THE STING: The Undercover Operation that Caught Daniel Morcombe's Killer by Kate Kyriacou

Kate Kyriacou has been a journalist since 2001. She has written for newspapers around the country, including the Sunday Herald-Sun, the Adelaide Advertiser and Sunday Mail, and Brisbane’s Courier-Mail and Sunday Mail.

She has been the Courier-Mail’s chief crime reporter since 2012 and has won awards, at both a state and national level, for her work as a crime writer.

Echo Publishing 12 Northumberland Street, South Melbourne Victoria 3205 Australia www.echopublishing.com.au Part of the Bonnier Publishing Group www.bonnierpublishing.com Copyright © Kate Kyriacou, 2015 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

First published 2015 Edited by Linda Funnell Cover design by Luke Causby, Blue Cork Page design and typesetting by Shaun Jury Internal photographs courtesy Queensland Police Service unless otherwise credited Printed in Australia at Griffin Press.

Only wood grown from sustainable regrowth forests is used in the manufacture of paper found in this book.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry Creator: Kyriacou, Kate, author.

Title: The sting : the undercover operation that caught Daniel Morcombe’s killer / Kate Kyriacou.

ISBN: 9781760067427 (paperback) ISBN: 9781760067441 (ebook: epub) ISBN: 9781760067458 (ebook: Kindle) Subjects: Morcombe, Daniel, 1989–2003.

Undercover operations—Queensland.

Police—Queensland.

Murder—Investigation—Queensland.

Kidnapping—Queensland.

363.25209943 Twitter/Instagram: @echo_publishing facebook.com/echopublishingAU

Contents Preface Prologue: The Meeting

ix 1

PART ONE: LITTLE BOY LOST Chapter One: Daniel Chapter Two: Missing Chapter Three: Looking for Daniel Chapter Four: The Blue Herring Chapter Five: Operation Vista Chapter Six: The Cowans Chapter Seven: Blue Jeans and Dirty Hands Chapter Eight: The Black Sheep Chapter Nine: Finding God

3 5 9 15 18 26 28 32 35 50

PART TWO: PERSONS OF INTEREST Chapter Ten: Suspects Chapter Eleven: Douglas ‘Rat’ Jackway Chapter Twelve: The Scruffy Man Chapter Thirteen: The Alibi Chapter Fourteen: Stacey Chapter Fifteen: Inconsolable Chapter Sixteen: Rat in a Cage Chapter Seventeen: Liar, Liar Chapter Eighteen: More Lies Chapter Nineteen: Role-Playing Chapter Twenty: What Next?

57 59 66 75 79 88 90 96 101 104 106 111

PART THREE: THE STUFF DREAMS ARE MADE OF Chapter Twenty-one: Mr Big Chapter Twenty-two: The Perfect Target Chapter Twenty-three: Joe Chapter Twenty-four: Fitzy Chapter Twenty-five: Trust, Honesty, Loyalty Chapter Twenty-six: Exit Joe Chapter Twenty-seven: The Brotherhood Chapter Twenty-eight: Arnold Chapter Twenty-nine: Big Jobs, Ecstasy and Jetskis Chapter Thirty: The Trap Chapter Thirty-one: I’m Sorry, Daniel Chapter Thirty-two: Shock Value

125 127 135 139 149 159 165 168 177 188 198 209 223

PART FOUR: I DIDN’T DO IT Chapter Thirty-three: Murderer Chapter Thirty-four: Don’t Say a Word Chapter Thirty-five: The Search Chapter Thirty-six: Proof Undeniable Chapter Thirty-seven: Our Son, the Pedophile Chapter Thirty-eight: Fronting Court Chapter Thirty-nine: The Trial Chapter Forty: Life for a Life

233 235 238 240 244 249 254 258 282

Epilogue: Daniel’s Legacy List of Covert Operatives Acknowledgements

285 289 291

For the ‘Joes’ and the ‘Fitzys’, whose faces will never be shown and whose names will never be known.

Author’s note: Some names have been changed in this account to protect privacy and for legal reasons.

Preface On Sunday, 7 December 2003, 13-year-old Daniel Morcombe vanished from a bus stop on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast. His disappearance sparked the largest police investigation in Queensland’s history, and eight years later, on 13 August 2011, resulted in the arrest of pedophile Brett Cowan for abduction and murder. Cowan was eventually sentenced on 14 March 2014 to life in jail with a nonparole period of 20 years.

This is the story of how the police set a trap to catch a child-killer.

ix

PROLOGUE

THE MEETING SEVEN HOURS OF LONG-BAKED bitumen stretches out between Perth and Kalgoorlie. The sleep-inducing drive from Australia’s fourthlargest city to a middle-of-nowhere mining town is one of long open roads where kangaroos dodge road trains with mixed success and fields of wheat eventually make way for desert.

It was Tuesday, 9 August 2011. Paul ‘Fitzy’ Fitzsimmons and Brett Peter Cowan were an hour down when the shrill of a mobile phone cut across the car’s radio.

‘It’s the boss,’ Fitzy told his mate. ‘Jeff, how ya going? What’s up?’

Brett sat quietly as Fitzy nodded along to instructions.

‘Forget about it?’ he repeated, his voice rising in surprise. ‘Fuck.’

He listened some more. ‘Oh, rightio. So not even worry about it?’

Fitzy pulled the car off the Great Eastern and turned them back to Perth. The job was off. The big boss was in town.

‘All right, I’m on my way,’ he told Jeff and rang off. He turned to Brett.

‘Fucken hell. Arnold wants to have a chat to ya. I didn’t even know he was over here,’ he said.

Brett seemed unconcerned. Excited even. He’d been working hard these last months. He’d been doing well. They’d all told him so. He’d never done well at anything. And now the big boss wanted to see him.

‘Yeah, don’t stress about it, fuck,’ Fitzy told him. ‘Just go tell him, mate, fucken, about all the good shit you’ve been doing and all that.

No one gets the OK to do big, you know, all the decent jobs, without Arnold going yep. I mean, that might be what it’s about, man . . . that’s fucking excellent.’

An hour later they were standing in the foyer of Perth’s five-star Hyatt Hotel. Plush sofas and bar tables arranged themselves around a stone fountain of elephants, their trunks in a good-luck salute.

Smartly attired staff checked in well-dressed professionals. Guests slept in rooms overlooking the Swan River. Manicured gardens and deckchairs surrounded the hotel’s sparkling pool.

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THE STING

Fitzy, a short man with a blond ponytail and a surfer’s drawl, and Brett, tall and lanky with a drug-user’s sunken-eyed sallowness, made their way to the meeting room the big boss had booked for the day.

Arnold dismissed his company — an attractive blonde — as the boys entered the room. He was a big man, dressed in a businessman’s suit. Brett took a seat on a long couch, drawing his legs to his chest as he waited for the boss to finish a phone call.

There was a problem, Arnold told him. Brett was a good worker and they wanted him on board. They had a big job coming up. It would be a big earner for everyone. Brett, who’d never had a dime to his name, was looking at big dollars. But the police were sniffing around.

Brett was the prime suspect in the disappearance and suspected murder of Sunshine Coast schoolboy Daniel Morcombe. The boy who’d graced television screens, newspapers and milk cartons these past eight years. Heat on Brett meant heat on them. Police scratching about was bad for business for a highly organised criminal gang.

‘You’re too hot,’ Arnold told Brett. ‘I’m told that it’s deadset that you’re the one who’s done it.’

Not true, Brett replied. He’d had nothing to do with it.

‘I was living in the area in ’03 when Daniel Morcombe went missing so I’ve been interviewed and I was hounded for ages about that and I can guarantee I had nothing to do with Daniel Morcombe’s disappearance,’ he insisted.

Arnold pushed on. The gang was about trust and loyalty. It’s how they’d survived all this time. They all had pasts. They all had a history.

Nothing surprised them. Nothing shocked them. They weren’t there to judge. They were there to make money, nothing more. He needed Brett to be honest.

‘I can sort this for you,’ Arnold said. ‘You know I can sort things out. I can buy you alibis. I can get rid of stuff, all the kinds of things that can be done, I can do. But I need to know what I need to do, you know what I mean?’

The conversation went back and forth. Brett denied. Arnold pressed. Confess, he said, or they’d drop him. There’d be no big job for Brett. No $100 000 pay day. He’d lose his new mates. His brothers. This new life he’d found. This is what dreams are made of, he’d told them.

Confess, Arnold said. Confess, or walk away.

Brett looked down. His reply was casual. His voice steady. But the words he spoke would change everything.

2

PART ONE

LITTLE BOY LOST

CHAPTER ONE

DANIEL TWINS BRADLEY AND DANIEL Morcombe were born on 19 December 1989 at Melbourne’s Monash Medical Centre. Both were small enough to fit in the palms of their parents’ hands. Bruce and Denise Morcombe would have to wait more than a week to bring their babies home to their two-year-old brother Dean. Weighing just over 1.5 kilograms each, the twins needed careful monitoring in intensive care until doctors were satisfied they were ready to leave.

When Bradley and Daniel were two, Bruce took a redundancy from the Melbourne Metropolitan Board of Works where he’d been employed for 15 years. He used the small payout to buy a Jim’s Mowing franchise in Boronia, in Melbourne’s eastern suburbs. It was a busy life and the Morcombes worked hard at building their business and raising three young boys.

In 1993, they were offered an opportunity to swap to another franchise territory — on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast. Taking up around 60 kilometres of coastline and hinterland, the picturesque Sunshine Coast is 100 kilometres from Brisbane and the third most populous area of Queensland. That number swells in summer months as families descend on beach destinations like Maroochydore and the famed Noosa.

Denise was reluctant to leave Melbourne but it was too good an opportunity to turn down. So the Morcombes moved their young family to Queensland, renting a house in the beachside suburb of Maroochydore for the first few months. The franchise had a small number of mowing clients when Bruce took over, but it was a large district and he got to work building his customer base.

Bruce did well and over the following years broke up his territory to bring in his own franchisees. Denise kept busy booking jobs and running after the three boys. They bought a hobby farm at Palmwoods and made a home there for the family.

Bradley and Daniel developed their own personalities. They were non-identical twins and looked different enough that nobody 5

PART ONE: LITTLE BOY LOST

confused them. Daniel looked more like his mother, inheriting Denise’s large, expressive eyes.

Bradley was the more outgoing twin. Daniel was the shy one.

More often than not, Bradley would speak for his brother. Daniel was quietly tough. He’d come off his bike, land in a sprawling heap and pick himself up without a word.

He was an animal lover. Bruce and Denise bought ponies for the twins and the boys rode them every second day around the farm.

Daniel brought the cats into his room each night and the family’s German shepherd, Chief, was his best friend. He’d throw a ball to Chief in the paddocks for hours. They’d sit quietly together, Daniel stroking his fur. Daniel told his mum and dad he wanted to be a vet, and they could see from his quiet, calm manner with the animals he’d make an excellent one.

He was shy around strangers and scared of the dark. Often, at night, he’d come into his parents’ room and settle in on the floor.

When the twins were 11 and Dean 13, Keith Paxton, the Morcombes’ next-door neighbour, offered them a job. A keen passionfruit farmer, Keith was a commercial grower with vines stretching across his property. He gave the boys work picking ripe fruit off the ground. They would become his best pickers, filling the buckets at the ends of each row with growing speed.

The boys didn’t waste the money they earned. They saved and saved, pooling the cash to buy a small motorbike. They’d developed a passion for bikes and would often spend Friday nights at a nearby property owned by a man named Kelvin Kruger, who ran a sandblasting business. Kelvin’s property had a natural motocross track in its dips and undulations. On Fridays he had an open-door policy. Workers would drop by and have a beer while bikes skidded around the track.

On 7 December 2003, a Sunday, the Morcombe household was up early. The boys were due at the Paxton farm at 6 a.m. to work on the vines, while Bruce and Denise needed to get ready for the Christmas party they were throwing for their franchisees. They were holding it at Broadwater Picnic Ground in Brisbane’s southern suburbs — a large park with play equipment for children and rolling lawn surrounded by trees. It was a busy park, so they planned on leaving home at 8.30 a.m. to make sure they secured a good picnic spot.

The clouds were grey and heavy with water when the Morcombes 6

DANIEL

woke. The phone shrilled through the house just before 6 a.m. Keith Paxton was on the other end. It looked like rain. He told Bruce to send the boys over at 7 a.m. Hopefully the rain would have passed by then.

The later start would delay Bruce and Denise, so it was decided the boys would not go with their parents to Brisbane.

The twins were back home just before 10 a.m., hands clutching hard-earned cash. They watched television for a while. Made some food. Wrestled on their parents’ bed. It was the beginning of the school holidays and the boys were relaxed and looking forward to weeks on end with nothing to do.

Daniel decided he would go to the Sunshine Plaza — a short bus trip to Maroochydore — to do some Christmas shopping and get a haircut. He asked his twin to go with him, but Bradley wasn’t keen to leave the house. He pestered Dean, but he wasn’t keen to go either.

Dean jumped in the shower and never saw his brother again.

* At 1 p.m. a little boy in a red Billabong t-shirt and navy blue shorts walked the one kilometre from the driveway of his Palmwoods home to an unofficial bus stop under the Kiel Mountain Road overpass. He followed the concrete path adjacent to the Woombye–Palmwoods Road up to the Nambour Connection Road. There’s nothing to mark the bus stop but locals knew the Sunbus stopped at the verge under the overpass, just down from the Christian Outreach Centre.

Daniel arrived in plenty of time. The Sunbus wouldn’t come past until 1.35 p.m. His pockets held his wallet with around $100, a phone card with $10 credit and an old-fashioned fob watch he loved to carry around. The watch had been an early birthday present from Bradley.

His twin had put money aside to buy it and had had it engraved with the word ‘Dan’. Bored, Daniel picked up a stick and used it to draw lines in the dirt. Time passed, 1.35 p.m. came and went. The Sunbus was nowhere to be seen.

After a while, a man came to join him. He was tall and thin and wore his long brown hair in a ponytail. The man lounged against the overpass wall, one leg bent like a stork so his foot rested on the wall.

He looked at Daniel. Daniel scratched the ground with his stick.

* 7

PART ONE: LITTLE BOY LOST

Bus driver Ross Edmonds clocked on at 5.55 a.m. on 7 December 2003 — just before passionfruit grower Keith Paxton, watching the rain clouds gather, picked up his phone to dial the Morcombes.

Ross was nearing the end of his shift when, at 1 p.m., he pulled his Sunbus out of Nambour to head to Maroochydore’s Sunshine Plaza.

He was driving along the Nambour Connection Road, approaching Woombye’s Blackall Street intersection, when he felt the bus give a shudder. The accelerator cable had snapped. He pulled over and grabbed the two-way. They’d need another bus.

The passengers got out and milled around the verge, impatient to get to the shops or catch a movie. It took 25 minutes for a new bus to arrive. It was Sunbus policy to bring a replacement bus to a breakdown, plus a second bus to pick up any waiting passengers.

‘You just go direct to Maroochydore,’ Jeff Norman, another driver, told Ross. ‘We’ll do the pick-ups on the other bus.’

They were now 30 minutes behind schedule. Ross boarded the new bus with his impatient passengers, the second bus tailing a couple of minutes behind. Soon, he was driving under the Kiel Mountain Road overpass.

A boy, dressed in a red shirt and dark shorts, stepped forward and waved at him with a stick. A man stood behind him, about three metres back from the road. Ross had to keep going. He pointed behind him, hoping the boy would understand.

‘There’s another one coming,’ he said aloud, knowing his words could not be heard.

Passengers on the bus watched as the boy’s shoulders slumped. He kicked at the dirt. Daniel had been waiting a long time and now the bus had left him behind.

Ross picked up the two-way and called the other bus. There was a ‘young chap’ in a red shirt and a man that needed collecting, he told Jeff. He put the radio down and drove on.

Two minutes later, Jeff Norman slowed his bus as he approached the Kiel Mountain Road overpass. He searched the verge for the passengers. A boy and a man. There was nobody there. He shrugged his shoulders and continued on.

8