Partners and Crime: The True Stories of Eight Women and Their Lives with Notorious Men

By Rochelle Jackson

A fascinating exploration of the women who love the baddest of the bad boys, including the wife of Mark "Chopper" ReadWhat attracts women to dangerous men? For some, it is true love, while for others, it's the excitement, wealth, and glamour. What was it like for Mary-Ann Hodge to be married to Mark "Chopper" Read? How was Joe Korp's former girlfriend Tania Herman persuaded to try to kill his wife Maria? And why did hairdresser Sylvia Bruno fall for Melbourne gangland killer Nikolai "The Bulgarian" Radev? For Georgina Freeman (married to illegal casino king George Freeman), Ann-Marie Presland (girlfriend of organized crime figure Bob Trimbole), Fran Stratford (partner of murderer Billy "The Texan" Longley), Jeannie Cako (wife of armed robber Fred Cako), and Coral Watson (ex-wife of NZ murderer Scott Watson) it wasn't always about the thrill of living on the edge and hooking up with bad boys. Their motivations and lives are more complex than that. Confiding in investigative journalist Rochelle Jackson, these women finally get the chance to tell their own stories. Surprising, intimate, and at times confronting, this book takes us behind the headlines and media hype to reveal what it is really like to live with men who are outside the law.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allen Unwin
• Release date: May 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781742696294

Book preview

PARTNERS AND

CRIME

ROCHELLE JACKSON was born in Melbourne and grew up in a police family. She is an author and a journalist. Rochelle published her first book, In Your Face: The Life and Times of Billy ‘The Texan’ Longley (ABC Books), in 2005. This book was shortlisted in the 2006 Ned Kelly Awards for Australian Crime Writing and the 2006 Davitt Awards in the true crime category.

Her second book, Inside their Minds: Australian Criminals (Allen & Unwin), was published in 2008. The book continues to be reprinted, was made into an audio book and was shortlisted in the 2009 Davitt Awards.

Rochelle is an experienced investigative journalist. She began her career in country Victoria and Sydney, working in television and radio. She has worked as a TV producer and investigative journalist for Today Tonight, Australian Story, New Dimensions with George Negus, Watchdog, TVNZ’s 60 Minutes and SBS TV and Radio services. She specialises in crime and police stories and produced a four-part series about bushfire arson for the ABC’s Radio National. Rochelle has also worked for the New South Wales Police Service producing internal TV bulletins and promotional videos.

Currently Rochelle is based in Melbourne, where she works as a freelance journalist. She co-hosts the ‘Crime Couch’ radio spot every fortnight on the ABC’s 774 Evening program.

Visit Rochelle’s website at www.rochellejackson.com.au

PARTNERS AND CRIME

Rochelle Jackson

First published in 2012

Copyright © Rochelle Jackson 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin

Sydney, Melbourne, Auckland, London

83 Alexander Street

Crows Nest NSW 2065

Australia

Phone: [phone]

Fax: [phone]

Email: [e-mail]

Web: www.allenandunwin.com

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available

from the National Library of Australia

www.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74237 255 6

Set in 12/15 pt Sabon by Midland Typesetters, Australia

Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Dedicated to my brothers, Garrick and Travis Jackson.

Thanks for always being there and supporting me no

matter what. You have always made a difference.

CONTENTS

Introduction

Sylvia Bruno: ex-wife of Nikolai ‘the Bulgarian’ Radev

‘My Contract with the Devil’

Georgina Freeman: ex-wife of George Freeman

‘The Most Unlikely Gangster’s Moll’

Ann-Marie Presland: former partner of Bob Trimbole

‘Stand by Your Man’

Tania Herman: former girlfriend of Joe Korp

‘What I Did for Love’

Frances Stratford: carer of Billy ‘the Texan’ Longley

‘Better the Devil You Know’

Jeannie Cako: wife of Fred Cako

‘Love is the Drug’

Coral Watson: ex-wife of Scott Watson

‘I’m Not Ready to Make Nice’

Mary-Ann Read: ex-wife of Mark Brandon

‘Chopper’ Read

‘I Will Survive’

References

Acknowledgements

‘A woman has got to love a bad man once or twice in her life,

to be thankful for a good one.’

Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings

INTRODUCTION

When I pitched this book to my publishers in mid-2009, I wanted to write about criminals’ wives, partners and girlfriends. I thought I already knew everything about these sorts of women. I mean, how difficult could it be to work them out? These women were clearly attracted to ‘bad boys’, they mistook adrenalin and risk-taking for love, had got a taste for the other side of the law and were possibly involved in crimes themselves. They were females with fast morals and faster mouths; and if they weren’t then they were ‘victims’.

When I started to get to know my subjects, I realised how wrong I was. The women I’ve written about in this book are nothing like the stories or my assumptions about them. My opinions—like everybody else’s—were created by stories and images we are fed by the media about these ‘types’ of women, which are often inaccurate and misleading. They are stereotyped and catalogued; their lives are photographed and filmed for all to see, often without their permission. They don’t have a say in how they’re portrayed and are usually defined by their notorious male partners. In the male-dominated media, the criminal rules the roost and female takes second place. Unless these women have strong personalities, they don’t have an identity or a voice. Some, like Roberta Williams, try to cash in on their infamy, but this usually backfires. Although we’re fascinated by these ‘types’ of women and their lives, we don’t want to be like them and often revel in their downfall.

Partners in Crime was a difficult book to write. I spent months liaising with dozens of women from around Australia and New Zealand, using every contact and person I knew to find them. I spoke with ex-detectives, cops, barristers, solicitors, crooks, prisoner welfare groups, magazine editors, crime biographers, fellow journalists, friends of friends and former prisoners. During 2010, I didn’t write for three months because every woman I approached turned me down. I wrote letters, rang people and despaired; it seemed the more women I approached, the tougher my task became. My success rate wasn’t good: I received five knockbacks for every woman who agreed to speak to me. The women I approached had valid reasons for not wanting to be involved. After expressing astonishment that I’d found them, some declined, saying they didn’t think their children would approve, or that they’d re-married and were living new lives. Some women didn’t want to recall the past or, as some said, ‘the biggest mistake of [their] life’. And others maintained they were still too scared to speak.

Then I realised the problem I was facing: most of these women had chosen to become invisible. By asking to interview them I was asking them to speak out, and for most of them that was asking too much.

I didn’t think I’d be able to finish the book, but the universe shifted and a woman I’d earlier approached changed her mind. I could continue writing.

It was a complex and time-consuming journey. For every chapter I had to work out if a particular woman was still alive, establish the relationship with her infamous partner and then, find her. The hardest part was the negotiating. I was asking people I barely knew to confide in me their most personal experience and give their approval for their story to be published. They would get no money and had to trust I’d get the story right, though I showed every woman the chapter after finishing it.

I’ve discovered you can’t profile or sum up the partners of criminals. They don’t come from the same cultural backgrounds or have similar educations, jobs, or even reasons why they became involved with the men they did. To generalise would be wrong, unfair and inaccurate; there’s not one ‘type’ of woman who is attracted to male criminals. Some of my subjects fell in love with a man who represented the opposite of their upbringing, others enjoyed the excitement, wealth and privileges that came with being associated with someone infamous. Some gave their partners alibis—while others still insist their partners are good men and that they know a different side of them. Some admitted it was an escape from a tough situation they found themselves in, others had no idea why they’d become involved with a criminal.

I spoke to women who were partners of murderers, drug dealers, armed robbers, standover men and underworld bosses. They lived with them, shared their beds, made them dinner, spent their money, heard their secrets and were trusted. They had an intimate perspective of the criminal world, which few are ever privy to. But they knew they wouldn’t be told everything. In these types of relationships, there is an unspoken code that while the men ‘do business’, the women keep away, whether it is because they are educated not to ask questions, or they choose to believe the lies they’re told, or they simply don’t want to know.

The partners of criminals may have witnessed the drug deals, heard whispered phone conversations, seen meetings with dodgy individuals and benefited from a sudden ‘windfall’. But more than likely, they chose not to see or question. For some women I interviewed, ‘keeping quiet’ was the only way they remained alive.

One thing was consistent among the women I interviewed. When they decided to be with these men—their lives changed forever. The media constantly hounded them, their houses were searched and police were forever knocking at their doors. Court attendances and jail visits became commonplace, and many were forced to become single parents and go everywhere solo.

And most stuck by their man. Even if they were physically, sexually or emotionally abused; even if they wanted to leave. Some women tried reforming bad husbands or partners, while others ‘put up and shut up’.

It’s not a glamorous life for women who choose to be with criminal partners. They have fewer rights than other wives or partners. If their husbands are murdered or assaulted, they’re the last to know and are usually informed by the media. And when their partners are dead, there’s still no rest—they are haunted by their memories, reputations and endless media coverage about their beloved.

The eight women who spoke to me for Partners of Crime have done so willingly, courageously and without fear. They wanted a voice, an identity of their own and to tell their side of the story. Many have never spoken publicly before. One is in jail. We think we know these women from what the media tells us, but the stories in Partners in Crime prove we don’t.

In Partners in Crime, you are privileged (as I was) to be welcomed into the complex and fascinating worlds of Sylvia Bruno, Georgina Freeman, Ann-Marie Presland, Tania Herman, Frances Stratford, Jeannie Cako, Coral Watson and Mary-Ann Read. These are the personal stories of women inside the criminal world.

SYLVIA BRUNO

EX-WIFE OF NIKOLAI

‘THE BULGARIAN’ RADEV

‘My Contract with the Devil’

The gun’s muzzle pressed against Sylvia’s right temple. Cold steel on warm skin. She was absolutely terrified. Her husband’s face was so close she could see up his nose. His eyes bulged. ‘If you don’t sign, I’ll fucking kill you now!’ he growled.

Nik and Sylvia had been arguing about selling their new house. Nik had recently been released from jail and needed the cash. He wanted to do a runner and move overseas, but Sylvia didn’t want to—she’d worked damn hard to buy their first house. But Nik had organised a real estate agent to sell the house and a contract, which had to be signed, had arrived in the mail. The couple had been arguing all day. Suddenly, during another heated scene, Nik pulled out a handgun.

Sylvia thought she was going to lose control of her bladder. She believed she was going to die, lying on the kitchen floor, clutching their one-year-old daughter. The little one was crying, trying to squirm out of her mother’s arms. ‘But, I don’t want to sign,’ Sylvia gulped. The cold metal pushed harder into her head. ‘Okay! I’ll sign. I’ll sign!’ she started to sob. ‘All right, Nik. All right! I’ll sign.’ Sylvia pleaded for her life, pulling her child close as she lay on the floor. Her brother-in-law Stoain stepped in. He’d heard the argument escalate from another room. Sylvia told me she believes he saved her life.

Stoain cursed heavily in Bulgarian, trying to pull Nik off Sylvia. ‘She said she would sign, Nik, she said she would,’ he said in halting English, helping Sylvia off the floor. But Nik wouldn’t put the gun down. ‘Sign NOW!’ he demanded, pushing his brother away and thrusting the contract at his wife. Sylvia gave up. She believed her husband was going to kill her, and she thought, okay, do it now. She would do whatever he wanted. At least all her misery would end.

Holding her daughter on her hip, Sylvia shakily signed her name on the papers, her tears dropping onto the page. She had just agreed to sell their new house and her husband would get most of the proceeds. She ran into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

How could she win against her husband? He was Nikolai ‘the Bulgarian’ Radev, one of Melbourne’s most violent underworld figures. She sat against the door in a foetal position, rocking back and forth, lost in her own world. She cried for hours, wishing she was dead.

I met Sylvia in October 2008 at a huge shopping centre, which resembled a barn, in Melbourne’s southern suburbs. She had contacted me a month earlier and wanted to know if I could tell her story.

We’d organised to meet in front of a big chain bookstore. I’d thought it would just be us meeting, but Sylvia had brought a bodyguard with her. He was positioned as if he was a bookmaker’s cockatoo and quickly spotted me.

I’d actually seen ‘Vince’ (not his real name) first. It wasn’t difficult to spot a nervy bloke who looked uncomfortable in his skin. He obviously hadn’t done this type of work before. Sylvia believed he was a mechanic, but wasn’t really sure what he did. Vince wore a leather jacket, a presentable shirt and ironed jeans. I could tell he didn’t usually wear this sort of gear. Vince had unfashionably long hair, an earring and a goatee beard. He looked like he’d had one too many breakfast bongs. He eyed me suspiciously as I walked up.

I stood in front of the bookstore. Vince didn’t budge, so Sylvia moved out from behind him. ‘Hello, Rochelle,’ she said, holding out her hand. I immediately felt her warmth and bubbly personality.

Sylvia Bruno is an attractive, short, blonde-haired woman in her mid forties, full of energy. Her hair framed her cherubic face and she looked like a typical groovy hairdresser. When I first met her she was wearing blue jeans, a fashionable jumper and leather shoes and carried a large stylish handbag.

We walked to a café inside the shopping barn. Vince still hadn’t spoken, but Sylvia couldn’t stop. I could feel her nerves. She was not really sure where to start, so she talked to fill the silence. It was like she was on speed. She is a second generation Australian–Italian and her hands are like an emotional barometer, further articulating what she expresses. But there was something else behind her nerves that day. Something bigger and darker I couldn’t put my finger on.

We sat as strangers and were unconsciously pulled together by Sylvia’s story. Her story spilled out like water overflowing from a bucket. At times it surged like a tidal wave and you could feel the force behind it, then it reduced to a trickle and you could hear the clock tick between the drops. She would jump from one thought which moved her to tears, to another that made her laugh out loud. The extraordinary stories that are Sylvia’s life didn’t stop. A jumble of memories and intimate details came pouring out. She recalled with a shudder the time her husband forced drugs down her throat, him cleaning guns in their home and the times he raped her. She remembered police raiding their house and Nik running across the roof to escape.

I got the feeling I was one of only a few people who had heard her stories. Hours passed, but Sylvia had only just begun. The more she talked, the more she remembered. Her tales were spewing out like an out-of-control volcano. I feared Sylvia was also unravelling. At one point in the interview, a chair leg scraped loudly along the floor and Sylvia jumped. She told me she always feels nervous, uptight and anxious. Psychologists call it hyper-vigilance; it’s the legacy of a lifetime of trauma and one of the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. ‘People call me crazy,’ she said, laughing off my concern.

After our meeting, I knew Sylvia had an extraordinary story to tell and in the following months I interviewed her many times, usually at her home. It was crucial for her to tell her story. It’s a tale of someone married to one of the key players in Melbourne’s gangland drug wars during the 1980s. I would learn that Sylvia was not crazy, but her life had certainly been insane.

Carmel Bruno was working in the Golden Poultry chicken factory when she became pregnant with her third daughter. Later, she would repeatedly tell her daughter how, despite her condition, she would stand all day with rubber shoes on her feet. It was like she wanted her daughter to know how much trouble she had caused, even before she was born. Silvana (Sylvia for short) was born in July 1963 at Mordialloc Hospital in Melbourne’s south-eastern suburbs. But her parents, Michael and Carmel, really wanted a boy. Their words, ‘What are we going to do with another girl?’ still resonate in her ears. The couple’s oldest daughter, Nancy, was born in May 1953 and Vanda came into the world three years later, so by the time Sylvia had arrived the couple were despairing. Daughters had their role, they got married and bore children, but it was the sons who carried the family name, became breadwinners, gave the family strength and added value to the home.

It was 1951 in Calabria, southern Italy. Sylvia’s parents grew up in the same village, so when Michael spotted 16–year-old Carmel in the village street it wasn’t unexpected. The families knew each other and he knew she was available. At the time he was a trumpet-playing policeman in the local police band but, despite his credentials, the 27-year-old was considered too old for the good-looking girl. However Michael didn’t give up—he even serenaded her with his trumpet—and his efforts eventually won over Carmel’s family and within a year, the couple were married and Carmel was pregnant with their first child. Carmel had given birth to two children before Michael immigrated to Australia to start a new life for his family. While staying as a boarder with his wife’s relatives, he soon found a job as a cook in a hospital. But it would still take two years before his wife and two daughters could join him. They would bring their traditional ways with them.

Sylvia remembered fondly her first home in Warrigal Road, Cheltenham, in Melbourne’s south-east. ‘It was a brick house. I can still remember Dad’s garage and the smell. I remember the parties and the backyard. Dad always had a garden; he’d grow tomatoes, cucumbers, persimmons, cherries and mandarins. He’d make his own salamis and wine which he was very proud of.’

As a little girl Sylvia was looked after by an old Sicilian lady, Nonna Scuteria. ‘She had a nice place. I remember her teacakes. The teacake would always be warm and in a tin—she smelt nice and always had her hair done up lovely.’

As a girl, Sylvia felt her parents never had enough time for her. They were always working—her mother cleaned the slaughtered birds in the chicken factory and her father was a driving instructor. Her mum bundled her off to St Patrick’s Primary School in Mentone as soon as she could. ‘My mum told them that I was five, but she lied because I was only four and a half. She lied just so I’d be out of the way, again,’ Sylvia said sadly.

She found primary school overwhelming. Sylvia had never been taught to read or write and was scared of her teacher and classmates. ‘I didn’t have many friends, I kept to myself because everyone else was doing their thing. I never felt part of it. They never asked me to come and join in.’ Sylvia would go home on the bus by herself and often had to wee in the garden while waiting for her mother to arrive home from work. She was afraid of her parents, who she felt always yelled at her and put her down.

It was lucky Sylvia had two older sisters. ‘Nancy did the mothering, because my mother was never there. She would take me everywhere, dress me up and buy me things my mother wouldn’t buy.’

Sylvia was initially close to her father and as a little girl used to sit on his knee. But as soon as her brother Anthony was born, the eight-year-old felt she ‘didn’t exist’. She remembered thinking, ‘Why was I born?’ She thought her little brother was cute but noticed that since his birth she wasn’t paid much attention. ‘I was like the dag hanging around that they didn’t want anymore.’ This was how Sylvia felt as a child and as she got older, this feeling didn’t change.

Sylvia’s mother called her ‘a devil of a child’. Her sister Nancy said when the family went visiting, Sylvia would pull the tablecloths off people’s tables and bite the other children. Sylvia told me she didn’t remember this but said she was a curious child always wanting to know more, yet constantly afraid of life and people.

At seven Sylvia found a new best friend: Kathy Dunn. They repeatedly got into trouble and both had to repeat Grade 1. Sylvia’s mum knew Kathy’s mum, so Sylvia was allowed to ride her bike to Kathy’s house, two blocks away. There was a house just down from Kathy’s, which Sylvia has told me held special memories for her. ‘They had pantomimes where the kids would charge you to come in and watch them play. It was like another world. It was more fun at other people’s houses because you got ice-cream and cordial. It wasn’t like that at my house.’

As Sylvia was growing up, she was strictly disciplined. She usually wasn’t allowed to play sports, go out with her friends or visit their homes. ‘Mum would always say, What if there were boys there? You could be ‘touched up’ and ‘not good anymore’.’

Sylvia’s parents were strict Catholics and drummed the horror of getting pregnant into her from a young age: falling pregnant shortened your odds of living respectably; as a female, your virginity was one of the few assets you had; your reputation was everything and heaven forbid if you fell pregnant outside of marriage. ‘It was always What would the people say? My mum was always worried about the people—what people?’ Sylvia said to me, exasperatedly, during an interview one morning.

Because her childhood was restricted Sylvia escaped into the world of television. ‘I loved I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched! I wanted to be in that world and I still believe in that world when I watch them. I couldn’t wait to come home after school and put the TV on. There were good times during the school holidays when Nancy would be home and Vanda would make toffee apples and pretend she was on TV.’

Her mother left the chicken factory to work at the Sunbeam cake shop in Mentone, and Sylvia would visit after school. ‘I remember the smells and the boss, Mr Summer. He was Austrian, so they didn’t make just ordinary Australian food; they made pastries, cakes and hot pies from Europe.’

Sylvia finished her last year of primary school at St Mary’s in Dandenong. During this time the family lived in a flat while their new house in Stud Road was being built. Her mother wanted a bigger house and thought the location would help an asthma condition Anthony had developed. Ten-year-old

Reviews for Partners and Crime

[austcrimefiction · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

"What was it like for Mary-Ann Hodge to be married to Mark 'Chopper' Read? How was Joe Korp's former girlfriend Tania Herman persuaded to try to kill his wife Maria? And why did hairdresser Sylvia Bruno fall for Melbourne gangland killer Nikolai 'The Bulgarian' Radev?"Why on earth was I reading a book on this subject matter? There was a not inconsiderable part of me that was wondering if I was rapidly tipping right over into some sort of voyeur. Although, the chapter about Tania Herman seemed to be going to answer something that never really came out at the time of the dreadful killing of Maria Korp - that idea of ... why / how / what the? Given my discomfort I'm perfectly prepared to admit that I started reading this book fully expecting a whole heap of attempted reputation restoration. Excuses, reasons and justifications. Some hefty doses of what I'd call "the Judy Moran defence" - I didn't know / not in front of me / never suspected... All the stuff that's next to impossible to swallow no matter how hard you chew. Whilst there are some alternative viewpoints of some of the men that these women hooked up with, apart from a few exceptions, there was acknowledgement of how they earned their money and the sorts of lives they lived. In Herman's case there was an honesty about what she did, that made why she did it, if not understandable, at least believable. There was even, in other chapters, refreshing honesty about the daftness of thinking that you can change any man, let alone an institutionalised career criminal with a long history of violence. What Jackson, as the author of these women's stories has done, is avoid some obvious pitfalls. There's not a lot of excusing going on, although there is some explanation of how somebody might dig themselves into a hole this deep. Whilst some of the women are attempting to explain the inexplicable, the delivery gives you an opportunity to hear their side, look at the relationship from their viewpoint, and make up your own mind about the motives and outcomes for each of these women. At the end of the book I still had a sneaking suspicion that I'd stuck my nose way too far into the personal aspects of people's lives. But then again, none of these women were forced into telling their stories, and perhaps understanding how it is that you can get yourself into these situations might help others from going there, or getting themselves back out again in one piece if it's already too late.