No More Tomorrows

by Corby, Schapelle

  It was the minor things like that that really tortured me. All my dark anger at the world would ignite from something so small. The little things brought on the big emotions, and then I’d start to punch the walls and chuck things at them. But I couldn’t even do that freely. Everyone would come running, staring at me, and soon I’d have sixty girls in a circle around me. I’d scream, ‘Piss off, don’t look at me!’ And then even more girls would come to see what I was yelling about. There was just no escape. It was all the little things coming together that made me angry at the whole situation. And there was nothing I could do. I felt so angry and frustrated.

  When we did our once-weekly exercise programme, I’d often lose it. I’d be fine, doing all the exercises one minute, then the next I’d burst into tears, feeling every cell of my body overcome with black depression. I’d run back to my cell, crying hysterically, the repetitiveness of the exercise disturbing me, representing what my life would be: the same exercises, the same droning music, over and over and over for an hour every week, for months, years, two decades.

  I started focusing on this world more than I’d done before, now that I was potentially stuck here for twenty years. I saw it all on a more critical and depressing level. I’d look around with my eyes wide open, see the green bars and collapse into tears, thinking, How long do I have to stay here? The dirt and grime that had always covered the walls of my cell suddenly seemed luminous. At times, I’d stand looking at it, frozen in disgust. It seemed the dirt was trying to tell me something, playing games with my mind, reminding me that I was stuck, letting me know its layers had been built up by years of prisoners’ hands touching the wall. There were times when I’d become physically sick just by looking at those walls. How long would these walls be around me and how long would I be part of these walls?

  I had to get out of this place. But I needed a good legal team. It was stronger than it had been: two Australian QCs had offered to work pro bono for my appeal and had tried to help earlier on by calling Robin’s office and leaving messages. It didn’t surprise me that they were ignored, but now that I knew about it, I was insistent that they be on the team, despite Vasu being hysterically against it.

  The two QCs told us that we needed a Jakarta-based lawyer to help with the appeal and handed Lily and Vasu a list. Vasu wasn’t happy, but we left him no option. They chose Hotman Paris Hutapea: flamboyant, over the top, but apparently the best. I couldn’t believe all the diamonds on his fingers the day I met him. He was really friendly and dynamic, and Merc and I felt relieved to have him on board. He was also working pro bono.

  But we still wanted to get rid of Lily and Vasu. They were completely clueless. We didn’t like them or trust them. A week or so after my verdict, Merc had been called to an early-morning meeting. It was with an image consultant from Jakarta, who would be able to groom us all to create a better public image. She’d get Mum and Dad to change their style of clothes, teach us how to speak on camera, how to sit, stand, walk and carry ourselves. It would only cost $5,000. It was absurd.

  Merc and I spent a lot of time and stress talking about how we could get rid of Lily and Vasu. We had to be tactical. We’d paid them an extra $50,000 for operations back in March, but they had promised to give most of it back when they claimed it from the government. We didn’t want to lose it. We’d already paid them a fortune.

  Then the perfect chance to sack them arose when one of the QCs (rather stupidly) stated publicly that Vasu had asked the Australian Government for $500,000 for bribe money. Merc and I decided: ‘This is it, they’re gone.’ No doubt this was exactly what the comment had been designed to do. But as all the team were working together, we felt we had to sack the lot. It was the start of a very fraught weekend and of a vicious unravelling of our relationship with Lily, Vasu, Ron and Robin.

  We had someone lined up to take over. He wasn’t a lawyer but apparently had connections, worked closely with the government and promised us he’d have me out in three months. He’d first approached Merc a few days beforehand and knew every detail of my case. We asked him what his fees were. ‘Don’t worry, pay me back when you’re free.’ He refused to give us even a ballpark figure, which worried me a lot. But he seemed to have all these strategies worked out, and we were desperate. We didn’t know where to turn. We just thought, Why not? We had to get rid of what we had. SoI signed up with Walter Tonetto on a Friday afternoon. Merc and I felt relieved . . . but not for long.

  That afternoon, I called all the old team to let them know of my decision. Their responses were exactly as I’d expected, reflecting who they were. I called Erwin first. He was charming and courteous. ‘That’s OK, Schapelle, I understand. I’ll always support you whether I’m your lawyer or not. Good luck for the future.’

  Next I called Hotman. He was very generous. ‘OK, OK, I support you, good luck for your future. Sorry I couldn’t do more to help.’ He didn’t sound it, but he was angry and disappointed, yanking his girlfriend out of the Mercedes-Benz showroom when we hung up. He told me later that he’d been out buying her the latest model as a celebration present for getting my case when I called him.

  Then I made the last, dreaded call to Lily. She was driving in the car with Vasu. I was polite but direct. ‘Thanks for all your help, Lily, but I don’t need you as my lawyer any more. I’m sorry, but I’ve found new lawyers.’

  ‘Sorry, Schapelle, I can’t hear you . . . wait . . .’ I knew she was putting it on speakerphone so that Vasu could abuse me.

  ‘Schapelle, you can’t do this, you can’t do this!’ he yelled. ‘No one can help you but us. We have information, Schapelle. We will let that information come out, and you’ll stay there, you won’t ever get out.’

  ‘Are you threatening me, Vasu?’ I asked.

  ‘No, no . . . just speak to Mercedes. She knows. Speak to Mercedes.’

  I knew right then my instincts were right. I thought, Yep, you’re an arsehole, a total bastard. He hung up abruptly. I knew they were empty threats, they had to be – I didn’t do it. I rang Merc and her reaction was the same. ‘Don’t worry. He’s just a complete bloody idiot!’ Unsurprisingly, Vasu told the press a different story.

  ‘We said if that’s what you decided, good luck with it. We wish you all the best,’ Mr Rasiah said.

  The Australian, 25 June 2005

  But our relief at being able to make a fresh start turned to panic. Over the weekend, all our instincts were screaming Danger. Merc, Wayan and I were having exactly the same reactions. We all had bad vibes and bad dreams. Our decision to hire Walter had been rash, in the heat of the moment, thinking anyone was better than Lily and Vasu. By Sunday, Merc came in to see me, sobbing. It was another wrong decision. We didn’t know a thing about this man. The payment worried me, too. I might be in debt for ever; I’d never be free.

  Merc calmed down a little and we changed strategies. We’d rehire Erwin and Hotman – if they’d take me back. Merc rang them that afternoon, explaining we were scared and asking if they’d please take the case back. They were delighted. Hotman instantly organised a press conference in Jakarta with Merc. We knew these two people; we had no suspicions about them, no anxiety. Merc and I felt we finally had the right team. We knew they’d try as hard as they could.

  Merc then rang Walter and gave him the news, which he didn’t want to accept. For months afterwards, he harassed my sister, phoning and texting, wanting the case back. Our instincts had been spot on.

  We knew that firing Lily and Vasu would also get rid of Ron and Robin. The four of them were so close and got along so well from the very first day they met that I was suspicious they’d known each other well before my case. They denied it. But from day one, Ron and Robin had given Lily and Vasu rave reviews. Ron even did a bit of PR spinning before he’d supposedly met them. The day he flew to Bali to meet them and me for the first time he was quoted saying, ‘We have been talking at length with Schapelle Corby’s Indonesian lawyers, and they are certainly on the ball.’ Ron and Robin seemed lik
e the only people who thought Lily and Vasu were any good. We were ready to fire them.

  Looking back, it all seemed to be a game to them. I was terrified and desperate, and as soon as they sprang from nowhere, I clung to them, put my faith and hopes in them. But I believe I was just a pawn. Apart from the media, music and movies that Ron talked about so obsessively, all four regularly talked about suing Qantas for millions of dollars. Merc was always hosing them down with a firm ‘No! Not yet, we have to get her home first!’ But that was their plan: that was how the big bucks would roll in.

  Things had already started to unravel two days before the sackings, as earlier that week in an interview with Bulletin magazine Mum had called Ron my ‘black knight’ and told the truth about him asking me for half a million dollars. All of Team Corby jumped in to defend him – frantically, desperately doing interviews, telling blatant lies to undo the truth.

  Mr Bakir denied yesterday that he had asked Corby to repay him up to $500,000 for his part in the failed campaign to secure her freedom. ‘It is an outright lie that never happened,’ he said. ‘I’m not the only one saying it never happened, Schapelle Corby is saying it never happened.’

  Herald Sun, 25 June 2005

  Mr Rasiah said Corby’s mother, Rosleigh Rose, was wrong to claim that Queensland businessman Ron Bakir had told Corby she owed him the $500,000 he had spent on the case.

  Sydney Morning Herald, 23 June 2005

  ‘Her lawyer Lily Lubis went into the prison and asked Schapelle if I had ever asked her to repay money and Schapelle said that I hadn’t done that.’

  Gold Coast Bulletin, 24 June 2005

  Reporter: Is there any truth in the suggestion that you’ve asked Schapelle Corby for money?

  Ron Bakir: Absolutely not. And not only do I deny it, Schapelle has simply stated to her Indonesian lawyer that I have not asked her for five hundred thousand dollars.

  Sunday, 26 June 2005

  Bakir laughs at the $500,000 figure and denies he told Schapelle he would like her to pay him back. ‘No, that wasn’t said. There was a discussion that took place between myself and the family. I said if I can recoup any money, then thanks. If I can’t so be it . . . I never mentioned a figure. I’m planning to disclose publicly the figure soon.’

  Bulletin, 28 June 2005

  It was all total lies, but I was stuck behind the grimy walls of Hotel K. Despite the media continually stating that Ron was ‘bankrolling’ my defence and calling him my ‘financial backer’, he was not, he did not pay for my defence. The Australian Government paid all my Indonesian lawyers’ fees, and my family had also given the legal team money for operational costs. The government paid for four witnesses to fly to Bali, and my mum paid for the other three – James, Ally and Katrina. Ron and Robin certainly knew the government would be paying, as Robin’s law firm filled out the forms. Ron kept threatening to give a breakdown of the money he’d spent but never did. He did not bankroll my defence; he was not my financial backer.

  They got malicious and vindictive, telling more lies. It was unbelievable. Two days after I’d fired them all, Robin went on Channel 9’s Sunday programme and lied with almost everything he said. Sunday did not check the facts. One of his lies was claiming that members of my family were doing interviews to line their pockets and kept things from me. In fact, Merc told me about all interviews they did, always running it by me first. I was relieved whenever my family made any money from the media. Merc had already spent all her savings on me, Dad, all his superannuation. But his lies hit. People started sending me letters saying, ‘I sent you this amount, did you ever get it?’ The only thing Merc ever kept from me was hurtful rumours that I couldn’t do anything about. She protected me from some media coverage and tried to deal with it herself, though I’d see the pain etched on her face and know something was very wrong. But sometimes I preferred not to know. I had enough to deal with in here. Merc was very hurt by all the lies. She’s a totally selfless person, always helping people. Being selfish or self-serving is one of life’s greatest sins to Merc, and to be accused of such behaviour hurt her deeply. I guess that was what they wanted.

  Reporter: When Indonesian prosecutors recommended a twenty-year sentence to Corby nearly two months ago, it was undoubtedly a terrible shock for Schapelle. A time when she needed support from her family. But Robin Tampoe also makes this serious accusation against Schapelle’s sister Mercedes about a conversation he had with her that day.

  Robin Tampoe: This is one of the things which I think upset me greatly, was the day the prosecution recommended a twenty-year sentence and I had a conversation with Mercedes before I went into court and she said to me, ‘If the prosecutor asks for a hard sentence, I won’t be able to deal with this, I’m going to run out of here. Will you see Schapelle in the holding cell?’

  I said, ‘Of course I will.’

  The prosecutor asked for life. I went to the holding cell among all the chaos to see Schapelle. I was holding her hand while she was crying. I find out down the track that she [Mercedes] ran out of there to do a live interview for thirty thousand dollars with New Idea. So that is the situation I find myself in. I’m holding her sister’s hand while she’s making thirty thousand dollars with New Idea and that, from my point of view, sickens me.

  What I would love is for Schapelle to have her say. It seems to me when I see her that so much of what is going on outside that jail cell is not disclosed to her.

  Sunday, 26 June 2005

  The truth was I’d explicitly and repeatedly told Robin, ‘Do not come to the holding cell.’ Merc certainly did not ask him to look after me there, she knew I hated being their show pony – especially so if I got bad news in court. Merc did do an interview for New Idea a bit later, but Robin knew about it days beforehand. Merc was sobbing when we hugged in court that day, anything but the cold heartless response that man claimed.

  Two days after his vindictive, vicious lies on the Sunday programme, Robin released his ‘insurance letter’, the one I was pressured to write the day after my verdict. It was clearly calculated to look like I’d just written it and was siding with him and not my devoted sister and mum. How could anyone be so evil?

  Convicted drug smuggler Schapelle Corby has pleaded for a Gold Coast lawyer to rejoin her fight for freedom. Corby, 27, has written a letter to Australian lawyer Robin Tampoe from her prison cell in Bali, begging him to continue working on her defence. The latest twist in the Corby saga followed days of conflict between Corby’s mother, Rosleigh Rose, and Mr Tampoe and mobile phone entrepreneur Ron Bakir.

  In the letter obtained by the Philip Clark Drive program on 2GB, Corby said she ‘needs’ Mr Tampoe but will ‘understand’ if he does not accept her offer.

  AAP Bulletin, 28 June 2005

  I felt an awful sense of total betrayal, mixed with loathing. When I’d trusted someone and then lost that trust in them, I found myself wanting so much to believe and to once again trust. I’ve now learnt that once lost – it’s lost, finished, gone, no more, the end.

  Life in jail didn’t get any easier. I spent hours sitting on my bed looking out my cell window, just people-watching, assessing every individual female prisoner, getting information that would help me choose my friends carefully. I was slowly becoming introverted and more often in my own faraway world, lost in my thoughts, lost in nothingness with nothing to do, nowhere to go and no one to really talk to.

  The deep pain of my situation infiltrated every single moment. During the night, I’d wake up crying, every hour on the hour. I’d realise, Yeah, I’m still here, and lie down, crying myself to sleep again. A little wooden box of my belongings was right at my head, and because we were all so squashed up with little room to sleep, I’d wake up with a start, then lie back down and hit my head almost every time. But I couldn’t move it because there was nowhere else to put it.

  I had to hold everything inside, which might be why when I woke each morning the horror of my situation hit me again. I had to say to myself, OK, you ca
n be strong today. I had to change the way I was thinking, because I didn’t know how long I’d be in this hellhole. I’d start the day by clearing out all the bad energy and thoughts, fighting to get rid of the negativity. This is today; you never know what tomorrow is going to hold. I was living from moment to moment, the only way I could survive.

  18

  The Bali Nine Check In

  I HATED THE BALI NINE. I FELT SURE THEIR CRIME OF trafficking heroin a month before my verdict had contributed to me getting twenty years. I believed the judge hit me hard because their brazen drug-smuggling racket had mocked Indonesian drug laws. Three of nine Australians – most of them teenagers or in their early twenties – were caught with heroin strapped to their thighs at Denpasar airport. One guy was already seated on the plane, while another four were nabbed in a local hotel room surrounded by heroin and drug paraphernalia.

  Renae Lawrence was the only female in the group. I was terrified of her before she arrived. I didn’t want to share a cell with her. I had panicked thoughts that she’d cause problems for me, pick on me, start fights and ram my head into the cement walls. I even taught Dewi, one of the girls in my cell, a line to say if Renae attacked me: ‘Who are you? You’re a prisoner, you’re a criminal . . . you’re lower than a snake’s belly. How dare you come in here and do this!’

  My fears were fuelled by news stories, scary photographs and frenzied gossip. All the girls who’d shared a cell with her at Polda had been telling crazy stories about this freak for weeks. She refused to let anyone else sleep if she was awake. She’d kick them in the head, sexually hit on them, punch them. So, by the time she checked in at Kerobokan, I imagined Renae as an aggressive, psychopathic lesbian. I was scared to death of her.

  A frantic whisper swept around the women’s block as soon as she walked through the door. Her myth made her larger than life.