Story on sentencing of Anthony and Andrew Perish and Mathew Lawton. The shed (see pix) where Terry Falconer’s body was dismembered, which was later used as one of Australia’s biggest meth labs. The house is where the various crooks stayed when they were up at the property. Story Michael Duffy. Except for the TV screens, which are of interest only because they were hooked up to the cameras that covered the entrances and their remote-controlled machine gun and explosives. Girvan House 1.JPG Story on sentencing of Anthony and Andrew Perish and Mathew Lawton. The shed (see pix) where Terry Falconer’s body was dismembered, which was later used as one of Australia’s biggest meth labs. The house is where the various crooks stayed when they were up at the property. Story Michael Duffy. Except for the TV screens, which are of interest only because they were hooked up to the cameras that covered the entrances and their remote-controlled machine gun and explosives. Girvan Shed Int.JPG
Story Michael Duffy. SHD Sunday Extra. 15 December 2011Terry falconer
Story Michael Duffy. SHD Sunday Extra. 15 December 2011Girvan property.JPG
BOUNCER…Sean Waygood, on the job.Pix by QUENTIN JONES:
Story Michael Duffy. SHD Sunday Extra. 15 December 2011Waygood’s guns.
Arrest at McMahon’s Point in relation to the Terry Falconer murder 19012009. Supplied by Police Media Unit
Story Michael Duffy. SHD Sunday Extra. 15 December 2011Waygood arrest.JPG
THEY say that most serious criminals either wind up dead or in jail. Sean Laurence Waygood achieved both. The man we dubbed the “Merewether Hitman” died recently following a lengthy illness. He had spent the first five years of his 20-year jail term in maximum security at Goulburn and the prison hospital at Long Bay.
Waygood died in a secured section of Randwick Hospital. He was 43.
Sean Waygood grew up in the northern Sydney suburb of West Killara, where he was classmates at Killara High School with former Australian rugby union player Cameron Blades and the former mayor of Hornsby Nick Berman.
Waygood dropped out of school before finishing his HSC to join the army.
By then he had earned a reputation among his classmates as an “army dude” who could handle himself, thanks to years of martial arts training.
He spent five years in 1 Commando Company doing everything from large-scale raids to airborne assaults before leaving the armed forces and putting his skills to work at the front doors of Sydney night spots such as the Bourbon and Beefsteak at Kings Cross and Jackson’s On George.
The Sydney Morning Herald noted in a feature story on Waygood in 1996: “He’s been the butt of death threats and had beer bottles thrown at him from across the street. He’s had a 32-calibre pistol drawn on him. He’s seen a large variety of knives. The most unusual implement he’s been attacked with is a shovel.”
Waygood was quoted as saying: “I’ve heard every insult under the sun, including ones about my girlfriend and mum.
“It’s not a job for everyone. My skin is about as thick as it can get. You have to be emotionally detached and have a lot of self-discipline.”
You would have to be emotionally detached to do what Waygood got up to next. He started a security business that flopped, before reinventing himself and some of his closest confidantes as underworld contractors performing what he called “black ops”.
Contract killings, high-yield, well-planned armed robberies and intricate break-ins were their specialities.
If he needed money, Waygood would knock over a business he knew was carrying lots of cash, including some of the businesses he was previously hired to protect. If a customer needed chemicals for drug production, he could get into fortified premises, find the gear and get out without a trace.
It was through these operations that he made friends with some of the nastiest hombres in Sydney’s underworld.
Waygood would later tell a court that he was in debt to some of these customers and that he could not say no to them out of fear, but there is plenty of evidence to the contrary.
For a start, he invited some of them to his wedding at Honeysuckle in 2008, just months before his dramatic arrest in January 2009.
He was sipping coffee at a plush north shore cafe with one of those associates when tactical response officers came storming in.
Among his crimes, Waygood orchestrated the daring break-in of BOC Gases at Wetherill Park in 2002, so $25,000 worth of chemicals could be stolen for drug manufacturers.
He attempted to murder a Bandidos bikie boss in Sydney, but shot the wrong bloke. He helped abduct Terry Falconer, who died. He meant to shoot another bloke in the backside outside a Sydney pub, but again missed and got him in the back.
It would be easy to label Waygood’s performances as a hitman as incompetent, but given that detectives investigated several unsolved murders and disappearances with links to Waygood, he might well have had more blood on his hands than we will ever know.
He certainly had everyone fooled in 2002 when he was contracted to kill a Bandidos bikie boss in Sydney.
Waygood tracked the target down to a pub in Haymarket and an accomplice, who was inside the pub, pointed the victim out. Waygood, from outside the pub, then fired eight shots through a glass panel, then ran away. Only three of the shots struck the victim, but he suffered terrible injuries and required surgery.
Waygood ran to a van he had parked in a back street, changed his clothes, then torched everything.
The victim, a Kiwi tourist, provided little assistance to police because a. he had no reason to think anyone wanted him dead and b. he was frozen with fear.
This prompted The Daily Telegraph to publish a front-page story months later with a security-camera image of a “mystery assassin” running through Sydney’s streets.
The story claimed the shooting was a contract killing on behalf of a Columbian drug lord.
They were wrong.
DNA extracted from the van matched DNA extracted from a car that was burnt out after businessman Michael Davies was executed in his Gold Coast home earlier that year.
Davies’s murder remains unsolved and is on a list of several killings in Queensland, NSW and Victoria linked to Waygood and his mates.
Waygood’s biggest claim to fame was his involvement in the murder of underworld figure and police informant Terry Falconer.
Falconer had been in and out of jail most of his adult life for drug offences. He was suspected of filling the coppers in on bikie activities and was believed to have information about the murder of an elderly Sydney couple in the early 1990s.
The grandchildren of that couple would go on to be major crime figures and they wanted answers.
Waygood and two associates dressed in suits, flashed police ID badges and drove into Wreck-a-mended Smash Repairs at Ingleburn about 3pm on November 16, 2001. Falconer was on day release from prison when he was “arrested” by the three fake officers and carted away. The men drove him to a home at Turramurra, drugged him and put him in a tool box.
They then put the tool box in the back of a ute and drove to Girvan south-west of Bulahdelah. Falconer died on the way. They took Falconer’s body out, strung it up on a block-and-tackle, then sawed it into pieces. They put the pieces into plastic bags and dumped them in the Hastings River.
Some of the pieces were later found near Wauchope.
Those involved have been dealt with by the courts, although many details remain suppressed by court orders for the protection of witnesses.
It is unknown when exactly Waygood moved to Newcastle. He was part of a group that kept low profiles and left little in the way of paperwork.
No Medicare, no tax returns, everything paid in cash – their anonymity was a major theme of the Underbelly: Badness television series that portrayed Waygood and his mates.
Waygood differed in that he had a crack at civilian life. He got a missus, a job, a nice place at Merewether and then enrolled at the University of Newcastle. He was an occupational health and safety officer at Goninans Broadmeadow, where he earned the nickname “Major Pain”. The contract killer was a stickler for workplace safety and he believed in giving young people a chance by teaching boxing at the Broadmeadow PCYC.
In 2008, he received his Bachelor of Environmental and Occupational Health and Safety. He moved his family into 26 Hickson Street, Merewether, among the millionaires and stored his toys in the two sheds on the property.
He loved his bicycles and motorbikes and other bits and pieces, while he kept the tools of his secret trade under lock and key.
Rubber face masks, wigs, 3000 rounds of ammunition, a bolt-action rifle, a rifle with a silencer already fitted, a Ruger mini rifle, a machine pistol, a .22 calibre pistol, a Luger pistol, a .38 calibre pistol, a silencer and 10 empty magazines were found on the premises when police raided it the day after his arrest.
He had two bullet-proof vests, one white and one navy, an extendable baton and utility belts.
Waygood could disguise himself as a member of just about any Australian police force, state or federal, thanks to four Australian Federal Police patches, 13 NSW police patches, one NSW police identification badge, an AFP badge and other state police force patches and epaulets.
He had blue shirts and hats.
Police had more than enough material to put him away for a long time.
Waygood cut a deal and got a 50 per cent discount for assisting authorities after pleading guilty to a raft of charges, including conspiracy to murder relating to the botched hit in Sydney and accessory to murder relating to Falconer.
He received 20 years’ jail with a non-parole period of 15 years and was diagnosed with cancer not longer after his sentencing.
A life led in the fast lane came to a slow and painful end.