With the death toll by late Saturday standing at 16, he knew it would get ”much worse”, but no one could have imagined the count would rise to 173.

Much has been said about then chief commissioner Christine Nixon choosing to head to a North Melbourne pub for a meal on the night of February 7, 2009, as Victoria burned.

But little has been said about how Walshe ran the emergency operation, providing strong leadership for police out in the carnage and a measured tone for the community trying to come to terms with an event almost beyond imagination.

What few knew at the time was that, behind the carefully constructed professional facade, the deputy commissioner was in turmoil as – like so many – he had been touched by those fires.

The father of four daughters, he had feared early on that his son-in-law’s family had been caught in one of the blazes. The worst was confirmed the next day. ”His mother and brother were victims who were lost in the Strathewen fires,” he says.

”I was trying to provide support for my daughter and her husband, but at the same time we had a job to do. I believe that if you take on a role, then you have to step up during the testing times.”

It has been part of the philosophy that has sustained him during his 44-year career, which has seen him rise from a 16-year-old police cadet to a deputy commissioner who served under three chiefs.

Big, broad and bald, with a copper’s handshake and a friendly manner, the senior policeman, now 61, will retire at the end of next week, proud at what he has achieved and confident the force has moved on from the poisonous office politics that previously infected its top ranks. This included assistant commissioner Noel Ashby’s bugged conversations that showed him trying to damage rival Simon Overland’s chances of becoming the next chief commissioner, and then deputy commissioner Sir Ken Jones’ well-documented spat with Overland.

”I have always believed that you must remain loyal to the organisation and to your leader,” says Walshe. ”So it was particularly disappointing when certain members of the executive showed less than true loyalty to the chief commissioner.”

The manner of Simon Overland’s forced resignation last year still grates. ”He had the organisation on the right track and was totally committed to the Victoria Police. The way he left remains one of the low points of my career.”

He says he also enjoyed working with Nixon. ”Christine has a different, more relaxed, management style. She recognised people’s skills and trusted them to do a job.”

Many kids flirt with the idea of joining the police. Most grow out of it. Walshe didn’t. Ever since he was nine, growing up in Bendigo, his career path was set. His father knew many of the local coppers, who left a lasting impression on the youngster, and as soon as he was old enough he moved to Melbourne to join.

It was 1968 and Australia was just starting to feel comfortable about decimal currency; former fighter pilot John Gorton was prime minister; and Richard Nixon moved into the White House.

As a cadet, Walshe was sent to get experience at busy stations, including Northcote, where he no doubt got under the feet of the head of the crime section, a certain Detective Senior Sergeant Fred Silvester. After graduating, he went to Russell Street before transferring to Collingwood, where he experienced firsthand the dangers of his job.

On a night shift in 1971, the Ford divisional van he was driving along The Boulevard in Kew smashed through a fence and plunged 45 metres down an embankment. When he regained consciousness he tried to help his partner, Constable Phillip Fleming, who was motionless in the passenger seat. Walshe radioed for help then clambered back up the hill, his head badly gashed. What he didn’t yet know was that his partner had been killed on impact.

Walshe, now finishing up as Victoria’s traffic chief, says that having been involved in a fatal accident (”losing a mate … you carry it your whole life”) taught him the consequences of each road death.

”There is the victim, the family and the friends. The effect is devastating to so many people. I think it is one of the reasons I have been passionate about road policing.”

Walshe moved around busy inner-city stations before moving to Ascot Vale and the CIB (criminal investigation branch). ”I tried to treat each investigation as a learning experience and a chance to build your skills.”

By the 1980s, he was in charge of the air wing, which he built up from one helicopter and two fixed-wing aircraft to a service that provided emergency rescues, ambulance response, transport, traffic observation, drug crop identification and criminal surveillance. Despite not being a pilot, he was once given a million dollars and told to go out and buy a single-engine helicopter. Considering the number of lame buys senior police have made over the years, including spending a fortune on a computer system with the power of a crystal set, it is a wonder he didn’t come back with a blimp.

His career – in which he has moved through all ranks and most areas of the force – proved to be the perfect grounding for high office. This included a stint with the ethical standards department, an area that he thinks too many police avoid as they ”don’t see it as a good career move”. While there are still police (including some elite investigators) who refuse to work in ESD, dubbing it ”The Filth” or ”The Toecutters”, Walshe says a spell in the area improves leadership skills. ”You learn to recognise the early warning signs of when someone might be about to make some poor decisions.

”ESD deals with serious criminal and disciplinary matters. We accept that when someone in the community commits a crime they should be prosecuted and we should have the same attitude when it comes to police.”

From 1999, Walshe also spent two years at Seymour, where he found a new respect for country police. ”Country policing is so different to metropolitan policing. There is no sense of anonymity as you live in the same community where you work. Everyone knows you are a police officer.” He sees police in Victoria’s 99 one-person country stations as ”the last bastion of authority. The house is usually next door to the station, so you are expected to be available 24/7.”

Like many, Walshe watched the aftermath of the terrorist attacks on New York’s World Trade Centre, soon realising it would change the face of policing. In 2005, he was made assistant commissioner counter terrorism and was involved in Australia’s two biggest terrorism investigations, Pendennis and Neath. ”These were significant disruption exercises. It remains of great concern that these cells were operating not only in Australia, but specifically Melbourne.”

He says there has been a marked shift in the expectations of police recruits today. ”It is a generational thing. The vast majority are as committed to serving the community as we were back in 1968, but more of them see it as a job rather than as a career. That never entered my mind when I joined, as I fully expected to stay until I retired – although I didn’t dream I would last 44 years.”

”When Ken [Lay] was appointed Chief Commissioner, I knew the time was right for me to go. There are some things I want to do while I am still fit enough to do them.” These include travel with his wife, Denise, and spending time with his family, including his eight (soon to be nine) grandchildren.

Mate and long-time colleague Lay told us, ”Kieran has had a magnificent career. I was his subordinate and he was the sort of boss you would die for. When we were peers I always appreciated his wise counsel and as my deputy he has been rock solid and loyal.

”You always know where you are with him. He will look you in the eye and tell you what he thinks. I will miss his wise advice, and the organisation will miss his leadership.”

JOHN SILVESTER

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Road safety cop Kieran Walshe’s tragic secret