9

PREPARING FOR TRIAL

Having money and owning my own room in Pinos made me feel more settled, but it didn’t end my problems with the other inmates who were still convinced that I was American. Even for those who finally worked out that I wasn’t from the United States, I was still a foreigner, which meant I was a fair target anyway. In my fourth and fifth weeks, I was attacked five times, usually on the way to the bathroom. None of the attacks were as severe as the first two, but this was in Pinos, supposedly the quietest neighbourhood. I can’t imagine how I would have survived in the dangerous sections.

Initially, I was afraid and did my best to avoid these conflicts by going out as little as possible. Whenever anyone said anything to me or spat on me, I kept my head down and kept walking. However, I had to go to the bathroom at some point each day and there was often someone waiting. They knew I had just purchased a room, so sometimes they asked me for money. If I refused, they would use that as an excuse to start a fight. At other times, there was no excuse required; they would insult me and spit on me for no reason. Usually, it was only one or two people who actually hit me. The trouble was that there was always a group of them watching and I was scared that they might join in. When I was attacked, I defended myself, but never really fought back, figuring that would only escalate things and I might be stabbed.

I was hoping that this was just part of my initiation to the prison and that they would tire of it after a while, especially if I didn’t react. Unfortunately, things didn’t work that way and the attacks became more severe; the less I fought back, the bolder they became until it became too much. I couldn’t spend the rest of my time locked in my room hiding from the world. I had to fight back.

At first, I never really had time to notice what my attackers looked like. I knew that most of them came from the more dangerous sections, but everything always happened so quickly and they all looked the same to me. However, none of them were very big. Although I had lost a lot of weight while in the FELCN cells, I was still a lot bigger and stronger than most of the other inmates in San Pedro. There was one prisoner I had seen with a scar across his face who was a giant. He must have been almost seven foot tall, but luckily he wasn’t involved. Apart from him, I could have fought most of the other inmates if it was one on one, which is what I decided to do: take the fight to them.

I took note of who was the leader. It was the same guy with the mean eyes from the first time I had been attacked in the bathroom. One day I went looking for him in the inside sections. When I saw him coming, I hid around the corner and then attacked him without warning, just like they had done to me. I had to do it quickly so that no one else had time to come to his aid, and I had to do it properly so that he wouldn’t come back for more. The first punch broke his nose and knocked him to the ground. He wasn’t getting up, but I didn’t stop there. I had to put him out of action completely, so I kicked him again and again until one of his gang arrived and tried to pull me off. I went for that one, too, knocking his head against the wall and kneeing him in the groin before giving him the same kicking as the first one.

‘Who else? Come on!’ I punched the wall.

Two more of the gang had arrived by that stage, but when they saw their friends on the ground and my fierce expression, neither of them wanted to risk it.

I had done the job properly, but for the next few weeks I had to be constantly on the lookout in case they were out for payback. I carried a thick metal bar with me everywhere I went, banging it against the walls every now and then, and I never smiled. People had heard what I’d done and I wanted them to know I was still on edge, and could snap at any moment. To be honest, it was all an act. I was even more afraid than before, although I never showed it. Luckily, it worked and they left me alone. I had finally earned some respect in prison.

After buying a room, my next priority was to sort out my legal situation. The lawyers who had visited me at the FELCN interrogation cells had all been confident that they could get me out, provided I had money. I now had that money, as much as they could ask for. I had had my emergency credit card sent over from Europe and, for a small fee, one of Ricardo’s trusted friends on the outside would pick it up and get cash advances from the teller machines down on the Prado whenever I called her. I never liked going into debt so I hadn’t used it before, but this was definitely an emergency.

Once she knew that I could pay her fees, Constanza Sanchez, one of the lawyers I had met after I was arrested, came to visit me several times a week to discuss my case. I paid her three thousand dollars up front. I knew it was a lot of money but I didn’t want to argue, as that might have induced her to work less hard on my case. Besides, at that stage I didn’t really care how much it cost me – I just wanted to get out of there.

Over the following weeks, Constanza visited me a few more times and we went over every detail of what had happened at the airport again and again. She then introduced me to another lawyer, who was apparently the best of the best Mil Ocho lawyers in town. I then had to explain the whole thing to him, even though Constanza had taken notes. Then she brought in another lawyer, who was also needed for my legal ‘team’, as she kept calling it. Initially, I was against the idea of having three lawyers and wanted to know why I needed a third if I already had ‘the best of the best’, but Constanza convinced me. Apart from adding extra knowledge and experience to my defence, the more lawyers I had, the better the impression I would make in court when I appeared before the judge, she said.

Although the colonel had cleverly let me pass through customs at the airport, making my charge ‘international trafficking’ rather than ‘possession’, my lawyers told me that my case was strong because I hadn’t signed a confession. Between them, they believed that they could create ‘reasonable doubt’ as to whether the drugs actually belonged to me. This would force the judge to find me inocente. The major problem we faced was the delays in the court system, which in some cases meant waits of up to four years before a trial even started. In the meantime, there was no presumption of innocence in Bolivia and no right to apply for bail in drug cases. Luckily, there were ways of fast-tracking the whole procedure by making applications to the court and using my lawyers’ contacts. But it would all cost money.

After six weeks in San Pedro, I received even better news – my case mightn’t even get to the trial stage. My team of lawyers knew a man who was a friend of the judge that had been assigned to my case, and he was going to see if the judge was prepared to come to an ‘out-of-court settlement’.

In a short space of time, everything in my life had turned around completely. Although I obviously wasn’t happy about having to wait it out in prison, things could have been a lot worse.