The Great New Zealand Robbery Read online

  Vincent’s records showed the safe should have contained a total of £23,229.14s.8d. Hoy directed him to count the banknotes scattered around the floor of the office, and these totalled £455. After being given permission to unlock the safe, Vincent found a further £2,899.14s.8d. undisturbed in the bottom drawers. Either the robbers had overlooked this or had chosen not to uplift it, probably because a large quantity of silver coins had been placed in a drawer on top of the paper money. When these sums were taken into account, it was estimated the amount stolen was £19,875.

  Hoy wasn’t part of Auckland Police’s special Shop-breaking Squad, but he had arrested quite a few crooks for counting-house breaks and he had a pretty good working knowledge of who had form.

  Sherwin turned to him. ‘You’ve been working on counting-house breaks for a while, Ivan. You ever heard of anyone pulling off a heist this big?’ he asked.

  ‘Never,’ Hoy replied.

  ‘Any idea who could have done it?’

  Hoy had been asking himself this question all morning. ‘No one in particular springs to mind. You get to know these jokers’ handiwork. Most of them are pretty sloppy—too anxious to get in and out, and they’ll slip up somewhere along the way. This one’s different. They left a mess all right, but the job itself is very orderly. Look at it. They couldn’t blow it, so they did a pretty clean soup-job. No fingerprints… They weren’t fools.’

  Fire Chief McKenzie was hovering, anxious to get away and get on with the rest of his day.

  ‘Anything you can tell us about the fire?’ Sherwin asked him.

  ‘Well, my guess is they set the cushion on fire to get the room going. The cushion was only smouldering when we got here. They must have only just done it, otherwise it would have been a heap of ashes by the time we arrived. Looks like they rushed it, because they didn’t do a very good job of burning the place down.’

  Hoy looked at Constable Baguley. ‘You might have just missed them. Track down that fellow with Lumley—’

  ‘Mr Nicholls,’ said Baguley, consulting his notes.

  ‘Yeah, Mr Nicholls. And think back over this morning on your beat and see if you can remember anyone else who was wandering this block. Ask anyone you can think of if they saw anybody acting out of sorts.’

  Sherwin sighed. ‘I better get back and brief the chief.’

  — — —

  Bad news travelled fast. Arthur Bockett listened in stony silence to the panicked phone call from Chris Stanich. At this early stage, it wasn’t known exactly how much the robbers got away with, but the sheer fact the safe was empty suggested the entire payroll had vamoosed. Stanich didn’t get the message across that the amount stolen was roughly half the total sum. With the cargo workers expecting to collect their wages in just over an hour, Bockett could not bear to consider the possible ramifications of 900 or so men turning up and learning they would not be getting paid. There could be a full-scale riot—even more politically unpalatable unrest on the waterfront.

  Bockett went straight to the top. He telephoned Government House in the hope of speaking to Prime Minister Sid Holland, who held the police portfolio. The call was taken by Jack Marshall, the attorney-general, who steered him away from his insistence on talking with Holland. The newspapers that morning reported the prime minister had been ill and had returned to light duties, but as it stood he was still unwell and Marshall didn’t want to place undue pressure on him while the true extent of his condition was unknown.

  Marshall was present at the prime minister’s side during the 1951 situation and had admired Bockett’s skilful work in the tough negotiations. While not a close friend, a spirit of camaraderie existed between those who had weathered that storm, and Marshall possibly felt the government owed him one. He took a few minutes to let the news of the robbery sink in. In the first instance, he would contact Secretary for Justice Barnett to have a full contingent of police deployed to the Auckland wharves in case of a riot. Second—and perhaps strategically—Marshall began to contemplate the potential political fallout of what was possibly the largest robbery in New Zealand’s history.

  This, 1957, was election year. New Zealand was in a period of relative stability. A robbery of this magnitude could be unsettling. Public faith in the police had only just been repaired after the Compton years. Arrests needed to be swift and the harshest of sentences meted out. The police force could not be seen to be weak or ineffectual.

  Marshall was also fully aware that safe-breaking was reaching almost epidemic proportions. If security at the Waterfront Industry Commission was easily breached, then this could easily encourage criminals to target other organisations. This was no idle fear: previous robberies on a large scale had been destabilising. He decided not to bother the prime minister, but resolved to take a keen personal interest.

  At Police National Headquarters in Wellington, Detective Superintendent Frank Aplin had barely put his feet under his desk when the telephone rang. It was the attorney-general. Aplin listened carefully as Jack Marshall described in a carefully controlled monotone the call he had received.

  ‘I don’t have to tell you, Aplin, how grave this situation is. We simply cannot allow rascals of any kind to walk away with an entire payroll [sic]. They must be found and held to account. I have informed Barnett and you are to utilise every man necessary to bring this to a satisfactory conclusion at the earliest. Every resource you require will be made available.’

  The phone line went dead.

  Sam Barnett popped his head in. He raised his eyebrows in a ‘here we go’ fashion. ‘I presume that was the AG? I’ve just had it in the neck, too. Find out what in hell is going on in Auckland and insist they turn the city upside down. Surely they must have some idea who’s responsible.’

  — — —

  Sub-Inspector James Finlay arrived in his office across from the squad room in the Auckland Central Police Station on Wednesday morning, sat at his desk, yawned, and started skimming through the Herald. He, too, snorted at the picture advertisement for the £5000 house, but he was rather more engaged by the story about the epidemic proportions of car theft. Finlay had overall responsibility for the Auckland policing district and this story was an irritant.

  The telephone rang.

  ‘Finlay,’ he said.

  ‘Jim, Frank Aplin at National HQ. What the hell’s going on down at the Waterfront Industry Commission?’

  Finlay was sitting bolt upright by now. Detective Superintendent Aplin was the first national head of the Criminal Investigation Bureau.

  ‘I don’t know the details yet, sir. But I’m right on it,’ he said, playing for time.

  ‘Good to hear,’ Aplin replied. ‘There are people down here baying for blood, and not just at HQ. We’re being leaned on from on high. They want answers quick.’

  Finlay was off the cuff and tried to sound convincing. ‘We’re doing our best. I’m hoping we’ll have something for you shortly.’

  As soon as he had hung up, he yelled, ‘Does anyone know what in God’s name is going on downtown?’

  It turned out no one did.

  — — —

  Ivan Hoy returned to the Detective Branch in the early afternoon. It had been a long morning. He wasn’t in the slightest bit surprised to see a number of senior detectives standing around his desk when he walked in.

  ‘You better tell us what went down,’ Finlay said and gestured the group into his office. Apart from Hoy, there was the chief, Frank Brady, the old-school tie Thomas Irving, and some younger guys—Harold McCombe from the Shop-breaking Squad and Bob Walton, a 35-year-old detective sergeant already earmarked as a future leader.

  Hoy straddled a chair and lit his pipe, summarising what they had been able to find out.

  ‘This is an awfully big haul,’ he concluded. ‘Whoever did it left nothing more than a faint heel print. It was a professional job, all right. I can’t think of any mug I’ve dealt with who’d be capable of pulling this one off. Could be an Aussie fix?’

  They
kicked it around. ‘We’d better get Jack Sherwin to shut down all outgoing vessels until they’ve been properly searched.’ Brady nodded. ‘But we need to maintain an open mind. Could be one of our local firms. Better get Les Schultz in on this. Get his boys to lean on their fizzes and find out who’s been planning what, stuff they’ve heard, who’s working with who. Then flush the bastards out.’

  Detective Sergeant Les Schultz was a veteran of the Crete campaign, a hardened detective who had the ability to think like a criminal. He led the Shop-breaking Squad, and had worked his crew up into a tough outfit that was genuinely feared in the underworld. Over the years he had cultivated an impressive number of ‘fizzes’ (reliable informants). Some of his more sanctimonious peers believed he would overlook the odd minor offence in return for good bully, but his results spoke for themselves. He had an exceptionally high arrest rate and was respected by his team, who were fiercely loyal to him.

  ‘Sounds like there was a lot of equipment left at the scene,’ Bob Walton said. ‘Those gas cylinders would be reasonably heavy to carry, especially when they were full. If there were two men involved, it would have taken at least two or three trips to unload all that gear from a car and lug it upstairs. Surely someone must have seen or heard them? And what about the noise when they tried to blow the safe? Where was the security guard? The cleaners? They are the ones we need to get to first.’

  Hoy nodded. ‘Colin Baguley is down there now getting the wire on them and running it by the early starters he knows from his beat.’

  Finlay rose to leave. ‘Just one thing. I’ve had it from Aplin down the line. This needs to remain on the QT. No scoops. They haven’t told me why, but if you get any grief, send them Brady’s way.’

  — — —

  An inquiry team was appointed and met that afternoon for their first conference. Finlay had appointed Detective Sergeant Bob Walton officer in command of the entire investigation, but the inquiry team would be led by Detective Sergeant Thomas Irving. Detective Sergeant Schultz and three of his shop-breaking crew—Detectives Gray, Kyne and Dobbs—would be responsible for shaking down known criminals. The first senior police on the scene, Ivan Hoy and Jack Sherwin, were assigned respectively to exhibits and assisting with locating persons of interest. Detective Errol Jones was tasked with establishing the denominations and serial numbers of the stolen money, so that it could be traced, and with interviewing Waterfront Industry Commission staff. Detective Harold McCombe and Acting Detective Malcolm Churches were tasked with locating all known safe-breakers and checking their alibis, as well as doggedly tracing the origins of the tools and equipment left behind by the offenders.

  The assembled group went over the known facts.

  Detectives thought the Waterfront payroll robbery was the work of a professional gang of at least three men: two to carry out the robbery and one acting as lookout. They didn’t rule out the inclusion of a fourth member, whether he was present from the outset or included at some later stage. And nor did they consider it unlikely that there were at least one or two other ‘silent partners’—guys who provided inside information or knowledge of the inner workings of the building and offices.

  Once the scene examination had been completed, the team were confident they knew how and when the robbery had been carried out. The last of the commission office staff finished their work day as usual around 5 pm on Wednesday. The only people remaining were Captain Stanich, who was in his office finishing paperwork, and Joyce Freebairn, an Internal Affairs janitor, who started cleaning the offices at 4 pm. Stanich left the building via the Quay Street entrance at 6.45 pm, locking the main doors as he left.

  Mrs Freebairn finished cleaning around 7.20 pm, locked the door to the commission offices and waited downstairs on Quay Street to wait for her colleague, Mrs Wishart, to finish cleaning the Transport Department offices on the second floor. Both women left at 7.30 pm, and both were adamant the main doors to the building had been securely locked.

  It was surmised the robbers arrived at the building around 11 pm, entering by the rear fire escape, where the lock was faulty and ineffective. Marks on the door indicated a 1-inch jemmy or broad-bladed screwdriver was used to force it open, and such was the state of the lock that it wouldn’t have taken much effort. A blotting-paper holder from one of the offices was wedged in the door to keep it open.

  Inside the building, the robbers walked up the flight of stairs leading to the rear offices of the Waterfront Industry Commission. Marks on the door to the stairwell indicated a thin-bladed instrument was used to force the tongue of the lock; a red-handled breadknife located in the sawdust near the safe was consistent with the marks and was presumed to be the tool used for this purpose. This gained them entry into the rear first-floor offices which were not visible from the street. Walking quickly and quietly along the passageway, they arrived at the front office, where one of the robbers forced the main first-floor door open, walked downstairs and cut the wires above the main switchboard located on the inside wall above the main doors.

  He then opened the door to the offices of the Northern Steamship Company. There was no sign of forced entry, so it was assumed he had a copy of the key. Inside, he located a small trapdoor in the middle of the foyer. This trapdoor wasn’t conspicuous, as it was covered by a square of linoleum that fitted well and matched the pattern of the lino floor. Most of the company’s employees didn’t know of its existence. Beneath this trapdoor, within reach of an outstretched arm, ran the main electrical, telephone and high-voltage armoured cables to the entire building. The robber cut the telephone cables, which disabled all lines in the building. He then snipped only those electrical cables necessary to cut power to the four side offices of the Waterfront Commission’s floor. The power to the front office and all of the armoured cables were left intact. The severing of these cables could be timed precisely, because the electric clock in the commission offices was mains-powered. It had stopped at 11.34 pm.

  Meanwhile, back upstairs, the other robber had found the former strongroom storing the stationery and used the bread knife to trip the tongue of the Yale lock to gain access. Nothing was taken or disturbed, but the only reason the thieves can have had to enter this cupboard was that their information was at least three years old and they believed the safe was still housed there. Unfazed by this setback, the robber continued looking in each room until he found the closed cupboard in the corner of the fourth office.

  Although their information was old, they seemed to have known that the cupboard containing the safe was alarmed and that the alarm would sound as soon as they opened the door. They were prepared for this. The alarm was connected to a loud Klaxon horn mounted on the outside of the building, but no one police spoke to could remember hearing it. It’s likely that one of the robbers had an implement at the ready as his colleague whipped open the cupboard door.

  As soon as it was opened, the alarm sounded, both in the office and on Quay Street. The second man dived for the wires leading from the battery charger along the skirting board to the battery and cut them. Then he yanked the six-volt battery from its compartment and cut the wires connected to it, whereupon the alarm would have fallen silent. To anyone outside, it would have sounded like a short burst on a car horn. This might have aroused attention—except that the robbers had a plan for that, too.

  William Chapman, a gateman employed by Auckland Harbour Board, told police he was on duty on Captain Cook Wharf at 11 pm when he heard the sound of a car horn coming from the direction of the bus terminal behind the Northern Steamship Company building. He couldn’t see the car, but claimed the horn sounded at regular intervals every ten to fifteen minutes until 12.30 am. Initially, police thought this was the third member of the gang, sitting in the getaway car and sounding the horn to provide signals to his friends upstairs, but it now looked likely that it was also a ruse to provide cover for the alarm when it sounded briefly before being disabled.

  The men may have looked down on the street to make sure the coast
was clear. Satisfied that it was, they tried pulling the safe out of the cupboard. It must have been too heavy, so they abandoned the attempt and set about preparing to blow it in situ.

  They next pinned a 10-foot (3-metre) swathe of green rubberised sheeting over the window, and arranged the office furniture in a semicircle between the window and the room as an extra buffer. They would have muttered upon discovering the screw plug in the keyhole, but proceeded anyway to pack gelignite around it, fixing it in place with plasticine and pressing a detonator into it. They connected the wires from the detonator to the battery and quickly took cover. The detonator was electric gasless with a manufactured delay of between three and ten seconds.

  The explosion would have been deafening. After the smoke cleared, they would have been surprised to find the safe virtually undamaged and the door still shut fast. Blowing the safe had failed.

  If the robbers had aborted the robbery, they were unlikely to have had another opportunity, as the various security shortcomings they had exploited would have surely been addressed, and perhaps the procedures for storing the payroll would have been changed or done away with altogether. Either way, they wouldn’t get this chance again. A great deal of preparation had gone into planning the heist: there was a huge sum of money—enough to set them up for life—tantalisingly within reach. It was now or never.

  The decision was made to persevere and mount an attempt to use an oxyacetylene cutter to cut open the safe. The detectives couldn’t decide whether one of the offenders was capable of doing this himself, or whether they’d had another person with the necessary expertise on standby. By now it would have been close to 1 am. The robbers’ information or the extensive surveillance they had carried out had been so reliable that it’s virtually certain they knew the night cleaners were due to arrive around 2.30 am. If they had come equipped with the gas gear, they would likely have cut the safe then and there. But they hadn’t, which suggested to detectives that they needed to fetch the gear, or the man with the cutting expertise, or both. The robbers were believed to have left the premises before the cleaners arrived.