Bali 9: The Untold Story (15 page)

This is not like Western jails, where inmates complete university degrees while serving their sentences and have access to tertiary courses, structured counselling sessions and computers. There is not an abundance of leisure activities in Kerobokan, and even less if you are female. There is a tennis court but it’s generally only for male inmates to use; others play badminton, and they can kick a ball around the grassed area.

Prisoners are locked in their cells from about 4 p.m. each afternoon to 8 a.m. the next day. Whether you like the person next to you or not, it’s too bad. Christian church services provide respite for some prisoners. Conducted by civilian chaplains and ministers, they are a way of breaking up the day, and they provide the inmates with outside interaction, along with solace from God. Schapelle Corby has turned to her religion since being inside, even being baptised before her verdict. Martin Stephens has also embraced his religion. They attend the weekly services
and most have Bibles in their cells. But it still doesn’t break the desolate monotony that their lives have become. You can only read so much or study so much language before you wonder what else is going to fill the day—and the next, and next.

When the Bali Nine arrived at LP Kerobokan—the group of mules at the end of July 2005 and the others a few days later—it was after three months spent in the airless cells at Polda and other police stations around Denpasar. With scant chance to see the sunlight, the Australians were looking decidedly pale and pasty. At least at Kerobokan—where they would be able to walk around outside—they would get some sunlight.

Initially all nine had been held in the same small cell blocks in Polda, but, as alliances formed and with police interrogations under way, it quickly became evident that they needed to be separated. Half were then held in one cell area and the others in the cells across the courtyard. In a move as much aimed at appeasing those like Lawrence and the other mules—who said they were scared of Chan and Sukumaran—as at breaking the others, police decided to move some of them to other police holding cells. It was a pragmatic decision: it had become clear that the interrogations would not yield the truth if the nine were all housed together.

The two least willing participants in the interrogation process were Chan and Sukumaran. So police decided it was time for them to taste some solitude. Chan was moved to the cells at the nearby Sanur police station. He
was not alone there, as he shared time with other Indonesian prisoners. Meanwhile, Sukumaran was packed off to the water police cells at Benoa Harbour. For at least some of his time there, he was on his lonesome. There were no other prisoners held at Benoa, and most of the officers did not speak English. Sukumaran cut a lonely figure as the police plan to encourage him to start talking was actioned.

The youngest of the group, Matthew Norman, was sent off on his own as well, to the high-security Brimob police station jail, while others were held in the airport police station. It would be several months before the nine would see each other again, in early August, when they were moved to LP Kerobokan.

When the day dawned for the four mules to move, 28 July, it was bittersweet. They were leaving a place they had become accustomed to, heading for a place they had only heard about. They were scared and they looked it—especially Lawrence, who had a quiet cry before she left. She didn’t want to go to any jail—she wanted to go home. Her lawyer, Anggia Browne, who had in the past three months become not just her legal advisor but her confidante and friend, put her hand through the bars to give Lawrence a gentle caress, telling her not to worry. But they really didn’t know what to expect.

Stephens admitted his fear. ‘I’d be lying if I [said] I wasn’t frightened. I have never been to jail before. I have never been in trouble before in my life.’ Tears brimming in his eyes, he had just finished reading a
letter from his parents. All the while, as his eyes scanned the page, he held the silver cross on a chain around his neck. His parents had given him the necklace early on, soon after his arrest.

By the time the four had gathered their possessions, changed out of their prisoner T-shirts and were waiting in the prison van for the 16-kilometre journey to LP Kerobokan, their moods had lifted slightly. They were trying their best to hide the fear that a few minutes earlier had been etched into their faces and radiated from their eyes.

‘I love you, Renae,’ someone shouted from the recesses of the cell block area.

She laughed good-humouredly. ‘Maybe we can stop at McDonald’s on the way,’ she joked, in reference to the fact that McDonald’s had now become a delicacy for them.

The journey from the police station to the jail was the group’s first look at the outside world for months. Past the business districts of Denpasar—the part not usually frequented by tourists, with its gold jewellery shops, the town square and electronics shops—and past dozens of families squashed onto one motorcycle: Mum, Dad and the kids. Once on the bypass road, the area became less built up, characterised by rice paddies and half-finished buildings, and cows grazing in fields. It would be the mules’ last look at the outside world in a long time. Did they see and take in the sights on the slightly circuitous route taken by the van driver? Or were they lost in their own thoughts, overcome by fear?

If they had been looking, the group would have seen that on the thirty-minute drive there were two billboard signs, in blue and not meant to be missed. The first was just around the corner from Polda and the second was about halfway through the journey. Both said the same thing:
Narkoba
[Narcotics].
STOP
!!! Warnings such as these were too late for this crew.

Once at the jail, lawyers for the mules made representations to ensure that Chan and Sukumaran were not housed in the same cells as their clients, citing fears for the mules’ safety. But no amount of representations could ever ensure they did not cross paths inside the jail, even if they were not in the same cells.

Stephens and the two Brisbane boys made it their business to keep largely out of the way of the others, although Stephens held no great animosity towards Norman, Chen or Nguyen. It was Chan and Sukumaran who frightened them the most.

Anggia Browne, knowing the fragility of Lawrence’s condition and having dealt with her through her previous self-harm attempts, asked some of her female Indonesian clients who were already inside to look out for Lawrence, to explain the routine and help her settle in.

This group was going from the known to the unknown and it was not going to be easy. They were not the first Australians to make the journey from Polda to LP Kerobokan, and they would not be the last.

B
y the time the Bali Nine moved into their cells at LP Kerobokan, Schapelle Corby had already been there for about eight months. Two months earlier she had been found guilty and sentenced to spend twenty years there. She’d had plenty of time to settle in, learn the routine and learn the ropes. In another time and another place, Renae Lawrence and Schapelle Corby probably would not have been friends. It is difficult to see it: they are completely different people, like chalk and cheese. But, thrown together in a Bali jail, both with uncertain fates, it is understandable that the only two Australian women in Kerobokan would end up developing a bond. It was a kinship born out of loneliness, fear and a shared fate along with a shared homeland.

Corby has always maintained her innocence, saying she is a victim of drug traffickers who planted the marijuana in her luggage without her knowledge—loaded up then locked up for something she says she didn’t do. Lawrence, too, believes she is a victim, but in a different way. While she admitted to being involved in the drug smuggling, she has long insisted that she was threatened and forced and had no choice but to attempt to carry the heroin to Australia.

It didn’t take long for the pair to pal up inside the jail’s walls. Corby helped Lawrence with the dos and don’ts of jail life, gave her tips on how best to survive, and of course the pair was able to speak in English together. It is fair to say that Lawrence didn’t think she would immediately warm to the well-groomed young Gold Coast woman. And it did take a while, but it happened eventually. Corby and Lawrence were not sharing a cell, but the women’s block is small and they had ample opportunity for interaction.

It was Corby who was there to help Lawrence when, not long after the latter’s arrival, she punched the wall in her cell in desperation, badly injuring her hand and requiring a plaster cast. Corby came to her aid, helping and trying to console the depressed and highly distressed Lawrence. Strung out, Lawrence was on the edge of losing her battle to cope.

When the time came for Renae Lawrence’s first day in court—14 October 2005—it was twenty-eight-year-old Schapelle Corby who helped her get ready. In
Lawrence’s cell, Corby applied some make-up to her friend’s face. It was just a touch, not overdone—Lawrence is not the kind of woman to get primped and preened to within an inch of her life, but she welcomed her fellow Australian’s help.

Lawrence had not been feeling too well, plagued by a bad toothache which eventually saw a dentist pull the tooth out. But it wasn’t a smooth extraction and Lawrence was left with an infection, which gave her a pale complexion. For the second court day Corby suggested some Natural Glow to give Lawrence’s face some colour. Later, when the media picked up on it and suggested Corby had given her fellow Australian a ‘makeover’ for court, Lawrence was incredulous. Firstly, she couldn’t understand all the fuss about something as small as a bit of make-up, and she scoffed at suggestions that it had been a makeover in the traditional sense of the word. She joked that next time, to excite the media, perhaps she would put clips in her hair.

Corby’s family and army of supporters keep her in regular beauty supplies, and she is well known for sharing them around with her cell-mates and other prisoners who are less fortunate than herself. Plus, being a former beauty student, she knows all the tips for make-up and was always immaculately groomed for her own days in court.

Pretty early on, Renae Lawrence also developed allegiances with several female Indonesian prisoners.
When she had a visitor, she would often ask that several of the women she was friendly with also be called to the visiting area, thus breaking the monotony of their days in the cell block. These women were similar in personality to Lawrence, upfront and opinionated.

Before long, Lawrence and Corby were joined by a third Australian woman—twenty-four-year-old Adelaide-born model Michelle Leslie, who had been arrested entering a Bali dance party with two ecstasy pills in her handbag. Leslie was not housed in the same cell as either Lawrence or Corby, and from early on she kept to herself. Thus there were to be no lasting allegiances between these three women. And while Corby at times sweltered with thirteen women in her tiny cell and Lawrence had up to ten in hers, Leslie shared with only two other women. You could say it was the luxury cell, although nothing at LP Kerobokan could seriously be described as luxury—but it was generally better than other cells. Like everything else at the jail, money could secure better living conditions.

Leslie’s first day in court happened to coincide with one of Lawrence’s appearances. Their joint showing created a media crush that chaotically jostled and pushed both women. Being the only two females brought in the prison truck from the jail that day, the pair arrived handcuffed to each other; the media had a field day with the image. But it was an image Leslie and her public relations team were keen to avoid—the slim, young model caught with a few pills handcuffed to the alleged heroin trafficker. As soon as the pair
reached the court’s holding cell and the handcuffs were removed, it was splitsville—Leslie went to the opposite end of the cell, to sit alone. The two young women were from different backgrounds, poles apart, and it looked for all the world like Leslie wanted to be as far away from Lawrence as humanly possible.

However, all three Australian women were learning that in a Bali prison cell, accused of drug crimes you did or didn’t do, you all faced the same treatment. For some, money and the people around you can help to plug some of the holes. Almost from the day of her arrest, 20 August 2005, Leslie not only had an Australian lawyer in Bali overseeing her case, but a public relations spokesman to deal with the omnipresent media. Lawrence and Corby, from modest upbringings and modest means, did not have that luxury. During their time at the Polda jail, most of the pair’s visitors were received in the cell visiting area; they and their families had to endure the indignity of visits and kisses through the bars. But for the first period of time after Leslie’s arrest, she received her visitors in an air-conditioned room of the police station, away from the prying cameras.

Lawrence was not happy about the way the whole thing had been handled on that first day of Leslie’s trial, describing it later as a debacle. She had been pushed and shoved, and the handcuffs had hurt her wrist.

If Corby and Lawrence were different personalities who would never have connected in the real world, then the same could certainly be said of Lawrence and
Leslie, and of Leslie and Corby, for that matter. LP Kerobokan is not and never will be the real world, but for Lawrence and Corby it was the closest thing they had and would have for a long time. Leslie’s would be a short stay, however, and she didn’t need to form the same alliances in order to cope with the long days and nights. By 19 November 2005, she was tasting freedom. The day before she had been sentenced to just three months in jail, backdated to take into account the time already served. It meant she was freed the day after the verdict.

Since their April 2005 arrest, Lawrence has also formed a strong bond with Martin Stephens, who has become something of a protector and confidant to her, looking out for her welfare, especially through her self-harm attempts. Their closeness is evident whenever they are together.

Their friendship really formed during their early days of incarceration at the Polda cells. They had worked together in Sydney but, until their time in Bali and subsequent arrests, had not really known each other very well. Stephens had only worked at the Sydney Cricket Ground for a short time, and during most of it Lawrence had been ill. And there was not a great deal of love lost between them in Bali—Stephens had decided that he didn’t really like Lawrence and he intended severing the connection after they got back to Sydney. But after their arrest, bound together by shared circumstances, they became pals.

Stephens and Lawrence initially had the same legal team, and when one of them had a visitor at the jail, they would always ask for the other to share the visit. It meant they could both get out of the cells to the visiting area for some interaction with people other than their cell-mates, and it was the only time the pair could spend together, given the segregation of the male and female cell blocks and prisoners.

The pair also shared a dislike and fear of Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran. This was not such a problem for Lawrence, because she was in the women’s block, but it weighed heavily on Stephens’s mind. There was no way in the world he wanted to be sharing the same cell as either one of them, his lawyers, as well as those for the Rush and Czugaj, made representations to that effect. But that couldn’t stop the men bumping into each other around the common areas.

Unlike the Australian women, who, despite their different personalities, backgrounds and outlooks, had formed an alliance of sorts, the same situation was not to be replicated on the other side of the wall. Too much had happened for Stephens, Rush or Czugaj to suddenly pal up with Chan and Sukumaran, so they tried to stay out of each other’s way—which was not always possible when jail authorities sometimes handcuffed Chan or Sukumaran to one of the mules for the ride to court. But Stephens missed out on that as well, insisting that if authorities ever tried it, he would refuse to share the manacles.

The men’s block of Kerobokan is much bigger than the women’s area. Block C is generally reserved for the
bule
, or foreign male prisoners. And there’s never a shortage of them either—mostly from European and African nations, and generally always on drugs charges. Of course, the number of Aussies inside swelled when the eight males from the Bali Nine took up residence.

Anecdotally people say that male prisoners in Kerobokan get far more benefits than the women, and far more leeway—like the three male prisoners who, at 4 a.m. on the day of Michelle Leslie’s arrest, were clearly spotted coming ‘home’ to jail after a night out. Stories abound of how much it costs to spend the night outside—one Indonesian man with a
bule
girlfriend is said to have paid $60 000 to ensure that for his year-long sentence he could spend every night outside the jail walls. In the men’s block it is also far easier to secure favours like having a proper bed or bunks, rather than a mattress on the floor. Pay for the wood yourself and no one will stop you building a nice little bed.

The so-called Melasti group—Sukumaran, Norman, Chen and Nguyen, who were arrested at the Melasti Beach Bungalows—shared a cell. When they first moved in, the floor of the cell was concrete and the place was pretty ordinary-looking. By the time the trials started they had jazzed it up, putting cheap tiles on the floor and painting the walls; it made the place much more livable.

The Melasti group liked to play basketball together in the afternoons. Meanwhile Czugaj engaged others in kicking a football around. But the Melasti and airport
groups kept their distance from each other—particularly the airport group from Chan and Sukumaran. There was no affection amongst this crew and no amount of lonely jail time or shared homeland was going to heal the rift. Whether it was fatal would be seen when their trials got under way and they all started giving evidence against each other.