A Privileged Witness by Ted Maher

Author:Ted Maher [Maher, Ted; Hayes, Bill; Thomas, Jennifer; Griffith, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780882825007
Publisher: New Horizon Press

Chapter 18

Breaking Point

I had been in prison almost three years.

1,402,531 minutes…

1,402,532…

The vacuum of downed-hope that I was living in was never a complete void. The eventual end was still a mystery, but the daily attempts to break me were mounting. Strip searches never stopped. It was all psychological. Trying to break me…

They weren’t looking for anything. There was no way anything obvious and quick could get into that place. It wasn’t that kind of place. This wasn’t Men’s Central in downtown Los Angeles or Angola in Louisiana, where so much can get lost in the contraband shuffle.

Nothing could go unseen in a forest that had at most eighty-one trees.

Even when the lawyers or anyone came in from the outside, they had to go through two locked doors, then another locked door, then two more and then be escorted by guards. By the time they got to me, they had passed through eight locked doors, eight levels of security and metal detection.

One person from the outside who had to endure this security was Ellen Thorburn, the Vice Consul at Marseille, France, representing the United States of America. She visited me about once a month to see how Monaco was treating me—if there were any abuses.

Blot/Manasse also stopped by. Their message was always cheery: Well, this or that has come up and now we may be looking at five years. Oh, and hey, something else has surfaced and it may be seven years, but that’s better than life in here, no?

My personal void and dregs of downed hope all came to a head during my next meeting with Patricia Richet. We started by talking about the empty surveillance tapes, again. Then it was onward and upward; she picked at the issue of the “self-inflicted stab wounds” again. Afterward we wrestled with a bottle of numbing medication, a local anesthetic that would become a burning beacon of prosecution in this whole dim dance.

The police said that this numbing agent had been found in my system and a bottle of it found among my possessions. I used it, they said, to numb the areas where I stabbed myself.

This was where the tearing up of my hotel room when the cops were rousting my wife and her brother came into play—big time.

The only dose of this numbing medication that I was ever around was a plastic vial with a red plastic top that Edmond’s dermatologist showed up with occasionally. Safra had some pre-cancerous lesions, some sun spots on his head and the skin doctor used the drug to clean up Safra’s scalp. It wasn’t in my medicine cabinet.

I faced the interpreter. “Tell her that I guarantee that the bottle supposedly found with my belongings has ID numbers all over it. Lot numbers. Serial numbers. Manufacture date. Everything! It’s easy to find out its origin and where it was sent to. Maybe we could find out it was sent to Princess Grace Hospital. The person who had access to it wasn’t me, but Monagasque authorities at the higher levels surely have that kind of access.

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