Passport To Hell: How I Survived Sadistic Prison Guards and Hardened Criminals in Spain's Toughest Prisons

by Terry Daniels

  It was nice of my lawyer to trust my co-accused's brother with my money. For all I knew, the original sum might have been twice the amount I actually received.

  'I'll give you a lift back to Las Palmas. Then you can book yourself into a hotel. You need to go to court tomorrow to have your bail conditions set. I will pick you up in the morning and take you there.'

  It was a good thing he was there to tell me this, as nobody at the prison had explained a thing to me. I would have missed the hearing and had a warrant out for my arrest if he hadn't happened to be at Salto on the day of my release. My solicitor shouldn't have even told him I was there because for all he knew, Antonio could have been plotting to take me out of the picture so that he could make sure I didn't grass him up for anything else he might have done. I felt the Spanish authorities didn't seem to place too much importance upon the safety of foreign nationals. Safety seemed even more disposable than freedom, and that was saying something.

  As we drove down the side of a steep hill towards the city centre, it dawned on me that I was going to have to spend the night alone on an unfamiliar island. The thought of it scared me, which was strange considering the fact that I had been in prison for the last four days. A night in a hotel should have been a walk in the park but for some unknown reason I felt really on edge.

  'OK I'll drop you off here,' Antonio's brother told me, pulling up outside a building that resembled a YMCA hostel. 'It's the cheapest place going so it shouldn't set you back too much. I'll see you early tomorrow morning. Make sure you've got your stuff ready for court when I come to pick you up.'

  Even if he was the brother of the person who had got me into all this trouble in the first place, it was still good of him to help me out. I nodded nervously and headed into the hotel to check myself in. God knows what the lady on reception must have thought of me because I was half asleep, wearing dirty clothes and too spaced out for words. I handed over enough cash for a one-night stay and then went up to inspect my room.

  My digs were fairly basic but beat the hell out of a prison cell. I didn't have to share with a grown woman who had temper tantrums for a start, which is always a plus point. Now that I had somewhere to stay, it was time to ring my mum and explain why I had been in prison. Talking to her would no doubt make me feel a little bit better. I was still completely shell-shocked and couldn't wait to hear a familiar voice. There's nothing like a conversation with your mum to help calm you down. It was going to be a damn sight less stressful ringing Mum from the hotel phone than ringing her from a prison phone had been. At least this time I wouldn't have to worry about running out of minutes on my card. I just hoped that she would believe my story.

  'Hello?'

  'Mum, it's Terry. I'm in a hotel in Las Palmas…'

  'Thank goodness you're OK. What on earth is going on? I rang your work to ask them what had happened and they said that you'd been sacked for selling drugs.'

  Ah. I should have told her that I'd lost my job and explained the reason why. This wasn't exactly going to help my case.

  'I wasn't selling drugs Mum, you've got to believe me. I went on holiday to Brazil with Antonio and customs found drugs in his bag and I had no idea at all and then I got sent to prison…'

  I was talking so fast that she probably didn't understand a word I said.

  'This is all too much to take,' said Mum. 'First Ricky and now this…'

  Ricky was our beloved family cat. We had found him abandoned as a kitten and nursed him back to health.

  'What's happened to Ricky?' I asked her, hoping to God that he was still all right.

  'I'm so sorry Terry. Ricky died the other day.'

  I was absolutely gutted. He was eleven, which is quite old for a cat, but I still hadn't been expecting it and couldn't believe that he was gone. He had apparently drifted off whilst purring away in my dad's arms. It sent me even further into the depth of despair and left me feeling as if the world was conspiring against me.

  Mum and I had a good old cry together. Some people might think that the death of a pet cat would be the least of my worries but I've always been an animal person and couldn't get the image of his little face out of my head.

  Once I had finally managed to calm down, I took a series of deep breaths and tried to focus on the task at hand.

  'I've got to go to court again tomorrow. I'll ring you as soon as it's over,' I told Mum between tearful sniffles. 'I had nothing to do with the drugs and Antonio's going to tell them that. Hopefully that should be the end of things and I'll be able to see you soon.'

  'Let me know me as soon as it's over,' she told me. 'I'll be waiting to hear from you.'

  The phone call left me emotionally drained. As I headed back up to my room, I thought about everything that I had put Mum through and felt a sudden pang of guilt. Although I wasn't guilty of smuggling the coke, my hedonistic lifestyle had still helped to land me in trouble. If I hadn't got involved with cocaine, I wouldn't have hung about with Antonio and none of this would have happened.

  Although I knew I needed a good night's sleep before my hearing, nodding off that night was easier said than done. So many crazy things had happened that I was now extremely paranoid. Whenever I heard a noise, I thought somebody was breaking into my room and almost had a heart attack. The few hours of shut-eye that I did get were riddled with nightmares and dreams about Ricky.

  By the time the morning came, I was in a terrible state. I was tired, distraught and panic-stricken but knew I needed to hold it together. At nine o'clock I spotted my lift out of the window and checked out of the hotel. I was grateful for the ride but didn't really fancy talking to Antonio's brother because I had nothing to say to him. Instead I chose to sit in silence until we got to court.

  It was just me and the judge in the courtroom this time round and I was sitting inches from her face. There was no security and I could have jumped over the desk and punched her if I wanted to. Fortunately for her, I wasn't a proper criminal and didn't have a violent bone in my body. I was just a confused, scared, young girl who had become unknowingly embroiled in Antonio's stupid scheme.

  'You are to remain in Spain until the day of your trial,' the judge told me.

  I was happy that she spoke English but gutted they were dragging things out even longer. Why were the Spaniards so intent on making me hang around? They were treating me as if I was the one who was caught with all the cocaine and Antonio was my innocent travel partner. As the reality dawned on me that it was all far from over, I began to cry again for the millionth time that week. I was surprised that I had any tears left to part with.

  'You will have to hand over your passport, but you can still travel to the mainland or any of the Spanish islands without it,' the judge went on, as if this was supposed to somehow make me feel better. I wasn't bothered where I could or couldn't go to; I just wanted to clear my name so that I could carry on with my life.

  'You also need to report once a month to the authorities but you can do this in Tenerife. We will be in contact with the date of your trial, which will be held at the Provincial Criminal Court of Las Palmas. You are now free to go.'

  I placed my passport on the desk and left the building feeling angry and let down. How could I ever hope to relax with something like this hanging over me? I had been sentenced to another period of extreme uncertainty and anxiety.

  The only positive result of the hearing was the fact that I could now go home to Tenerife. I still had some of the cash left over that Mum had sent, so I headed to the airport to book myself a flight. Whilst I was there, I took the opportunity to ring her from a payphone and tell her the bad news.

  'Mum,' I said. 'It's still all going on. They won't let me leave Spain and I've got to go back to court. I don't know if I can take much more of this.'

  'I'll book a flight to Tenerife and come and see you this Friday,' Mum told me. 'You'll get through this, Terry. You just have to remain strong.'

  If only it was that easy. I didn't feel as if I was going to get
through it at all. The tension was destroying me. As I boarded the plane, I remember thinking, 'Oh well, at least I'll be able to blot out the pain with coke soon.' I should have learnt my lesson but Veronicas was calling me. The fact that I still wanted to take a substance that had caused me so much trouble is testament to its power. Cocaine plays mind games with you and at this precise moment, it was saying, 'The damage is already done now. You might as well sniff more of me. After all, it can't get any worse.'

  The plan was to call in at my flat, let my roomie know that I was OK and then head off to the strip to get plastered. Jackie was over the moon to see me because Mum had told her that I'd been arrested and she'd been worried sick.

  'So you're a free girl now then?' she asked me. 'You got a 'not guilty'?'

  'Not exactly,' I told her. 'I've got to go back to court for my trial. I'm free for now though so let's get mashed to celebrate. I've missed our wild nights out together.'

  The sad thing was that I was telling the truth as well. Addiction had me in its grip to such an extent that even in the light of everything that had happened, partying was still my main priority. Drug habits are funny things. You can be teetotal for weeks if you know that there's no way that you can get hold of any but then, the minute you are in a position where they are readily available, your cravings resume as if they never went away. The fact that I had years in prison hanging over my head made me want them even more. I needed something to take my mind off everything that was going on.

  'OK, well, there's something I've got to tell you,' Jackie told me. 'Everybody on the strip thinks you're a grass. They heard that Antonio's still in prison but you got released and think you must have given evidence against him. I know you're not a rat but they're convinced of it. You need to be careful, Terry. Antonio has a lot of friends and they are all pissed off.'

  Being a grass in a place like Playa de las Americas means being a social pariah. It's a very vice-filled place and informers are treated like the lowest of the low.

  'That's ridiculous,' I told her. 'It's not as if they've let me off scot-free. I'm still likely to get sent down. Why would I grass him up when I'd pleaded innocent anyway? It'd give the game away a bit!'

  The only reason that anybody ever provides information to the police is to get time off their sentence. Innocent people have no need to take that route because if the wheels of justice run smoothly then they won't be locked up at all.

  'You try telling them that,' Jackie said. 'They think you've stuck him in it to get yourself off the hook so don't expect a warm welcome from anyone on the strip.'

  This was brilliant; Antonio had landed me in the shit and now his mates were accusing me of getting him in trouble. They were probably paranoid because they were all involved in crime themselves and didn't want anyone around them who could possibly rat them out.

  'Well thanks for the warning,' I told her. 'I still want to go there and get trolleyed though. Are you coming or what?'

  Jackie laughed and motioned towards the door.

  'Come on then, let's get going. We've got a lot of time to make up for. I hope you haven't forgotten how to have fun.'

  I followed her out of the flat and through the crowded, humid streets of Playa de las Americas. The minute I caught sight of Veronicas, my mouth began to water. I would soon be snorting coke and drinking Malibu until the world became a blur.

  I walked up to the entrance of the nearest bar only for the bouncer to hold his hand out and tell me I was barred.

  'We don't want your type in here,' he growled. 'You've got some nerve coming back.'

  'She's done nothing wrong,' Jackie defended me. 'She didn't even know about the drugs so what could she have told anyone? You need to stop listening to gossiping idiots.'

  'It's OK Jackie, leave it,' I told her. 'Come on, let's find somewhere that actually wants our money.'

  We tried a couple of different places and eventually found a club where the door staff hadn't heard of me. Luckily the dealers weren't as picky about who they did their business with and sorted us out with coke without a word of complaint. They didn't care if I was a grass or not, just as long as I wasn't planning on grassing them up for selling to me.

  The moment I snorted my first gram, it was as if I'd never stopped. All of the anxiety immediately left my body and replaced itself with the type of artificial confidence that only cocaine brings. It didn't matter that I was facing a long stint behind bars; all I cared about was getting high and having a good time. The next three nights were spent getting off my nut in the few clubs that would let me in. I was now Veronicas' most hated woman but couldn't have cared less. Cocaine liked me and I liked it back. In fact you could go as far as to say that the two of us were in love.

  On the morning of Mum's visit, I woke up feeling nervous in case she was angry with me. She had been supportive on the phone but I still didn't know whether or not she was a hundred per cent convinced that I was innocent. Maybe she was bottling it all up ready to have a go at me when she saw me in person. The fact that I was on a comedown didn't make things any easier. My nerves would have been jangled walking down the street, let alone having my first in-depth conversation with my mother about being arrested for drug smuggling.

  As I waited at the airport, I felt a mixture of emotions. On the one hand I was looking forward to being able to pour my heart out to my mum about what I had been through, but on the other, I was on pins in case she didn't believe me. I wanted to run and hug her the minute I saw her, but knew that I would have to wait to see what her take on the situation was before doing anything like that.

  The first thing that Mum said to me was, 'Terry, did you do it?'

  'No,' I told her. 'Antonio took me for a sucker, Mum. I had no idea what was going on until it was too late.'

  'OK I just needed to be sure,' she said. 'That's the only time I'm ever going to ask you that. I'm your mother so I know when you're telling the truth. Now let's concentrate on fighting this.'

  I was so relieved to hear those words come out of her mouth that tears of joy cascaded down my face. This set Mum off and we were soon hugging each other and bawling our eyes out in the middle of the airport.

  'We need to get you a solicitor,' Mum sobbed. 'We're going to beat this, Terry. I know you're innocent and there's no way I'm going to let them lock you up.'

  Now that I knew I had her full backing, I felt a little bit more positive. Perhaps a few months down the line, I would be able to look back at this and think, 'Wow that was a crazy period of my life. Thank God it's all in the past.'

  Over the course of the next few days, we lounged in the sun, ate ice cream and discussed my case. Mum told me that there was no point in doing a runner and assured me that everything was going to be OK. We were walking back from the beach a week later, my mind feeling a little more at rest, when I felt a sudden pain in my head and dropped to the floor in agony. Blood started pouring from my nose and ears and I collapsed in a heap.

  'Somebody help!' yelled Mum. 'My daughter's bleeding on the ground. She needs to go to hospital!'

  I have no recollection of anything that happened after this. I've been told that paramedics were on the scene within minutes, but by that point I was unconscious so anything could have gone on. When I came round again, I was lying in a hospital bed with my dad standing over me.

  'How did you get here?' I asked Dad.

  My mind was in a pickle and the fact that he had travelled across from England seemed to be the most perplexing thing on earth.

  'I've come to stay with you whilst you're poorly,' Dad told me. 'You've had an aneurysm. Try to relax, you're going to be all right.'

  I had no idea what an aneurysm was at this point and all I could think to say was, 'Where are your suitcases? Where are you staying?'

  'I'm staying in a hotel and all my things are there.'

  'How'd you get here? Where are all your bags?'

  He must have had the patience of a saint. Looking back I think my brain was struggling to proces
s the conversation and I had to hear everything a million times before the information finally sunk in. My cerebellum had been bleeding quite profusely so I was lucky it still worked. Fifty per cent of people who have the type of brain haemorrhage that I had, die on the spot and twenty-five per cent don't make it to the hospital. With that in mind, I think that I did well to remember anything at all.

  The doctors were unable to operate on me straightaway because my brain needed time to recover from the trauma before they could go to work. This meant that I would have to remain in the ward for another couple of weeks. Dad only stayed in Tenerife for two days but Mum made arrangements to live with a Colombian family that we had met on holiday so that she could stay for longer. The family were called the Silvas and I had grown very close to them on our trips to the island during my teenage years.

  The Silvas lived in a city called La Laguna in the northern part of the island, which meant that Mum could visit me almost every day because it was only an hour's drive away. I wasn't allowed to move from the hospital bed in case I jarred my head so I was glad to have somebody to talk to. My only other form of entertainment was Spanish TV, which was bizarre to say the least. They don't have a watershed over there, so you can turn the telly on during the day and be confronted by the types of things that are only shown after midnight in the UK.