How prison had screwed me up and screwed up all the other men in this room who watched these two models of beauty move smoothly, definitely and gracefully towards my position.
Sam sat first and smiled. We didn’t speak, we just looked at each other and that was all we needed.
‘Jake,’ a voice said.
‘Hi.’ I didn’t know her name.
‘It’s a bit like being in a goldfish bowl in here, isn’t it?’
Both Sam and I laughed. Normality washed over us as our vision moved from each other to notice the eyes in the room focused on us (well, on Sam and this new woman) and as we looked around the embarrassed and furtive looked away and some just stared.
‘I’m Petal,’ said the new vision.
‘Aha.’ Well, what do you say when you want to be polite but wished the person wasn’t there?
‘I work at the CPS.’
‘Wonderful. You going to serve me with something?’
She laughed, more of a giggle. ‘No, you’re off the hook for the killings you carried out.’
‘Thank you, but is that an official notification?’ It was then that her words registered – ‘…for the killings you carried out.’ So they knew I did them and they were clearing me.
‘No, not really. I’ve a delivery to make.’ She turned to Bennie. ‘Hello, Bennie. Who’s your friend?’
Bennie was sitting with a beautiful West Indian woman.
‘Ezola meet Petal,’ said Bennie. So he knew her. ‘And the one making cow’s eyes at Jake is Sam.’
Petal turned back to me. ‘I’ve got two messages to deliver. A simple message first. It’s to tell Peter Jackson to get back into line or he’ll end up very dead.’
‘From whom?’
‘He’ll know.’
‘Why not tell Bennie the message?’
‘Because it’s better coming from you. Oh, and Jake, when I leave here Bennie will have the tool.’
‘The other message?’
‘Yes, just to let you know that your potty friend, Joe Nokes, is in the process of review and an appeal is likely. The review has indicated that he only killed one person, Mable Nokes. The police should never have questioned him in the mental state he was in at the time so some wrists will get slapped.’
‘Will he get out?’
‘Most likely a transfer to a mental hospital and then we’ll have to see.’
She stood, kissed me on the cheek and turned and kissed Bennie. By the time the prison officers reacted she was walking towards them. I knew Bennie had the weapon because I didn’t and I’d no idea what it was or how it had been transferred. So she was CPS and Family. They were everywhere. She walked towards the exit and then Micky’s wife was by us.
‘You’re Jake?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you.’ She was crying. ‘Micky’s okay now.’ She smiled through her tears and went back to Micky. I wanted to cry. I felt for both of them.
‘What was that all about?’ asked Sam.
‘Well, Micky was having some problems and came and talked to me and it seems he’s sorted them out with his wife.’
‘Proper little counselling service, aren’t you?’ There was sympathy in her voice; she didn’t know what it was about but she understood. No wonder I loved her.
‘Well, I have to do something when I’m pining away in here for you.’ Bravado, that was my solution, but I knew Sam would understand.
‘Piss off,’ she said and reached out for me and then sharply pulled her hand back. ‘Oops, no touching.’
39
It was lunchtime in the exotic dining hall of the prison, with its plastic-topped tables, plastic stackable chairs, plastic cutlery and plastic trays with indentations for food, plastic mugs and plastic condiment containers. Not that I have anything against plastic, you understand, but perhaps it’s not such an exotic dining room after all.
The queue was long and winding and I was slipping down it as prisoners made way for me in the mysterious way they did for those that they’d decided warranted some form of respect. I reached the serving area with my plastic tray thingy just as Dad arrived, so I helped him and we walked together to our normal seating area. It was odd really; the tables were supposed to be filled from the front right-hand side of the room and some people did that and they normally came in as groups. If there were not enough of them to fill a table of six the empty seats were not filled. The screws sometimes tried to make that happen (well, new screws did) only to end up with a mess of food down the backs of their uniforms, so they learned to let the prisoners sort out their own seating arrangements and in general, to stay out of the way of flying gravy-soaked mash or curry sauce or some other easy-to-flick and sticky missile. At least plastic cutlery was useful for something.
Minutes later, Arty joined us. Dad and Arty were very quiet. I knew Dad had been for an assessment for some pains a few weeks before and had been to see the specialist yesterday. Arty had been allowed to go with him so we knew it was serious. I wondered what the results had been. They were both picking at their food.
‘Are you going to tell me?’ I asked. Arty just got up and left. He was upset.
‘We need your help, Jake,’ said Dad.
‘To do what?’
‘Tell us what to do.’
‘About what?’
‘I have cancer and the doc says I have anything from six weeks to a year, depending on how it develops.’
‘He told you about treatment?’
‘Well, sort of, and no.’
‘Go on.’ Boy, Flash and Sergeant were trying to look as if they weren’t listening. What Dad had said so far was hurting them; they loved the old man. That was not the sort of thing we, us hard men, us outcasts from society, could admit to.
‘Well, I could have had this chemotherapy thing but I’m too old and the dicky ticker wouldn’t take it and anyways, it’s probably too late for that. If they’d found it earlier they might have been able to cut it out, but the scan thingy says it’s now invasive, whatever that is, so it’s up to drugs now, pain killers, and the doc said I will have to take more and more to kill the pain and well, that’s it really.’
I could ask what sort of cancer but I couldn’t see how me knowing that would help. ‘You might request compassionate release.’
‘How would I do that?’
‘I don’t know, but Mo could find out.’
‘I don’t know him.’
‘I do. I’ll ask him.’
‘I’m not going if Arty can’t come with me.’
‘I’ll ask Mo.’
I looked around and could see Mo with a group of people racially similar to him. He was finishing up so I wandered towards the door and reached it as he did.
‘Hi, Jake,’ he said. ‘My plan’s working well.’
‘That’s good, Mo. Can I ask your advice?’
‘Anything, Jake. Just anything.’
I explained Dad’s problem but that he wouldn’t go without Arty. He asked me some questions and said he would do some digging and then talk to Dad. That was that then.
40
I passed a message via Boy to see Peter Jackson. I got a message back to see him on the wing mid morning. I entered D-Wing, Level 3, which was a special place. The cells were larger than the cell Harry and I shared and level 3 were all singles. These were for lifers who had served a number of years. To pass along the walkway at this level was an experience. Peter Jackson’s people guarded it. Bennie Copland met me at the top of the stairs.
‘Welcome, Jake.’ He turned before I answered and walked along the walkway. I followed. I passed cells that contained people I’d seen, such as Bookkeeper and Smarts. I knew what Bookkeeper did (it was in the name), but what Smarts was supposed to do I didn’t believe. They said he could remember everything he read – a sort of living computer – but he had to spend most of his time in a quiet room as he could become overloaded and have fits. I wasn’t sure I believed this, although I’d heard of people with an eidetic memory so I
suppose he was an example. It was said that he murdered his wife with an axe because she forgot the milk at the supermarket but that may just have been a myth.
Peter Jackson’s cell wasn’t a cell at all; it was an apartment. The inside must have been designed by one of the guys who design caravans where everything kind of fits and the place contains everything. In this ‘room’ with Peter was Bennie. I had learned that Bennie had served as a corporal with Major Michael Carmichael when he was a captain and he knew Jase Phillips. I had also picked up that Bennie had been busted in the army on a drugs offence and had served in Parkhurst before ending up here.
‘Welcome, Jake. You wanted to see me?’
‘I had a visitor, Peter, and I was asked to give you a message.’
‘From your girlfriend or her companion.’
‘Via her companion.’
He turned to Bennie. ‘Leave us please, Bennie.’ Bennie left. ‘I see. Deadlier than the male I’m told.’
‘Perhaps, Peter. I know nothing about her.’
‘You’re very lucky, Jake, and the message?’
‘I don’t know who the sender is but I was told you would know.’
‘I understand, Jake. The message.’
I was nervous so I just said it like I was given it. ‘Tell him to get back into line or he’ll end up very dead.’
Peter sat there, thinking. ‘Do you know who it was from, Jake?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know what it means, Jake?’
‘No, but I might guess.’
‘Guess then, Jake.’
‘That you’ve done something that isn’t what somebody wanted done.’
‘Will you be the one who kills me, Jake?’
‘I shouldn’t imagine so for one moment, Peter.’
‘Can you send a reply for me?’
‘I’ve no idea who sent it. I did ask and was told you would know.’
‘Jake, you were a policeman. If you had a piece of information such as you’ve given me could you identify the potential killer?’
‘The opportunities are too great, Peter. It could be a member of The Family in here, it could be a contract killer in here who’s a prisoner or even a member of staff. Why don’t you do as you’ve been asked and get back into line?’
‘It’s not possible, Jake. The instructions I had were to have Jase Phillips killed so I did. Then you turn up and you kill the killer, Raymond Tidy, and want to kill me for telling Ratty to do it. I then receive instructions to have you killed. So I tried and it went wrong. Marty Clifford was supposed to kill you and he’s still in hospital. He’s gone blind you know; it was the brain damage to the back of his head that did that. Costello wants to kill you for what you did.’
‘I didn’t know about Marty.’
‘No, he’ll be in rehabilitation for a while.’
‘And Costello?’
‘He’s a loose cannon; he may try to get you but I’ve told him no.’
‘So if you tell him yes you’ll be off the hook.’
‘Not that easy. Costello kills you and now Sergeant and his black boys kill Costello and then me. This whole thing has got out of hand.’
‘It can’t be right, Peter. The Family aren’t stupid they don’t go around murdering lots of people. Something is wrong here. They work below the surface using brains rather than brawn.’
Peter’s eyes were bloodshot, probably lack of sleep, and he stared fixedly across the table at me. There was something already on his mind worrying him. He slowly tilted his head backwards and gazed into nothingness. His voice was mild; it had an edge of surprise in it, ‘I didn’t really believe you didn’t know, even when Bennie told me.’ He was a quiet man but he demanded respect.
‘Let’s start again, Peter, and get this clear.’ Peter looked at me; he wasn’t a well man. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I don’t think so, Jake. Talk me through what you see and perhaps we can reach some sort of solution.’
‘Okay. You were told to kill Jase because of something he knew or believed about Carmichael. You told Ratty to kill Jase. Jase is dead. That stopped him passing on what he believed or knew and it stopped the legal action to get him freed. Now, he had visitors and perhaps one of them knows what Jase believed. I killed Ratty for killing Jase and I was going to kill you but found out you were just a link in the chain, so I still don’t know who gave the order but I know it wasn’t Mabry.
‘You’re then told to have me bumped off and Marty Clifford gets the job. He fails and ends up seriously injured, blind. You lied to me about that, suggesting others acted without your instruction. I don’t know why you just didn’t tell me. Perhaps you thought I was Family.
‘Now you, Peter, are being threatened because you’re out of line, but I’m not sure what line you’re supposed to be in.’
‘No you’ve missed a step, Jake. I ordered your rape and you killed Wharton and Wilson. I think that was me being out of line and I didn’t tell them to kill you.’
‘Okay, Peter. Your conclusion?’
‘Two bosses: one wanted Jase killed and the other didn’t care. The one who didn’t care got you in here to sort this lot out. That has to be Mabry. Only he could pull the strings in the legal system. Why? I can’t even start to understand. I think it’s Mabry who has told me to get back into line because I ordered your rape, but I don’t know what that means except protecting you because he knows that Costello is after you and he wants you alive and again I don’t know why he wants you alive as you’re not in The Family. Perhaps somebody else with clout is pressurising him.’ He was looking at me to read any reaction to what he said. He saw none. ‘Only one man could pressurise him.’ He stopped; he wasn’t going to say it, so I did.
‘Rupert Carmichael.’
‘You know one hell of a lot about The Family as a non-member, Jake.’ I ignored the gentle thrust.
‘How would Mabry know, for example, that Costello would want to kill me?’
‘Good question, Jake.’ He sat and thought about it then shook his head, almost as if he didn’t believe something. ‘Mabry has somebody else, somebody else close to me, somebody who can’t operate as you can but is just feeding him information, somebody who may just be tracking you and me.’ Again he was just looking at me. ‘Are you a member of The Family, Jake?’ He wanted to be certain.
‘Good, Lord, no. You know I’m not.’
‘Who do you work for then?’
‘Me, I work for me. I wanted to avenge Jase. I know that may sound crazy. Mabry owed me a favour and another friend fixed me getting in here and I hope getting me out, and he fixed the liaison with Sergeant.’
‘Right, ex-RMP, Captain. Who do you actually work for?’
He might as well know. ‘Sir Nicolas Ross.’
‘The barrister?’
‘Yes.’
‘No wonder you can get in and out of here.’
‘Who ordered you to have Jase killed and why?’
‘I daren’t tell you, Jake, but you’ll have to solve the Costello problem or you’re dead meat. I can’t stop him.’
‘How do I do that?’
‘Two choices: a hit – I don’t recommend that because you’ve been lucky to escape the long arm of the law so far – or a yard fight, and I don’t give you much chance of winning that but if you live, it will all be over.’ Again he went into thinking mode. ‘It must be Bennie.’ He was thinking about the leak he had into The Family.
‘Why?’
‘Family man, came in about three weeks before you, and I was asked to look after him. He transferred from Parkhurst. Odd transfer that, but I knew he was Family’
‘By?’
‘You don’t give up do you, Jake.’ He laughed.
‘Okay, Mabry needs to know there’ll be a yard fight that I’ve agreed to so that will keep you in the clear, Peter.’
‘So Mabry wants you alive, Jake. You best go. It’s been good talking to you. I now know you’re good but don’t give you a chance in the yard.’
I got back to our cell and Harry came in.
‘Harry –’ I began.
‘Stop right there. You’re going to fight Costello.’
‘How did you know?’
‘You started with “Harry” and I knew something was coming and the only thing at the moment is Costello wants to kill you, so I reckon your only option is a yard fight because he won’t go for the ring; it has too many rules.’
‘You can fix it for me, Harry?’
‘Yes. Weapons, and when?’
‘No weapons. Normal prison clothing and boots at next association with his wing.’
‘Why no weapons?’
‘Loose clothes and boots are all I need and neither of us spends life in here if the other one dies.’
‘Area?’
‘Twenty-five to thirty feet square, marked with seats to prevent encroachment.’
‘That’s big and will favour you. Will he agree?’
‘Tell him it will let more people see and it will also look more acceptable to the screws.’ Harry nodded. He accepted the logic. Anyway, it was only a bit bigger than a boxing ring.
‘You only have four days.’
‘I’m fit, Harry. Not sure Costello is.’
Harry sat and looked at me. He was thinking and I could detect concern. He was working through the options and he clearly reached the same one as me.
‘Okay, Jake, we start training tomorrow. Now I’m going to talk you through a load of stuff you already know but as you don’t handle this stuff often I think you may need to be reminded. Remember, Costello has massive street-fighting experience. He does it for a living and he’s killed doing it.’
‘Thanks, Harry. I really needed cheering up.’
Staying Alive Page 20