The Mammoth Book of Prison Breaks (17 page)

Dennis Palmer was killed instantly at the scene, and as a result, Michelson was charged with first-degree murder. The next day, all four co-conspirators, as well as Sigler, were brought up in court. Michelson couldn’t believe he was being charged with murder, but because the death occurred during the commission of a felony, the charge was accurate. Prosecutors eventually also charged Jay Sigler with murder, and his mother testified against him at the trial to spare herself any more time behind bars. They were convicted of second-degree murder and vehicular homicide. Each received life sentences; Sigler was deemed eligible for parole in 2025, Michelson not at all. Both men later appealed and the charges and sentences were reduced. Both men apologised to the Palmer family after the sentencing.

At the Everglades, prison superintendent Joe Butler oversaw the rebuilding of the fences, noting wryly to reporters that “Anytime anyone crashes through your fence and starts shooting, it gets your attention. This was like the stuff you see on television. It’s out of a movie.” He didn’t think there were major security implications, or that the attempt would spark a series of copycat raids. “I think anyone would think this was a very unusual situation,” he pointed out. “How often do you hear about a semi-truck . . . crashing through your security system?”

The
I Escaped: Real Prison Breaks
reconstruction of this breakout is wrong in a number of details (the nature of the fences; who was driving the truck; the colours of the cars). It should be treated with caution.

Sources:

Florida Sun Sentinel,
9 March 1995: “Latest Prison No Slice of Heaven”

Lakeland Ledger,
17 November 1999: “Mom Testifies Against Son in Fatal Jail Break”

Pittsburgh Post-Gazette,
13 April 1998: “Fugitive is arrested after fatal car crash”

John Beaston criminal record:
www.angelfire.com/fl4/fci/johnbeaston.html

CBS News, 13 April 1998: “Arrests Foil Mom’s Jailbreak Plan”

Florida Sun Sentinel,
14 April 1998: “Love, Loyalty Spawn During Escape”

New York Times,
13 April 1998: “Florida Fugitive caught After Fatal Crash”

BBC News, 13 April 1998: “Robber sprung from jail by mom”

Seattle Times,
13 April 1988: “Florida Escapee’s Freedom Doesn’t Last Long – After Brazen Prison Breakout And Fatal Wreck, He Is Caught”

Chicago Tribune,
13 April 1988: “Florida Escapee, Friend Caught After Car Chase”

Sarasota Herald-Tribune,
13 April 1988: “Convict, Partner Caught After Deadly Crash”

Orlando Sentinel,
14 December 1999: “Former Cellmates Get Life For Killing Man In Escape”

Florida Sun Sentinel,
14 December 1999: “2 Prison Escapees Get Life Sentences”

Florida Sun Sentinel,
6 December 2001: “Murder Charges Against Pair Reduced”

One of the pieces of advice that is passed on from older to younger prison guards is never to believe a word that a prisoner says to you unless you are absolutely certain of its veracity. Prisoners have a great deal of time on their hands and they constantly probe for weaknesses. But guards are only human and susceptible to flattery – and as a result, guard Lynnette Barnett aided convicted murderer Terry Banks to simply stroll out of the Crossroads Correctional Center in Cameron, Missouri, believing that they were desperately in love.

Crossroads was opened in March 1997, two years after Terry Banks was convicted of murder. Fifteen hundred inmates can officially be housed on the premises, divided into six housing units. According to the Missouri Department of Corrections, the perimeter consists of “a three-fence system, an electric motion-detection system on the interior chain-link fence, a lethal electric fence, and a razor-wire-covered, outer chain-link fence. In addition to the perimeter fencing, an armed vehicular patrol provides additional perimeter security on a twenty-four-hour basis.” It’s a maximum-security prison; once you’re in there, the only way you’re coming out is at the end of your term. The term “lethal” in the description isn’t hyperbole: the voltage that is shot through the wires is twenty times the lethal dose required to execute a man. The 4,100-feet fence is known as “The Intimidator”.

Terry Banks wasn’t going to be intimidated – at least not by that. He had been arrested aged nineteen for killing the former husband of his seventeen-year-old girlfriend, Sheena Eastburn. Tim Eastburn was a drug dealer, and Banks, along with his friend Matt Myers, went to his house to rob and kill him. Sheena Eastburn lured her husband into the kitchen, and Banks fired the first shot from outside the house using one of Eastburn’s own rifles; Myers finished Eastburn off inside. Banks’ father, Charlie, was convinced that his son had fallen in with “the wrong girl”; the FBI noted that Banks “killed for drugs, for money, and for her”. Myers turned state’s evidence and received a sixty-seven-year sentence for second-degree murder. Banks and Eastburn received life sentences for first-degree murder. (In summer 2012, Sheena Eastburn attempted to appeal that sentence partly on the grounds that she wasn’t guilty of first-degree murder: she claimed that she was trying to get her ex, with whom she was still having a sexual relationship despite their divorce, out of the house so that Myers and Banks could return the stolen gun. Banks had fired at Tim Eastburn out of jealousy when he saw the couple kissing.)

Banks wasn’t a model prisoner by any definition. Between his conviction and his escape, he had fourteen conduct violations, although none of them was for anything more serious than possession of contraband or intoxicating substances. By the summer of 1999, he was chafing at the restrictions of prison life, and wanted to get to the outside.

He targeted Lynnette Barnett, a guard at Crossroads a year older than him, who was going through some severe personal problems. Her marriage had fallen apart, and she was living in her mother’s boyfriend’s basement. Her ex-husband, Dave, was also in the correctional service, working at the Western Missouri Correctional Center, and following an irretrievable breakdown of communication between them, had taken out an injunction preventing her from returning to the matrimonial home. Barnett was assigned to the food warehouse building at Crossroads, where Banks was working.

Much as Lynette Barnett’s family didn’t want to believe that she was a willing accomplice in Banks’ escape on Friday 29 October 1999 – her mother was convinced that she’d been told, “You don’t help me get out of here, my outside contacts will kill your entire family” – it became apparent when videotapes of prison activities were scrutinized that the pair were definitely acting almost like lovesick teenagers. One tape, from nine days before the escape, shows them crossing a storage area holding hands, only releasing their grip as they approach the door when someone might see them.

“He caught her in a weak moment in her life,” Cameron police lieutenant Don Fritz explained. “She was down and susceptible to a male figure coming in and trying to be strong for her. That’s all [the prisoners have] got time to do in there, is try to con somebody. To them that’s what life is all about. It’s just a game to them.” FBI agent Kurt Lipanovich agreed: “She was infatuated. If you want to say she’s in love, fine. He’s in love with his freedom.”

Whether Banks really was that calculating and cynical is perhaps open to question, given that it certainly seems as if the two continued acting in their lovey-dovey way during their time on the run. Maybe he genuinely did fall for the guard. Either way, she was in a position to help him get out.

The plan was incredibly simple: Banks would pretend to be a guard and leave the prison alongside Barnett. They would then drive away into the sunset and a new life. To achieve this, they needed two things: a guard’s uniform and identification. The former was easy: Barnett had lost a lot of weight during the time of her divorce, and she was able to put her current uniform on underneath her old one in order to bring it into the prison. The latter needed a bit more planning, but even that didn’t present too many obstacles.

On 27 October, Lynnette Barnett went shopping in the local town and asked a local printing centre if they could duplicate her identity card, since her boyfriend had lost his and would be in serious trouble if it was discovered. The first shop refused to make a blank copy; the second one she approached agreed. With a little bit of ingenuity, she was able to make a card for Banks in the name of Chad Matthews, one of the other guards. Barnett also bought men’s clothing, and filled her truck up with fuel, topping it up shortly before she got home, so she had a complete tank ready for Friday.

Although Banks was stopped for a moment at the desk by one of the guards since his identity card didn’t have the proper computerized magnetic strip. Such snafus with the technology weren’t uncommon; his name matched the badge, and it was within the prison records. It was enough: prisoner number 514829 walked out of Crossroads, seven minutes before the next scheduled headcount.

After cashing Barnett’s pay cheque at a Kansas City liquor store, the fugitives headed straight to meet with Banks’ father Charlie, who was alerted to the escape when investigators called to let him know that Terry was out. A warrant was issued for Terry’s arrest on 3 November, but the pair seemed to have disappeared without trace. The first anyone knew of their whereabouts was on 3 December when police located Lynette’s truck. Charlie had sold it to a friend of his brother’s on 18 November; Lynette’s prison-issued gear, including pepper spray and handcuffs, were hidden within the vehicle.

Around that time, Charlie took his son and girlfriend down to Victoria, Texas, a quiet locale where they could disappear easily. Both changed their appearances, dying their hair, and hung out with Jeanne Jones, a friend of Charlie’s. They watched television, smoke and drank, and went to parties. And that was their undoing.

With the trail gone cold, investigators turned to the TV programme
America’s Most Wanted
for assistance. The broadcast on 11 December featured Banks and Barnett, and although some people laughed off the resemblance between Charlie’s friends John and Heather, at least one person thought that the coincidence was too large. He contacted the free 1-800 number given at the end of the programme and told investigators that he believed he had met Banks and Barnett in the company of a scruffy older man named Charlie. This last detail persuaded law enforcement that it was a good tip – no mention had been made of Charlie’s existence in the broadcast.

On 16 December, FBI agents in Victoria visited the site of the party, but had no luck finding the pair; although they tracked down the apartment where they had been living, Barnett and Banks had left because it was too cold. Based on a tip from an informant, they learned that the fugitives had gone to stay with Jeanne Jones and her boyfriend Paul in a camper van in the Southwinds Mobile Home Village. Officers began surveillance on the camper, and spotted them, along with Charlie, Jeanne and Paul.

At dawn the next day, twenty-five officers surrounded the trailer, ready for trouble – there was a rumour that Banks was carrying a gun. Jeanne, Paul and Charlie all exited the camper peacefully, but Banks and Barnett refused to even acknowledge they were there initially. Eventually, first Barnett and then Banks gave themselves up.

Despite her family still believing that she was the innocent victim in the affair, Barnett received a five-year sentence for her part in the escape; fifteen years were added to Banks’ life term. Bart Spear, the prosecuting attorney, defended his decision to prosecute Banks, despite the fact that his sentence couldn’t in reality be added to, saying, “If I never prosecuted somebody who escaped from prison, I might be sending the wrong message. You can’t have people escaping from prison. That’s not a good thing.”

Sources:

The Houston Press,
16 March 2000: “Love on the Run”

Review Of The Department Of Corrections Crossroads Correctional Center, 23 August 2000

The Joplin Globe,
29 July 2012: “McDonald County woman seeks new trial following 1995 murder conviction”

Laredo Morning Times,
19 December 1999: “Escaped murderer, Missouri guard captured”

Lawrence Journal-World,
12 December 1999: “Officer crosses to wrong side of law”

Hostage situations can play out in many ways, with demands ranging from the mundane to the extraordinary. Plane hijackers may insist on the release of fellow terrorists from prisons; bank robbers might ask for a getaway vehicle to be provided. Negotiators are trained to keep a dialogue open, and not to be fazed by anything that may come their way. But in March 2001, even experienced police officers were surprised by the demands made by William Davis and Douglas Gray, two murderers on the run from Stringtown, Oklahoma. They wanted pizza – and the chance to finish watching the movie in which they were engrossed:
The Net,
a thriller starring Sandra Bullock.

A Correctional Center has stood in Stringtown since the early 1930s; at various times it has been a venereal disease hospital, a prisoner-of-war camp and a vocational training school, but in 1968 it became a secure sub-unit of the Oklahoma State Penitentiary, with new fences and towers erected. As a medium-level secure facility, it became known as the Mack H. Alford Correctional Center in honour of one of its longest-serving wardens. Stringtown itself has a tiny population – only 396 in the 2000 census.

William D. Davis and Douglas E. Gray were two of the more dangerous prisoners held at Alford in 2001. Davis had committed a brutal murder, stabbing a homeowner eighty times during a robbery in 1974; in 1988, Douglas Gray had bound a school teacher to a chair after taking her hostage and then killed her. Both were serving life sentences; they had nothing to lose.

Both men were assigned to work in the prison manufacturing facility, making road and street signs. These were packaged up, and taken through the front gates – past the barbed-wire-topped fences – to the local post office, from where they were despatched around the country. Because the carts of signs went through on a regular basis, the guards tended not to check them too rigorously, and the two lifers thought that they might be able to conceal themselves inside a cart and effectively mail themselves to freedom.