Sentenced for a murder 41 years ago, Dawson lost 24 years of his life in 30 minutes

The sentencing of Christopher Michael Dawson felt like the end of a long and bruising journey.

The family of Lynette Dawson speak to the media after the sentencing of Chris Dawson for her murder in the 1980s. Lynette’s brother,
Greg Simms, right, said he now wanted his sister to be known as Lynette Joy Simms, Picture: NCA NewsWire/Nikki Short

And then it was over.

Christopher Michael Dawson, 74, a convicted wife killer, emerged in the dock of Court 13A of the NSW Supreme Court at 11.56am on Friday, took a seat and stared impassively at the empty judge’s chair in front of him.

He had come, in prison greens and flanked by two NSW Corrective Services officers, to formally receive his punishment, having been found guilty of murdering Lynette Joy Simms, his former wife and the mother of two of his daughters, almost 41 years ago.

The three rows of seats in the public gallery at the back of the court had been packed for almost 45 minutes and, as the clock ticked closer to the emergence of Justice Ian Harrison at midday, there was some mild jostling and argy-bargy when some spectators were asked to move into the nearby spillover Banco Court.

A court sketch of Chris Dawson. Picture: NCA NewsWire/Vincent de Gouw

The tension in the room, too, was inescapable.

This moment felt like the end of a long and bruising journey. This epic suburban drama of death and lust and betrayal and lies had run its course, but not before the man at the centre of this catastrophe, Dawson, was made accountable for his actions.

As Justice Harrison read into the record a summation of his reasoning leading to his sentencing decision, old childhood friends of Lyn (before the court session began, they smiled over shared photographs of Lyn as a schoolgirl they kept on their phones) freely expressed their disgust at the prisoner, just a few metres away behind a low glass barrier in the dock.

When Justice Harrison told the court Dawson had good prospects of rehabilitation, they quietly laughed. When Justice Harrison said that at 74 and with his various health issues Dawson would find the conditions of incarceration more “onerous” than most other inmates, one of the friends retorted: “Bad luck.”

When Justice Harrison pointed out that Dawson would likely not live to see out the end of his non-parole period, someone in the gallery snapped: “Good.”

And finally, when Justice Harrison sentenced Dawson to 24 years in jail, with a non-parole period of 18 years, another turned and asked: “Are we allowed to cheer?”

Dawson remained stone-faced and unchanged. His older brother Peter, seated with legal counsel Greg Walsh within touching distance of the dock, was similarly, at least externally, unmoved.

“Mr Dawson,” Justice Harrison said, “would you please go with the officers now?”

It was 12.26pm. Dawson had been in court for exactly 30 minutes. In that half-hour he lost 24 years of his life.

Justice Harrison then departed.

For the first time since the trial began in May, there were smiles in court. Smiles on the faces of Lyn’s family – her brother Greg, his wife Merilyn and their daughter Renee. Smiles on the face of prosecutor Craig Everson SC.

“Are you happy?” he was asked.

“I’m never happy,” he said. And winked.

Smiles from the police, including former investigator Damian Loone, and current homicide squad detectives.

They lingered in the court. They hugged and kissed and back-slapped and cried. They stayed on and on, as if the case still had a hold on them, unsure of what to do now it was done.

Solicitor Greg Walsh left the court quietly. “This is my last day, I’m out of it now,” he said.

“You did your best,” someone said by way of consolation.

“I did my best,” he said flatly.

Greg Walsh SC said he was now “out of it” after representing Chris Dawson. Picture: Britta Campion/The Australian

Local Pam Dowdell, 85, a former nurse and a permanent fixture in the public gallery during the trial and subsequent hearings, was asked what she thought of the outcome. She said with a half-scowl: “Dawson is nothing but a germ.”

The sense of relief was no greater held than by Lyn’s family – the Simmses.

“I’ll never have to see Christopher Michael Dawson again,” Greg said, without malice. “This has been hanging over us for so long.”

What might the family’s future look like now? “I have no idea,” he said, grinning.

Greg later said on the steps of the court building on pretty Queen’s Square, that from this day forward he wanted his sister to be known as Lynette Joy Simms.

It was over.

Soon after, the bells of St Mary’s Cathedral began to ring, and the chiming washed through the northern end of Hyde Park, in and about the great fig trees, and the sound spilled across Macquarie Street and into the square beside the courts.

The media left. As did the Simms family. And all the lawyers and police and public spectators. But those bells rang and rang and rang.