To see the rainbow, you need to know the colours.
Allow me to paint one of them for you.
Sally Snow is the daughter of Garry and Glenis Clarke.
To understand the Sally Snow affair, you need to understand the Fine Cotton ring-in, and even most racing people don’t.
Forget all the minutiae, and the pawns like Gillsepie and Haitana, the story is like always at the top.
Let me tell it to you …
A gangster named Michael “Melbourne Mick” Sayers organised the ring-in.
The reasons he did it don’t matter here, just the fact that he did.
Sally Snow’s father Garry Clarke was Sayer’s commission agent.
He was given $40 000 bucks by Sayers to back Fine Cotton for him in the Sydney betting ring, the rationale being if they put the money on there they could get most of it on between the fluctuation calls from Brisbane, and hold up the price.
Clarke approached Waterhouse to get it on for him, which was no surprise because whether he’d been swinging a satchel or coming at if from the other side as a punter, he’d always been Waterhouse’s man.
Waterhouse knew that it was Sayers money, and Sayers knew that by giving it to Clarke he was going through him too – that was the whole point – but they pulled a swifty on the crim, and cut a deal where Waterhouse got to throw ten grand in too.
The pair got a Sydney merchant banker named Ian Murray to put the $50 000 bet on, in return for a decent drink, and he got on, and that should have been that.
But Clarke and Waterhouse had another secret game of their own going on.
Instead of just backing Fine Cotton in the Sydney ring via Murray like they were supposed to, the pair anted up, and decided to put a whole lot more on the rung-in horse on the sly.
To get it on without Sayers knowing, they sent a whole lot of runners around to small local tracks, and interstate everyone except Melbourne where Sayers was real well connected. They sent people here, there and everywhere, even putting Sally Snow’s pregnant mum on a plane to Queensland with a handbag full of cash, and sending Waterhouse’s drunken, punt addicted priest with a grand up to the dogs at Appin.
It was a dangerous game that Clarke and Waterhouse were playing, a real dangerous one, because Michael Sayers was a real dangerous person. Wherever he went, dead bodies seemed to follow, and he didn’t muck around if he thought he’d been screwed.
If the ring-in had come off, and he’d later discovered that the pair had won money without him, they were dead.
Then a funny thing happened, that they had nothing to do with at all.
Sayers told Sydney’s SP King and casual killer George Freeman about the ring-in, and tipped the big man not to lay it. Sayers thought that it would win him favours with Freeman, but Mick Sayers was bloody stupid.
Freeman hadn’t become a big man in the mob because he missed opportunities, and he didn’t get to the top because he was honest either.
Come in spinner, he thought, and then he picked up the phone.
His people in Queensland were told to make sure that the Stewards didn’t spot the ring-in before the race, and to make sure that they let Fine Cotton start.
Then he told them to make sure the ring-in was exposed the second they crossed the line, and well before they returned to the scale.
Once that was in place Freeman started laying Fine Cotton for the Bank of England, and backing the favourite Harbour Gold for plenty, and saving on a few others too. Good crooks always like to slice the lemon seven different ways, and Freeman was the best.
He was a genius old George, that’s why for decades he lived like a king on the income of a sniff of fresh air, and it’s why everyone else got shot or went to jail, and he never did.
Freeman’s men at the Queensland end did their job.
Fine Cotton started, and the second he crossed the line with his nose in front, the cries of “ring-in!” did too.
We all know what happened next.
Freeman won, both ways.
Clarke, Waterhouse and Sayers did their dough cold.
Waterhouse had given himself up by sending the cash too fast and too far, and Sayers woke up to what he and Clarke had done, but he was too thick to work out what Freeman had, and with the cops all over the ring-in like a rash he had to keep his head down real low, and there was no time for retribution.
That was lucky for Clarke and Waterhouse, real lucky, for just months later Mick Sayers was shot dead.
Dark rivers flow deep.
The bond between Clarke and Waterhouse flows even deeper.
q and spread them wide eto get top price, and take a small shark-bite slice out of the winnings as his commission.
Clarke had approached his man in Sydney