Matthew Condon takes police corruption probe back to 1950s

Biographer Matthew Condon’s investigation into police corruption in Queensland has left Terry Lewis far behind.

Despite their estrangement, former Queensland police commissioner Terry Lewis and his biographer Matthew Condon have one thing in common: their love for little fish. It’s the meanings behind the metaphor that differ. For Lewis, little fish were the small bribes before “The Joke”, as it was colloquially known, became big business. For Condon, author of the true-crime trilogy Three Crooked Kings, Jacks and Jokers and All Fall Down, they are titbits of new information he regularly receives about old corruption scandals.

Lewis, 88, will die protesting his innocence, but he was self-accused. His obsessive diarising secured his conviction on charges of corruption, the entries partly corroborating the evidence of Jack “The Bagman” Herbert. Recording his memoir was his biggest mistake. His second biggest was engaging Condon in the belief it would clear his name.

Condon instead provided an insight into the Lewis persona, particularly his fascination with power, status and indispensability. His influence has waned but his malice has not. As Condon describes in this book, Lewis, even before he terminated their collaboration, used intimidation to try to manipulate his biographer.

Unlike Condon’s trilogy, Little Fish are Sweet features Lewis as a peripheral character. Condon returns to the era of Frank Bischof, who was commissioner between 1958 and 1969, sponsor of the young Lewis, and patron, along with many corrupt detectives, of the notorious National Hotel.

The place to go for after-hours drinking and illegal prostitution, the National was the subject of a royal commission in 1963-64, chaired by Queensland judge Harry Gibbs, who was later chief justice of the High Court.

A quarter of a century later, another royal commissioner, Tony Fitzgerald, examined Gibbs’s finding that there was “no acceptable evidence that any member of the Police Force was guilty of misconduct or violation of duty in relation to the policing of the hotel”.

Fitzgerald was sympathetic towards Gibbs, stating that “nothing in the terms of reference or structures of the Royal Commission … would have alerted it to the possibility that it confronted an orchestrated ‘cover-up’ based on, and supported by, institutionalised police attitudes and practices”.

Condon, in contrast, argues that Gibbs’s findings amounted to a spectacular failure. He cites a former legal intern who worked for the solicitor-general’s office at the time. Not only did Bischof influence the draft terms of reference, alleges the intern, but Gibbs “was aware he was not getting the full story”. Gibbs effectively had three choices. He could have requested the government expand his terms of reference or he could have resigned. He instead continued with the inquiry, thus compromising himself and emboldening a new generation of corrupt police. What should have been Bischof’s Watergate moment was instead a whitewash.

Establishing who these police protected remains Condon’s interest. There’s no question they included the operators of illegal brothels and casinos, but Condon muses as to whether the network shielded even more insidious criminality. He cites the case of Brisbane man Clarence Howard-Osborne, 61, who took his life in 1979. Described by Condon as one of the “worst serial pedophiles”, Howard-Osborne, by the time of this death, had been involved with more than 2500 under-age males, photographing them naked and meticulously recording their personal details and physical measurements.

Howard-Osborne appeared not to have acted alone. A former Juvenile Aid bureau officer who viewed the seized material discovered names of alleged co-conspirators including judges, lawyers, politicians, academics and police, and links to overseas pedophiles. What should have been a major criminal investigation was terminated during Lewis’s reign, with threats to the officer and his premature retirement on medical grounds.

Having looked far back into the 1950s and beyond, Condon believes a network of teachers and counsellors across various Brisbane schools put Howard-Osborne in contact with his victims. From a purely evidentiary point of view, more research is needed to validate that belief, but it’s not unreasonable speculation. Whatever the case, Condon’s research into several other high-profile Queensland pedophiles of that period reveals the effectiveness of universities and elite schools as their shield and haven.

Whether police provided cover for those pedophiles is another matter, and one that Condon is content — at least for now — to leave as food for thought. It’s also a reminder that the catalyst for Condon’s trilogy — the man who so keenly aroused his interest in Queensland’s corrupt past — has, despite his best efforts, moved into ignominious obscurity.

“I only now realise how far the project has travelled,” wrote Condon following Three Crooked Kings, “and how far it has left Terry Lewis a long, long way behind.”

Martin Leonard is a Canberra-based reviewer.

Little Fish are Sweet

By Matthew Condon

UQP, 280pp, $32.95