Chapter Two

Because of a large backlog in Queensland’s legal system, it took almost six months for the case against James Rankin to come before the court. Jim and Judy thought an unobtrusive case such as theirs would attract little public or media scrutiny. They were both wrong. A federal election was looming at the end of the year and there was much point scoring between political parties, with tax evasion and tax cheats the centre of attention. A Queensland member of the House of Representatives even raised the case in parliament, painting Jim as untrustworthy and dishonest; a person who had unlawfully defrauded the honest, hardworking taxpayers of the nation. On the morning of the hearing, Jim’s case was the subject of heated discussion on the local talk back radio programs. Opinions were divided.

***

Jim gazed up at the building Jerry Adams had described as an ugly white elephant, occupying almost a full block of Brisbane’s George Street. In the past, he’d said there had been ineffectual attempts to modernise the court complex, originally constructed of brick and stone. Its exterior remained grey with years of accumulated grime and neglect. He planned to plead guilty, his case not expected to last more than one day. Walking up the steps toward the entrance of the building, they were taken by surprise by the barrage of flashbulbs exploding in their faces. Entering the court room, Jim felt it was like stepping into a different world. Legal people with their outdated black gowns and wigs scurried here and there. Jim shook his head in wonder. Relics from the past. They look so damn stupid dressed like that.

After discussing details of the case with his barrister, Ralph Endersby, a court official escorted Jim to the defendant’s box where he was required to stand during proceedings. To both the prosecution and defense teams, there was no question about his guilt. He’d admitted to signing the documents that defrauded the Taxation Department. The only real consideration for the court was his intent and lack of knowledge of his accountant’s malpractice.

Jim eyed the judge’s flowing red gown as the grossly overweight man took his seat behind the elevated bench overlooking the court room. Justice Anderson donned a pair of spectacles, then began examining the sheaf of documents in a file in front of him. A few minutes later, he removed the glasses and cleared his throat. “Mr. Endersby,” he opened in a superior tone. “I have been informed that your client has pleaded guilty to defrauding the Taxation Department. Is that correct?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Jim’s barrister rose to his feet, and nodded seriously. “Yes, Your Honour, that is correct. My client is exceedingly regretful over the whole matter. However, I must emphasise to the court in the strongest possible terms that there was never any intention by my client to defraud the Commonwealth.” He deliberated. “As a consequence of this case, my client’s accountant is under federal investigation for malpractice. It is he who is the real villain in this matter.”

“I see where you’re headed with this, Mr. Endersby.” His lips became a thin line. “However, your argument is not really relevant. Your client signed the taxation returns that perpetrated this taxation fraud. It is he and his business that benefited from the fraud. It is therefore he who must take full responsibility.” Justice Anderson turned his attention to Jim, eying him with contempt. “He was no doubt happy to accept the monetary gains from his accountant’s fraudulent malpractice. He must now accept the consequences of his action.” A shiver ran down Jim’s spine. Justice Anderson again donned the spectacles and began to read in a solemn voice. “James Rankin, you have pleaded guilty to defrauding the Commonwealth Department of Taxation to the sum of fifty-six thousand dollars.” He lifted his head, again eying Jim before continuing. “Under normal circumstances, if there was no intent to defraud, a custodial sentence would not be considered.” He pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing. “In your case, however, you appeared happy to benefit from your accountant’s malpractice, knowing full well your firm’s income tax was extraordinarily small. Furthermore, you did not make inquiries concerning this matter and you have expressed very little remorse to this court. Your only defense is that the offense was not your fault.” The volume of the judge’s voice increased. “Not good enough, Mr. Rankin. Not good enough.” The hackles on Jim’s neck rose as Justice Anderson continued. “Wage and salary earners of this nation do not have the same opportunity or flexibility as people in business to reduce their taxable income. I can personally verify this, Mr. Rankin, because I am a wage and salary earner.” He paused for effect.

Jim’s mind spun. The supercilious old bastard, as if he doesn’t get plenty of lurks and perks.

The judge went on. “This places a great deal of responsibility on the business people of Australia to do the right thing where their taxation responsibilities are concerned.” His eyes locked on Jim’s face. “In sentencing you, I am sending a strong message to all those in business who think they can get away with defrauding the genuine tax payers of this nation. James Rankin, you will be required to reimburse the full amount owing to the Taxation Department plus interest. I further impose upon you a custodial sentence of three years with a non-parole period of eighteen months.”

A scream of shock erupted from the public gallery. “No!” Judy Rankin held a handkerchief to her face.

Ralph Endersby leaped to his feet, astonished. “Your Honour, I must protest,” he yelled above the commotion. “A custodial sentence is surely out of the question. I mean...” That was as far as he was allowed to proceed.

Justice Anderson slammed down his gavel. “Order in the court,” he shouted before turning on Jim’s barrister. “You’re out of order, Mr. Endersby. Any more outbursts and I will hold you in contempt. Now resume your seat.”

While the exchange between his barrister and the judge took place, Jim continued to stand, shaking his head in disbelief, dumbfounded, unable to come to terms with what had just taken place. A custodial sentence was something he’d not even contemplated. He looked up at the tear stained face of his wife.

***

Later that same afternoon as Jim waited in his holding cell below the court complex, he met with Judy and his barrister.

“I’ll lodge an appeal immediately, Jim.” Ralph Endersby’s face continued to display his shock and outrage at the severe sentence imposed. “I mean with so much talk about your case, I wonder if political pressure has been applied.”

“You’re not serious.” Judy still reeled from the sentence.

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Anyway, the appeal court will surely overturn the jail term.”

“How long will that take?” Judy lifted a lace handkerchief to her tear-stained cheek.

The barrister shrugged. “It’s hard to say, Mrs. Rankin. Three, four or maybe even six months.”

“Bloody hell.” For the first time in his life, Jim Rankin felt trapped in a situation over which he had no control.

“Oh darling, what are we to do?” Judy wrapped her arms around him possessively.

“It appears as if there’s no alternative until the appeal, love. I suppose I’ll just have to cope with the whole bloody mess.” A worrying thought crossed his mind. “What about the business? New models are due any day now. How will you manage without me? What about the kids? What will they think?” He breathed out a long sigh. “I’ve really stuffed up our lives.”

“Don’t you worry about the business, or the children for that matter.” She pressed her lips together determinedly. “We’ll all cope.”

A uniformed guard approached the cell door, addressing the visitors. “You’ll have to leave now. The prison van is here.”

“Oh Jim.” Judy held him tight.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll be all right.” He tried to keep his voice light, and put on a brave face as he kissed her briefly on the forehead. Beneath the show of bravado, his heart pumped as if he had come face to face with a charging lion.

“Don’t get too disheartened, Jim. Just hang in there.” Ralph Endersby held out his hand. “I can assure you that I’ll be devoting a considerable amount of my time to getting you out. And I will succeed. I promise.”

***

The Pukka Correctional centre was a privately managed prison operated by an American conglomerate named International Correctional Services Pty. Ltd. For some years, the multi-national firm had controlled prisons in a number of Western countries. In Australia, however, they were new on the scene. Truth be told, Pukka was ICS’s first correctional centre in Australia. At reception, the company slogan was clearly displayed in bold letters on the wall for all visitors to see and reflect upon.

‘Re-educate and Rehabilitate to Socially Acceptable Standards’.

The current state government had a policy of privatising a whole range of government run enterprises and services, including prisons. It was of concern to many prison officers that only two prisons remained under the direct control of the Department of Corrective Services. The officers’ union had considered industrial action over the issue.

The prison slogan shone brightly even though the actual building was dark by the time Jim arrived. A guard dressed in a khaki uniform and peaked hat accompanied him to the office of Pukka’s Chief Correctional Officer, a man named Weston, who sat behind a small desk. On entering, Jim gazed down upon the gleaming shaved head of the CCO. Impeccably dressed in a khaki uniform, two pips on the shoulder lapels indicated he was a man of authority within the prison. As he examined the paperwork on the new arrival, CCO Weston’s lip curled contemptuously. He looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowing. “Just what we all like to see here at Pukka, a bloody tax bludger caught and sent to prison.” Of medium height and build, he slowly rose to his feet and moved around the desk to confront Jim who remained silent. “In here, Rankin, you are what we refer to as a white collar criminal.” A small smile flickered around his thin lips. “It gives me a great deal of pleasure in telling you that people such as yourself usually do it very tough in places like this. The heavies will be on to you in a flash.”

Jim felt a chill go down his spine. He heard nothing but the pounding blood in his ears. “H...heavies...”

Weston’s eyes narrowed. “You’d better listen very carefully, my tax-bludging friend, because I’ll tell you this only once.” The CCO leaned forward, his face only six inches from Jim’s. “In the presence of prison staff, an inmate only speaks when he is asked a question. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Jim turned away to hide his impatience.

“Yes what?” There was menace in the CCO’s tone. Jim shrugged, puzzled. “Yes, I understand.”

Ramming his baton into Jim’s midriff, he yelled, “Wrong answer! It’s yes sir!”

Jim doubled over, fighting hard for breath. “Better get used to it, you tax bludging shit.” Weston’s tone lowered to a guttural rumble. “I particularly hate you tax-bludging types because I have to pay every cent of my taxes to the bloody government. There’s no way I can write things off like you bastards in business can, so I’ll be taking a particular interest in you and so will some of the other staff who work here.” Weston beckoned the guard who had been waiting outside the office. He turned back to Jim. “Right, these are the basic rules in Pukka. A more detailed official outline is displayed in every cell.” He took a deep breath. “Barred doors are unlocked at six-thirty each morning. By that time, you will be shaved and dressed for a work detail that will be allocated to you. Cell doors are re-locked at nine p.m. sharp. If you are not in your cell at this time, you will be charged and suffer a severe penalty.” CCO Weston jerked his thumb toward the door, addressing the guard. “Get him to the store and kit him out. Then take him to the shower for delousing. And make sure you use plenty of powder.” The Chief Correctional Officer pronounced each word slowly and deliberately, giving each syllable almost reverent respect.

Being led away to the prison store, Jim had never felt so degraded in his entire life. He felt trapped in an ongoing nightmare from which there appeared to be no escape. An elderly inmate kitted him out with two sets of green prison clothing, one pair of black leather boots, two towels, one cake of soap, one toothbrush, one tube of toothpaste, one set of sheets, one pillow slip and two blankets. Next, he was lead to the ablution block where he and the accompanying officer were joined by another guard who drew on latex gloves. Jim was ordered to strip off his clothing. The officer then performed a body search, Jim shivering with humiliation in the cold atmosphere of the block. He was made to take a shower, the guards laughing loudly as they covered his wet skin with a foul-smelling disinfectant powder. The smallest guard looked around the ablution block, and gave a short snigger. “Just wait ‘till you’re caught in here by yourself, Rankin. You won’t bloody well forget it, believe me. And don’t expect any help from us when that time comes.”

The other guard shoved Jim’s civilian belongings into a large black plastic bag and pulled the tie strings together tight. “You can have these back when you make parole.” He grinned.

Arriving outside his allocated cell, he allowed his eyes to sweep around the enclosure. Severely cramped, the cell was a two man affair. A shit hole. There was just enough room for the double bunk, sink, toilet and the small locker it held. Only about seven square meters. A sardine tin.

“Get in,” the guard ordered.

Jim tentatively entered the small enclosure, his heart skipping a beat when the heavy metal barred door slammed shut behind him, a depressing finality to the loud noise. Allowing his eyes to become accustomed to the murky atmosphere, he looked enquiringly at a young man, around twenty years. lying on the bottom bunk.

The youngster lifted his eyes from a motor magazine and swung his legs off the bunk and sat staring at Jim. “Welcome to Fukka rest camp, mate. Just get here, did ya?” he opened with a friendly grin.

“Yes.” Jim placed his bedding on the top bunk.

“What ya in for?”

“Tax fraud.”

“Bloody hell.” The young man mulled on this for a moment before raising his eyebrows.

“How much?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Was his stiff reply. “I really don’t want to discuss it at the moment, if you don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself.” He lay back with an injured look on his face and resumed reading in the dim light.

“What about you?” Jim sighed as he sought to make amends.

“Went on a little joy-ride with an ex-mate of mine.” The youngster shrugged as he lay on his side, supporting his head with the palm of his hand. “He didn’t tell me that he’d knocked off the bloody car we were in. And the rotten stinkin’ bastard made no attempt to clear me when I was charged even though he knew I was innocent. He just let me take the rap along with him.”

“Sounds to me like you are innocent.” Jim frowned.

He smiled showing his crooked teeth. “Everyone’s innocent in here, mate.” He chuckled as he rose from his bunk. About five feet ten, with a slim build, his fine blonde hair didn’t suit the crewcut that adorned his scalp. He had a thin face, pockmarked by acne scars. Tatoos covered both arms,

“I’m Jim Rankin.” He held out his hand which was taken in a surprisingly firm grip.

“Sean Hamilton.”

“How long have you been in here, Sean?”

“Nine months.”

“What’s it like?” he asked uncertainly.

He shrugged. “The others reckon it’s not much different from other jugs around the country, except the screws at Fukka are worse, especially that bastard, Weston.”

“Yeah, I’ve met him thanks. He’s a right mongrel if ever I seen one.” Jim made a face.

“This the first time you’ve been in?”

“Of course,” Jim exploded.

“All right, all right, don’t get ya knickers in a not.”

“Sorry.”

“Where did they remand you?”

“You don’t get remanded for my offense,” Jim explained. His quiet response was almost apologetic.

The young man nodded. “Ah, you’ll have a little learning to catch up on.”

“What do you mean?” Jim’s brow furrowed.

“You have to learn how things work in this place, mate.” Sean gave a knowing wink.

“Okay, go on, tell me.”

Sean lay quietly for a moment, arms behind his head, gathering his thoughts. He was enjoying his role as a teacher, Jim his new pupil. “First of all, like most prisons, this one is broken up into different groups.” He put up his right index finger. “Number one, there’s the black fellas.”

“Black fellas?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, Abos, you know. There’s a heap of ‘em in here. It’s us whites against them.”

“I won’t be taking sides,” Jim replied. “I have nothing against Indigenous people.’

“You hafta, mate. Otherwise they’ll do ya.” Sean looked toward the ceiling, rolling his eyes.

He raised a second finger. “Then there’s the heavies.” He noticed Jim’s vacant look and went on to explain. “You know, blokes who’ve been big on the outside. They run the drug scene in here and arrange the bashings. The ones you have to pay protection to.”

“Protection! Explain that one to me.” Jim’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Sean shrugged. “You give ‘em cash, cigarettes or drugs and they leave you alone.”

“And what if you don’t make the payments?” Jim raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“They bash ya.”

“Bloody hell.” Jim swallowed.

“Yeah!” Sean paused, a wry smile dimly lighting his countenance as he raised a third finger. “But I’m afraid there’s more. There’s the sodomisers.”

Jim didn’t have to be told what that meant. “Shit!”

“Yeah, you can say that again. These bastards are the scum of the bloody earth. Most of the inmates in here hate the animals. But I warn you, mate, if they happen to get you by yourself, they’ll gang rape ya.” Sean paused again. “The rest of the prison mob is made up of those who’ve done crimes ranging from murder to just defaulting on a traffic fine.”

“What! They put fine defaulters in here? I thought they did some sort of community service as payment.” Jim couldn’t disguise the surprise in his voice.

“Nah, they come here. Poor bastards, they really get a hard time,” Sean replied curtly. “But that’s how things work in society, don’t it? If you’re bloody rich or you can afford to pay a fine, you’re alright. But if you’re down and out, broke or just out of luck, they put you in a place like this to pay off the debt.”

Swallowing his apprehension, Jim moved slowly across the room to the sink. Nervous tension had drained his mouth of saliva.

Sean’s gaze followed him. He said, “A young fine defaulter got bashed and raped a month or so ago. The next day, the poor bastard climbed onto the roof of the prison and threatened to throw himself off. Some of the heavies were calling out for him to jump and finally, to everyone’s’ surprise, he did.” He shot Jim an angry glance. “I can tell you, it was a bloody mess when he hit the concrete. Blood and guts everywhere. He was just a kid, poor bugger.”

“What action did the authorities take?”

“What do you think?” Sean gave a harsh laugh. “Prison management just hushed everything up of course.” He turned his head on the pillow and closed his eyes.

Jim lay in his bunk on his first night of incarceration, sleep evading him. He tossed and turned on the uncomfortable prison mattress, the claustrophobic atmosphere of the cell threatening to choke him. He heard the comforting sound of heavy rain beating against the metal awning that ran down one side of the simple block structure. At any other time that welcome, steady rhythm of raindrops would have lulled him to sleep. Not tonight though. In spite of his best efforts to fight off the feeling, self-pity overcame him. What have I done to deserve what’s happening to me? He lay awake thinking about his incarceration and the business. He couldn’t help worrying about Judy, his children and his dealership. How could I have let this happen?

He allowed his mind to drift, to examine his past, especially his courtship and marriage. Jim first met Judy after his twenty-second birthday. He’d been on one of his usual Saturday afternoon visits to the home of his friend, Arty Carson. He’d ambled into the kitchen, accompanied by Arty, to pay his respects to Mrs. Carson, and found himself staring at a most attractive young woman standing at the sink washing dishes. She turned toward him, flashing a radiant smile, revealing her perfect white teeth. For the first time in his life, Jim Rankin was speechless and for some reason felt self-conscious.

Judy laughed mischievously at his embarrassment, large blue eyes twinkling in a small, flawless oval face. Short dark wavy hair completed the picture. Jim stammered, unable or unwilling to remove his eyes from hers. He found he was breathing a little harder. He couldn’t believe the effect she had on him. Arty wore a bemused expression as he looked from one to the other.

A few seconds later, the spell was broken as he made the introductions. “Jim, I’d like you to meet my cousin, Judy. Jude, this is my mate, Jim Rankin”

“How do you do.” Her sweet voice was like music to his ears.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Judy.” Jim found himself instantly smitten by the girl who was visiting from Dalby on the Darling Downs. Later the same day, when the three dined together after going to the movies, she rose to go to the ladies room and Jim’s gaze followed her. The snug fitting light blue jeans hugged her trim legs and perfect buttocks. The sleeveless low cut blouse she wore accentuated her cleavage. At one time, her white napkin had slipped from her lap. They both leaned over to retrieve it and his eyes strayed to the velvety dark cleft between her breasts. He experienced a stirring in his loins and had to swallow his desire.

Jim drove Judy back to her aunt’s house and Arty opened the door for her, but she made no attempt to leave the vehicle.

“Good night, you two.” Arty smiled knowingly as he swung toward the house.

Judy leaned toward him. In the hushed silence, she uttered, “Thank you. Jim. I had a great time.”

“I really enjoyed myself, too.” He swallowed nervously, licking his lips. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“We’ve got no firm plans.” She lifted her shoulders in a light shrug. “There was talk about driving to the Gold Coast in the morning.”

“Do you mind if I come with you?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she replied, unable to disguise her delight as she moved closer.

Jim took her in his arms, his lips descending on hers. Judy wrapped both arms around his neck pulling him closer. They came up for air, faces only inches apart. Jim looked deeply into her blue eyes. “Oh, Judy.”

She sighed. “What’s happening here, Jim?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.”

“Me either,” she moaned softly.

They were married six months later.