by Simon King
Two nurses entered the cell and the officers turned and left, leaving Sam in their capable hands. Only once she had finished her twenty-minute stint under the running water, did they bring Sam out. Despite offering her a wheelchair, Sam insisted on walking from the unit. The nurses gave Sam a blanket to put around herself, for modesty’s sake. The unit erupted a second time as she stepped from the cell. Her face was still burning and all she wanted was to get the hell out of there. As she began to descend the steps, she heard a male officer say, “Fucken rookie mistake.”
Although Sam turned to see who had said the words, she couldn’t identify them, a group of half a dozen officers staring back at her as she walked past. She wanted to scream at them, tell them who she really was and why she was there. But wants and needs were very different and all she could do was walk quietly from the unit, the pain continuing to throb. She suddenly remembered something Donald had told her during her initial tour.
“Any day you get to walk from a unit is a good day.” Today, she finally understood.
After receiving the necessary medical care in the hospital wing, Sam was sent home for the rest of the day. Henderson had dropped by personally during her brief stay, to check on her and had surprised Sam by telling her about his own hot-watering incident back during his first year in the job.
She tried to remain objective as she listened to his story, but there was something about the man that didn’t fit. Sam couldn’t tell why, but by the time he shook her hand and wished her a speedy recovery, she knew in her heart that he wasn’t their man. It wasn’t anything he said, but rather what he didn’t say. It was John Milton’s words that came to her as she sat listening to Henderson speak.
“Your instincts will always be the final decider. Trust them.” They were the words he’d told Sam during her very first day with Pogrom. She needed to trust her instincts and right now, the man sitting before her wasn’t it.
“Take the rest of the week,” Henderson had told her as he bid her farewell. If this was a normal job then she would have taken him up on the offer. But this wasn’t a normal job and Sam didn’t want to remain in this place any longer than she needed to. Nor did Tim. They needed to end this as quickly as possible.
“Thank you, but I’ll be back tomorrow.” Henderson nodded at that and gave her a mini-salute before leaving the room. Twenty minutes later, Sam walked out through the front gate, hopped into her car and was on the phone to Mumma before she hit the main road. Deja vu was in the air.
“Are you alright?” were Mumma’s opening words, even before Sam had a chance to speak.
“Yes, I’m fine. A little sore.”
“I saw what happened. I hope that beast is punished for that.” Mumma’s tone conveyed her anger perfectly, Sam smiling as she listened to her guardian angel.
“Could you do something for me please, Mumma? Would you be able to see of William Tunney goes by the name of Bill?”
“The truck from this morning? Sure. You find something?” Sam thought about whether she had.
“Hmmm, maybe. Just a hunch.”
“I’ll check it out and get back to you. Meanwhile, you head straight home and rest, you hear? No detours.” Sam laughed a little, despite the hint of pain still hovering around her face.
“Alright. I promise. Oh, and one other thing. Do you have access to the prison’s intranet?”
“Honey, I been in there since day one.” She chuckled a little, as if proud to mention it.
“I accessed the calendars for both Henderson and Perkins this morning. Could you possibly send them to me, if you have time?”
“That’s what I love about you,” Mumma said. “You’re so sharp with some things and yet clueless with others. Of course I’ll send them through. But please don’t snoop around things like that while at work. If they find you, there’ll be hell to pay.” Despite the burning in her cheeks, Sam felt the extra heat from being scolded.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.”
“You’re forgiven.”
The line disconnected and Sam dropped the cell beside her. Her mind began to wander, thinking about the information she had on hand. If Henderson really wasn’t the one, then who was?
Sam wasn’t surprised to find the information she requested already waiting on her laptop by the time she walked through her door. Mumma was the most efficient back-up Sam had ever known, even better than some of the ones she watched on television. She was fast, efficient and had the most incredible soul to match.
Once Sam checked her face in the bathroom mirror and had taken note of where the hot-water bomb hit her, she returned to the living-room couch and made herself as comfortable as possible. She opened her laptop, clicked on the link Mumma had sent and settled in for a virtual hunt.
Not surprisingly, William Tunney turned out to go by the name Bill Tunney, just as Sam had suspected. That meant he was the one meeting with Perkins every few weeks. But when she dug a little further, found that Mumma had been correct with one of her own assumptions.
Bill Tunney ran a construction company, which he had purchased upon his discharge from the army. He’d served in the military for the better part of 30 years, including several tours of the Middle East, Africa and Europe. The man had an impeccable military career and now looked to be enjoying retirement by running a successful side-business.
His company, Westerhof Constructions, had won the contract to fully refurbish the oldest building inside Bolton Prison. It had been a three-year deal, worth several million dollars and Tunney looked to be making a small fortune from the contract.
As Sam continued to dive deeper, she noticed the appearance of one person on Perkin’s schedule, yet the increased distancing of another. It seemed that as Tunney came into the picture, Henderson’s meetings with Perkins declined, almost to the point of being non-existent. It didn’t make sense and although on paper they appeared unrelated, Sam wasn’t so sure.
She opened the web chat channel to Mumma to try and get a helping hand. Thing didn’t add up and she needed the help from someone she knew to be the best at what she did. Mumma had the means and the skills to create magic with her fingers, a total whiz on the keyboard.
* * *
Sam-Is there a way to see if there’s any other links between Perkins and Tunney?
Mumma- Of course. Anything particular?
Sam-Something doesn’t feel right. I’m wondering if they knew each other before this refurbishment contract at the prison started.
Mumma-Good call. Shouldn’t take me long. Get back soon.
Sam-Thank you xx
While she waited for Mumma to do her thing, Sam decided to check a little bit deeper into Henderson. While her suspicions about Perkins were growing, it was the complete opposite at the other end. With a little bit of digging, she was soon staring at email conversations between the pair and what she found, all but settled her curiosity.
In dozens of emails, Henderson appeared to warn Perkins about certain issues throughout the prison, namely the surveillance system. As Sam worked her way through the conversations, the warden’s refusal to update the prison’s CCTV capabilities were nothing short of total dissension. It was as if he fought against improving the prison’s security measures.
It wasn’t just the cameras Henderson tried to bring up. Officer’s safety, overworked staff, poor rostering practices, lack of overtime pay and a lack of proper working tools for staff were all things Henderson approached Perkins about, his tone growing more confrontational with each email. The more mail interactions Sam opened, the more she saw the real reason behind the Captain’s anger, which started to look like something else entirely. It was frustration.
Sam opened another window, hit the internet browser and brought up the vision from the press conference where she had first seen Henderson. He was standing a little behind Perkins and as the clip played out, she kept her attention on the man in the back.
Now with the knowledge of what she had read in the many email exchanges, Henderson no lo
nger appeared as the angry and dangerous-looking officer. Instead, he appeared as the frustrated subordinate, his eyes occasionally peering towards his boss which was quickly followed by a light scowl.
It was there for all the world to see, a man caught up in the political red-tape of a warden who didn’t want to play the game by the rules.If anything, Henderson may prove to be an ally once the shit really starts falling around them.
Mumma phoned instead of chatting virtually. She was old school like that, preferring the simplicity of simply speaking to people. Sam answered the call and was immediately rewarded for her curiosity.
“I don’t know how you knew, but you’re right. Perkins and Tunney did know each other before the contract. Actually, long before the contract.”
“How long?” Sam asked, sitting upright.
“Try a good twenty years. Tunney was Perkins’ superior in the army.”
“Perkins was in the army?”
“Sure was. Did a couple of tours with Tunney. And get this. Three other people from that squad work for Tunney as well. Can you guess where?”
“They’re part of the crew in the prison?” Sam felt her pulse quicken, relieved at finally having something to go on.
“They are. I’ve checked some of the footage and have identified each of them.”
“Hmmm, this still doesn’t link them to the murders though.” She looked back at the monitor, where Perkins was still busy talking to the mob of reporters. “But maybe someone else has a hunch like me?”
10
The day of Trevor Thompson’s murder was one of Tim’s longest ever. Locked up in a cell with five other inmates was beyond uncomfortable. The smell, the tension, the very thought of being locked up and unable to leave, proved to be the things Tim couldn’t get his mind off. So when an officer came to take him for an appointment, he jumped at the opportunity.
It was a psychological evaluation he needed to complete, organized by the state itself. The nurse who handed him the sheet of paper and pen gave Tim a brief explanation of what he needed to do, before leaving him alone in a room as barren as an empty cell.
He sat quietly and looked at the sheet, eyeing each question before carefully ticking the appropriate box. He’d taken several psychological evaluations in the past and while most of the questions seemed legitimate, others did not.
Do you have family?
If you were told you had a terminal illness, who would you tell?
What would you do to get out of jail if you had a choice?
The weird questions seemed to be intermingled and although they didn’t make sense, Tim filled them out regardless, careful to sign his fake name at the top. Once he finished, Tim set the pen down and waited for the nurse to return.
It felt like forever and in the back of his mind, one of the more common sayings he’d heard since arriving, played out in his mind. Prison time was something inmates talked about a lot, comparing it to time spent in a dentist chair.
It felt like almost an hour before the door finally opened, but much to Tim’s surprise, it wasn’t the nurse walking back in the room. Instead, Warden Perkins entered the room, closed the door and simply sat opposite him, a strange grin on his face. He picked up the sheet and briefly read it, skimming down the page in short spurts.
“Ray Brown,” he finally said, holding his hand out. Tim looked at it for a moment, unsure if he should shake. “Warden Perkins.” Tim finally did shake, gripping the man’s hand and giving it a single squeeze before dropping it back on the table. The warden didn’t seem to notice, instead watching him intently.
When he finally spoke again, his entire demeanor changed, his voice dropping to an almost whisper.
“Ray…may I call you Ray?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I like to meet every inmate who walks through the gates of this facility. I’m also a very firm believer in the law. I’ve read your record and I wonder if I may be blunt with you. Do you think you’ll receive a fair trial? I mean, your previous record is clean, nothing, not a blemish. Then you get yourself drunk, do something stupid and before you know it, you’re here.”
Tim eyed him curiously, unsure of where the conversation was headed. He felt uncomfortable, but not in a way that would end well for the warden.
“Let’s just say that this facility provides for its inmates. From rehabilitation, to courses and of course, to ensuring a fair sentence for all. If at anytime you feel that your punishment wasn’t fair, please feel free to call me.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a card and handed it to Tim.
He didn’t bother waiting for a response, simply rising to his feet, sheet in hand and turned back to the door. Tim watched him leave, the man not bothering to look back before he disappeared just as quick as he had appeared. Tim looked at the card and saw that on it was nothing more than a phone number.
After returning to his cell, Tim made sure to stow the card the warden had given him, under his mattress. Whilst listening to the warden, he’d felt a vibe that reminded him of one thing: deceit. The man was lying about whatever he was talking about, of that, Tim was positive. What he needed was for Sam to know.
He walked back to the cell’s interior window and looked out into the unit. The bank of phones were lined up along the wall to one side, barely thirty feet from where he stood. They may as well have been on Mars, just as accessible from there as they were here.
The unit was completely deserted, the only movement behind the other unit windows, where the rest of the inmates remained locked up.
“Bit antsy?” Bevan asked. Tim turned and walked back to his bunk.
“Just need some air,” he said as he climbed.
“Try not to think about it,” Mort said. “Try and imagine yourself on a beautiful beach somewhere.”
“Yeah, surrounded by gorgeous titties,” Bevan cried. The rest of the cell applauded.
“Nothing better then delicious titties,” Mort agreed.
Once the fanfare died down again, Tim laid back, put an arm under his head and stared up at the ceiling. After a few minutes, he closed his eyes and tried his best to block out the voices around him. If he couldn’t escape the cell for real, maybe he could mentally.
It wasn’t until dinner time that Tim was woken by one of the other inmates calling to him. The COs were handing dinner trays through the trap and each prisoner had to present in person to collect one. Although he wasn’t hungry, Tim slid from the bunk and grabbed a tray.
“Hey, Boss,” he whispered to the officer handing him the tray. “Any chance of getting out today?”
The officer almost laughed at the question, but answered it anyway. Unlike Tim, he didn’t keep his voice down, speaking as if addressing the entire unit.
“No one is getting out of their cell today. May as well get used to it.” Once Tim had his tray, the officer slammed the trap shut and moved on to the next cell, leaving Tim staring at the closed door.
“Help yourselves, lads,” he said, setting the meal down on one of the empty bunk beds. The swarm of fingers flew in like a crazed flock of seagulls. The tray lay empty within seconds, as Tim climbed back into bed. Whatever he needed to do would have to wait until morning.
Tim wasn’t one for spending more time sleeping than he needed, so when the lockdown happened and he found himself sleeping throughout the afternoon, it meant by the time normal bedtime came around, he wasn’t tired. This meant that although he managed to fall asleep again by around nine, by two in the morning he was well and truly done with sleep. He was as wide awake as he would ever be and nothing would get him back.
He decided to stretch his legs some, slowly climbing down from his bunk as the rest of the cell continued to snore like a pack of drunks after a hard night on the booze. He looked down at Bevan, sleeping on the lower bunk next to his own. He had half his naked ass hanging out from under the blanket. As Tim passed him on his way to the toilet, Bevan let rip with an impressive fart, snorted a couple of times, then pulled the blanket a little further up his torso,
revealing the rest of his butt.
Tim shook his head in disgust, then went and urinated, the flow seeming to go on forever. He hadn’t had a lot to drink during the previous day, but figured that not going at all, had managed to accumulate a significant amount.
Once he was done, he flushed, then walked to the window and looked out at the darkened unit. The bank of phones continued to mock him from where they sat and Tim flipped them the bird, glad no one was watching.
Just as he turned and went to head back to his bunk, movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked and saw someone walking through the shadows, appearing to take care to remain as close to the outside wall as possible. Whoever it was, headed for a cell on the lower tier, possibly next to Tim’s own, or one further along. The person disappeared from view for a moment and Tim took a step back himself, pushing himself away from the window and further into the darkness of the cell.
He waited for an unknown number of minutes before the figure reappeared. It was an officer, of that he was sure. But he couldn’t make out whether it was male or female. Then, just as he thought the lone figure would disappear from the unit again, it paused, turned back and motioned behind itself.
A second figure appeared, this one clearly dressed in prison gear. It was an inmate and Tim could make out by the silhouette, that it was Dewey Macintosh. The man stood six foot tall, weighed three hundred pounds and walked with a permanent limp. He was a fat inmate that had a tough time, due to his habit of stealing food and talking shit.