I can't help comparing some of the remarks made on the David Bain case to Jeremy:
At the time of writing, David Bain has a minimum of 14 years to serve before he becomes eligible for parole. Some of his relatives, fearing an early discharge, have already left New Zealand and are living abroad. Not only fear of repetiton of the crime, but its pitiful nature and the ghosts of the scene-also the state of the house-have taken a hidden toll. For many months after the trial members of the jury and police both men and women who were at the scene continued to experience nightmares in flashback, despite trauma counselling. Some still do.
For a time David Bain wrote many letters of complaint from prison to the authorities in Wellington. He has settled down and is said by the governor of Paparua Prison to have become a model inmate. The reaction to prison lags to newcomers can be revealing. At Paparua David met with savage humour after arriving from Dunedin. The inmates' response is best summed up by a conversation between the convicted child-abuser Peter Ellis, and David Bain in a wing of the prison. At a chance meeting in a corridor, the following exchange reportedly occurred:
"Hullo David."
"Hullo Peter."
"David, I'll be your friend. But please don't treat me as family."
By most accounts David Bain has now begun to accept that he is in "for the long haul"; he makes phone calls, writes letters, wears out batteries listening to recordings of opera sent by his supporters and friends. His supporters include students, university lecturers, journalists, spiritualists, Christian groups, nurses, housewives. In letters to friends he expresses a faith in Christianity and Jesus. In a magazine article published in August 1996 he excuses his mother for treating his father so badly. He discusses a family in trouble but in such a way -Laniet: "a wonderful loving sister...She was very dear to me"-that the image that is projected remains sanitised.
There are stirrings of self-pity in his letters. But one listens in vain for a voice of grieving, of conscience, of torment, of genuine bewilderment. He feels sorrow. but the sorrow is delivered in the flat monotone of the witness box, devoid of inflection and without a hint of understanding of what life might mean to others. Feeling, like the moral sense, remains absent. Remorse appears beyond him.