Behind the Wire - Justice: A Book Written by a Correctional Officer

By Gordon Collis

Ever since time began laws have been made to protect the weak. Since that first ruling, others have manipulated the system to empower themselves.

From Nero to Al Capone, Ned Kelly to John Gotti, rules have been bent to benefit those with the power to bend it.

Since those times there have been those who protect its culture and uphold its laws. And, since that first law was passed, with the apple being forbidden, there are those who manipulate the law to better themselves.

Three High Court Judges, a Federal Politician and the Governor of a prison, are fed up with the evil that is destroying the legal system and infest a prison with hardened criminals. Their intention is to infiltrate the criminal underworld and stop its bosses from abusing the law, from standing over the weak and offer them a deal to better their lives.

Theyre playing a game that has no rulesA game where if you lose you die.

How will these law abiders stay out of harms way from the inmates they imprisoned?

How will they return the integrity of the law?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Nov 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499029567

Gordon Collis

Working as a correctional officer in Australia with thieves, liars, killers, and con men, Gordon started writing as a means to unwind. This developed into his passion for story telling using subjects drawn from the people he encounters in his professional life. Behind the wire – Justice came from an idea he had whilst working in a correctional facility with some of the most horrendous people God put on this planet. This is his second novel after The Franklin Conspiracy.

Book preview

Behind the wire---

Justice

A book written by a Correctional Officer

Gordon Collis

Copyright © 2014 by Gordon Collis.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014919545

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4990-2961-1

               Softcover        978-1-4990-2960-4

               eBook            978-1-4990-2956-7

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 permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/31/2016

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Sarron Joc McSkinner -- DOB 13 June 1966. Master Identification Number (MIN) 616161.

Her Honour -- The Honourable Elizabeth Jane McFarlane, QC.

Sarron Joc McSkinner (hereafter called 'the accused'), you have pleaded guilty that on 17 December 2010, you did access the World Wide Web (hereafter called 'www') at the public computer at the public library in Wagga Wagga, New South Wales, and you did download a millennium virus onto the secured site of the Federal Fire Authority with the intent to extort money from the Australian taxpayer.

It has been shown to 'the court' that on said day, 17 December 2010, you purposely accessed the Federal Emergency Power Shut Procedures mainframe with the intent of shutting down power grids on New Year's Eve 31 December 2010. This is a horrendous act of terrorism which would have ruined the celebrations of millions of people. I have read the reports from the courts 'Physiological Advisory Committee' and been presented with the evidence of 'Counsel'. I find it disgusting that a man so intellectually gifted could have derived such a scheme. The maximum penalty for 'Extortion' is fifteen years' incarceration; however, in sentencing, I hand down the sentence of twenty-five years penal incarceration for terrorism. I will allow a non-parole period of ten years which is to be reviewed. The sentence is effective immediately.

Michael Tran -- DOB 23 August 1969. MIN 970371.

His Honour -- The Honourable Mark John Collins, QC.

Michael Tran (hereafter called 'the accused'), 'the court' found you guilty of three counts of kidnapping with intent to extort money. Before handing down 'my' sentence, 'I' want 'you' (the accused) to know that this would be one of the most vicious means to extort money 'I' have come across. To stalk and abduct two young children and ensnare their mother into a trap is unacceptable in today's society with worry and fear being 'your' (the accused) only motive. 'I' am sure, Mr Tran, that 'you' (the accused) were aware of your actions and 'you' (the accused) would do it again if released. 'I' am not sure that 'you' (the accused) recognise the psychological effect 'you' (the accused) have had on the children and their mother. Not to mention the torment 'you' (the accused) placed on the father. This is why 'I' hand down the full sentence of the law. The abduction and kidnap was of a horrid nature, and 'you' (the accused) show a complete lack of sorrow or remorse. 'I' find it incredible that 'you' (the accused) could tie down and imprison such young children in complete darkness. Then to think that 'you' (the accused) used the children's whimpering not only to entrap the mother, but to use it to scare the father into 'your' (the accused) demands. 'You' (the accused) installed fear in the young children that will scar them for the rest of their lives. 'You' (the accused) did not only steal the freedom of three family members by imprisonment but 'you' (the accused) blackmailed the family to receive money for their freedom. 'I' really do find this action callus and objectionable. 'I' went into great length with this case and sentence 'you' (the accused) to twenty-five years' imprisonment. Due to the seriousness and cruelty of 'your' (the accused) actions, 'I' reserve the right to set down a no non-parole when handing down this sentence.

Johan Aldwin Templer -- DOB 30 May 1984. MIN 636754.

His Honour---His Honourable Kenneth Murray Rogers, QC.

Johan Aldwin Templer (hereafter called 'the accused'), you appear before me for sentencing after 'your' (the accused) conviction to import commercial quantities of prohibited substances. The convictions 'I've' listed below:

Commercial quantity (eighty kilograms) green vegetable matter (GVM) imported from Thailand. 'You' (the accused) didn't cover 'your' (the accused) tracks very well 'Mr Templer'. Customs Drug Detection Unit discovered 100 water-tight sealed black plastic bags concealed in 5,000 kg shipping container of loose leaf tea. The discovery was a result of a random search of docked containers by the drug detection unit.

Secondary: Commercial quantity (4,000 grams) hashish imported from India concealed inside three ton packs of 50 ´ 50 mm square hollow steel box tubing. Customs discovered weight discrepancy with random computer weigh in.

'You' (The Accused) stand before 'me' for 'sentencing' after being found guilty by 'jury' of the illegal importation of prohibited substances, namely drugs. 'I' see by 'my' notes that 'you' (the accused) have not co-operated with Interpol or Federal Police, and it makes 'me' ask why. If it is to protect another party, then 'I' could say it be either through fear or if not fear, then it would be to protect 'one's 'own' (the accused) interests. 'I' see in the 'psychiatrist's report, for record 'psychiatrist's report' 'exhibit 19C', that 'you' 'the accused' show classic signs of paranoid schizophrenia. However, this does not change 'my' decision. The illegal importation of prohibited substances into Australian is not only a quarantine matter, but the fact that what 'you' (the accused) smuggled was 'drugs.' And may 'I' say a rather large amount. 'You' (the accused) will spend twelve years in penal incarceration. There is a non-parole period of six years.

Anthony James Diamond -- DOB 22 May 1965. MIN 641708.

Her Honour: -- The Honourable Elizabeth Jane McFarlane, QC.

Anthony James Diamond (hereafter called 'the accused'), 'Crown Prosecutor, QC, James Andrew Macintosh' has presented an overwhelming amount of evidence against 'you' ('the accused'), and 'the court' has found 'you' ('the accused') guilty of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, namely a blowtorch. The intent was to cause 'grievous bodily harm'.

In handing down 'my' sentence, 'I' now give reasons for the ruling.

First, 'You' (the accused) have been found guilty for torturing Mr Yuri Haslum using an oxygen acetylene blowtorch.

The injuries to both Mr Haslum's hands and feet are horrific. It appears 'you' (the accused) did not only commit this crime to obtain financial gain, but it seems to have been done with some kind of pleasure in mind. Both hands and both feet have had to be amputated. The severity of the injuries must have taken an exceptionally long time. It says in the notes from 'Doctor Malcolm Davidson of Prince Alfred Hospital' that a single occurrence to completely cook an extremity would have taken up to ten minutes. And the fact that 'you' (the accused) did do both hands and both feet I find exceptional. 'You' (the accused) do not seem to show any remorse in the fact that Mr Haslum is now an invalid, and 'you' (the accused) do not seem to care about others' pain or suffering as long as 'you' (the accused) benefit. In finding 'my' sentence, 'I' did consider the pain and suffering of Mr Haslum and hand down the sentence of fifteen years' imprisonment. There is no non-parole period.

Secondly, in the evidence presented to 'the court' over your involvement in illegal prostitution within two brothels which 'you' (the accused) own. The 'evidence' presented to 'me' shows a complete disregard for others. 'I' am repulsed by 'your' (the accused) methods of bullying and feel for those 'women' whom you pressured. I sentence 'you' (the accused) with 'illegal prostitution' on two counts. On both counts, 'I' hand down the total sentence of five years with a non-parole period of two and a half years to be served concurrently.

Jarrod Andrew Lovejoy -- DOB 19 January 1970. MIN 890098.

His Honour: -- The Honourable Mark John Collins, QC.

Jarrod Andrew Lovejoy (hereafter called 'the accused'), 'you' 'the accused' stand before me with the grace and air of a well-to-do man. However, 'you' 'the accused' have been found 'guilty' by 'jury', for tax evasion, both federal and state.

The fact that 'you' 'the accused' co-operated with the Australian Tax Office, 'I' have considered in sentencing three years' penal incarceration with a non-parole period of one year.

On the second count of the misappropriation of government funds, 'I' find it obscure how 'you' 'the accused' influenced the State Parliamentary Member for Belconnen and Federal Member for Taxation, the Honourable Mr Bruce Douglas, to supplement your wealthy lifestyle. The fact that 'you' 'the accused' cohered the Honourable Mr Bruce Douglas to misappropriate several hundreds of thousands of taxpayer funded grants, 'I' find 'you' 'the accused' devious at the most. Fifteen years with a non-parole period of five years.

With the third count, the one of theft, 'you' 'the accused' may consider plagiarism of government property trivial. However, it does show to me the depths of 'your' 'the accused' contempt. 'You' 'the accused' have not only shown 'the court' 'your' 'the accused' ability to manipulate government officials to find out confidential portfolios information. But to steal the impending building development portfolio from a person who had entrusted 'you' 'the accused', 'I' find offensive. The then Parliamentary Member for Belconnen in Canberra, the Honourable Mr Bruce Douglas, was manipulated by 'you' 'the accused' to supply information. 'I' find 'your' 'the accused' conduct abhorrent and request a full taxation investigation into 'your' 'the accused' assets. With the matter of theft of official documents, 'I' hand down fifteen months' imprisonment with a non-parole period of nine months.

Peter Glen Smith -- DOB 12 March 1988. MIN 693021

His Honour: -- The Honourable Mark John Collins, QC.

Peter Glen Smith (hereafter called 'the accused'), 'you' 'the accused' stand before this court with what appears to be no sorrow or remorse for a man of only twenty. 'You' 'the accused' have been found guilty by jury of the Aggravated Assault and Robbery of Anton Benzel-Pazzire (hereafter called 'the victim') at Melbourne Supreme Court 1 January 2008 and held in remand pending sentence. And 'I' suggest that is just as well. It appears that 'you' 'the accused' have a detailed history of violence. From 'my' notes in sentencing, 'I' see the short time 'the jury' deliberated 'their' verdict and sentence 'you' 'the accused' with the following fact. For the aggravated, and 'I' say vicious, attack on Anton Benzel-Pazzire to which 'he' 'the victim' suffered considerable damage to his torso and back, 'I' have considered the means, an axe handle, and can only imagine the damage 'you' 'the accused' hoped to inflict. 'I' also see in my notes that 'you' 'the accused' bludgeoned 'the victim' with several forcible blows to the head and shoulders. 'I' can only think that with the severity of the injuries, 'you' 'the accused' had hoped that 'the victim' had not lived. 'I' sentence 'you' 'the accused' with eighteen years' imprisonment with a non-parole period of three years for the robbery and aggravated assault.

On the second matter before 'me', the one of the murder of Jose Amos Benzel-Pazzire (hereafter called 'the deceased'), 'you' 'the accused' have been found guilty by 'jury' beyond all reasonable doubt. In presentation of 'the evidence' by 'Chief Crown Prosecutor' (QC Justice Moody) and after reading the autopsy findings prepared by Doctor Samuel Davey of the Melbourne City Morgue, 'I' find it abhorrent to think that 'you' 'the accused' could be rehabilitated and released back into 'society'. To think that 'you' 'the accused' tormented 'the victim' by making him witness the torture of his brother, 'I' find cruel beyond comprehension. 'I' do not know how you could think that 'the deceased' Hotel takings would compensate your actions. This is beyond 'me'. 'I' sentence you to the maximum penalty of twenty-five years for murder with no non-parole period. This is to be served concurrently.

Chapter 1

'Jesus, is it that time already? I only just got to sleep,' Johan Aldwin Templer, a convicted drugs dealer, groaned sleepily as he lay on the bed of his one-out cell. The noise which woke him was the stamping of feet and the slamming of large steel doors along the walkway. It was the sound he'd heard every morning for the past two years and still never became used to. He had a twenty-year 'laggin'' with fourteen on the bottom. That's providing he gets parole, and Templer thought he'd never get used to this morning routine.

His cell door unlocked and opened.

'Mornin', Templer,' barked a rather large robust sounding correctional officer doing his morning rounds.

Templer waved his foot from under the sheet to show the big bastard that he was okay.

The door slammed shut firmly with a bang, which echoed through the tiny cell.

'I don't know why those pricks have to do that. Don't get out for another hour or something . . . Fat bastard!'

Johan Aldwin Templer was a known drug dealer by police from way back. He was a tall gorky-looking fruitcake, with jet-black hair and an exceptionally large mouth. He had no build or muscle about him and had really long arms. Templer talked tough, although no one knew why, because he really had nothing. And for a bloke who's nearly thirty, he really was lucky that no one beat the shit out of him. I think it's because he's not quite right. You know, right in the head. He had got what the experts call paranoid schizophrenia. I think he's just 'drug fucked.'

Michael Tran, the putrid piece of shit who kidnapped two small children to extort money from the father, hung up the phone and sat back in the hard plastic chair that was bolted to the floor of his pod. As he thought of his phone call, to some religious do-gooder, he looked around the pod wondering what he was going to do now. It was a good hour till midday muster, and everyone looked like they were doing something. The other Asians, who he normally hung out with, were either playing table tennis or kicking around their Hacky Sacks. He watched them for a while before deciding that he didn't feel like doing that. He looked at some Aussies playing bowls on the carpet bowls mat, before deciding that he didn't feel like doing that either. Some of the brothers were playing monopoly on the stainless steel bench top, where they served the food, and he stood up and walked over to watch. It didn't take long before he was sick of that too. The huge island boys were listening to music, while slapping their hands together in some sort of tribal rhythm ritual, and some of the boys were cooking eggs and toast on the grills bolted to the stainless steel sink in the middle of the pod.

Tran walked over to the exercise yard, the yard that separated the pods, and stepped down onto the concrete. The high walls around the yard took away the peripheral view, but the sky looked okay. A few high clouds crossed the top of the walls, but it appeared to be quite sunny. Tran walked around the yard and stood next to a weight bench. He watched some big 'Rock Ape' pumping iron for a while and became bored with that too.

'I might as well lie down for an hour till muster.'

Inmate Michael Tran MIN 970371 -- DOB 23 August 1969 was accustomed to gaol. He'd done time in Asia for firearms and larceny and time in Indonesia for similar offences. Tran had a history of crime and was well known by Interpol. His conviction in Australia came as no surprise to the law enforcement agency, as they knew that this habitual gambler would eventually try something clever to extort money. However, he was caught and was serving his seventh year of a twenty-five-year lag. Tran was a very handsome Asian man with jet-black hair. He was in fantastic shape and extremely fit. Gaol taught him that if he could only sleep at night in his cell, then he might as well do it tired. He would virtually exercise himself to the point of exhaustion, just so he could sleep at night.

'McSkinner!' yelled a well-groomed correctional officer, looking up from the Muster Book that identified everyone in the pod with a photo ID.

Inmate Sarron 'Joc' McSkinner, a largely built Scotsman with fiery red hair and a temper to match, pushed past two crooks to go back into the pod from the outside rec-yard. He never said anything when called out for muster, for as far as he was concerned, he only had to show he was there. In addition, lunch had just arrived, and he didn't need his 'slop' to get any colder.

McSkinner isn't what you'd call a happy inmate. He'd been given twenty-five years for terrorism, because he'd threatened to destroy power supplies on New Year's Eve, unless he got money. And, as far as he was concerned, he should've been done for extortion rather than terrorism. Terrorism carries a much heavier sentence than extortion, and he'd felt he'd been hard done by.

McSkinner was a very intelligent man with more degrees than a thermometer. He was a computer whiz who believed his talents will rot unless he kept himself busy. He had enrolled, or had completed, every course that he can do in gaol and was working through the Programs Department to further his computer skills. He was not a bad crook, by far as to say that he did everything he was supposed to, and he stayed out of harm's way. But he was a very bitter man. No one messed with him, because he can fight like a thrashing machine, and with his fiery red hair and his crazy Scottish stare, no one had been game to take him on.

Gaol's hard for someone like McSkinner. Not because he was scared, or because he hated authority, but because he was worldly and very intelligent. And for a man like that, it's hard to make friends.

#

Elizabeth Jane McFarlane, Her Honourable Queen's Counsel and district court judge of New South Wales, walked along the polished hardwood floorboards of the main corridor of the district court house, in Wagga Wagga, New South Wales. As she walked, her hard-leather Italian shoes made a rhythmic slapping sound on the floor that echoed around the sparsely furnished corridor. She stepped up to a door and turned the handle.

Inside the chamber room stood two other district court judges of the Queen's Counsel, dressed in official robes. Both of them had their wigs lying flat on the highly polished mahogany table in the centre of the room. They looked very important, and quite regal, as silhouettes to the many hundreds of law books that lined the shelves around them. And with the sun streaming in through a high window, they absorbed the light and looked rather mystical in their black robes.

'Good morning, Elizabeth. Isn't it a lovely day?' the Honourable Mark John Collins, QC, stepped forwards and offered his hand as a greeting.

'Yes, it is, Mark . . . How are you, Kenneth?'

His Honourable Kenneth Murray Rogers, QC, stepped closer and shook hands.

'I'm exceptional! Thank you, Elizabeth . . . And you?'

'I'm very well, thank you.'

Her Honour Elizabeth Jane McFarlane, QC, was a hard-looking woman with chiselled eyes and staid features. She had exceptionally high cheek bones and a very flat mouth. It made her look impenetrable and very serious. She had been a judge now for about ten years after a dedicated career on 'the bar', as Queen's Counsel.

The other two gentlemen in the room were also highly regarded in their profession. The Honourable Kenneth Murray Rogers, QC, was a High Court judge with many years experience. He had worked in the Department of Public Prosecutions for decades, after which he was welcomed to the bench. Judge Rogers did not look like a High Court judge as he had a very kind face. This was not the norm for judges, due to the seriousness of the job, and although he looked approachable and kind, he was not the sort of man you can easily con. He had heard nearly every excuse and every plea of innocence you could imagine and every whimper and whine that you could invent.

The Honourable Mark John Collins, QC, was also a judge of many years standing. He was welcomed to the position of Queen's Counsel, after proving his worth in private practice. He had been on the Bench for nearly ten years and had become very suspicious of just about everyone. The Honourable Mark John Collins, QC, was very tall and obese. He was rude and arrogant and appeared to have no other thought than that of himself. He annoyed the shit out of everyone working in the court and had been sanctioned, on many occasions, for his lack of courtesy. The judge appeared to have little tolerance for trivia and no tolerance for fools. He was what you would call a classic hanging judge, with no time for the guilty. He was hard, uncompromising, and very tough for a judge. But, he believed in what's right and that was all he can do.

Chapter 2

In the Ministers' Hall at Parliament House, Canberra, His Honourable Bruce Douglas, the sixty-four-year-old Local Member for Belconnen in Canberra and the Federal Minister for Taxation in Australia, sipped from his glass while waiting for lunch. He sat with an air of self-importance, looking very sophisticated in a dark, Hugo Boss, tailored pinstriped suit. His perfectly cut jet-black hair was streaked with grey, showing many years of maturity, and with his black broad-rimmed tri-focal prescription glasses sitting comfortably across the bridge of his nose, he looked very intelligent and quite impressive for a man of his age. Sitting opposite him in the luxurious room was High Court Judge, The Honourable Elizabeth Jane McFarlane, QC, who looked very elegant behind the beautifully set dining table.

The Ministers' Hall was designed for people like His Honourable Bruce Douglas. Its polished teak walls and handcrafted antique furniture is predominately used for foreign dignitaries and important functions. It's a room designed to impress, and the Federal Minister for Taxation was quite at home in these surroundings.

One of the main advantages of the Ministers' Hall, apart from its ambiance, is that it's probably the safest place in Parliament House for free conversation. It's a very large open room with great acoustics. That is to say you'd be lucky to hear the person sitting next to you.

His Honourable Bruce Douglas placed the glass on the table and sat forwards to whisper.

'Elizabeth, I want to bring to your attention the matter of Sarron Joc McSkinner, Michael Tran, Johan Aldwin Templer, Anthony James Diamond, Jarrod Andrew Lovejoy, and Peter Glen Smith. Have you been in contact?'

McFarlane replied, 'No . . . Not since our last meeting over two months ago.'

'Elizabeth,' His Honourable Bruce Douglas wriggled in his seat to get comfortable. 'Since we last met many things have happened. There's been a change in The Work Place Relations Agreement, which has caused a great deal of unrest and nervousness within the Union Movement. The Foreign Affairs Department is being scrutinised for the kickback for wheat scandal. Our neighbours are nervous and not satisfied with new foreign policies. But domestic affairs are coming on strong. This is outstanding! We need to keep the ball rolling. Get hold of those convicts of yours, and get them to work.'

Elizabeth Jane McFarlane, QC, had returned from her luncheon with His Honourable Bruce Douglas moments earlier. She sat on her balcony watching the water floating back down into aqua blue water of Lake Burley Griffin from the man-made geyser in the centre of the lake. The geyser seemed to fire water half a kilometre into the air, and she sat transfixed watching it drop. She seemed mesmerised by the glistening of water as it fell against the green hills that surround Canberra, and she was deep in thought.

The view from her exclusive apartment was simply stunning with the geyser, the hills, the buildings, and the greenery of the gardens of the nation's capital.

The High Court judge suddenly remembered her discussion at lunch, with the Honourable Bruce Douglas, and snapped out of her gaze.

'I must ring Mark.'

She stood up from the handcrafted marble balcony seat and entered her apartment through the open tinted glass sliding doors. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust from the glare of the outside.

Elizabeth's luxury apartment was very large and spacious for its location, about the size of a small suburban house. This was not typical for inner city apartments, but when you're a High Court judge, on the money Elizabeth's on, it was a luxury she could well afford. It was adorned with extremely expensive furniture and exquisite fittings, yet it was tastefully decorated and really quite comfortable. She stepped over to her telephone handset and pressed the pre-programmed number to ring her associate, The Honourable Mark John Collins, QC.

'Good afternoon, Mark,' she spoke into her handset after hearing the High Court judge answer his telephone formally.

'This is Elizabeth . . . Elizabeth McFarland.' She waited for her associate to register her introduction and said, 'I must speak to you about those incarcerates.' She paused again to let Mark register whom she was referring to. 'Time is of the essence now, Mark. We must strike while the iron's hot . . . Contact Kenneth and have him call me. I'll arrange for us to meet.'

#

It was very early evening when Elizabeth arranged her meeting with the other High Court judges and Queen's Counsel, Mark John Collins and Kenneth Murray Rogers. The venue which she chose was a secure conference room in the rear of the High Court in Canberra. It was used mainly for referencing Constitutional Statute, in relation to High Court matters, and was a very secure place within the High Court.

Kenneth Rogers, QC, pulled out a chair and sat down next to Mark Collins, QC, opposite Elizabeth, and said, 'We're obviously here in reference to those men in prison . . . Would that be right, Elizabeth?'

The staid-faced woman looked at Kenneth and nodded her head without a reply.

Mark Collins remembered why she rang and said, 'You said we must strike while the iron's hot, Elizabeth. What is it you want us to do?'

Elizabeth took a little time to think and replied, 'I had a conference with Bruce Douglas earlier today, and he said we are to encourage those prisoners with a little more pressure.'

Kenneth became concerned, and his voice depicted it. 'And how are we supposed to encourage these convicts, Elizabeth? We're not dealing with rational people here. They're convicted felons. They're not rational thinkers.'

Mark agreed and said, 'Yes, Elizabeth. What is it you want us to do?'

Elizabeth answered, 'We're to dangle a larger carrot in front of those animals and get them to fleece more money for us. We shall offer them some extra privileges in return for their treachery amongst themselves. We have been dealing with these types of animals for some time now and, as we all know, we can train those barbarians with what we can easily organise.' The look on Elizabeth's face was one of disgust when she spoke about convicts, and she said, 'Kenneth, talk to Governor Paslow and have him find out what those convicts want in recognition of their treachery. We might be able to offer them something.'

Chapter 3

'Just another day in gaol,' Inmate Michael Tran (DOB 23 August 1969. MIN 970371) mumbled for what seemed like the millionth time that morning. He was into his morning's exercise and strode up the chute from his pod to the walkway like a man chased by a lion. With his purposeful long strides and wide swinging arms, Tran walked like a man in great physical condition . . . which he was. He made it to the top of the chute and jumped around in a full one-eighty. Then away he'd go back to his pod with his same purposeful stride. Tran would walk up that chute and back down to the rec-yards, then twice around, and back off out the chute. He'd push himself so hard that he'd give himself a stitch, before stopping for a drink and a break for breakfast. He did this every morning, for the first two hours solid, before having a rest until later that day. Then he'd do it all again.

Inmate Tran was an expert criminal when it came to his 'lag'. He had had quite a few years behind bars overseas and was well rehearsed in passing time. The other inmates never stuffed him around because he had something . . . something quite vicious. He mingled mainly with the Asians and got along with the islanders. Tran had little to do with the Aboriginals but was okay with the other Aussies.

'Inmate Tran . . . Inmate Tran . . . Come to the office . . . Tran to the office,' echoed a voice over the loudspeaker; it was loud enough for all to hear. Tran checked his pocket, to make sure his ID card was there, before moving off to the Fish Bowl to find out why he was wanted.

The Officers' Station was commonly known as the Fish Bowl because it was a large hexagon-shaped structure with high solid brick half walls, and long Perspex windows that looked out over every pod. The Fish Bowl was the hub of each unit and the centre of every crook's world. If you wanted something, it went through the Fish Bowl. If you needed something, it went through the Fish Bowl. The Fish Bowl housed the computers, inmates' files, and everything that was involved with the crooks. Their property records were kept in the Fish Bowl and the inmates' caseloads as well. Caseloads are the management plans set out by Physic's and the Programs Department. It's designed to improve an inmate's behaviour and deal with offending issues such as alcoholism, drug addiction, and violent behaviour. Case plans are a tribute to a crook's life in gaol which could help them get parole and/or early release.

The Fish Bowl is where the correctional officers live for nearly every minute of their shift. It's a place that most crooks stay away from.

'You call Tran, boss?' Inmate Tran yelled into the small letter box--size hole in the wall.

One of the correctional officers looked down at him and said, 'Yer, Tran, go up to education. There's something you've gotta' sign.'

The officer pointed up the chute, before radioing Tran through to the Walkway Officers at the top gate at the end of the long steel-caged concreted path. The chute was the only access to any other part of the gaol, and movement was controlled by specially trained officers, who control movement around the gaol.

#

Anthony James Diamond, stand over man and brothel owner, rolled off the foam rubber mattress onto his feet and stood up in his one-out cell. He pulled the door open and stepped onto the landing on the second tier and looked down at the floor at the daily routine that was protection gaol. The time was just after 1 p.m., and now that lunch was finished, there wasn't much going on. Most of the other crooks were in the cells playing cards or other games, and the only others about were the few gluttons who did nothing but eat toast for the entire day. You see, most inmates hide away because they hate being scrutinised by the correctional officers in the Fish Bowl; it makes them feel vulnerable. However, that didn't concern Diamond because he couldn't care less; he was a tough guy. The officers didn't scare him, and the crooks were nothing as far as he was concerned. He walked down the stairs onto the pod floor and headed for the gym in the rec-yard.

Inmate Tran had just returned from education holding some papers for a program he was required to do as part of his case plan. He stood at the half Perspex door, waiting for an officer to let him back into his pod. He caught Diamond's eye and waved his attention as an officer stepped out of the Fish Bowl to key him in. 'Thanks, boss.'

Tran walked over to his cell to offload the papers, before walking out to join Diamond in the rec-yard.

'Tony,' Tran began as he stepped down onto the concrete floor, 'got a sec?'

Diamond looked up from the wait bench but did not answer.

'I think we'd better organise a meeting. We've got things to do. I'll get hold of the others, and we'll do it on the oval.'

#

Johan Aldwin Templer, DOB 30 May 1982. MIN 636754, a convicted drug trafficker, had had his share of drug abuse in his time. The schizophrenic drug dealer had very few friends and, because of his paranoia, had little to do with any other inmates. He hated being regimented and loathed authority. He was a tough-talking, tall walking rodent who had four years to go.

Templer was the type of person who should be bashed, but because he's got good pot, he was left alone. Templer had only got one good ally in gaol and that was Sarron 'Joc' McSkinner. Not because McSkinner was a drug taker or pusher but because he saw a lot of similarities between himself and the much younger Templer. First, McSkinner was alone with no one he can trust; the same went for Templer. Second, because Templer was a dead-shit who hated authority and in turn was hated by correctional officers and other gaol staff. This had made Templer a bit of a legend in McSkinner's eyes, and the crazy red-haired Scotsman believed that his gorky, drug-fucked buddy might come in handy one day, if only to piss the officers off.

#

Peter Glen Smith, DOB 12 March 1988, MIN 693021, walked out of the second gate from the industry section after collecting his ID card from the officer's station at the far end of the long concrete walkway.

'Peter!' he heard a call from behind. 'Wait for me.'

Jarrod Andrew Lovejoy, DOB 19 January 1970. MIN 890098, his mate from his pod, came trotting over to stand with him at the gate.

'What's going on?'

Smith smiled before they headed off back to their unit. 'Very little, mate. What are you doing?'

Lovejoy replied, 'Just knocked off . . . You headin' back to the unit?'

Smith nodded. 'Yer!'

'Might have a game of cards or somethin', ay?'

Jarrod Andrew Lovejoy was probably what you would call a real soft-cock. He was a smooth-talking, tall walking, pretty boy with only one interest -- and that was self-preservation. He was imprisoned for tax evasion, ripping off government funding, and for stealing a councillor's secrete building development planning scheme so that he could make more money from his building company. Lovejoy was a bricklayer by trade who had interests in horse racing, fast cars, and gullible women . . . attractive gullible women. The man had lived life in the fast lane with plenty of money and the high-society lifestyle. But now he was in prison; he had attracted a new type of associate . . . a tough guy!

You see, Lovejoy was a sook who was shitting himself in protection gaol. He found it irritating not being the centre of attention and was frustrated with the fact that he can't bribe his way into everyone's heart. There's nothing to bribe with in gaol unless it's a banana or weed or sex. The next best thing to not being the centre of attention is to be with someone who is. And in gaol that's a tough guy, and let me tell you . . . Inmate Smith was one hell of a tough guy.

Smith's claim to fame was that he beat a hotelier to death for the takings while his brother was watching. Now, that's not too big a deal in gaol, robbery, but what is, is the way in which it was done. Smith beat Jose Amos Benzel-Pazzire with an axe handle with such ferocity that his upper body was pulverised and every rib was broken. His head was belted numerous times and was left unrecognisable as if smashed to a pulp. Anton Benzel-Pazzire was also beaten but was left alive to witness the brutal bashing and murder of his brother. It was said to have been done for the hotel takings, but it was really done for The Mob. As far as everyone else was concerned, it was done out of spite. You see, Smith was a thug. He was a lowlife hoodlum from the wrong side of the tracks. He had no regard for people's rights and no respect for the law. Smith got over forty years for the attacks which will be reviewed at time of release. He was a real bad guy.

#

Three o'clock on the dot and two correctional officers opened the pod door.

'Oval!' one of the officers yelled at the top of his voice. 'All those going out to the oval.'

A few cell doors opened and some crooks walked out. A number were waiting for their oval time and followed one another, like sheep, towards the rec-yard where they were to meet as a group before the officers took them outside. A couple of fellows carried footballs; a couple had tennis balls for a game of handball against the outside wall, and a few had portable radios to listen to as they exercised.

There was a kind of excitement in the air, as this was something different from their everyday routine, and as it happened only once a week, it was good to get out of the pod.

'Last call for the oval!' the officer yelled in a definite voice.

Peter Glen Smith was lifting weights on the bench press machine when his mate, Jarrod Andrew Lovejoy, walked over. 'Come on, Pet'. We've gotta go out on the oval.'

Inmate Smith lifted the bar down onto his chest before pushing it back up onto its rest.

'Who says?' Smith groaned as he sat up.

'Joc recons we have to meet. He said he's got something to tell us . . . He said it's important.'

#

The area outside, called the oval, was a large mowed paddock of grass that was used to exercise on. It had gaol posts at both ends and a walking track around the outside that was bordered by a high fence with razor wire and movement sensors. It wasn't much to look at, but it was something else to look at when you've got nothing else to look at all day. The oval was a place where the crooks could walk and talk without being scrutinised by the officers. It was a place where they could kick or throw the footy around and play in a team. It was a place to have fun.

At one end, behind the gaol posts, was a raised mound of dirt that was used as a grandstand for those who weren't athletic enough, or were too old, to play sport. It was from there that they could watch the others playing while talking about what they'd be doing if they were on the outside. It was where Sarron 'Joc' McSkinner had organised a meeting and he stood, with hands on hips, waiting.

Peter Glen Smith and Jarrod Andrew Lovejoy were the first to join him, and Peter asked what he wanted.

McSkinner said in his broad Scottish ascent, 'Peter, your stand-over money from the remands and those scaredy-cat protection inmates -- how's it going?'

Smith nodded and replied, 'Good! . . . The families are handing over squillions to keep them