Gareth Dawson Series Box Set

by Nathan Burrows

  “That, dear boy, is your entire appeal in one word.”

  25

  Another Saturday, another round of visitors. It was three weeks since Paul and Laura had visited, and I’d not heard anything from them since. I’d not seen Andy or Jacob for ages either, so when I found out Jennifer’s family would be visiting it had lifted my spirits for the whole week.

  I walked into the visitors’ room, put my orange bib on, and made my way to the table where Jacob was sitting. There was no sign of Andy. As I approached, Jacob got to his feet, and we nodded at each other. He was looking well, dressed in a tight t-shirt that showed off tanned, muscular arms. My upper arms weren’t in bad shape, but even I wouldn’t show them off like that. If they looked like his though, I might well consider it. He was looking good.

  “Hello, mate,” I said. “How are you doing?” Jacob sat back down, a smile on his face.

  “I’m fine, Gareth,” he replied. “More to the point, how are you? You’re looking thinner. Is that on purpose?” I smiled but didn’t answer his question.

  “Is your Dad not coming today?” I asked. “I thought I saw his name on the list.”

  “He’s just in the toilet,” Jacob replied. “We took longer to get here than I thought it would. I thought I would have to stop off in a lay-by and let him out for a pee at one point.”

  “How’s he getting on?”

  “Not great, Gareth,” Jacob said. “I’m worried about him, to be honest. He’s just got no, I don’t know how to describe it, no life in him anymore.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so kept silent. “He’s just moved house though, so I’m hoping that once he’s settled in, he’ll be happier.”

  “Where’s he moved to?” I asked.

  “Sheringham of all places,” Jacob said with a laugh. I knew the town well, and it was in a lovely part of the country. One of the few happy memories of my childhood I had was going on holiday there. I’m not sure how old I would have been — probably only seven or eight — but I remember looking for crabs when the tide had gone out and getting my legs soaked. My mum had been furious and the smack she gave me hurt a lot more than the nips from the crabs I’d found.

  “Very nice,” I said. “Let me guess, sea view?” Jacob laughed harder as he replied.

  “Oh yes. It’s supposed to be a flat, but it’s bigger than your old place and mine put together. Right on top of the hill, fantastic views out over the sea.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” I said. One of the best things about the North Norfolk coast was the sky. For some reason, there seemed to more of it than anywhere else in the country. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have a flat right on the coast. What it would be like to sit with a glass of beer watching the sea, not a care in the world. If I was going to buy a flat in Sheringham, I’d make sure it was one with a sea view. “Does he know many people up that way then? I thought most of his friends are in Norwich?”

  “We’d better change the subject, mate,” Jacob said, nodding over my shoulder. “Dad’s here.” I got to my feet and turned to greet Andy.

  “It’s great to see you, Andy,” I said. Jacob was right. Andy had changed. He looked drawn, almost gaunt. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one who had lost weight. “Thanks for coming in, I really do appreciate it.” Andy shook his head as I said this.

  “Gareth, please. I feel bad enough for not coming to visit more often, and you saying that only makes me feel worse.” Andy had visited me more often than anyone else, but he wouldn't know that.

  “Dad’s been moving house,” Jacob said, looking at Andy. “That’s why he’s been so busy.”

  “Oh right, I didn’t know you were moving. Where have you moved to?” I asked. Jacob obviously didn’t want Andy to know we’d already had this conversation, so I played along.

  “I’ve moved into a flat in Sheringham, close to the seafront,” Andy replied with a faint smile. “It’s a nice little place,” Andy sighed. The way Jacob had described it made it sound far from little. “To be honest, there was nothing left in the old house for me, not anymore.” I watched as the smile faded from his face.

  “Plus, it’s on the ground floor,” Jacob said, grinning. “He was having trouble getting up the stairs.” Andy laughed and mimed hitting Jacob round the back of the head.

  “Yeah, course I was. Needed to be closer to the toilet for that four o’clock in the morning pee. I can’t start, and then once I do, I can’t stop.” He laughed as he said this, and for a few seconds the Andy I knew of old was back. It was good to see him laugh, and I silently thanked Jacob for turning the conversation back round. I guessed he’d had a fair bit of practice at doing that.

  The three of us sank into an easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing. It wasn’t like the conversations I had with the other prisoners, or even the prison officers, as there was no nonsense. No hidden agendas, no ulterior motives. It was just three men with something in common that wasn’t the fact we were in prison. It was that we’d all loved Jennifer. And we’d all lost her, but we were careful not to talk about that. After fifteen minutes or so, Jacob put an index finger in the air and reached into the pocket on the back of his jeans.

  “I almost forgot,” he said as he pulled a folded piece of paper out and lay it flat on the table, unfolded. Written across the top of it were the words ‘INFORMATION WANTED’ in large, black letters. Underneath this was a photograph of me. It looked like a still from the camera that had caught me coming out of the alleyway the night Robert died. Below my photograph was the text ‘Did you see this man?’ I scanned through the paragraph that followed, which was an appeal for anyone who might have seen me on the evening that Robert was killed. The text ended with ‘Call Laura on’ and a telephone number.

  “Right, okay,” I said slowly. I was surprised that Tommy or David hadn’t told me about this, but then I'd not talked to either of them for a couple of weeks. “Is there a reward?”

  “Don’t know for certain,” Jacob said. “But one of my mates heard it’s ten grand.” Ouch. Ten thousand pounds was a hefty reward. I wondered if that was ten grand for information leading to a successful appeal, or just for information. It had to be for the former, but even so, every nutter in Norwich would come out of the woodwork to claim that. “Can you get the Eastern Daily Press in here, Gareth?” Jacob asked.

  “Er, yeah we can. We have to order it in though, and pay for it,” I replied.

  “There'll be a piece on the case this week, off the back of this poster. My other half works for the publishers,” Jacob explained. “He’s not sure when it’ll come out, but it’ll be this week at some point.”

  “Can we get it for you?” Andy asked. “Order it on your behalf? I’m guessing your hourly rate isn’t brilliant.”

  “No, I wish that was how it worked,” I laughed. “I’ve got a bit stashed away in my off-shore account, so should be able to stretch to getting the EDP for the week.” I re-read the poster and jabbed at it with a finger. “Where did you get this from then?”

  “There’s one on almost every tree and lamp post in Thorpe St Andrew, mate,” Jacob said. “And the pubs, the shops. There’s even one in the fish and chip shop on Yarmouth Road.”

  “What’s happening with your appeal and these new lawyers then, Gareth?” Andy asked, tearing me away from a brief daydream about battered sausage and chips from a chippy. It didn’t have to be the one on Yarmouth Road, any chippy would have done. I paused before replying. There wasn’t much to say.

  “Not a lot, to be honest. At least, I didn't think there was, but then I’d not known about these posters.” I’d told Andy about the appeal in a rushed phone call just after I'd signed the paperwork a few weeks ago. “I’ve not heard anything back from Paul Dewar at all.” I saw Jacob frown. “He’s the lawyer chap,” I explained. “It’s his firm that’s now in charge of the appeal.”

  “What firm is it?” Andy asked.

  “The Phoenix something or other,” I replied. “Or that’s the nam
e of the lot that are funding it.” Jacob looked across at Andy, and I considered telling them what David had found out about Paul before deciding against it. “I didn’t know there was a reward out, that’s for certain.”

  We chatted for a while before visiting time ended. Andy told me more about his new flat, which sounded really nice. He promised to bring in some pictures for me to look at the next time he visited, which he said would be soon. When the bell rang to signal the end of visiting time, I was disappointed. I’d really enjoyed talking with them both. As they got to their feet, both Andy and Jacob said they would come and visit again, as soon as they could.

  Once I’d handed in the high-visibility vest, I made my way back to my cell. As I sat on the edge of the bed, I unfolded the piece of paper with the appeal for information and spread it out on the table. I wasn’t that concerned about it being contraband, as it was only a piece of paper, but even so hanging on to it was against the rules.

  I was reading the text on the paper again when my cell door swung open and two of the biggest bastards I’d seen in years lumbered their way into my cell.

  26

  “Who the fuck are you?” I was on my feet in an instant, fists bunched, the piece of paper forgotten. I’d gone from being fairly relaxed to being prepared for a scrap in less than a second. Looking at the two gorillas in my cell, this would not be a scrap I would come out of on top. They were both very, very big lads, and that is no understatement. Well over six feet, the pair of them, broad shouldered, not gym big but just big. They could have been brothers, and as I looked at them a bit more closely, I realised that they probably were. I had no idea where Mac was, but given the size of these two, he wouldn’t have been much help, anyway.

  Neither of them replied to my question, so I repeated it. “I said, who the fuck are you?” They both just looked at me with impassive expressions, and a few seconds later the one nearest the door moved to let a third man walk into my cell. It was getting cosy.

  “Mr Dawson?” the new arrival asked. He was nowhere near the size of the other two, but he carried himself with the air of a man who was used to being in charge. Aged late forties at a guess, his grey hair was cut almost to the skin in a crew cut. He didn’t have the pallor of long term prisoners or any prison tattoos. I was sure that if I’d seen him and his two monkeys wandering around Whitemoor, I would have noticed them. I said nothing but just stared at him. “You are Mr Dawson?” he repeated his question, and I caught a clipped accent. Not an English one.

  “Who wants to know?” I replied, trying to make myself look as menacing as I could. Given the circumstances, it was the only thing I could do. The man just laughed in reply, but I didn’t think it was with any trace of humour.

  “I do, Mr Dawson. You don’t have to be so defensive.” I tried to place his accent. Polish, maybe? “May I sit down?” My visitor gestured toward the only chair in the room and, when I nodded, sat down. The other two rearranged themselves on either side of him and he pointed at my bed. “Please, sit down. I only want to have a, how do you say it, a chat?”

  I sat on the bed, feeling slightly less apprehensive but not by much. The fact that this gentleman had brought two bodyguards along for a ‘chat’ meant that either a lot of people wanted to kill him so he needed the protection, or he wanted to threaten someone. In this case, me. Neither option was very palatable.

  “My name is Mr Demeter, but please, call me Gejza. This is Lasho,” he said, pointing over his left shoulder, “and Yoska.” He pointed at the other gorilla. I looked back and forth between the two of them. They stared back at me, expressionless. “And you are Mr Dawson, yes?”

  “I think you know I am. Sorry, what was your name? Gejza?” I replied, grim-faced.

  “Yes, that’s correct. You almost pronounced it correctly, which is unusual,” he said. “It’s more of an ’s’ sound than a ‘z’.” He looked at me with his eyebrows raised, so I said his name again. With more of an ’s’ sound. “Perfect,” Gejza laughed. “Now, Mr Dawson, we need to have a chat about a friend of yours.”

  “Who?” I replied.

  “Robert Wainwright.”

  “He’s hardly a friend of mine. You know why I’m in here, I take it?”

  “Yes, I do,” Gejza said. “You murdered him.” I thought for a second about correcting him and pointing out that although I’d been convicted of his murder, I didn’t kill him. We looked at each other for a few seconds before he continued. “I used to work for a gentleman called Mr Caran. Now I work for another gentleman who took over Mr Caran’s business interests after a disagreement back in Romania. Your friend,” he put his fingers in the air and mimed air quotes around the word ‘friend’. “Well, Mr Wainwright owed my new employer quite a lot of money.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s got everything to do with you. Where I come from, where we come from, a debt doesn’t die when a person dies.” He narrowed his eyes. “It gets transferred.”

  “Transferred? Where?” I said.

  “To you.”

  “Well, that’s bollocks.”

  “No, I’m sorry. Not in this case. The debt is outstanding, and if you hadn’t killed Mr Wainwright, then it would have been re-paid. Therefore, it’s now your responsibility,” he replied. I still thought it was bollocks, and I told him so.

  “Look, Gejza,” I said, emphasising the ’z’ just to annoy him. “Robert Wainwright has nothing to do with me. Whatever he owes you, or your employer, is none of my business.” Gejza looked up at one of his gorillas, either Lasho or Yoska, I had no idea which one, and then back at me.

  “I’m afraid you’re wrong, Mr Dawson,” Gejza said, almost in a whisper. “That’s not how it works where I come from.” I considered telling him that in this country, at least, what worked where he came from didn’t mean shit, but thought better of it.

  “How much are you talking about?” I asked. When he told me, I let out a low whistle. That was a lot of money.

  “Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, Gejza,” I said. “But even if I was liable for that amount of money, which I’m not, there’s no way I could pay it. I don’t have any money.” I sat back on my bed and regarded my visitor. “And my earning potential is a bit limited for a while. So, I think you'll have to forget about that debt. Write it off to experience perhaps?”

  “I don’t think so, Mr Dawson,” Gejza said. I saw his gaze shift over my shoulder and rest on something on the wall behind me. The only thing on the wall was a photograph of Jennifer. “If you can’t pay, then we will have to take payment another way.” The threat hung between us for a few seconds, and I stared at the man sitting opposite me.

  “That’s a photo of my wife you’re looking at,” I said. He paused for a few seconds before replying.

  “She’s beautiful,” he said, almost whispering. “It would be such a shame if anything happened to her while you were in here.”

  I looked at the man who was threatening my wife. My dead wife. He obviously didn’t know she was dead, and I considered my next step. I could say nothing about what had happened to Jennifer, let him find out for himself. I could tell him, but I couldn’t see how that would help in the slightest. What I really wanted to do was to launch myself off the bed and attack him. I knew it wouldn’t last long and that his two gorillas would be on top of me in seconds, but if I got one good punch in it would be worth a kicking. As if he knew what I was considering, Gejza got to his feet and moved to stand between his bodyguards.

  “Have a think about things, Mr Dawson,” he said. “Work out what the best way ahead is for you.” His eyes flicked back to the picture of Jennifer, and I pushed my hands against the bed, springing to my feet. The second I did that, Gejza took a step back and the two gorillas both stepped forward in a choreographed move that left me looking between their shoulders at the smaller man. “I’ll be in touch,” Gejza said as he turned to walk out of my cell. His bodyguards followed him and as he got to the door, he said something
else which I didn’t understand. It wasn’t in English.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of movement from the gorilla nearest me. By the time I’d realised what was going on, it was too late to do anything to avoid the fist coming towards my face.

  There was a flash of white light, a brief split second of pain, then everything went black.

  27

  I was lying on the bed in my cell, reading a book, when the sound of the cell door opening made me jump. I looked at the door, wondering if my unexpected guests from the previous day had come back to see me, but it wasn’t them. I’d spent most of yesterday afternoon in the prison infirmary with a tampon in each nostril, but apart from a splitting headache and faint bruising underneath each of my eyes, there was no permanent damage, according to the duty doctor at least. A succession of prison officers had interviewed me in the infirmary, but I’d not deviated from the ‘walked into a door’ story. None of them believed it, but, no-one pressed me too hard for the truth. I folded the corner of the page I was reading to mark my place and got to my feet just as Mr McLoughlin walked into my cell.

  “Your legal team is here to see you, Mr Dawson,” he said.

  “Are they? I wasn’t expecting them today.”

  “Well, they’re here,” Mr McLoughlin replied, looking irritated. “Are you coming or not?” He walked out of my cell and I followed him onto the walkway. We walked in silence to the door at the end of the block. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but he didn’t seem in the mood for idle chit-chat. Of all the prison officers, he was the one who I got on the best with. I guess our relationship was about as close to a friendship as it was possible for a convicted murderer and a prison officer to have. He seemed deep in thought as we walked through the corridors to the lawyer’s room. Was he pissed off that I’d not told them who had attacked me in my cell? While we stood waiting for the door to be opened from the control room, I decided to break the silence.