10 inmates escape from jail in Puerto Plata

donP

Newbie
Dec 14, 2008
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Only 10 Broke from Jail.

Why always report the bad news?? :cheeky:

"(...)ya que hab?a unos 70 reclusos en la misma celda los cuales no realizaron la fuga." :classic:

Now, isn't that really good news???

donP
 

malko

Campesino !! :)
Jan 12, 2013
5,544
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Yesterday, a guy from la mariposa ( small village near guananico ), who had escaped from jail in POP ( maybe 1 of the ten ?? ) returned to his village ( as one would.....:D ).
PN came round to confront him and send him back....... he pulled out a knife and grabbed a young girl, creating a " hostage situation ".
So PN shot him in the foot and promptly threw him in the back of the PN pick up......

Caso cerrado.
 
Yesterday, a guy from la mariposa ( small village near guananico ), who had escaped from jail in POP ( maybe 1 of the ten ?? ) returned to his village ( as one would.....:D ).
PN came round to confront him and send him back....... he pulled out a knife and grabbed a young girl, creating a " hostage situation ".
So PN shot him in the foot and promptly threw him in the back of the PN pick up......

Caso cerrado.

oh shot in the foot...one who goes right back to where they lived after escaping jail really should get it in the head!
 

KateP

Silver
May 28, 2004
2,845
6
38
oh shot in the foot...one who goes right back to where they lived after escaping jail really should get it in the head!

Nah, this way his wound will fester while he's in jail and he might end up dying like one one inmate in Higuey who got shot and lasted several months without medical treatment before dying.
 

HUG

Silver
Feb 3, 2009
3,940
1
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HUG

Silver
Feb 3, 2009
3,940
1
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oh shot in the foot...one who goes right back to where they lived after escaping jail really should get it in the head!

Where was that story a few weeks ago where the police ambushed these guys on motobikes and killed them and an innocent? These guys had escaped and then gone home, lol. Very funny. Infact was that not up your way Malko?
 

dv8

Gold
Sep 27, 2006
31,266
363
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it is not a prison, it's arrest adjacent to the police HQ. basically a place where people are "stored" after being arrested but before their fate is decided. theoretically it's only meant for 48 hours but some folks stay there for weeks. frank12 spent few lovely nights there when he was picked up for his alleged involvement in murder of an icelandic woman. he was one of the last people to see her alive, therefore a potential murderer. he wrote about this on dr1. that dude who run passions or whatever other brothel in sosua also passed few days there.

the bottom line is that not all of those arrested are guilty of any crimes. it's a mix of the criminals and unlucky folks picked for interrogation and minor offences. the security of the place is rather poor and the cells are packed to the brim. "inmates" wear whatever they had on at the time of arrest (civilian clothing). or rather they do not wear it because it is hot like in the deepest pitch of hell, there is no fan, no water and no toilets. so many of those arrested strip to their underwear. it's a fun place, i hear.

the window they broke comes out into the main parking lot that is full of the police and civilians all day long. the office where you report thefts is right outside, so is the kitchen and cantina. it's not possible to get out of the damn window unnoticed by anyone. let alone 10 people crawling out.
 

the gorgon

Platinum
Sep 16, 2010
33,997
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Nah, this way his wound will fester while he's in jail and he might end up dying like one one inmate in Higuey who got shot and lasted several months without medical treatment before dying.

that is the general idea
 

HUG

Silver
Feb 3, 2009
3,940
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The door on the cell is the same as the window and so it could be quite possible if this is facing away, which it almost certainly would have been!
 

dv8

Gold
Sep 27, 2006
31,266
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the door to this cell is inside the building, in a corridor. and yeah, it is the same (metal bars with additional metal mesh, all old and rotten).
 

frank12

Gold
Sep 6, 2011
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Yeah, like DV8 said...i had the pleasure of spending a couple of days there. Lovely place. It's basically--for lack of a better word--a 5 Star Hotel with a day Spa and maid service. Beautiful, really. I tried to work out an amicable arrangement where i could rent there by the month, but some people won't listen to logic.

I made a lot of friends, heard a lot of stories, did a lot of push-ups. I came out thinner and better shape then i went in! So, for me, it was like a diet boot-camp, a Fat Camp...where one goes to loose weight. I just needed another week or two and i would hit my goal.

I miss that place.

Frank
 

dv8

Gold
Sep 27, 2006
31,266
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here you are:

I decided to re-print this in the Living Forum under it's own title so it will be easier for the Icelandic girl's family to find this story and know what did and did not transpire regarding their daughter's murder, investigation, and the follow up.

I spent two and a half days in the most horrific jails that I have ever seen in my life. Well, I stand corrected…I’ve seen some pretty horrific looking jails on the TV documentary “Locked up abroad” that look just as horrific. Still, the prisons here make the Turkish prison from the movie "Midnight Express" looks like a 5 star hotel.

This past Sunday (September, 21, 2008) a girl, Lilia, from Iceland was killed in her hotel. She sat at my bar Friday night for about an hour, dancing and talking with the musician, Mackie, as I counted my bank at the end of the night. She was a very nice, beautiful girl. She was also the manager of a nearby hotel.

After closing, it was raining, so I gave her a ride home; I have to pass her hotel on my way home.

Saturday night, she came by the bar again with a Dominican girlfriend of hers and sat at my bar for a little while. But it was Saturday evening and I was so busy that I didn't have time to talk. Besides, I was also talking to a Norwegian girl I had just met, Camilla, when Lilia and her friend stopped in. Lilia and the Dominican girl left together and I was so busy that I didn't have time to say goodbye to them.

Three days later, on Tuesday morning, I was sitting here at Lax drinking coffee and reading the New York Times newspaper online when I got a call from my boss who, sounding urgent, told me to hurry and come by work, which is only two doors down from where I was sitting. When I got to work, three undercover police officers stopped me at the office entrance and told me to come with them; they said that they had some questions they wanted to ask me about an Icelandic girl that managed a nearby hotel. I said sure and went with them.

We went to the hotel where Lilia was killed and there were no less than 10 undercover officers from as far away as Santo Domingo, Santiago, Puerto Plata, including a general running the investigation. On the way to the hotel I found out that Lilia was killed. Once we got to the hotel, a General running the investigation, asked me how I knew Lilia, and where I was on Sunday, and what was I doing. I told them that I was at work all day and night on Sunday watching American football with the owners of the bar and some friends and regular customers. I also told them that I went home to exercise and take a shower around 5pm or 6pm, but that I came back to watch the evening 9pm game with Franky, the owner’s son.

After hearing what little I knew about Lilia, they told me I was a suspect and that I needed to go with some police to answer some more questions at the police station. I said sure, let’s go. But before leaving, I told the General very politely (you have to be very careful how to speak to the police and military here) “Sir, I don’t know anything about police investigations ( I felt like Peter Falk in Columbo), but if it is true what the police just told me on the way here that Lilia was stabbed to death, then I think everyone who is a suspect, myself included, should be asked to remove their clothes and checked for any defensive wounds—like scratches or cuts (I was thinking about the OJ Simpson case)—that Lilia may have had the opportunity to inflict on the killer while defending herself from being stabbed to death.” He looked at me like I was crazy, and then he nodded and mumbled something and told me to go with the police.

At the police station they put me in a prison cell 10x10 feet with eight Haitians and three Dominicans. There were 12 of us now. All the Haitians were construction workers. I know because I asked everyone why they were here. I’m nosy like that when I get put in a crowded jail cell with a bunch of half-naked men and I’m bored.

In the jail cells in this country, there is no running water, no electricity and no food. Here, there is only a hole in the floor for a toilet. The hole however, is over flowing with human excrement. The excrement lies drying on the floor surrounding the toilet. Every one urinates inside the prison against a hole that flows out onto the grounds surrounding the jail cell. However, the urine collects in pools of broken concrete inside the cell so only some of it reaches the outside. The rest lies in puddles a few feet from everyone. The smell inside the jail cells (there are only two cells--one for women and one for men) is so unbelievably strong that you can hardly breath without vomiting (the heat inside the jail hovers around 100 degrees because the concrete bakes in the hot sun all day).

Every one stands on the other side of the cell as far away from the toilet and human waste as possible. The problem is that you are never more than a few feet away from the toilet because the cells are only 10x10 feet. Inside the cell there are wet clothes everywhere left by past prisoners. They’re wet from being used as toilet paper and being urinated on. The smell and conditions inside the cells is so unbelievable that no movie or book could possibly put it into perspective.

Sometime around 2am on the first night they brought in a tall, 6'2 Haitian Drag Queen in a torn pink tutu dress and high heels and a blond wig. She assumed the position right beside me where she proceeded to started snoring as she lay sleeping next to me, resting her synthetic wig on my shoulder. It was surreal. I wish someone would have taken a picture. I would pay a lot of money for that now. I would make it the cover of a book.

I spent a day and a half there and after the second day I was moved to another jail cell in Puerto Plata. On the way to Puerto Plata we picked up another prisoner in the Sosua, Kelvin—a well-known kite surfer here in Cabarete; he was being held as a suspect in the girl’s murder as well.

I should stop here and catch everyone up with a few facts: In the prison cell in Cabarete, there were three Dominican men along with me who were being held as suspects in the girl’s murder. One guy was the nighttime security man (watchie-man) who saw me come and go on Friday. He confirmed to the police that the only time he ever saw me at the hotel was on Friday when I dropped the girl off; he confirmed what I had already told the police the day before—the only time I had been at the hotel was on Friday night, two days before she was murdered. You would think that would be enough to release me but not here, not in this country. The other Dominican was an employee (gardener) of the hotel who came by for his paycheck. The other Dominican was a motoconcho driver that stood outside the hotel. I asked all of them, “did the police ask any of you to take off your shirts to check for defensive wounds or cuts?”
“NO, why would they do that?” they asked me, looking at me like I was crazy.

After the second day in jail in Cabarete, they moved me to Puerto Plata, picking up Kelvin on the way. Kelvin and I got handcuffed together and taken to another jail cell in Puerto Plata. Once there, we were locked up with about 20 Dominican men who immediately surrounded us and asked us for any money or food, water or anything else we could afford to buy from the prison guards. I’m an obvious foreigner to the prisoners despite speaking fluent Dominican. Still, everyone focused their immediate attention on me. It started getting a little too aggressive so I took off my shirt, preparing for a fight. I told them calmly (you have be very calm and patient in these situation; you don’t want to force anyone into having to defend their pride in front of their friends) “Ok, if we’re going to fight, let’s fight and get it over with because I have no money. Afterwards, we can tell stories and joke about life.” This calmed everyone down. But they also looked me over and for whatever reason, decided I was poor and had no money. That was probably due to the fact that I had just spent a day and half in jail in Cabarete—my clothes were very, very dirty, but it might also have been because I haven’t been to the dentist in years to get my teeth cleaned and my mom thinks I look homeless. Some people just have that homeless look about them.

The prison cell in Puerto Plata has a tile floor, unlike the concrete floor I just slept on for a day and a half in Cabarete. I got comfortable as possible and started on my nap with one eye open. The jail cell in Puerto Plata also has no water as well, but it also has a hole in the floor with human waste over-flowing from it as well.

The prison guards here make their money from getting money from the prisoners who send them out to go and buy water, food and cigarettes. There is no food inside the jails here, no water either so, you need family members or friends to bring you food or drinks to the jail for you.

Luckily, while I was in jail for two days in Caberete, my bosses were sending food and drinks every hour to me. It was so much food and drinks that I shared it with everyone inside, including the guards. But in Puerto Plata, I don't have any friends nearby so I was going to use my money I had in my pocket to buy whatever I needed. The problem with having money on you in jail is that there are 20 other men inside the jail cell with you who have absolutely no money whatsoever, so robbery is what they're forced to do. In jail here, you better be tough if you're going to be locked up with a group of drug dealers, murderers, rapists, and just generally feel-good, law-abiding, god fearing, generous Christian soldiers…like myself.

My father always told me: "Listen, son, if you're going to be stupid in life, then you better be tough."

I had been in Puerto Plata jail for about 8 hours when Kelvin woke me up around 11pm at night. I was sleeping when Kelvin woke me, telling me, “Frank, the guard is calling our names.”
“Really, why?”
“I don’t know.”

We walked up to the gate. The guard unlocked the door and told us to follow him and two other men. We went outside in the back of the jail house and then into another entrance and down a hallway into the front part of the building. Once there, we met another three men with guns, two holding AR-15’s or M16’s. I’m not sure.

One of the men, obviously in charge asked me, “Are you Franklin?”
“Yes sir.”
“OK, have a seat. You’ll be leaving soon.” Then he turned to Kelvin and said, we are going to talk and you are going to tell me everything, you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Kelvin answered.

They all disappeared except for the one guard with the M16; he was left standing next to me.

20 minutes later, Kelvin and the officers returned. Kelvin looked not in a great mood or state. The person in charge turned to me and Kelvin and said, “You guys can go now,” and then pointed down a long, dark hallway.
I looked down the hallway, and asked “Go where?” I couldn’t see any exit. There was no light on. Apparently they teach energy conservation here in jail. Who knew?

“Just walk down to the end of hallway and turn right.” He answered.
“But I don’t see any exit, sir.” I looked over at Kelvin; he was just as confused as I was. I got a really bad feeling that this was some kind of set-up…a trap.

I started walking, and Kelvin started to follow me. I looked back and there were four men standing behind us with guns…one of them with an AR-15 or M16. This would be the perfect opportunity to shoot us and say that we tried to escape after confessing to the murder.

Let me back up now and catch you up with some other things that happened the first day I was in jail. Frank, my boss and owner of the restaurant where I work at, called Ted Foster—the American consulate representative for the north coast. Ted came by the jail house in Cabarete. The guards came over to the cell and called my name and opened the jail cell door. I shook everyone’s hand wished them good luck. I was going home…I thought. I mean, I knew I would be getting out, but I just didn’t think it would take 5 hours before they released me on lack of evidence or misunderstanding or whatever mistake they made. Boy was I Wrong!

Ted Foster just stopped by because it was part of his job to look in on American citizens in jail. We went to the front parking lot in front of the Cabarate jail and started talking. He told me to just sit tight because I was probably going to be in jail for 48 hours. After that, he said, they either have to charge you or let you go. I laughed. But I also thanked him for the advice. But I knew that I would be there for no more than a few more hours simply because there must have been some kind of misunderstanding between the general and the police. Either that or, maybe the general was just too busy and didn’t realize I was sitting in jail. I mean, what other reason would there be for me to be sitting in jail when clearly, I had nothing to do with a girl who was killed on Sunday evening sometime, and the last time I saw here was at work on Saturday. Wrong again.

Kelvin and I kept walking down the dark hallway, looking for the exit. I kept glancing behind me and listening for a click of someone taking the safety off of their gun. I knew this would mean the end. This would be a terrible way to go…I hadn’t even got my teeth cleaned yet, and my clothes were in an awful state. I also hadn’t pooped in 3 days. Something about pooping in front of 20 strangers makes me nervous. I didn’t want to make a mess all over the place. I needed soap, I needed water. I needed to be clean if my mom was going to see me in a coffin.

When we got outside, Kelvin and I were so excited that we were running to find a taxi to get the hell out of town. When we found a taxi, we were laughing non-stop on the way back to Cabarete. We were nervous, we were happy, we were drunk with freedom. And this…after only spending 2 and a half days in jail! Imagine people getting out after 10, 15, 20 years in prison. I can’t even imagine the feeling of freedom and elation that would overcome them.

We kept on patting each other on the shoulder and saying "We're Free!" it was so funny that it had only taken three days in
jail here to understand how good it feels to be outside and to be able to walk across a street and be free.
 

Salsafan

Bronze
Aug 17, 2011
924
15
38
Still two weeks, I hardly can wait to get to the NC.
Somebody selling a combination of pepper- and bugspray ?