Hellbent: Ces Waters & Me

by Margaret Wentworth

  The strain was showing on his face, the stress was hurting his body. After recurring chest pains, Ces was hospitalised for a checkup. None of his children visited. Like John, they probably thought it was a ruse to draw them back in his net. I believed Ces’s heart problem was genuine and was concerned that his emotional reaction to the loss of his children was causing these severe health problems. His poor diet, including lots of saturated fats like cheese, wouldn’t have helped either.

  I wanted Ces to be happy again and knew the only way to achieve this would be a reconciliation between him and his children. I suggested on several occasions that he write to the boys and try to make peace with them. Ces begrudgingly agreed. Subsequently, he reported he’d sent off an affectionate letter to Guy asking him to come back, but Guy had never responded. Ces claimed it was just one more example of the cruelty of his children.

  I asked to see the letter and Ces showed it to me. I was shocked by the way Ces approached ‘reconciliation’. The letter basically said that Guy had only been a success in the past because of his father. If he did not see sense and return to Ces’s training program then he would amount to nothing and remain the complete failure that he was. There was one sentence touching on affection and 12 centred on criticism. I understood why Guy did not respond. Ces wouldn’t acknowledge the provocative and destructive qualities in his letter. He couldn’t empathise with how others felt.

  Ces fell out with Steve Unterholtzer, who gave up boxing. The new replacement was Danny Boy Pierce, a 24-year-old welterweight who’d left Melbourne to track Ces down. He settled on the Central Coast and cycled 20 kilometres each day through the valley to attend the early morning training sessions. Danny had lost his father when he was a young boy and Ces stepped in. The dual roles of father and trainer had clashed with his sons but worked well with Danny. The harsh discipline Ces imposed suited Danny, who needed strong direction in life and craved a world title so he could buy his mother a home. Ces was learning he could only go so far before people walked away from him and never came back. The media, relentless in their search for sentiment, had yet another field day.

  As Ces continued to strive for success, someone else was working hard to undermine him: Detective Inspector Dennis O’Toole.

  Dennis O’Toole had over 20 years experience and was onetime head of Sydney’s homicide squad before his transfer to Gosford, north of Sydney, where he arrested Allen Hall on two charges while head of the drug squad two months before Allen was shot. Previously, he’d hunted the killers of Victor Chang, Sydney’s famous heart surgeon, and the man responsible for six murders, a murder attempt and 24 sexual assaults in Sydney’s northern suburbs. Dubbed The Granny Killer, the man strangled elderly women with their pantihose or bashed their heads in with a hammer. Dennis’s team tracked suspect John Glover to the house of a woman they found half-stripped and spreadeagled on the floor, strangled, a hammer nearby. They found Glover semi-conscious; naked in a bath, his nose just above the level of the water and floating vomit—he’d drank a bottle of scotch with prescription pills in a suicide attempt. Evil is everywhere, even in beautiful sleepy Mosman, where Glover lived, and this no longer surprised me.

  In 1990 Dennis was put in charge of homicide. Christine rang him claiming Ces was still threatening and harrassing her. He organised protection for her and she moved house. He used these threats as the pretext of an interview with Dean and his brothers in March 1991, but his mind was on murder matters. In front of Dean’s brothers he accused Dean. The big man shrugged, neither confirming or denying it, and avoiding eye contact. The detective read guilt.

  Dennis met Dean or spoke to him over the phone a number of times after that. On two more occasions in Dean’s presence when he raised the subject of Dean’s involvement in the crime, Dean avoided eye contact. For the first time, Dennis gave Dean his home phone number and encouraged him to ring any time he wanted a chat. He had formed the opinion that Dean was not a cold-blooded killer but had genuine remorse. He was convinced that Dean would eventually give himself up. It was frustrating for Dennis O’Toole because his conversations with Dean reached a certain point but never went beyond to an actual confession. Dennis observed that Dean never told him to leave him alone or refused to speak to him, concluding that Dean wanted to confess.

  Fourteen months before he gave himself up, Dean rang Dennis O’Toole from Melbourne where Dean was living at the time. Dean said he wanted to see Dennis when he returned to Sydney. But he had to attend one of Troy’s fights down in Melbourne and also tidy up a few personal matters. Dennis said his door was open.

  During this year, Dean went through a very unstable period. He was experimenting with drugs like speed. During a drug bust, Dean fought several policemen. Dean was charged with several offences, including assault. Dean was very repentant about this and insisted that he never punched or attacked the police, just tried to fend them off. Dean was also in trouble with the police due to domestic violence, though not of a serious nature. During this time various people contacted Dennis to say that Dean was deeply troubled.

  In 1995, while Dean was in Melbourne, John and I began production on a feature film called Weird Ones. We had been given a sci-fi script written by another ‘fringe’ friend of his, which we thought quirky and entertaining. We agreed it had a lot of potential. We wanted to produce it but we knew how hard it was to get a feature film off the ground as we’d been unsuccessfully trying with our own scripts for years, despite good assessment reports. John reckoned we should stop talking about it and just do it. We’d make it without a budget. Everyone would work on a deferred-fee basis, even the actors. We’d film on weekends. The ball started rolling from that point and although it slowed at times, it never stopped until the completed film was in the can.

  You can’t make a film for no money at all if you are being responsible, because insurance companies aren’t particularly interested in deferring their fees. Also, film crews like sticky buns for morning tea, a decent lunch, afternoon-tea biscuits and particularly, most importantly, beer at the end of a hard day. John’s girlfriend, Barbara, generously invested $8,000, our only investor. We dipped into our housekeeping money and all our savings and tipped in another $10,000 over a period of two years. We ended up with the participation of over 162 people, as well as the involvement of large companies such as Sony, Samuelsons, Digital Pictures, Video 8 Broadcast, and the TV Corporation. The underlying theme that made it possible was an overall desire to chip in and help. Individuals brought that down-to-earth sense of enterprise which spawned the film industry a century earlier. It was a gigantic effort and my hat goes off to John who inspired so many to do so much. We organised schedules, locations and props during the week. This was difficult for me with my Honeywell. job, so it was a case of burning the midnight oil. Although we both produced the film, John directed as well. He even acted in it. John ploughed on with the post-production work until we finished, two years from the start of production. It is ready for the marketplace.

  Ces was a good actor, so we invited him to play a support lead character; he did very well. His role was that of an old man, Mr Fisk, once a successful composer but suffering from approaching dementia, who becomes possessed by an alien and imbued with new creative energy. When the alien leaves Fisk, he has a heart attack and falls on the ground, clutching his medication. We cast Ces in this role because we knew the power of his personality would come across on the screen. Ces enjoyed the experience. He always loved performing in front of people. We even used one of his little dogs, Bubby Bubs, blind in one eye but cute enough to steal scenes.

  The filming of Weird Ones was the last time Ces and I shared a smile. Ces was to know no more peace on Earth after that.

  In early 1996, Dennis O’Toole received a phone call from Manny Conditsis, Dean’s solicitor, to arrange a meeting with him in Manny’s office. Two days later, Manny and Dean arrived at Gosford Police Station. Dennis interviewed Dean and, eight years after the murder, Dean confessed. He spoke in great detai
l about everything, as if a great weight was being lifted off his shoulders.

  Dean said Ces put him up to it and after months of harassment and badgering, he had ‘surrendered to his father’s will … I did it and I want to tell you about it. [I] couldn’t live with the lies anymore.’ Dean told the police his father had always said he was the favourite son and in turn, he looked upon his father as a revered role model.

  33 Truths and Lies

  Charming, aggressive, carefree people who are impulsively irresponsible, but are good at handling people and at looking after Number One.

  Boston Globe, 1974

  Ad placed to attract psychopaths for a study

  Dean and Damon Cooper, his alleged 32-year-old accomplice, were immediately arrested. Damon was one of Ces’s boxing trainees who lived close by and worked as a mechanic at a Kulnura garage. Damon had been with Ces’s family during the day and night preceding the murder.

  When we heard about the arrests, we invited Ces round to fill us in. His account of the murder had changed. He now said that although he had wanted to kill both Allen and Christine in a double murder, and had even set the date, Dean and Damon were determined to do it first because they hated Allen too. When Ces set the date he was upstaged by their enthusiasm. Ces said the same thing happened when fire reduced Allen’s fibro house to dust and ashes.

  Ces said that Dean’s hatred of Allen was caused by Allen breaking up the family, Christine being the second ‘mother’ to leave him. Damon’s hatred came from him seeing some of Allen’s dogs suffering heat distress which precipitated a heated argument between them. Damon bought- drugs off Allen and supplied Dean, so their dislike of Allen could also have been drug-based.

  After the murder, Ces helped Dean hide the guns. At a later date, against his wishes, Dean dug them up and hid them somewhere else. Dean had led the police to the murder weapons.

  Ces was really angry that Dean was implicating him in the murder. Dean was evil, mentally deranged and possessed genetic disorders. Ces became stressed when he heard there were about 20 witnesses who were going to testify against him, plus a wire-tap recording of admissions. Witnesses for the prosecution included Christine, the four children, spouses and their relations. Only a couple of witnesses were not linked by family connections. ‘They’ve all ganged up against me, it’s a conspiracy!’ Ces looked for opportunities to improve his image, even inviting 60 Minutes to record an interview, hoping they might present him in a sympathetic light.

  Ces asked me if I could take out two incidents in the book which might be of particular interest to the police.

  The first related to the brutal murder of Mr Dunham that one of Ces’s associates, Geoffrey, committed. The details Ces wanted me to take out involved Ces going to the pawnbroker’s shop with Geoffrey, finding customers inside, then slowly walking around the block, waiting for Geoffrey to start the hold-up, page 81-83.

  The second related to details of his ‘personal involvement’ with the Great Train Robbery. He briefly described his lookout role at the dwarf signal. In press reports one of the two robbers who got away was described as a ‘short man’. Ces wanted me to believe he was that man.

  I cut the information from the computer but hid a hard-copy record to put back at a later date when the heat died down. I didn’t like censoring the book in this way but I also wanted to be seen to help Ces. In his tricky state of mind, it seemed prudent.

  Three weeks after, our meeting Ces was arrested by Detective Inspector O’Toole on murder and arson charges. At the police station, Ces initially appeared cocky and impatient for the interview to end. He made it clear he would not be answering any questions. Then O’Toole played his trump card. He hit Ces with the evidence of Dean’s full confession and showed him the thick transcript and tapes containing 30 hours of conversation between Ces and the potential ‘buyer’ of his Springs Road property. The wire tap was legal, issued under warrant from the Supreme Court. Ces avoided looking at the tapes and turned grey in the face, realising he was trapped. He must have been trying hard to remember all the things he’d said.

  Within a short while Ces complained of feeling unwell and having chest pains. He was taken by ambulance to Wyong Hospital for another checkup before continuing his journey to the prison.

  Ces’s bail was set at $10,000. Margaret Barnett approached all Ces’s friends and associates for money but they could only raise a tenth of what was required. Margaret again desperately turned to us for help. I promised I would do my best, still feeling in some way responsible for Ces’s welfare.

  John and I were kept in the dark about the transcript. About many things.

  As far as his Margaret was concerned, Ces could do no wrong. She had been staying at his place during his incarceration to care for his animals but soon had to return home to Sydney to look after her two teenage boys. ‘Who’s going to feed the dogs then?’ she said, pleading for our help. I knew Ces was depending on us for assistance because he knew we could raise sufficient money to put up bail. And besides, we’d come to the rescue before, many times.

  There was another unspoken-of reason to help, one that made me go cold with dread. Ces was still living on our land. If we refused and someone else bailed him, how would Ces treat us on his release? Worse, if no-one gave him bail and his dogs were sent to the dog pound and their deaths, this would be unforgivable in Ces’s eyes and make him mad with fury. He would blame us. We were used to him avoiding taking responsibility for his actions.

  Even when Ces was behind bars we could not feel safe. In the past Ces had bragged how he convinced `burks’ to carry out favours on his behalf, so why not again? I didn’t express these feelings to John, who was by then becoming very impatient with Ces’s intrusion on our lives. I wanted to avoid a confrontation between the two.

  I knew Ces wanted us to think he was involved in the murder, but I didn’t know if he was just bragging or if he did mastermind the crime. Ces was publicly pleading innocence and wanted to be free to fight the injustice all around him. He was saying quite openly that Dean was the murderer, should go to jail for the crime, and how dare he try and drag his father down with him? I couldn’t accept the idea that a father would have his own son pay for a crime conceived by him, be prepared to go free while the son was slammed behind bars for years. Especially as his son now had young children to support. I felt a father just wouldn’t do that to his son, so perhaps there was some truth in Ces’s claims of innocence. After all, Ces expended much energy proclaiming what a good, loving and protective father he was and how it was intolerable that so many parents in today’s crazy society were such failures in this regard.

  I did not want to fire John up with talk of possible retaliation. Instead, I made a big fuss about the dogs’ situation, which certainly concerned me. This line of reasoning did not work with John. He thought the dogs were not being properly cared for anyway, and that at least a couple of them, who were very old and appeared in pain, should be put down.

  John has always been very guarded about parting with money and in this case, felt the risk was too great. He didn’t trust Ces anymore and didn’t want to be the ‘fall guy’. Margaret and I were the meat in the sandwich between two obstinate and volatile men. We both have gentle personalities, both usually bend to the stronger will. But I became determined to help Ces because his few remaining friends were either unemployed or on social security. We were in the best financial position to help out. So I mustered up all my strength and went into battle. I told John that as I contributed most reliable money to the household, I had a right to use some of it without always having to get his permission, which I found demeaning. I was proud at how strong and determined I appeared. John was quite surprised. We had passionate arguments. The issue changed: I was fighting for my right to help someone.

  Eventually John gave in to my pressure and reluctantly put our farm up as surety for the bail, but not before he’d forced a condition on me—I needed his signature on the surety; the property was in both our nam
es. The condition was, Margaret Barnett was to try again for a separate fund, contributed to by Ces’s friends. (By then, there weren’t many friends left.) This fund would be a guarantee for us in case Ces did a runner or compromised his bail and left us with a $10,000 debt to the court. During the next two days, she managed to scrape together $800 from Danny Pierce, $100 from a local journalist and $200 of her own.

  We asked Margaret to deposit the $1,100 in a trust account. So she gave this task to the solicitor handling Ces’s defence, with no receipt or letters of exchange. If Ces honoured his bail conditions, the money could be returned to their rightful owners after the court case. Margaret also told us she would look after the payment of all legal fees so we wouldn’t be financially disadvantaged by our act of goodwill.

  Ces was grateful to be released from remand but angry at the establishment of the trust fund, which he deemed completely unnecessary, a sign we didn’t trust him. He was desperate to use the money himself because he would soon have legal fees to pay. But John stood his ground. Margaret Barnett, Ces and his defence lawyer agreed.

  So Ces resumed living on our property, training Danny Boy Pierce. Ces’s main water supply came from a windmill we had built many years before. It was a good pumper but had a habit of clogging up, which it did about that time. It was quite a performance heaving all the pipes out of the bore hole. To help, Ces offered the services of Danny’s sparring partners. Ces didn’t like manual labour, so he wasn’t present when the issue of the murder was raised by one of the workers. John, always prone to vent his feelings, said he felt that Ces was involved, although in what capacity he wasn’t sure.