No More Tomorrows (32 page)

She couldn’t see why the contracts had to be kept secret, but Ron was insistent and she didn’t have the energy to fight him. Despite Merc lying for him to protect his shining white-knight image, it was tarnished anyway. He was copping a lot of negative publicity. He’d been exposed as an ex-bankrupt who’d owed his creditors big bucks. He was in crisis control. Robin told Merc to write a press statement saying how great Ron was. He dictated it to her on the phone.

Please never underestimate what Ron Bakir has done for Schapelle and our family. He has not stopped fighting for Schapelle and has been instrumental in bringing up the problems in Australia that directly relate to her case. He’s helped make Australia safer.

Mercedes Corby press release, 18 May 2005

Just two days before the verdict, Ron and Robin brought a radio-journalist friend in with them. It was not an interview, I was assured. ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Yes, he just wants to meet you.’ So I sat talking with Ron, Robin and their journalist friend for about twenty minutes. He then walked out of Kerobokan, rang his radio station and relayed our conversation on air, recounting how he’d just been in to see me.

The day before I lost my life, panic was ripping through me, I was crying non-stop, I threw up constantly. My body hurt from stress and tension and my mind was spinning with thoughts . . .
Will I go home? Will the judges see I didn’t do this? Will I lose my life and be stuck in this hellhole for ever?

I don’t care how long I have to stay in this place, I will not grow old here. I will not have any birthdays; I will stay 27 until the day I’m released.

Diary entry, 21 May 2005

Ron and Robin were still telling me constantly, ‘Schapelle, you’re going home. You’ll be acquitted! You’re going home, Schapelle!’ They were so sure, so enthusiastic. But Merc would always just sit there looking totally drained and exasperated, telling me, ‘Schapelle, you might get three years or even five years.’ She was scared about how hard I’d crash if I did get time and hadn’t been prepared. She’d been fighting with Ron and Robin endlessly, asking them not to pump me up with false hopes. But they kept it up right until verdict day.

Mr Tampoe said Ms Corby and the defence team were confident of her acquittal. ‘She’s certainly very optimistic about the result which will happen on Friday,’ he said.

But her sister Mercedes told
The Bulletin
that she and their mother, Rosleigh, had prepared Schapelle for the worst as well.

Gold Coast Bulletin
, 24 May 2005

I’d heard that the chief judge had never found anyone ‘not guilty’ in the 500 or so drug cases he’d heard, but I was clinging to hope. Somehow I started to convince myself that I’d be OK, I’d go home, the judge might not find me not guilty but he’d sentence me to time already served and I’d go home with my mum. There was no other way it could go. God wouldn’t let this happen to me, not to an innocent person. I couldn’t stay locked in hell for something I didn’t do. I’d finally wake from this nightmare. Innocent people did not get locked up.

I must stay focused this week. All the defence is over; nothing more humanly possible can be done. I pray for the miracle of the heavenly kingdom to take power and lead the way of what He wants to happen. My heart is open to Him. I trust in Him to make my faith stronger. I need a stronger, deeper faith to come into me leading up to the 27th. I feel my faith becoming stronger, and each hour I’m praying a lot, I’m not questioning the word of the Bible as much as I had been. I’m accepting and truly believing without the doubt and criticism that I used to have.

Diary entry, 22 May 2005

16

The Verdict

A
S
I
SAT ON MY MATTRESS IN MY LITTLE CAGE
, I
STARTED
to picture life beyond these white walls of hell. For the first time, I could see my house on the coast, streets, shops, restaurants, friends, sunsets and stars. It was all in sharp focus. I could see myself having a beer on the beach or lying on the couch watching TV or shopping with my friends. I hadn’t been able to recall anything of home for seven months, but in the days before the verdict, familiar little scenes kept popping into my head. I didn’t shut them down. I let myself enjoy them, thinking maybe it was a good sign. Maybe my dark days were almost over. Or was I just torturing myself? Whenever I came back from fantasising, reality was as perverse as ever.

The flies are back, as unbearable as before. This time another animal problem: worms, nice big, juicy worms, everywhere – in the toilet, crawling on the floor, up where we sleep – well, six of us sleep up on the ledge while another two, Aje and Putu, are on the floor. Putu hates sleeping next to Aje, as Aje is a lesbian and tries to touch her while she’s sleeping. Aje also masturbates a lot in her sleep. We throw cups of water on her! Anyway, Putu has an abnormal fear of worms. Worm phobia! She’s quite a big girl – we’ve nicknamed her ‘Giant’.

Yesterday she became so tired of listening to Sonia’s voice, which is mostly high-pitched yelling all day, then loud singing until the early hours of the morning, that she calmly walked over to Sonia, held her up by the neck, told her to shut up, walked back into the cell, sat down and continued eating her breakfast. But the irony is she then spent most of today huddled up in the corner of the cell crying, scared of the worms. We other girls have to keep sweeping and disinfecting the floors every couple of hours.

Putu can’t shower tonight; the toilet floor is covered in the worms. We’re not sure where they’re all coming from. I know the septic tank is full. Our cell stinks and takes so much water to flush, and there are often presents left too. So gross! Look on the bright side; this is Saturday 21 May and it could possibly be my last weekend in this zoo!

Diary entry, 21 May 2005

The night before my verdict, I really believed it would be my last locked up in this vile, worm-infested cage. It felt like the end of a bad school camp as I sat talking to the girls in my cell. We were all getting excited and upbeat about me going home, reflecting on some of the crazy things we’d seen and done together, things that weren’t funny at the time but that we could look back on and speak of with a smile. We talked about the time each girl checked into Hotel K and was sent to share a cell with ‘Schapelle Corby’. Wetalked about some fights I’d had, and they all told me they could see some good changes in my personality. Maybe that was why God had put me here. All these girls had helped me to grow and to become more patient.

Then I got ready to go home. I put all the things I wanted to keep in a little pile, like my Bible, some clothes, my diary, photos and a knitted doll I’d been sent. I told the girls everything else was theirs to share, which made them even keener for me to go home. Then I prayed. I prayed for the judges, the prosecutors, my lawyers and my family. I prayed to be freed. I also prayed that, if it wasn’t God’s will that I walked free tomorrow, He would give my family and me the strength to endure the pain and frustration and to remain calm under pressure, to remain calm, dignified and strong in the chaos around us, and for the strength to keep going on with an open heart, not holding hatred or bitterness.

I slept well. In the morning, I felt calm, not vomiting and crying like usual before court, as I got ready to face the day. After showering with my bucket of cold water, I sat wrapped in a towel on my bed while one of the girls put my hair in a bunand I did my make-up, the other girls all sitting around watching. The air was filled with excitement. I dressed in my new outfit that Mum had bought me, and my new pink heels. I filled up the little knitted bag one of the girls had made as a farewell gift with lip gloss, hanky and anything worthy of stealing, put on my Hail Mary pendant necklace, said a prayer and was ready. The girls gave me hugs and wished me good luck. As I stepped outside, more girls came up to give me hugs and best wishes before the guards came to collect me.

I felt a little numb and light-headed but good as we walked through the prison grounds, all quiet apart from the occasional prisoner or guard yelling out ‘Good luck, Corby!’ and giving me a wave. I waved back, thinking how much this walk had terrified me seven months before. Now it was so familiar: I’d walked it hundreds of times, back and forth at least twice a day to visits. It was the only walking I did. But I felt sure I wouldn’t ever walk this way again as I was taken into the office to get fingerprinted and handcuffed. Even the guards were smiling and wishing me good luck. I was smiling, too. Hotel K seemed like a friendly environment for a change.

I was led back outside to the iron-fenced path to wait for the police car, relieved to find out it was picking me up inside the prison. This special door-to-door treatment was only used in extreme cases. It meant we’d avoid the maniacal media mob at the front door, speeding off before they could even shout ‘Schapelle, how do you feel?’

I stood waiting in my pretty pink heels, pink slacks, black blouse, hair up in a bun and make-up done, surrounded by six or so larger-than-life Indonesian military men all heavily armed with machine guns. Behind me, Amrozi and Samudra were staring out from separate tiny windows of the isolation tower. It gave me chills. All the guards were hovering, the occasional male prisoner walking past, pointing. Female guards were hassling me for my heels and slacks. ‘I want those when you come back. Gimme those,’ they screeched, pointing at my shoes.

I was quite calm but occasionally swept by a wave of anxiety. I’d breathe deeply and focus on my breath, realising I’d been forgetting to breathe. Then I’d say a little prayer:
Lord, I know you’re with me. Lord, fill me with your holy spirit, set me free to be all you’ve created me to be. Amen.
I was constantly using this little ritual to help pull me through my darkest moments.

We drove out through an obscure side gate usually reserved for rubbish trucks, but it was anything but a stealthy escape. The photographers and reporters clamouring at the front door saw us, turning sharply towards our screaming sirens. I had to laugh at the looks on their bewildered faces. They were dumbfounded. Their jaws dropped as it sank in they’d missed their shots. They’d been duped. For once, they didn’t have the jump on me. Almost in slow motion they started pointing at the car and running after it. But it was futile. They were too late. As we sped off, they were chasing clouds of dust. Even the guards and prosecutors had a bit of a laugh as we watched them vanish into the distance. It was the only light moment in a dark, dark day.

We hurtled through the traffic at top speed with sirens blaring and a trail of police jeeps escorting me, Schapelle Corby, to my most horrific day ever. I sat squeezed between the prosecutor and the men with machine guns. It was like a scene from
The Godfather
. They were all very busy talking on their mobile phones. I just sat quietly, praying, breathing and then praying some more. I was full of naive hope, but felt occasional twinges of doubt in my heart. When the prosecutor finished a call, I turned and asked, ‘Will I be going home today?’ He smiled but didn’t say a word. I had no idea how to take that.

There was a weird calm inside the car. But as soon as we arrived, everything spun into fast motion. Doors flew open, guards leapt out yelling and shouting as people charged towards the car. Within seconds, people were leaning, banging, pushing and crushing around it. I sat frozen in the back seat, the windows filling with cameras, lenses and faces. People were screaming, ‘Schapelle, Schapelle, Schapelle!’ Swarming dark figures were moving fast and frenzied. It was terrifying. How the hell had my life come to this? I was suddenly grabbed by the arms and pulled from the car. My feet didn’t touch the ground as two guards gripped me tightly at the elbows, lifting me, carrying me through the seething crowd. It was all happening very quickly.

I was surrounded by at least twenty security guards, their sheer force moving us through the ferocious pack. I couldn’t breathe. I was numb, scared, disorientated. It was all a blur. I didn’t know where I was but could tell I was being taken on a different path from my usual one. There were people everywhere, so many people. It was crazy, madness. We came to a metal detector, like those they have at airports. We barely slowed. I was whisked through, swiftly, smoothly, my feet still not touching the ground, and then through many, many more people. I wasn’t thinking, my mind was blank, we were moving so fast. My heart was pounding, my pulse racing, my body shaking furiously as the guards kept pushing me through the crushing mob. Then, everything stopped.