‘Why?’ called out one of the lads.
‘Why what?’ Mr Walker looked confused, having been interrupted mid-flow.
‘Why do we have to produce something in that style?’
‘Because that’s what we are studying at the moment.’ Jack Walker’s brow furrowed in confusion. ‘Haven’t you been listening?’
‘’Course I have, I’m not bloody stupid,’ was the clipped reply.
‘No he’s not,’ called someone else. ‘Take that back!’
‘Yeah! You can’t talk to him like that.’
Jack Walker appeared muddled by the shouts and calls and Aiden realised the man had no idea how to handle the dissent.
‘We are studying surrealism…’ he began hesitantly.
‘And cubism, yeah I know,’ the first voice spoke again. ‘But what happens if I don’t want to do that? Why can’t I just do my own thing?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
‘I’ve got some good ideas. I’d like to do something with them instead.’
‘Me too, we should be allowed.’
The cries intensified in volume and the 20 or so boys in the class seemed to surge forwards towards Jack Walker, who took several steps backwards, before his table stopped his attempt to get out of the way of his angry pupils.
Aiden himself shrank back, away from the crowd, fearful of becoming involved, even though he would have liked to speak up in support of Mr Walker. But he’d been inside long enough to know that it wouldn’t make any difference. And to be honest he was more interested in getting through his sentence in one piece, than with taking a stand against something he perceived as injustice. He didn’t like the way Mr Walker was being challenged, but the sheer number of boys joining in the cat calls was beginning to frighten Aiden, as well as Mr Walker.
‘Please!’ Jack Walker called out. ‘Just take your places and get on with your work.’
‘Weren’t you listening? We don’t want to.’
‘Yeah, so what are you going to do about it?’
‘You can’t make us. You’re nothing but a poncy gay boy.’
Then the voices suddenly faded away. Mr Walker looked relieved as he stood upright and raised a shaking hand to his face, wiping away the sweat that had begun to roll down his face. But the silence wasn’t due to the boys’ acquiescing. The crowd parted like the sea before Moses, but this time it wasn’t for the biblical figure, but for the current leader of most of boys in the class, Memphis Colby.
Colby stood defiantly in front of Jack Walker, legs slightly open, arms folded across his chest, emphasising his huge torso and muscled arms. ‘See, the thing is, you’re not the one in charge here,’ Colby said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard. Now the boys here are going to be allowed to do their own thing.’
‘No. That’s not going to happen. We must stick to the curriculum, we, um…’
As Walker’s voice faded away, Aiden saw why. Memphis Colby was holding a clay sculpting knife in his hand. It was pointed squarely at Mr Walker’s stomach.
‘Oh, Christ,’ said Walker and turned away from Colby, scrabbling for something on his desk. Lifting up papers, files and pictures, he became more frantic in his search, knocking the contents of his table onto the floor.
‘Looking for this?’ Colby nodded towards one of his compatriots, who was grinning widely and holding up Walker’s personal alarm.
‘Oh, Christ,’ repeated Walker and closed his eyes in defeat.
Watching the stand-off between the two men with a sense of dread, Aiden wondered how much longer Jack Walker had to live.
Chapter 5
Dr Geoff Fox sighed as he prepared the drugs necessary to manage the new inmate, Titas Arendall. He could hear the lad being escorted down the corridor, each step taking him closer to Fox’s inner sanctum - the hospital wing. It wasn’t that he resented the new boy per se, it was just that in the normal order of things it was Fox that decided who was admitted to his wing. But Titas had been forced upon him by the governor. Fox had had no say in the matter.
As he shook out the tablets and placed them in the small paper cup, he remembered his conversation with the governor about the inmate. Governor Sharp had called him to his office to merely pass on the message that Titas would be arriving the next day. He’d been handed a file detailing the young man’s medical problems and told to deal with them. Flipping through the pages Fox had told the governor that it was a very big call. The boy had multiple mental health problems that might be better served in a secure hospital facility, rather than the small hospital wing of Reading Young Offenders’ Institute.
At that the governor had gone a strange colour, his eyes had bulged and his cheeks had puffed out, reminding Fox of an angry bull ready to charge at the hapless matador. Sharp shouted his order, just in case Fox was deaf, and spoke slowly, accentuating each syllable, as one spoke to someone for whom English was their second language.
‘You. Will. Do. As. You. Are. Told,’ Sharp had snarled. ‘You will handle Titas Arendall without any problems whatsoever. You and your staff will make sure that he is kept quiet, occupied and is no threat to anyone; inmates or officers. You will make me proud of our facilities. Under no circumstances will you allow anything to happen that could harm the reputation of this establishment. Do I make myself clear?’
Geoff Fox had been unable to do anything other than agree. He well knew that once the governor had given his edict, one was expected to follow the order to the letter. Governor Sharp saw himself as a man on the up and up and woe betide anyone who caused a blip in his efforts to enhance his career. Fox himself was much less ambitious. He was seeking a quiet life. A life free of stress and with as few working hours as possible. He’d been plucked from the maelstrom that was the Accident and Emergency department of the local hospital where he was drowning and set down in the relative quiet of the Young Offenders’ Establishment. On more than one occasion the governor had threatened to put him back from whence he came. That threat being enough to make Fox’s brain shut down in fear, rendering him helpless to defend himself and just about able to mutter his agreement to whatever it was that the governor was demanding of him.
The locks being opened on the gates to the hospital shook Fox out of his reverie and his head snapped up to take in the sight of the young man being bodily dragged into the wing by two officers. Titas’ hands and legs were cuffed and Fox felt a pang of sympathy for the youth. His black skin already had a sheen of sweat on it and his dreadlocks swayed around his shoulders as he tried to wrest himself free from the officers holding on to him as tightly as they could. The professional inside him knew that the wild look in the boy’s eyes was borne of fear, the stress of the journey, and the transfer not sitting well with the lad. But that one look was also enough to make Fox realise that he was right in his assessment. The boy should be in a mental health facility. Fox could do no more than try and gain the boy’s trust and keep him sedated as much as possible. Fox did not have the facilities or the staff to help Titas in any meaningful way.
Instead of gently cajoling Titas into the large hospital chair Fox had prepared for him in a cubicle, the officers dragged him, pushing and pulling at the boy as though he were no more than a stubborn donkey. Titas looked at the chair, then at Fox, and when Fox nodded slightly, the boy allowed himself to be seated.
Encouraged by that and wanting to further gain the boy’s confidence, Fox said to the officer taking the chains off Titas’ legs, ‘Take the handcuffs off as well, please.’
‘Are you sure, doc?’ one of the officers asked.
Stealing another look at Titas, who appeared to be silently pleading with his eyes, Fox said, ‘Yes. We’ll be okay. I need to examine him and the handcuffs will make that more difficult.’ That was a barefaced lie, of course, but the best excuse Fox could come up with at short notice.
One of the officers approached Titas and undid the handcuffs, taking them away and securing them to his belt before turning to look on
ce again at Geoff.
‘Thank you, that will be all,’ Fox said, more firmly than he actually felt.
‘Really, Doc?’
‘Really. It’s not usual practice to have officers present whilst I examine a new patient, so if you don’t mind…’
‘Very well, it’s your funeral,’ the officer said, and he and his companions made their way out of the wing, grumbling amongst themselves, no doubt discussing their uncertainties about the lack of restraints on the prisoner.
Geoff Fox began to examine Titas, who was initially compliant with his wishes and even allowed him to take a blood sample. All the while Fox kept up a steady stream of soothing patter, explaining to Titas what he was doing and why and what would happen next. At first the boy’s breathing was rapid and shallow, but he soon calmed down under Fox’s instruction to take slow deep breaths, so that he could listen to his large muscular chest. He allowed Fox to look in his ears and mouth and feel the glands in his neck. But try as he might, Fox couldn’t get Titas to reply to any questions about his health. Until it came time to take his medication.
‘Don’t want none,’ Titas said as Fox held out the small paper cup with the tablets in. ‘They make me feel bad.’
‘Ah, but I’ve changed the prescription a little. These shouldn’t make you feel sleepy.’
‘Don’t care, I’m not taking anything.’
‘I really would advise it, Titas,’ Fox replied and then swallowed, hoping to God the boy would see sense. ‘As I was saying, I’ve changed a couple of the tablets…’
But Fox got no further than that. Titas sprang out of the chair, knocking the pills out of Fox’s hand. They went skittering across the floor and Fox bent down to pick them up, which was clearly a mistake, as he unwittingly showed his posterior to Titas, which the boy duly kicked, sending Fox sprawling to the floor after the tablets.
Winded, Geoff nevertheless managed to turn himself over, desperate as he was to see what Titas was up to. Titas was in fact looming over Geoff’s prone body, looking for all the world like a wrestler about to fall on top of his adversary and pin him to the ground in order to win the points and the match. As Titas launched, Geoff managed to get his hand on his personal alarm and press the red button, hearing the reassuring clamour of the bells, before Titas landed on him and everything went black.
Chapter 6
Aiden backed himself into a corner of the art room as the crowd surged towards Mr Walker. Unsure what to do for the best, he decided the safest thing would be to make a run for it. He made his way along the wall, hugging the low cabinets that lined it and reached the classroom door, just as a scream from Mr Walker rang out, which was immediately silenced, no doubt by one of the boys clamping a hand over their teacher’s mouth. Aiden had no idea what was happening. The sheer number of boys surrounding the teacher made it impossible to see what was going on. But whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t good.
Aiden slipped through the door unseen and ran for the nearest classroom, which happened to be the computer room.
‘Mrs Greenwood,’ Aiden shouted from the door. ‘Come quick, some of the boys are after Mr Walker!’
‘Aiden?’
‘Quickly, please!’
Legs buckling, Aiden held onto the doorframe to steady himself as Mrs Greenwood swept through the door and on towards the art classroom, her long skirt rustling as she went past. Her blond, highly lacquered curls didn’t move though. They never did. Glad that she’d responded to his call, Aiden ignored the shouted questions from the boys sat before the dozen or so elderly, bulky machines in the classroom, which everyone knew were cast-offs from the local college.
‘What the fuck?’ someone called. ‘Are they really after Mr Walker?’
‘So what, he’s a shirt lifter, he’s only getting what’s coming to him,’ another said, which earned the speaker a few titters.
‘Yeah - hope they’ve knifed the gay boy!’
‘Knife him, knife him,’ started the chant, amid cackles of laughter.
Aiden seriously thought he’d fallen down the rabbit hole, and as the chants grew in volume he ran out of the door and followed Mrs Greenwood like a whippet after a hare. There clearly wasn’t any safety to be found in the computer room, so he decided to stick with the teacher.
‘What the hell’s going on here,’ he heard her shout. Her imperious tone rang through the classroom, catching the attention of some of the boys who just a moment ago had been craning their necks trying to watch their teacher being attacked. They hung their heads and shuffled away, giving Aiden and Mrs Greenwood a clear view of Mr Walker.
He was lying on his back, clutching his stomach, trying to staunch the blood that was seeping through his fingers. As Aiden watched in horror, the blood kept pumping, turning Mr Walker’s once white hand, red. As the pool of blood on the floor next to the teacher grew, Mrs Greenwood rushed to his side.
As she dropped to the floor, Aiden heard her say, ‘Jack! Jack, stay with me, I’m calling for an ambulance.’
Mr Walker’s head turned in her direction, his mouth opening and closing twice, before his head dropped to one side and fell against the floor with a thud, his mouth staying open as though he were still trying to utter his last words, which instead of being heard, would go with him to his grave.
Never having seen anyone die, or indeed a dead body, apart from on the television which everyone knew was fake anyway, Aiden wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or fascinated. He was rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes from the tableau on the floor. Mr Walker’s blood had stopped pumping from his stomach, which meant his heart had stopped. Mrs Greenwood reached for her personal alarm located on her leather belt, pressed the button and then turned back to her stricken colleague.
‘Aiden!’ she called, over the sound of the alarm that was ringing around the education wing. ‘Help me.’
Shit. Was she serious? How could he help, when the sight of the blood on the floor was making him feel sick? He looked around at the other boys, all of whom were backing away, distancing themselves from the dead man and the act of murder that they’d just witnessed, or maybe even perpetrated. Mrs Greenwood was starting CPU, trying to restart Mr Walker’s heart by placing her clasped hands on his chest and rhythmically pumping. Close to hysteria, all Aiden could think of was that awful Vinnie Jones advertisement on the telly. The one where you were supposed to resuscitate someone by pumping on their chest to the beat of the Bee Gees’ Saturday Night Fever song, Stayin Alive.
‘Aiden!’ she screamed again and this time he reacted, pushing through the boys to drop by her side. ‘Find something to press against the wound. If I can get his heart started, you’ll need to staunch the flow of blood.’
Aiden looked around but couldn’t see any cloths or rags within reaching distance, so before he could rationalise his actions, he tore off his own tee-shirt, bunched it in his hand and pressed it against Mr Walker’s stomach. Putting his weight behind his hand helped to stop the shaking in his limbs as he focused on doing his job. He didn’t want Mr Walker to die. He didn’t want to be in Reading Prison. He wished he was still at home and had never made friends with those idiots who had ruined his life. But looking at his dead teacher, who Mrs Greenwood was trying to give a second chance at life, Aiden realised that this could be his own second chance. If he did all he could to help, then surely that wouldn’t go un-noticed by the staff and officers. Maybe they would realise that he was different. That he wasn’t the potential killer they all thought him to be. Perhaps helping to revive Mr Walker could just possibly be the best thing that could have happened. At this thought, Aiden applied more pressure against the tee-shirt covering the knife wound, just as Mr Walker took a ragged breath.
Mrs Greenwood leaned back on her heels and turned to Aiden. ‘Did you see what happened?’ she hissed into his ear.
Not trusting himself to speak and unable to tear his eyes away from the blood that was once again seeping out of Mr Walker, turning Aiden’s once white tee shirt into a pal
e imitation of a pink dye job, Aiden shook his head.
‘What was he stabbed with, I wonder?’ she looked around the now empty room. ‘I can’t see a weapon. I wonder who did it and why?’
But Aiden had no answers for her, and turning his head away from her words, he closed his eyes against the blood that wouldn’t stop running out of Mr Walker and hoped to God that help would arrive soon.
Chapter 7
‘You bloody idiot!’
Geoff Fox could just about hear Chief Robinson, as he berated him for his foolish actions, over the shouts of his officers and the verbal diatribe from Titas. He had no excuse for what he’d done, at least no reasonable one, so he decided to keep his mouth shut. But his lack of reply didn’t stop the Chief.
‘You took off his handcuffs and then sent the officers away!’
Chief Robinson was going a very strange colour. It was as though his body couldn’t decide between the blood draining from his face at the enormity of the situation, or being suffused and flushed red with rage. Either way, his white face and red neck made him look ill. Geoff tore his eyes away from the Chief to watch the riot officers as they gradually worked Titas into a corner of the room. They wore helmets that seemed several sizes too large for them, with full visors and a flap down the back of their necks. Their bulky flak jackets turned them into Michelin men and their boots stomped on the ground in some sort of weird tribal dance.
Titas was beside himself. He reminded Geoff of a large gorilla, as King Kong-like he roared at the officers, swiping at them with clenched fists. As he shoulder-charged them, attempting to push through them, the officers managed to surround him and contain him in a ring of shields. But it wasn’t over yet. They still had to overcome him and get some handcuffs on him. Geoff wiped the sweat from his brow. It was going to be a long morning. The only good thing was that at least the hospital was empty of lads. Something Chief Robinson and the Governor had wisely insisted upon, although Geoff had worried at the time that one or two of them had been discharged too soon.
Joint Judgement (An Emma Harrison Mystery Book 3) Page 2