Naturally, I brought it up again. What was his response to police minister Annette King’s derisory comments about him in parliament? He said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve been consulting my lawyers all along over this. I’ve been spending a lot of money on lawyers. They’ll make the call.’
Idour joined the police force in 1972. When he left in 1991, he was charged with perverting the course of justice; the charge was dropped, and Idour did the police for malicious prosecution. He won a reported $3000. A few years ago, Idour did The Sunday Star-Times for libel. He won a reported $230,000.
But he was full of bonhomie, he chuckled and reflected and rambled, he paid for my cup of tea – and, yes, he offered help, if ever I was in Dunedin and wanted information. He said: ‘I think anyone who fears Wayne Idour is someone who’s got something to hide.’ And: ‘I have knowledge of people. And knowledge is power. I know things about people, and that can be scary.’ Also: ‘It’s a sad day if people can’t make legitimate inquiries.’
He talked about his job – document services, repo work (‘We seem to be getting more of it. The market’s been ringing’), providing security for school and varsity balls, criminal defence work (‘I’ve got two rape files right here’). I asked twice whether it was dignified work, and later I asked whether he felt his line of work was important to him. He said, ‘Yes, it is. You asked me before whether I brought anything of this on to myself, some of the controversy, the bad mouthings. I don’t see it that way. I don’t see that any organisation has a right to dictate who can help who. Providing it’s lawful, I don’t see that anyone has a right to interfere. I’m just one of those people that will stand up to people. It means a lot to me to help …’
Were these sincere values? Idour talked about growing up in a working-class family in south Dunedin. His father worked for thirty-two years at Shacklock. ‘Good, solid citizen. Hard-working. Loving. He was very strong in his beliefs and his loyalties. Taught me a lot. Integrity and all that. To be straight up with people. Speak my mind. I learned all that from him.’
The family never had a car: ‘Didn’t matter. Walked everywhere, or took the bus. It just took a bit longer. I think the modern lifestyle’s probably got a lot to answer for.’ His mother was a great cook: ‘Always, always in the kitchen. I can always remember the smell of the coal range.’ As a teenager, he dressed as a Mod: ‘I’ve always taken pride in my appearance. If you came into town on a Friday night, you got dressed up. That was going out. But times have changed, and I can’t say they’ve necessarily changed for the better.’
He was olde Dunedin, or olde something, distressed at ‘all the social engineering that’s been taking place’. He was ‘a staunch believer in discipline … respect … loyalty’, etc. He said, ‘I’ve always been there for my mates, always there to support family. That’s me. Very caring.’
But he didn’t exactly support Howard Broad. ‘Howard’s not a bad bloke,’ he said. ‘I’ve known Howard since day one of his career. He used to come round to our home as a young kid. He always wanted to be commissioner. Always. Right from day one.’
I asked whether honour was important to him. He said, ‘Honour means a lot. Honour means a lot.’
What honour was there in spying on the Labour Party on behalf of the Exclusive Brethren? He said, ‘We’re not going down that road. It’s a matter of … if I’m asked to do something that’s lawful, and I’m comfortable with it, and I believe it’s for the right reasons, then yes, I’ll do it.’ Was he comfortable being hired by the Brethren? ‘I was comfortable with it. I was comfortable once I found out; I didn’t know initially.’
Did he aim to keep his head down from now on? ‘No,’ he said. ‘I know what you’re asking. But … I just want to get on with life, and be left alone to do what I do, and help people. I can’t say that tomorrow something’s going to come along, and I’m going to give some advice or be involved and all of a sudden there’s going to be another frenzy. I’ve got no control over that. I’m certainly not going to actively look for something.
‘I guess the proper way to sum it up is that I’m not going to be intimidated or bullied out of offering help to people if they’re entitled to it. If that means not keeping my head down, then I guess I won’t keep my head down. But it’s done for the right reasons.’
We walked next door to his office in The Octagon. A guy in dreadlocks called out, ‘Keeping your head down, Wayne?’ The door to his upstairs office was next to a dentist and a tattooist. Inside, the air felt stale and dank. The wallpaper had seen better days. There was a pot of instant beef noodles, police memorabilia in a glass cabinet, and photos of Idour in police uniform. The moustache was dark back then. But his face wore the same expression it still has: an unexpected sadness.
[August 19]
12 Anita McNaught
We Cross Live to Iraq
On a summer’s morning in August in Iraq, Anita McNaught woke up in her cot in a US military base, where she is embedded as a correspondent for the Fox television network, when the phone rang from her former home, Auckland, New Zealand. She got up, and spoke on her way to the shower. She was
