Free Welcome to Hell by Colin Martin Page B

have pursued O’Connor. Now I questioned myself and every decision I had made in the past few years. What had I done?
    This feeling of utter desolation got even worse when I noticed a video camera mounted on a tripod in the corner of the room. The bastards had filmed the whole thing with O’Connor.
    ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ I asked the guy behind the camera.
    He smiled and said, ‘Training. We use this film for training.’
    They planned to use the footage of me being tortured to teach other cops how to inflict similar pain.
    As I said, everyone has their breaking point and this was mine. At that point, I gave up hope.
    The police eyed me cautiously. One of them told me they would give me a statement and I must sign it. I said I would do whatever they said. They looked at each other in surprise.
    I was next taken over to sit at a table. The cop who’d been behind me during the torture session was now behind me again.
    He started massaging my shoulders. I’d still know his touch even to this day.
    I was very strong, he told me. Normally 20 minutes is enough. Five hours was the new record.
    I felt sick. It was all a game to them. This man was a sadistic bastard.
    Next, the confession was brought in. It consisted of a few pages, and was written out entirely in Thai.
    I was told where to sign and I signed. Once I had scribbled down my name, my world totally collapsed.
    I knew that I had just signed my life away but I didn’t care. I was a broken man.
    As soon as I signed, I was taken out of the room into a large open area. I was put behind a table with O’Connor and several police officers. We all stood there for only a moment. Then TV crews rushed in with reporters, who screamed questions at me.
    I didn’t know what was happening. I was in a daze, not having got over the trauma of being tortured. I was confused.
    I don’t remember what questions they asked or who answered. I only remember one reporter asking, ‘Did you kill him?’
    I didn’t answer. I pointed at O’Connor and said, ‘He stole my money. That’s all I can remember.’
    The press conference only lasted a few minutes but had the desired effect. They allowed photographers to take some shots before whisking me away.
    I noticed that my wrists were cut where the handcuffs had bit into the flesh. It had probably happened during the electric shock torture, but I hadn’t felt it before.
    Now my whole body was in agony. My hands were shaking and every muscle and nerve in my body was on fire.
    I couldn’t feel anything in my right hand; it was completely numb. I guessed that where the handcuffs pierced my flesh, they must have damaged a nerve. It was three weeks before the feeling came back.
    Next, I was put into a room by myself.
    A few hours later, at about 11 p.m., the police from Chonburi came to see me. They said they were going to take me to Chonburi, and that tomorrow they’d take me to where the fight with Holdsworth had taken place.
    I was manhandled into the front seat of their car and driven to Chonburi town that same night.
    It was some time after midnight when we arrived and I was taken to the police superintendent’s office.
    The superintendent ordered some sandwiches, and gave me a tin of beer. He apologised that it was only a local beer, and asked if the police in Bangkok had tortured me. I didn’t trust him, but I was desperate.
    I showed him my wrists and my chest, and explained what they’d done to me for five hours.
    ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The tourist police in Bangkok are very, very bad. But don’t worry. I do not use those methods.’
    Then he smiled.
    He introduced himself as Aneke. He spoke good English. He then brought me to a holding cell which housed about 60 Thai and Burmese prisoners. I was the only European among them.
    In pain and exhausted, I found a place on the floor and tried to get some sleep. It wasn’t easy, but I was exhausted, and I finally fell into a deep sleep. I prayed silently to myself as I lay on