our kids and he always asked after them.’

  Chopper’s wife, now Margaret Read, took to Ron too. ‘It’s because he stood out from the rest and was honest,’ she says. ‘And when you meet him he doesn’t talk down to you with a detective voice, like most of them. They made it clear, “We’re the detectives and you’re the wife of a high profile identity”.’ But Ron was never like that. ‘He never, ever looked down on Mark or thought he was up to no good,’ she says.

  During their tete-a-tetes, Chopper used to tell Ron about the books he’d written and his latest exploits, including the time he teamed up with notorious former Sydney detective Roger Rogerson and ex-AFL player Mark ‘Jacko’ Jackson to tour the comedy circuit, before deciding to perform on his own.

  Ron also recalls how Chopper invited him to a book launch at a restaurant in upmarket Toorak. Even though Chopper phoned Ron regularly, he acknowledged it might not be appropriate for the high-profile homicide cop to attend. ‘He said, “Look, I understand if you don’t come because people will see it as a bit of a conflict”,’ Ron says. And while he didn’t go to the launch, Colleen did, and found the evening fascinating. ‘She told me that there were several senior prison officers there and they seemed to have a mutual respect,’ Ron adds.

  Similarly, it was because Chopper respected Ron that he used to ask him how to respond when other police called and asked for information. ‘It might have been about something historical, or something that had happened in H Division,’ Ron explains. ‘He’d ring and say, “What do you think?” and I’d say, “Talk to them”.’

  Most significantly, Chopper credited Ron with helping him turn his back on crime forever. It was no coincidence that after they met, Chopper never again re-offended. ‘I think Ron used to say, “Keep your head above water”.’ Margaret says. ‘Mark would say, “Yeah, I’m definitely not going back to prison”. Mark always did credit Ron for the big turnaround.’

  As time went by, Chopper told Ron he was infected with hepatitis C, and that it was damaging his liver. ‘He related the story of how he was in H Division at Pentridge and back then they were forced to share razorblades to shave,’ Ron says. ‘He believed that’s how he probably contracted it.’

  A while later, the hardman with the larrikin streak became gravely ill with liver cancer. Even though it was obvious he was in bad shape, it didn’t stop members of the public from homing in on him. ‘He said he went to a function on Grand Final Day and was coughing blood,’ Ron says. ‘He said he finished wiping his mouth and someone asked him for a photograph and to sign something.’ Even Chopper Read – once considered one of Australia’s most violent criminals – was shocked. ‘He said, “Sometimes people talk to me about having no morals and no values, but sometimes there are people who are worse than me”.’

  ‘With a lot of people, with Mark, they didn’t see the person,’ Margaret continues. She acknowledges that her husband sometimes told the media tall tales to amuse himself, but his relationship with Ron and his family was firmly rooted in honesty. ‘When you met Mark, he filled the room up,’ she says. ‘Mark could be the hardest person and also the softest.’ Margaret believes Ron could see that. ‘He’s warm and sincere and he understands people. He recognised that Mark was no longer interested in or part of the criminal world. He meant that, and he never went back.’

  Over more than a decade, Ron, Chopper and Margaret shared laughs – and in Chopper’s case, information – over many cups of tea, and the Reads considered Ron their friend. Even so, Ron maintained his exemplary professional standards. ‘He’s definitely by the book,’ Margaret remarks. ‘He’s a man of integrity and rules.’

  In Chopper’s final months, he and Margaret became involved in the production of a documentary about his life. In it, Chopper wanted to tell viewers how Ron’s guidance had prevented him from reoffending. Figuring there was a positive message in the film, Ron asked if he could take part, but Victoria Police told him to decline the request. ‘They saw it as maybe not a good look, or a risk to the organisation,’ Ron explains. Margaret understood but continued to invite Ron to events. ‘He went straight to his superiors and if they said no, he did not attend,’ she says.

  Shortly before her husband passed away, Margaret called Ron to say that Chopper wanted to see him. ‘Mark was highly fond of him,’ Margaret says. ‘He really loved him.’ Ron and Colleen both went to Royal Melbourne Hospital. Chopper was listless. ‘He looked terrible. He was totally yellow,’ Ron remembers. Chopper talked about how he hoped he had provided adequately for Margaret and Roy. It was something he had spoken about to Ron before and it was clearly preying on his mind.

  ‘I was really happy to go and see him and I wanted to thank him for being so nice over the years,’ Colleen says. ‘I thought it was just really nice that he wanted to see Ron before he died.’

  Being a cop, Ron eventually turned the conversation to crime. ‘I said, “I’ve got to ask you some things. Is there anything you want to confess, or any information I should know about?” ’ he asked. The dying man said no, but told Ron that an interview he’d done with a television current affairs program would give a different impression. ‘He thought the story was about how he’d turned his life around, but the focus was on his past,’ Ron explains. ‘He said he got pissed off and indicated he’d been involved in two or three other murders.’ Chopper even took the crew to an oval where he alleged one of the bodies was buried. ‘He said, “In the end, Ron, they basically forced me, and what I said was basically shit”.’

  Three days after speaking to Ron, on 9 October 2013, Mark Brandon ‘Chopper’ Read died. He was fifty-eight.

  Margaret invited Ron to the funeral but he thought it inappropriate to attend. ‘Despite our mutual respect, people would have read something into it,’ he acknowledges.

  Ron’s influence even rubbed off on Margaret and Chopper’s son, Roy, who’s wanted to be a policeman ever since he started school. ‘He knows that Ron Iddles is the man,’ Mar
garet laughs. ‘If he sees a policeman, Roy will spark up a conversation with him.’

  Ron says he feels honoured that Chopper held him responsible for giving up a life of crime, and he still keeps in contact with Margaret, just as Chopper would have wished.

  *

  Ron also inspired one-time murder suspect Glenn Heaton, who once rubbed shoulders with Melbourne’s armed robbers.

  Overwhelmingly strong, Heaton knew from an early age how to use his fists. In 1986, aged sixteen, he was the Australian Junior Middleweight boxing champion. It was his first fight. By the time he was 17, the young champion was punch-drunk, and started mixing with gangsters he met on the boxing circuit. Ten years later he found himself accused of an armed robbery at the Lower Plenty Hotel in Melbourne’s north-east, during which a security guard, Alexander McGaffin, was shot dead while delivering money. Ron was the investigator assigned.

  The first thing Heaton noticed when he met Ron was that the detective shook his hand. No police officer had done that before. The second thing was Ron’s plain-talking style. ‘He said to me at one point, “You’ll find I never talk bullshit like some other coppers”,’ Heaton recalls. He found Ron’s approach admirable: Ron was no pushover, but unlike other police Heaton had met, he used his brain, not the butt of his gun, as a weapon. ‘When being investigated by police you shit your pants when Ron’s on your case,’ Heaton says. ‘He is one of a handful of people who is not scared of me and the only person in the country I fear.’

  Heaton was acquitted of all charges and after the trial Ron offered some sage advice. ‘He said, “Now it’s time to get on with your life, son. Don’t screw it up”,’ Heaton recalls. ‘Those words changed my life.’

  Years went by and Heaton did his best to follow Ron’s advice, but, needing the detective’s counsel again, he called him out of the blue in 2008, and has remained in contact since. ‘I have called Ron multiple times when feeling out of control, homicidal and psychotic. I can call Ron Iddles and dob myself in before I do anything stupid,’ he says. ‘With Ron’s echo in my head I pull up before I go too far.’