by G. F. Newman
‘Why do you get angry like that?’ she wanted to know. ‘Don’t you think it right that criminals get punished?’
‘I’m not angry,’ he said with forced calm. ‘Of course it’s right, otherwise we’d have fucking nonces on the loose.’
‘But it’s not right for you to be punished?’
‘Well, one thing’s for sure, s’no good relying on anyone on your side of the system to put things right. All you’re doing is helping to ease their consciences for putting me here. Well, you can go and fuck yourself,’ Lynn said. He laughed, feeling in control now. The psychiatrist snapped shut her notepad. Psychopathically overbearing, arrogant, angry at authority – Lynn could guess what her report would say.
#
Before his time behind his door was up, Lynn was informed of a visit from his solicitor, Alex Gladwell. He felt excitement and nervousness in case they denied him this on account of his circumstances, but the deputy governor had said nothing about him losing his privileges. Lynn didn’t know if his brief fell under that heading anyway.
‘You’re supposed to sew those sacks, not sit on them,’ Powell said when he unlocked the door.
‘Oh, I will, son,’ Lynn said, ‘Just as soon as the needle comes back from being sharpened.’ Similar comments were made whenever screws opened the door. He thought about giving one of them a surprise by actually sewing some of the bags. The screws reacted to his protests less and less, like they knew there was no point. Lynn saw it as a trial which he was winning.
Alex Gladwell looked like he was still getting a good living. Most of his business was from criminals, and most of them probably got their living from serious crime, and probably paid a cash fee over the Legal Aid brief. Whatever Gladwell’s ability at law, Lynn knew his greatest asset was in his relationship with the cid, and the deals he was able to make for his clients. Most of those deals involved passing money to detectives for a result. Lynn had no problem with that, and doubted there was a single turndown from the police whom Gladwell ever approached, assuming the circumstances were right. The fact that he had tried to do some business on his behalf but had been unsuccessful didn’t signal failure on the solicitor’s part, but indicated to Lynn how much the cid wanted him put away.
‘Just because di Pyle can’t do any business doesn’t mean that the police can’t be of assistance,’ Gladwell told him. ‘Putting the right price into the right policeman can still get us a lot of valuable information that will help with your appeal. What we’re looking for is information about the police involvement in the case, details of which didn’t come out in court, but that costs money.’
‘Do you know anything that don’t while I’m tucked up here?’ Lynn said.
Even though censorship wasn’t that bad they still couldn’t risk writing to each other about such things.
Gladwell smiled and glanced towards the closed door of the legal visiting room.
‘How are you?’ he said, like he was suddenly uncertain about whether they were being listened to.
‘Oh, I’m t’rific,’ Lynn said, his eyes following the solicitor’s glance. ‘You think them fuckers are listening at the door?’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me, Jack.’ He looked at Lynn and said, ‘You look fucking awful. Can’t you get a bath and a shave in here?’
‘S’not exactly Butlin’s, is it? I heard it’s as hard to get out of there.’
‘Sit down, Jack,’ Gladwell told him, taking a seat at the table and opening his briefcase. ‘I don’t suppose they’re listening.’
‘You can’t even fart in private around here.’
‘Let’s write each other notes, then eat them.’ He grinned. ‘You’re behind the door, I hear.’
‘I’ll stay there if necessary till I get my appeal,’ he said defiantly. ‘How’s it going, Alex?’
Gladwell arched his eyebrows. ‘To be perfectly honest, our first priority is money. The second priority, though just as important, is new evidence. We can’t go far without either.’
There was a pause. The small round eyes of the solicitor watched him frankly. Lynn felt more dismayed than disappointed, but decided to be practical. He said, ‘Well, I ain’t got either. I mean, how the fuck could I, stuck down here? Can’t you get if off Legal Aid?’
‘Not for the sort of digging we’re doing,’ he said. ‘It’s a nice idea, Jack, getting a Legal Aid certificate in order to go into bent police for information on other bent policemen.’ He smiled, but Lynn didn’t see what was funny about the situation.
‘If we had some new evidence to put before the court,’ Gladwell said, ‘the appeal would be simple. It would amount to a miscarriage of justice as a result of evidence that wasn’t available at the time.’
‘Well, I fucking ain’t got none!’ Lynn said angrily. ‘I dunno who the fourth blagger was.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Jack. Your appeal’s in. What we have got gives us a fair chance. A bit of dosh would make things easier.’
Lynn considered the problem, knowing there was only one way to go on this. At first, he tried to avoid it, but knew how much he needed Alex Gladwell, and that he wasn’t going to go on working for nothing. ‘I’ll have to sell m’ house,’ he said, feeling sick at the thought. It was Dolly’s and the girls’ only bit of security. ‘I’ll talk to Dolly. That’ll solve the money problem. Where’ll she go with the kids, though – her mother’s, I suppose.’ He looked at the solicitor, as if hoping for some understanding of his domestic problems. ‘Should be worth about forty-five grand, by the time she pays off a couple of debts and the mortgage.’
‘You think it’ll sell all right in this market?’
‘Yeah, it should be okay, I’d say.’
‘Sorry it has to be this way, Jack,’ the solicitor said. ‘But going into different people costs.’
Lynn nodded, reluctantly accepting the situation. ‘Dolly will understand, and do what I ask. It’s a shame though, she likes that house, even if the kitchen was never big enough. We was gonna get an extension. The girls are settled there too. Still, they like it at their gran’s. That’s the way things go,’ he concluded philosophically. ‘You never get too far ahead before you get a knockback.’
‘Our best option lies in the charges against the detectives involved in the case,’ Gladwell said. ‘But we can’t expect too much from the straight inquiries by the Complaints Investigation Bureau. They’ll do no more than is required of them. They don’t really want to nick their own, especially if they can give him an out. They might have to this time. di Pyle is being looked at under that widespread investigation into the Squad fabricating evidence. If we get something substantial on him, that way we can show a miscarriage of justice. I’m going into as many policemen as I can. The more dirt we can get on that little firm the better. It’ll all help.’
‘What do you really think, Alex?’
‘I’m a realist, Jack. I told you, I’m not concerned how you got your living, but I do believe you were fitted. No matter how many other robberies you may have had lined up, I accept that you didn’t rob the Gas Board at Abbey Wood. It’s not up to the police to decide it’s your turn. Whether the appeal court judges are convinced that’s what they did will depend on what we come up with. If the fourth man on that blag were to be arrested…’ he shrugged. ‘Life is rarely that easy. As things stand your chances are pretty good. By the time I finish they’re going to be ninety-nine per cent good. I’m not going to gain a thing telling you that if I don’t believe it. Somehow we’ll get you a result.’ The solicitor looked at him, then said, ‘I won’t stop working. for you, Jack, I promise you. I’ll do everything I can to get your release.’ He nodded, as if confirming this before dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘If all else fails I’ll send my managing clerk into you with some hacksaw blades.’ He winked.
That wasn’t such a ridiculous proposition. Lynn had heard Gladwell’s managing clerk had bee
n used before to liaise with cons on the inside over escape details.
Gladwell spread his pudgy hands over the papers he had removed from his briefcase. ‘We’ve a lot to get through here. Have you got time?’
‘Oh, I’d say so,’ Lynn replied, feeling a lot more cheerful now.
44
THE CHEERFUL FACE OF BRIAN Smith, waiting on the landing outside his cell with his supper tray as the warder unlocked the door, was a welcome sight. It was Lynn’s seventh day behind his door. He ignored the warder, not even hearing what he said, but stepped out and breathed the air like he was on Brighton pier.
‘Haven’t you sewn those mailbags yet?’ Smith said, admiring him. ‘If I had a trumpet, Jack, I’d blow it.’
‘Why’s that, Bri’?’ Lynn had quickly sussed this lad. From previous prison experience he knew how certain types of prisoners latched onto you, wanting you to fight their battles, especially younger prisoners. Sometimes that was all right, other times embarrassing. Instinctively he knew the attraction was partly sexual, but he couldn’t articulate this. He didn’t object to Brian Smith coming on like he did, especially as he had an escape plotted up and was prepared to wait for him on it. In some ways, Lynn enjoyed this attention.
‘I collected your dinner.’ Smith extended the tray.
‘To be honest, I was looking forward to getting it myself. It’s the little highlights what make your day, ’you been behind your door.’ He saw Brian Smith’s disappointment, and winked. ‘Good luck, Bri’.’ He took the tray and they went towards the tv room.
Bobby Mark came up the stairs with his meal. Lynn noticed as the landing warder called Westbury shouted at him. He was probably going to push him around but Lynn couldn’t fight that fight now or his food would get cold.
There were six prisoners in the ‘threes’ tv room. The only difference between this and the room on the lower floor was the faces. Most of those greeted Lynn but didn’t stop chomping food. Collins was at the table with a black prisoner who was doing life for stabbing a policeman. Collins paused from his food and watched Lynn as he and Brian Smith sat at the table.
‘Steve,’ Lynn said. ‘How’s it going?’
Collins shook his head in disapproval. ‘We try to observe a bit of decorum here, son. Like shaving.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Lynn said, ‘the trouble is you lose touch with the niceties, banged up. There was even nights when I didn’t bother to dress for dinner!’
‘Down the slippery slope you go,’ Collins commiserated. ‘’Fore you know it you’ve forgotten which knife to eat your peas with. So what’s the outcome? You gonna do a bit of work after all?’
‘Hadn’t thought to,’ Lynn said. ‘I mean, what’s the point?’
‘S’ up to you. Providing silly bollocks don’t get the hump with everyone else.’
‘Why should he?’
The fourth con at the table was clearly giving Collins his favour. He said, ‘Well, you know what he’s fucking well like, ’he’s upset.’
Brian Smith winked at Lynn and said, ‘Fuck it! Maybe we should all refuse to work.’
Collins gave him a look. ‘Tell you what, son, I’ll take your job in the machine shop, ’you refuse to sew mailbags. How’s that?’
‘I made m’ point, Steve,’ Lynn said, attempting to defuse the situation. ‘I might do a bit now. Pass the time while I’m waiting for my appeal result.’
They ate in silence for a while.
Bobby Mark stooped through the low doorway. He paused and looked across to the men at the table as if having difficulty identifying who they were. He saw the tv and became distracted. Collins smiled but didn’t say anything as the big man joined them. Lynn sensed something was wrong as he measured the man, judging his chances if it came to a fight.
‘You got my cell,’ Mark said. ‘You got my cell.’
‘That’s all right,’ Lynn replied reasonably. ‘You can have it back if you want.’
The offer immediately seemed to confuse Mark. He hesitated, then said, ‘Oh no, it’s all right. I don’t mind. Mr Allison tol’ me you was the one asking after me in hospital.’
Lynn felt slightly relieved that he didn’t have a fight on his hands. He didn’t doubt he could have put Mark away, but guessed he had enough problems.
‘How are you?’
‘They give me some stuff in the hospital to calm me down, like. Valium, it was.’
‘Why don’t you sit down and have your dinner, ’fore it gets cold?’
Bobby Mark hesitated, and glanced at the television that was clearly occupying him. ‘I’m gonna watch this,’ he said.
‘We’ll have a chat later.’ He watched Bobby Mark go over to the tv and sit down.
Collins grinned. ‘Thought you was in trouble there.’
Lynn acknowledged this. ‘Given us a hand, Steve, would you?’
‘He’s a strong lad. I’ve seen him put four screws away. You gotta be simple to try that. No way do they let you pull those strokes.’
‘He seems all right to me,’ Lynn said.
The strong cross-currents at the table caused the feeling of pleasure on getting from behind his door to vanish. He sensed Brian Smith didn’t like the attention he gave Bobby Mark, and he was having difficulty keeping emotion off his face. Steve Collins got this, too.
‘What’d your brief have to say, Jack?’ Collins asked.
‘Oh, he reckons there’s a blinding chance of me getting a result.’ Lynn didn’t want anyone to know his business, that way no one would derive satisfaction from any mishap coming his way.
‘Good,’ Collins said. ‘All you gotta do is get it on, then.’
‘That’s all,’ Lynn replied. It might have been the easiest thing in the world.
#
Why Jack spent so much time trying to help Bobby Mark sort himself out, Brian Smith wasn’t sure. Obviously, he was a decent man who felt sorry for the big loon, seeing the shitty deal he got. Most of the cons dismissed him and most warders picked on him, knowing they were certain to get a violent reaction. There was no one easier to wind up than Bobby Mark. More than anything he supposed the man epitomised injustice for Jack, but his concern would all come to nothing and he wanted to tell Jack that as he watched the two of them together. He could hear part of their conversation as they shuffled around the exercise yard, Jack doing most of the talking, trying to draw out Mark, who didn’t talk much and only seemed to answer direct questions if he felt like doing so.
‘How long you down for, Bob?’ Lynn said.
‘I dunno, Jack,’ he replied slowly. ‘That’s what gets my goat. They won’t gimme no release date, will they?’
‘Didn’t the judge say how long when he sent you down?’
Mark shook his head. ‘He said I had to be locked away for the safety of society.’ Lynn looked at him and waited. ‘S’what he said, Jack. If they’d only say when I could go out, I’d be all right. Know what I mean? It’d give me something to concentrate on.’
‘Maybe we ought to try and do something about getting you a release date.’
‘Could you? That’d be t’rific.’ He saw Mark smack his hands together excitedly, as though Jack had already achieved that for him. Some chance, Brian Smith thought. He glanced sideways at Steve Collins, who was listening to the conversation as well.
It was a quarter past eleven and the entire wing, apart from the nonces, was in the exercise yard. Forty-two men moving around in a circle in pairs, six paces apart. Talking was permitted between each pair but not with those in front or behind. Brian Smith wanted to walk with Lynn and felt miffed that Mark took what he considered was his rightful place. Prisoners weren’t allowed to walk in threes or he would have stepped right alongside. Instead he found himself in step with Steve Collins. He knew what Collins was doing as he never missed an opportunity to point out how close he thought Lynn and Mark were gett
ing.
‘It’s nice the way Jack is taking an interest in him. Got the simple fucker eating out of the palm of his hand. You’d think he was his Dad, wouldn’t you?’
Smith didn’t comment. Knowing himself to be a lot brighter than the average con he could anticipate what this man was up to before Collins did himself, and although he suspected his motive was nothing other than a means of relieving his boredom, his remarks added to his feelings of jealousy.
Collins sought him out during association that evening, finding him on his own in the threes’ tv room. The television was broken, which was why the place was deserted.
‘Tucked up in Jack’s cell like a couple irons, they are,’ Collins said. ‘You’d think he was giving him one.’
Finding himself reacting again, Brian Smith said, ‘You should watch what you say, Steve. Either one of them could put you away.’
A smile crossed Collins’s face, like he suddenly realised he had gone too far and was now trying to retrieve the situation. ‘You got no sense of humour, Bri’, s’your trouble. You got to let go a bit, son, learn to recognise a joke. They’ll end up carting you off in a straitjacket.’ He sat and took out his tobacco and rolled a cigarette fatter than he normally did. ‘Anyway, an educated lad like you ought to be writing that petition to the Home Secretary, not Jack.’
‘What a waste of time,’ Smith said. ‘There’s only one way that loon will get out. The way I plan to. I’m not waiting until they say when.’
Collins said, ‘Yeah, that’s right. You ain’t got a release date either, have you, Bri’?’
‘Sooner than anyone thinks,’ Smith said. ‘I’m not going to sit here and rot, waiting while they decide when it’s safe to let me back into society. I’m going to do something about it. You see.’ He was normally close-mouthed, and immediately regretted saying so much.
‘Put us in, ’you got one plotted up,’ Collins said.
Brian Smith was back in control now. How seriously Collins had taken his intention to escape, he couldn’t tell. The real danger was that Collins was a man who didn’t want to miss out on anything going off around the wing.