A year like no other…

“Whatever they say, try not to show any reaction,” said my second chair lawyer Elizabeth as we awaited the prosecutor’s sentencing recommendation. “Try not to show you’re happy.”

Her words should have been a clue, and in fact her demeanor — and that of the rest of my legal team — had been buoyant all week. They knew what the “jaksa” would ask for, but they didn’t want to tell me in case of a last minute hitch. I didn’t want to ask for the same reason.

Still, when Ibu Erawati Susina finally came to the punchline, it was difficult to stay calm.

“The defendant has been very well behaved since his arrest. He has been polite and cooperative at all times and we believe he has shown genuine remorse. Because of this, and because this is his first offense, we ask that the court gives him a sentence of one year in jail, minus the time he has already spent in detention.”

At this point I wanted to pull my shirt over my head, stretch out my arms and run around the court screaming “goaaaaaaaaaal”, but I managed to remain stoic.

Inside, I scored a hat-trick.

Final sentencing will be next Thursday, and while the judges could still hit me with anything up to four years and a swingeing fine, they almost always go lower than what the prosecution demands. My team thinks they could settle on eight to nine months, which with remission and time served means I could be out of jail as early as July.

I’m very, very happy, as I am sure you can imagine.

When this saga started, I would probably have taken four years if offered in the police station. Remember at one point I was facing a dealing charge; Joe the Grass had told police I was his supplier, I had agreed to give him some following the sting, and I had failed two drugs tests. I was looking at 15 years in jail had the book been thrown at me.

It took a lot of “negotiation” to get it down to this. The police had to be “persuaded” to recommend me for assessment to BNN, the national narcotics agency, who in turn needed to be “persuaded” to tell the prosecutor that I was a user despite the negative tests.

The prosecutor then had to be “persuaded” to pursue only the lesser charge of using and not push for the maximum sentence, and the judges needed to be “persuaded” to accept their recommendations.

“Persuading” all those parties is one thing, but we still had to produce the mitigation that would stand up to scrutiny in court. Thanks in particular to Elizabeth Pisani and David Tredrea, we provided them with convincing testimony.

Heading to court, I’d decided to try a new method of removing my handcuffs, and I’m glad to say I pulled it off. Using sleight of hand, you hold a pen or pencil along your inner wrist so when the cuffs are applied, you can leverage enough wriggle room to slip your hand out when you remove the writing implement. Hey, you can’t know enough ways of getting out of handcuffs…

There was another big media presence, but again focused on the cop killers, who have been pre-sentenced to eight years. My lawyers reckon the judges will ask for six, meaning they’ll be out in just over four.

After the prosecutor’s recommendation, my lawyer made a mitigating plea and then it was time for me to address the court.

I’d written and memorized what I wanted to say, and the fragrant Olivia Rondonuwu had translated it for my interpreter (who has a habit of saying “etc, etc” rather than telling you exactly what was said). It was probably a bit overblown, but if it gets me a month or two off my sentence then it worked.

The judges listened keenly, but said nothing.

You may be interested in knowing the fate of my nemesis, Joe the Grass. In his interrogation by the prosecutor and judges on Tuesday, he said he had used hashish “because I didn’t know it was illegal” — an excuse my team were staggered his lawyer allowed him to proffer.

In previous sessions he’d said he’d used hash to ease the effects of cancer, but failed to produce any evidence of the disease or medical records. The prison doctor also told the court he had failed a drug test in Kerobokan.

Still, my lawyers think he’ll get the same sentence as me as anything too different would look untoward. He put me in here, and it looks like he’ll ride out on my coat tails.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I had a horrible devil’s advocate argument with myself on Wednesday night. It went like this:

“If they offered you the choice of six months, with Joe getting five months, or one year, with Joe getting two years, what would you take?”

I was inundated with emails, SMSs, WhatsApp messages and the like from dozens of you on Wednesday saying you were thinking of me, praying for me, wishing me well, lighting candles, making offerings, drinking beer and playing golf — all in a bid to help fate along. Cathy Bolwell had her mother saying rosaries for me from her hospital bed, while Wendy, the Patron Saint of Sunday Lunches, went specially to temple (that’s her offering in the picture above).

With such overwhelming open-hearted love and kindness from you all, I really had no choice in my personal argument. I went for the six months.

Thank you all. I’m a very happy man tonight.

(The one moment I did almost lose it completely in court was at the end, when the judge adjourned until next week. In his most stenorous voice, he intoned: “You are responsible for paying the court costs in full before final sentencing. They amount to twenty thousand rupiah.”

“What?” I asked the translator? “Did he say twenty thousand rupiah.”

“Yes rupiah, not dollars,” he replied. “It is normal in all court cases.”

Twenty thousand rupiah is equal to … $1.50…)