Crimwife (9 page)

There’s certain things you just don’t talk to girls about, you know, it doesn’t matter how special they are or what you have and haven’t done, girls, they get frightened, they, they natter, they can’t help it. It’s just the way the world is. There’s not really much to understand about this except you shut up.

—
Animal Kingdom

Most convicted felons are just people who were not taken to museums or Broadway musicals as children.

—Libby Gelman-Waxner, aka Paul Rudnick

As of mid 2010 there were 29,700 people in prison in Australia. About 2500, or 8 per cent, of them were women.

Contrary to the panic that immigration will flood the country with the criminally inclined, 80 per cent of those in jail were born in Australia. The other nationalities with the highest number of offenders were those born in New Zealand (3 per cent), Vietnam (3 per cent) and the UK and Ireland (2 per cent). Indigenous people had fourteen times the rate of imprisonment of non-Indigenous inmates, representing 26 per cent of the total prison population.

Twenty per cent of those in jail have “acts intended to cause injury”
as their most serious charge. This includes physical and sexual assault and homicide. The rest of the inmates in jail today are there because of property crimes, same as their ancestors who were transported from England. So out of 22 million people in Australia, only about 6000 are in jail for violence, with a chunk of them awaiting trial. The enormous system costing two-thirds of a billion dollars every year exists for a few thousand people from whom the community needs physical protection.

Twenty-one per cent of people in prison were on remand, awaiting court, trial or sentencing. The 2006 census showed around 55 per cent of those on remand will leave jail with no conviction, so about one in ten people in jail are serving time for no reason. Fifty-five per cent of inmates had been in jail before.

Widening our focus slightly, what about those who pass through the Australian corrections system every year? According to the Australian Institute of Health in Welfare, there were 50,000 of them in 2011. Of these:

• 93 per cent were male
  
• 40 per cent were Indigenous
  
• 75 per cent had left school by the end of Year 10
  
• 66 per cent had used illicit drugs in the previous twelve months
  
• 30 per cent of men and 40 per cent of women reported having psychiatric illnesses and half were taking medication for their condition.
  

One in three prisoners suffered high or very high levels of psychological distress in the four weeks before incarceration.

*

Those are the statistics. Most inmates did not pull a long straw. Surviving prison can take everything you possess.

In prison, life and death is always on the agenda. When you set foot on jail premises, as a staff member, visitor or inmate, you are risking your life. The deeper you go inside the jail, the closer you get to violence and death. At any time, there are debts to be paid, in money and blood. There are escapes being plotted. And there are people having very, very bad days.

Brutality reigns in jail and he who dominates wins. What the crimwife needs to know and accept is that extreme masculinity is the ultimate goal in prison. While the spirit of macho is alive and well on the streets today, inside the walls of a jail it is magnified a thousand times.

Every granule of coffee is of value. “Peter thieving,” the stealing of a rollie cigarette paper or spoon of coffee, is not considered petty. It used to be commonly punished by slamming a door on the guilty party’s finger. The missing joints were his permanent humiliation.

Respect is key. Disrespect, no matter how trivial, is a highly punishable offence, given an environment in which prisoners are shown very little respect by the institution. Many prisoners are in jail because of their desperate attempts to gain respect on the outside, and inside it becomes everything.

What might never be noticed on the outside could cause a flogging in jail. That packet of Tally-Hos may be all that inmate would have for a week or a month. If you earned $24 a week working full-time, you might grow defensive too. It’s a common understanding among the crims: those who take liberties they shouldn’t will pay.

It’s not just the coffee and cigarettes. Interpersonal relationships are intensified behind bars. The stakes are always high. Friendships from jail were repeatedly described to me as being closer than any imaginable on the outside. And when favours are done, they are remembered eternally, or they’re supposed to be. These friendships and favours can be about protecting someone from attack or the wrath of the guards, but mostly they’re about helping another person survive the primitive conditions of day-to-day life.

And jail interest rates are high. The last I heard, it was 50 per cent per week. So if you lend me a pouch of tobacco in jail, I have to produce a pouch and a half next week to avoid a potential flogging from you or the bloke you owe tobacco to. The following week I would have to find three pouches of tobacco to break even.

Anything that happens on the outside, even minor events, can have a huge impact on those concerned who are locked up and can’t do anything about them. So if one crim’s brother is heard to have ripped off another crim’s wife, there will be a much bigger reaction between the two crims than between the brother and the wife, who may well have moved on. The crimwife learns to be careful about what to tell her inmate partner because of the snowball effect. Often when something bad happens, a crimwife will avoid telling him because the combination of all the jail intensities can spark a wildfire.

The pressure to survive and stay out of trouble with both blue and green is endless. Jail overflows with grief and tragedy. It specialises in the production of human misery as a solution to misery that took place on the outside. Prisoners grow desensitised to violence, screaming and pain, theirs and others. A death in custody may translate as nothing more than inmates being locked in their cells at an inconvenient time. It is disturbing to know that from the moment one inmate spies an ambulance in the jail and spreads the word, groaning sounds of resentment resonate throughout the wings.

There’s not much sympathy to be found. There’s never time to sleep without one eye open.

Patriarchal societies exist on two bases: the devaluation of women and the pecking order of male dominance. There is extreme competitiveness, domination of women, intrinsic homophobia and a stereotype of what a real man is like. Any attributes viewed as feminine are ridiculed.

In jail, masculinity is survival. Deviation from a supersized version is suicide. Domination is the primary battle, and most violence erupts from threats to a prisoner’s masculinity.

Now, given that about 80 per cent of men in jail are not there for violent offences, those prisoners must learn to adopt the extreme masculinity role or risk their lives. The gentlest man incarcerated for tax fraud must learn to posture and appear bulletproof before anything else.

Terry Kupers, an American psychotherapist, looked at prisoners’ avoidance of mental health treatment. He found that extreme masculinity was a huge barrier that prevented those in need of treatment from seeking it. In jail, a majority of inmates have mental health issues. If they didn’t have them when they went in, there’s a good chance they’ll develop some while they’re there. And it doesn’t take long. According to Kupers:

The prison code that reigns in men’s prisons is an exaggeration of the unspoken
male code
on the outside. According to the code, a
real man
or a
stand up con
does not display weakness of any kind, does not display emotions other than anger, does not depend on anyone, is never vulnerable, does not snitch, does not cooperate with the authorities and suffers pain in silence.

Kupers partly blames prisons for setting up extreme situations, and notes that staff members are not immune to this pressure either.

Of course, it’s this same competitive masculinity that can lead young men to crime in the first place. It’s a way for adolescent males to show dominance over others and prove their fearlessness.

The serious downside of it, says Kuper, is “extreme competition and greed, insensitivity to or lack of consideration of the experiences and feelings of others, a strong need to dominate and control others, an incapacity to nurture, a dread of dependency, a readiness to resort to violence, and the stigmatisation and subjugation of women, gays and men who exhibit feminine characteristics.”

Not exactly marriage material. And the longer they’re in for, the longer this way of living becomes normalised.

So if you wonder why he comes out to visits a little shaky and isn’t interested in how great it is that Kmart is now open twenty-four hours, here’s an rundown. He may well have been a moment away from getting his throat slit for a pouch of tobacco or a misunderstood sideways glance. But he can’t tell you because the armour mustn’t crack.

For a crimwife, respect means keeping your mouth shut, your opinions to yourself and your questions limited. Oh, and no laughing at the peacock parade of steroid competitors at visits, who admire each other’s muscles on the way to see their girls. After all, as a woman, you must know your place. If you’re looking for Mr Easygoing, look somewhere else.

It took me ages to realise why Jimmy never laughed. In all those years I never saw him guffaw, belly laugh, break down in hysterics, or even do much smiling. If people mistook him for a happy person, then his persona would be history. You have to be a bad boy all the time or it doesn’t count.

How far are you prepared to go for the one you love? Laundry? Laundry and ironing? Tolerating a drum kit or an idiotic best mate? It’s one thing to stand by your man, but would you help him break out of maximum security if that was where he was standing? Where would you draw the line? Do any of us ever know what we are capable of until we’re faced with an extreme situation?

Romance is historically notorious for making fools out of noble men and women. It is also one of the most powerful bonds between humans. We are biologically programmed to protect and defend our partners as well as to stay near them. Successful child rearing in our species would be far less likely if we forgot all about our partners the moment they left the room. That part comes later.

Falling in love isn’t that complicated, although it can look mighty strange to outsiders. It’s not fate and it’s not Cupid. Neurological researchers have found that the brain, more than the heart, directs this state of being, and that it takes one-fifth of a second for the process to start. Where an environment is intense, personal safety is at stake and people are close together, it’s almost inevitable that two people will bond.

The New York psychologist Arthur Aron conducted an experiment in which he paired strangers of the opposite sex. He had them reveal intimate details about themselves to the other for thirty minutes, and then stare into each other’s eyes without talking for four minutes. Many of his couples reported feeling deeply attracted after the experiment, and two of the subjects later married.

The theory goes that your subconscious assesses potential mates for genetic compatibility for reproduction. It will choose someone who you perceive can help you produce strong offspring. This is why we don’t always understand who falls for who. Looks and smell play a big role. Apparently we choose people who look and smell the most like our parents.

Hormones begin the practical work, and our brain chemicals or neurotransmitters take over once the selection has been made.

The anthropologist Dr Helen Fisher from Rutgers University studied couples who were newly, deeply in love. She described the three phases of love, or chemical reaction, as lust, attraction and attachment.

Lust involves the hormones oestrogen in women and testosterone in both sexes, which are the primal forces of sexual attraction.

Neurotransmitters work together in the attraction stage, and explain the irrational behaviours people display when “falling in love.” Higher levels of adrenaline and cortisol are released as a stress reaction and are responsible for the heart beating faster, the mouth going dry and the unexpected sweats that happen when the new lovers meet or even think about each other. Dopamines surge through the system, just as they do when cocaine is used. Someone in love may act as though they’re on drugs, because essentially they are. They often show similar signs, such as increased energy, a decreased need for food and sleep, and focused attention. Serotonin, the happy chemical, is also increased during this stage. It’s responsible for love being blind, as it acts to magnify the good qualities of the new love object and downplay any faults.

Finally, the attachment stage sees these chemicals wane, while others become stronger. Oxytocin and vasopressin are both bonding chemicals released after sex. They work to strengthen attachment between two people for a longer term commitment.

Essentially, we’re at the mercy of our hormones and biochemistry at these times.

The biochemistry runs even deeper in a prison environment where masculinity is heightened and there is a much lower ratio of females to males. In their book
Demonic Males
, Dale Peterson and Richard Wrangham describe the violence of apes in comparison with humans. Orangutan females much preferred males that were larger, more aggressive, louder and willing to fight other males. “In a twisted kind of way,” says Elliott Leyton in
Hunting Humans
, “the male who is the most strong and dominant – the most violent – will appear to be the most male.”

At times the price is high for these biological drives to be fulfilled. People leave workplaces, move countries and ignore negative opinions from those close to them to be with the object of their affections. The pain of separation from a lover is understood to be much greater than that caused by a disapproving relative or a downgrade in income. In comparison with being away from each other, the sacrifices are considered minor.

The prison relationship is socially limited if not totally isolating. Former inmates risk losing friends, family, jobs and any other support, for the rest of their lives, if their record is uncovered. The crimwife faces almost identical losses if it becomes known where and who her partner is. People are judgemental of the crimes, the crim, the relationship and the sanity of the woman involved, as well as the welfare of any nearby children. Others are also afraid that, by association with her, they are in danger when he gets out. And really, who wants their BFF’s home-invading new boyfriend, fresh out of the clink, to attend their dinner party?

More compelling than how she got there is what she does next. That’s where things get really interesting.

The lack of understanding, support and isolation the couple faces under these pressures will make or break them. Opposition from all sides, the difficulties of jail life and constantly being apart can either prove too much or make their relationship stronger and more special than ever.

Sufferers of separation anxiety are advised to avoid falling in love with an inmate. The joy of a visit is clouded by the knowledge that it ends with goodbye and involuntarily walking in the opposite direction. During the hours of visit time, the couple disappear into their own world. Those precious moments are as private and intimate as the two can get. Leaving the one you love behind in a jail is shattering. It is also surreal that nothing but walls and locks prevent your happiness. The painful reality can be utterly unbearable. For some, it becomes impossible to wait for time to keep up with their desperation, their need, to be together.

*

Even under the watchful eyes and ears of guards, relationships can flourish. We can only imagine the conversation between Lucy Dudko and John Killick as they planned his escape in 1999. Did she protest? Was it her idea? And what had the quiet, intelligent librarian imagined would take place afterwards? Or is it simply another case of the irrational, unstoppable determination to be reunited that all lovers develop when they’ve been apart for too long?

Lucy Dudko was a demure 36-year-old Russian librarian who had come to Australia in 1993 with her husband, Alexei, and daughter, Anna. Her marriage was unstable when she met 51-year-old John Killick in 1994. He was still married to his wife of nineteen years, Gloria, but involved with other women, as he had always been. When Lucy left her marriage in 1997, she teamed up with John, and the couple were living together with Anna by 1998.

Their newfound happiness was not to last. The NSW Department of Juvenile Justice had offered John the chance to counsel young offenders. When John and Lucy met, he had already done over twenty-three years of jail and was considered a prime candidate by the department. The media took a negative view of an old-time bank robber influencing the next generation and, under pressure, the department withdrew its offer.

In January of 1999, John Killick robbed the National Australia Bank in Bowral, New South Wales, and was arrested not long after with the assistance of an off-duty cop. Lucy immediately began visiting her lover in Goulburn jail.

Did Lucy think she had nothing to lose? She was certainly worried about losing custody of her daughter to her ex-husband, who disapproved of her relationship with John. She was far from her home and family in Russia, divorced, and John was in jail.

Or did John, known for his charisma and smooth talk, convince Lucy, as he had previously done with a teenage lover, to do whatever was necessary to get him out of jail? As Adrian Tame notes in his book
Deadlier Than the Male
, this seems plausible, as John Killick had a strong reluctance to stay in custody, having escaped several times before. It is believed John took his escape plan from the book the
The Flight of the Falcon
.

There was nothing in Lucy’s upbringing to indicate a susceptibility to extreme behaviour. Lucy had enjoyed a comfortable Russian childhood as the daughter of a senior air force officer and his stay-at-home wife. The family moved frequently because of the air force, but that is the only major disruption known to have occurred in Lucy’s life.

At 9.15 am on 25 March 1999, Lucy Dudko checked into Bankstown airport and boarded her pre-booked helicopter joy flight. She had been on a half-hour flight previously and there was nothing about her that aroused suspicion in Tim Joyce, the pilot with twenty years’ experience who flew the aircraft.

Sydney was in preparation for the 2000 Olympics and the building site at Homebush Bay was a favourite choice of helicopter passengers. It was close to the airport and Lucy asked to see the stadiums being built. It was also close to Silverwater jail. Lucy asked if she could see the jail and they flew around the perimeter twice. Lucy retrieved a gun from her bag and told the pilot, “This is a hijack.” Joyce tried to reach for the hijack emergency transponder, but Lucy had taught herself the cockpit layout and switched it off. She then shut down the radio and took Joyce’s headphones.

Lucy instructed Joyce to fly onto the prison oval beneath them. The chopper landed on the field where about 100 inmates and three guards were standing. John Killick boarded the aircraft and took charge of the cockpit. Officers fired shots to no avail as the inmates watching on the oval cheered their departure.

Killick told Tim Joyce to cooperate with the couple, so that he could sell his story to
60 Minutes
at a later date. Or get shot. Joyce agreed and followed Killick’s instruction to fly to Macquarie University, some fifteen minutes away. When they landed, Lucy wanted to take the pilot hostage, but John insisted they only tie him up with radio wires and a belt. The two then fled across the oval.

They carjacked a man who drove them across Sydney for about an hour. After ordering him out of the car, the two disappeared, dumping the car in Sydney’s northern suburbs. For six weeks they remained at large, despite numerous reports from the public. Then finally on 8 May 1999, an alert caravan park owner in Bass Hill noticed the resemblance between the famous couple and some recent guests and called the police. The arrest of Lucy Dudko and John Killick was quiet and they surrendered without incident.

Lucy insisted she was innocent and that another woman had been Killick’s assistant. She was sentenced to ten years. She later claimed the media prevented her from receiving a fair trial. Her appeal attempts were denied and yet Lucy stayed strong in her affection for John. She was still proud of her love for him and her intention for the first four of those years was to resume life with Killick when his 23-year sentence was over. During those years hundreds of letters were exchanged between the two. Though their marriage request was denied in 2000, Lucy wrote to her family in 2003 calling him “my lover, my general and my soldier.” She added, “I will stay in Australia when I’m released, despite all that’s happened I like it here. And I want to make it my home with John when he gets out of prison. I will wait for the moment when he gets out of jail and we can be together. Nothing will make me change my mind.”

But something did change Lucy’s mind. Released on 8 May 2006, seven years after her capture, Lucy walked out of jail on the arm of a prison chaplain. She had broken off her relationship with John. She joined a church group in jail and some say this led to her relationship’s demise. The prison chaplain, Christine Gyllins, who walked Lucy to freedom, later told Channel 9 news, “I don’t call it a love story. I call it a manipulation story and I think her strength is that she will never be manipulated by anyone again.” Far away from John for years, Lucy may have been susceptible to different influences. She had also befriended John’s former wife, Gloria, who visited her regularly in jail.

In 2009, Lucy told the
Sun-Herald
: “My life was like a soap opera back then, but slowly I’ve managed to put it all behind me. It doesn’t help to relive what happened, so I try not to. I’ve moved on.” She is still banned from visiting John, but they can write to each other. In 2013 he will be eligible for parole, at the age of seventy-one. When the
Sun-Herald
asked her about her relationship, she asked simply, “Does it matter? … For me life is simple. I go to work, then I go home. Right now, I’m happy with that.”

The helicopter pilot Tim Joyce reminds us, “People might have some sympathy for her because she did it for love. But let’s not forget she pulled a gun on someone. On another day, it could have ended very differently.”

Lucy’s case is extreme in its
Mission Impossible
drama, but it’s just an extension of what some are prepared to do for love, complicated by prison walls and bars. The greatest stories in the history of love have always been tragedies.