Matthew Condon is a journalist with the Courier-Mail here in Brisbane, as well as an author of crime fiction. Somewhere in between these two commitments, he has also found time to write what has turned into a trilogy of true-crime works analysing the events leading to the Fitzgerald Inquiry in Queensland. In fact, there's been a fourth publication in the same vein, dealing with the experiences he had doing his research and writing, so perhaps "trilogy" isn't quite the right term. Three Crooked Kings is the first instalment of this account - and in fact my copy makes it clear that the project was only meant to be a two-volume work at the time.
Having grown up in Brisbane in the late 1980s and early 1990s, the events of the Fitzgerald Inquiry, which eventually outlined institutional corruption in the Queensland police and government, are things which I at least have a vague understanding of. I can recall asking my parents who "Fitz, Gerald and Quiry" were after hearing a mention of the inquiry on the evening news at one point, and names like Terry Lewis, Joh Bjelke-Petersen and the like are ones which have always rung proverbial bells for me.
In fact, it's somewhat unusual to think that there's an entire generation of young people for whom none of these names really means much. As a historian, that's more than a bit concerning.
Three Crooked Kings traces the career of Terry Lewis from his first day in the police in 1949 through to his "exile" in western Queensland in the 1970s, a time-frame which should automatically explain to many readers that the "Fitzgerald-era corruption" wasn't just limited to the 70s and 80s. Indeed, the police force which Lewis joins is not exactly a paragon of virtue, and there are mentions of various scandals earlier in history as well.
We also meet the other two "kings", of the so-called police "Rat Pack" - Tony Murphy and "Silent" Glen Hallahan. Hallahan has the interesting distinction of being the first Queensland public servant to be charged with corruption, although Condon points out that this was almost in spite of - rather than because of - the work of the police investigating him. Jack "Bagman" Herbert, another central figure in the Fitzgerald Inquiry, also makes several appearances.
Condon was in fact asked by Lewis to tell his story, and has been able to let most of the other central figures tell theirs as well (either to him directly or otherwise). The book is full of direct quotes from the policemen, often juxtaposed with their official statements at the time which suggest that their memories may not be as accurate as they would like to think.
Condon is also able to situate the 40s-70s in Queensland history, and explain that the events he writes about didn't occur in isolation. Many infamous crimes of the era are investigated, with names like Betty Shanks playing a role early, along with the perhaps lesser-known "Sundown Murders", which brought Hallahan a level of fame. Later, we are taken to the Whiskey Au Go Go bombing and the McCulkin murders (eerily topical reading now, with the case having been re-opened), and no less a figure than the former "celebrity criminologist" Paul Wilson (also eerily topical now, for other reasons) makes a cameo appearance.
But this isn't a mere recitation of crime and gangsters. Condon makes the point repeatedly that the police corruption was known - or at least tacitly noticed, perhaps - by politicians on both sides. The work of anti-corruption crusaders such as Colin Bennett and Ray Whitrod is set against the close relationship of figures like Commissioner Frank Bischof and Premier Frank Nicklin, to say nothing of Lewis' own friendship with Bjelke-Petersen.
Key social events are also brought into the frame. The description of the riots during the South African rugby union team's tour of Brisbane is very important in explaining an event which is often misunderstood even now. Perhaps more amusing, though, is the attitude of Bischof and Lewis to the (earlier) flourishings of rock music and "bodgie" culture, with young men dressing in that style being given neat shirts and ties to wear instead.
As a side-note, it's very striking as a Brisbanite to read about events in one's own home town. At one point, Lewis moves from a house at the end of the street I'm living in to one not too far from a travel agency my family has used for years. Later, he meets the new Police Minister at an end-of-year ceremony at the secondary school a few streets from my old apartment, and then returns a truant to another local school.
What really works here, though, is Condon's writing style. To say that a book is written by a journalist and shows it can often be an insult, but not here. Condon stays on top of a very complex story and his narrative crackles from the page. Instead of chapter divisions, the book is divided into the relevant decades, with little sub-headings dividing the action into bite-sized chunks. These headings feel almost like newspaper headlines, and serve to remind the reader that the focus will now be shifting to politics, or Sydney, or Murphy, or whatever else it may be.
Condon's journalistic background shows through, too, in that the action is constantly building. One key piece in the puzzle here is the story of prostitute Shirley Brifman, and even knowing what her fate is, it's hard not to get a sense of foreboding as she moves closer and closer to it. There is a real sense throughout of the pieces of the puzzle being moved together on all sides, which moves what could have been a bland narrative into page-turner territory.
There are perhaps a few minor criticisms to make. Lewis' receipt of a Churchill Fellowship is mentioned, and he is described as "the first" recipient, which isn't strictly true, as there are several recipients every year. I'll admit to a personal connection here, as family history features someone who was also one of "the first recipients", in the plural.
Of probably greater concern is the lack of any pictures or a "dramatis personae" at the start of the book. Condon frequently describes pictures from newspapers in detail, and I feel that a short "plate section" would be useful in a situation like this, particularly as a number of the key buildings have also been renovated or destroyed over time as well. Perhaps the concern was that not including such a thing maintains the momentum of the work better.
Likewise, while Condon does a great job of keeping his cast of politicians, police and criminals straight, a list of exactly who's who may not have gone astray. As mentioned earlier, there is a generation for whom "Terry Lewis" and "Joh Bjelke-Petersen" are figures in history books only, while "Roger Rogerson" (who makes a cameo appearance investigating the Whiskey Au Go Go bombing) is simply a convicted criminal. Without photos of the key figures or a quick outline of their identities to refer to, these names may not mean overly much.
All in all, though, this is a fantastic telling of a very complex and important story in the development of Brisbane (and Queensland) from a small country town to the capital of the "Deep North" and beyond. It reads cinematically at times, and I do hope that someone somewhere takes the time to either convert Condon's work into a documentary or even a drama series, as it would make a particularly fine Underbelly instalment should that series come back to the screen.
Five stars. Heartily recommended.
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