From crook to CRIME FIGHTER
Reformed criminal Tony has dedicated his life to protecting people from fraud
My heart thumped in my chest as I was lowered to the ground by a rope tied under my arms and around my chest.
Aged just seven, I was helping a 17-year-old I’d known all my life and his mates rob a pub.
After being dropped in through a hatch on the roof, I unlocked the front door to let them in.
‘Good lad,’ one of the men grinned.
They swiped $400 cash from the till, as well as beers and cigarettes.
‘Here you go,’ one said, handing me two bottles of lemonade. I had no idea it was wrong – I trusted the older boys.
My mum was 17 when she had me, and I was in the care of my grandparents Shirley and Bill.
From then on, I found other ways to get cash.
My mates and I would steal car radios or pretend we were doing sponsored
swims and get locals to donate money. Then I’d treat myself to designer clothes or shoes.
Nan didn’t know anything about fashion, so never questioned how I’d got the money to buy them.
As teenagers, my mates and I learned how to break into pokies to steal the cash unlucky punters had lost. Hitting up several pubs one day, we hustled $30,000 between us.
In the late ’80s, when I was 16, I got a card cloner, and persuaded a deli worker to steal details from her customers. Whenever someone paid by card, she would secretly use the clone machine to steal their numbers. Then
I printed them onto fake cards and sold them on to other crooks.
By 18, I had club and shop owners in on the deal, earning me up to $20,000 a month.
Over the years the fraud ramped up. I took out car loans and even mortgages in other people’s names.
Having been brought in to a life of crime as just a little boy, I never stopped to consider the impact. It was a way of life to me.
I opened businesses such as car hires and clothes shops to hide how I was really making money.
When I met Lynn at 22, I kept my life of crime secret.
‘I’ve got a few businesses on the go,’ I told her.
One day that same year, a mutual connection asked me to withdraw $967,000 from someone else’s account using a fake ID.
I knew better than to ask questions about where the cash came from. And they promised me a cut too good to refuse, so I agreed.
When the bank teller asked me how I got the money, I explained I was a stock trader and I’d had a recent win. They believed me. Walking out with almost $1 million in my duffel bag, I felt a sense of relief – and victory.
After that, I went back to a simpler kind of identity theft – buying TVs with fake cards and selling them on.
For a decade, myself and ve others would travel the country, visiting small department stores to loot as many as possible.
During this time, Lynn and I got married. We welcomed three kids, Zack, Ellis and Abbie. My other son, Josh, from a previous relationship when I was 19, loved having siblings. Our life seemed perfect. But in
2005,
everything came crashing down when one of the shop assistants we’d purchased TVs from tipped off police.
I was charged with conspiracy to fraud and pleaded guilty. But while out on bail, I was terri ed of being taken away from my family and being sent to jail. So I went on the run, moving my family to another house and adopting a new name.
‘I was arrested for something, but it’s nothing to do with me,’ I lied to Lynn. She trusted me.
For six years I kept my head down. Then, one day in August 2011, I was
lling my car with petrol when police recognised me and arrested me.
That month I was sentenced to nine months in prison for fraud and a further three months for going on the run.
Lynn was so angry, she didn’t visit me for three months. Then she brought the kids along, and seeing how upset they all were left me racked with guilt. I’ve got to stop...
After four months, I was released on parole and knew it was time to set a better example for my kids than the one I’d had.
Getting a job in a supermarket, I thought about how I could undo some of the harm I’d done.
I partnered with a company called Retail
Risk, which helps prevent companies from losing money.
Then in
July 2016, I launched my company, We Fight Fraud, to help businesses and individuals reduce their risk of falling victim to nancial fraud.
I knew from experience just how easy it was.
Though the damage I’d caused my victims is inexcusable, I’m grateful I can now help others.
I’m helping protect people from crooks, and hoping to inspire others to learn from my mistakes.
It’s never too late to redeem yourself. ●
I was terrified of being sent to jail
Iwant to buy a deer sanctuary,’ I said to my husband Denis, then 35, as we stood in the kitchen.
He looked at me like I’d lost my mind – and I didn’t blame him. I could barely believe it myself.
Aged 37, I was mum to Matilda, then eight, Clancy, six, Opal, four, and Goldie, two. Denis is away a lot, being in the army, we didn’t have the money to buy a property, I had no experience living on the land... and I’m allergic to animals.
‘You don’t know anything about deer! How would you cope with the girls and deer on your own?’ Denis asked, shaking his head in disbelief.
Diagnosed with ADHD, I’ve also battled anxiety and depression, so he knew there were times I didn’t feel like I could function like a ‘normal’ person.
But earlier that day I’d taken Clancy to a birthday party at Lyell Deer Sanctuary, a deer farm.
We’d had a lovely time feeding the gentle and peaceful deer, and I’d spotted a For Sale sign out the front of the 10-acre property. The owner, who was in her 80s, was ready to sell up.
‘I’ll drop the price for you,’ she said, as we chatted about it.
I laughed it off, but as we drove home I had a change of heart.
‘I don’t want to run it as a farm, I want to take in orphaned and injured deer and give them a safe haven. And I want to open the sanctuary to the public. I know it’s completely bonkers, but I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,’ I told Denis.
Knowing my mind was set, Denis relented.
It was a battle to get the bank to lend us enough money but in August 2016, Lyell Deer Sanctuary and its seven remaining deer were ours.
We got permission to build a house, and after two years of making the 30-minute trip from our army accommodation to the sanctuary twice a day to care for the deer, our new home was complete.
‘Thank you so much,’ I said to my parents, Judy and Max, who helped with funds for the build.
I was far more comfortable with a novel in my hand than a shovel, so being responsible for managing paddocks, fences – and snakes
– was a lot.
Reading everything I could to learn about deer, I found out they are considered a pest in Australia.
I was shocked to read the animals have been deliberately introduced into some areas for recreational hunting, but they can eat farmers’ crops and affect native ecosystems. As a result, injured or abandoned fawns are routinely euthanised and adult deer are culled.
They need someone like me to look after them,
I thought, marvelling at how graceful the animals were wandering around the paddock.
I marvelled at the graceful animals
I started receiving rescue phone calls almost immediately.
‘We’ve found a baby deer by the side of the road and don’t know what to do,’ people would say.
For the rst few rescues, I’d put the fawn in the back of the car with the kids and drive home.
Ironically, I learned a lot from hunters who’d turn up at the sanctuary assuming we still sold venison and pelts.
I found out that babies will sit nestled in a bush, and wait quietly for their mothers to return.
So I put the little fawns in boxes and they sat happily in the car.
Male fawns need to be castrated before they’re six months old. Any older and they spend eight months of the year a bundle of testosterone, with sharp antlers and a bad attitude – like our albino buck Little Fur who transforms from a snuggle bug to needing his own secluded paddock.
We currently have 25 deer, including European fallow, red deer and Indonesian rusa deer.
Falkor is a fallow fawn named after the Flying Luck Dragon in The NeverEnding Story.
At a week old he was found in a backyard on the NSW Central Coast in December.
His mother never returned, and Falkor wouldn’t have survived if it wasn’t for the determination of the home owners who found a kind vet to treat him. Staff from a sanctuary drove him almost ve hours to meet me halfway at Coffs Harbour.
Falkor needed to be bottle fed every four hours, and was so clingy I put him in a baby carrier.
Now, he’s thriving. There’s heartbreak though, too, like during the 2022 oods. Denis was away, posted to Adelaide, and, although we’re high on a hill, there was a terrifying amount of rain making the paddocks treacherous.
I brought the deer up to
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an undercover area by the house and warmed them with blankets. But deer are susceptible to a stress response called capture myopathy, and I lost two.
Every weekend the girls, Matilda, now 16, Clancy,
14, Opal, 12, and Goldie,
10, help me open the sanctuary to the public.
‘This is the best,’ people gasp, when a deer chooses to lean in for a cuddle.
I’ve found out a lot over the past eight years, but most of all I’ve learned the world needs brains that think differently, and people who will do something crazy, like buy a deer sanctuary!
It’s hard work, but I love being challenged by something I really believe in. ●
Emma Snelgar, 34, Kiels Mountain, Qld Darling Blair,
You were a little ray of sunshine from the moment you were born. In a hurry to get cuddles, you came three weeks early on February 17, 2020, at North West Private Hospital, Brisbane, Qld.
With a tuft of blonde hair, you were so beautiful.
When you couldn’t seem to settle or latch on to feed, the paediatrician diagnosed re ux and prescribed medication.
You became such a joyful bub. But I knew you weren’t meeting the same milestones as your big sister, Saige, one, had.
Still you loved swimming from ve months.
Ducking your head under in my arms, you would come up smiling.
But at six months you turned away bottles, gagged and choked on food. With your weight plummeting off the bottom of the percentile, the paediatrician agreed something wasn’t right.
In October 2020, aged eight months, you were admitted to Queensland Children’s Hospital for testing. Your worried daddy, Ryan, then 33, stayed home with Saige.
Despite the barrage of MRIs and blood tests, you kept smiling throughout.
Then the head neurologist came to see you.
‘Blair’s very fair. Does that run in the family?’ he asked, also inquiring about your speech, feeding and movement.
‘It could be Angelman syndrome,’ he explained.
Reading online, I found out Angelman syndrome caused developmental delays, problems with speech and balance, and sometimes seizures.
The genetic condition affected one in 15,000 to 20,000 births. Kids with Angelman have unusually fair complexions and light-coloured hair. They also smile and laugh a lot.
Tick, tick, tick, I thought, as my heart sank.
Staring at the online photos of children with Angelman syndrome – it was you to a tee.
‘Try not to worry,’ Daddy said wisely back home.
But as I thought about the fact you might never speak or walk properly, and that you’d need lifelong care, I began to grieve your future.
Two weeks later, the paediatrician con rmed that you, our very own little angel had Angelman syndrome. Knowing was almost a relief, and we took solace in the fact it wasn’t life limiting.
Reaching out to other Angelman families on Facebook was a comfort.
We discovered your birthday was just two days after International Angelman Day on February 15, and we met up with some Angelman families at a barbecue. You loved meeting everyone – your smile lit up the room and, so cuddly, you were like a little koala.
Although it was confronting to see some children in wheelchairs, or some with no speech at all, others were in their 20s and doing well. Meeting their parents was a lifeline.
‘It does get better,’ they promised, and we realised there was hope.
Saige, then two, knew you were different, but she loved playing with you.
And as your infectious laughter lled the house, you cuddled up so happily.
But in October 2021, at 20 months, you began to stare for long periods. And your little arm shot up like it’d had an electric shock.
Doctors diagnosed seizures, but thankfully medication helped.
You’d had more challenges in your tiny life than most people ever face, yet you kept smiling,
Some angel children never speak, so when you babbled ‘Mama’ aged two, I was so happy. You and Saige almost had your own language, and she spoke for you – knowing what you needed.
On Easter weekend last year, we put the tent up in the back garden. You and Saige were constantly laughing. Your smile had never been brighter.
A few days later I was at work and your lovely carer took you to the beach and the library. That night you gave me one of your wonderful hugs. I tucked you up into bed and kissed you good night.
But the next morning we couldn’t wake you. And to mine and Daddy’s great sadness, we realised our little angel had gained her wings. You were just three.
Devastated, I could scarcely accept we’d never see your beautiful smile or hear you laugh again.
Telling Saige was the hardest thing.
‘Blair has died,’ we told her gently as she wept.
Doctors couldn’t be sure, but thought you might have had a seizure in your sleep.
The celebration of your life the next month was wonderful. Your little white cof n had drawings from Saige in it.
As the shock started to wear off, I wrestled with the agony of losing you.
When we found out it was possible to donate your brain for study, we were desperate for it to help people learn more about Angelman syndrome.
After collaboration between the state coroner, the Foundation for Angelman Syndrome Therapeutics (FAST), the Angelman Syndrome Association Australia and the NSW Brain Tissue Resource Centre, your brain was sent to the University of California, Davis, US, for research.
Daddy and I took heart from the fact scientists will write papers on you for years to come.
I’ve found new purpose fundraising for FAST. It helps me feel connected to you.
I still talk to you over my cup of tea every morning. And, for your fourth birthday, Daddy put an angel water fountain in the garden which Saige, now ve, loves to play with. Blair, we’re so thrilled that your beautiful brain is helping not just kids with Angelman syndrome, but those with rare diseases everywhere. Your short little life touched so many.
I’m so proud that your legacy is helping to change the world. ●
Your smile had never been brighter