Law & Order

by G. F. Newman

  ‘He’s very insistent that he’s innocent and the police are persecuting him.’

  The deputy governor laughed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. ‘Another one! They ought to try changing the record occasionally.’

  ‘Well, there have been some spectacular miscarriages of justice in the past.’

  ‘So the liberal press maintains. Clearly someone did the crime those so-called innocent people were convicted for.’

  ‘Well, if persistence is ever to get him released, who knows, Lynn might get out earlier than we think,’ Hardiman said. ‘His “nothing to lose” attitude can only work against ordered society, especially in here.’

  ‘You think he’ll prove disruptive if put back on the wing, Paul?’

  Encouraged by the deputy governor’s regard for his opinion, Hardiman said, ‘I certainly do.’ He felt a sense of power and control now. ‘He’ll doubtless find morons in here to impress with his anarchy. He’s the type of prisoner who might be better off serving his entire sentence in isolation.’ A wave of feeling like a palpitation came over him leaving him breathless.

  With a smile, the young deputy governor said, ‘The Home Office hasn’t got round to that.’

  Hardiman looked at him and shook his head, showing what he believed was a sense of regret.

  ‘Something of the sort could be a useful means of control.’

  ‘Yes, maybe a more acceptable version of the now disbanded sensory-deprivation special control units. This particular governor wouldn’t demur at keeping the likes of Lynn locked in such a unit. I wonder how long he would continue to insist he was innocent then.’

  Paul Hardiman hoped Lynn would be around for a long while, but was immediately ashamed of the thought. Setting aside both the thought and the shame, he lit a cigarette.

  50

  ‘LEAVE IT!’ LYNN BARKED AT a prisoner who came towards the dinner trolley on the ground floor where the trusty was waiting to serve the food. ‘We gotta do something about Bobby Mark. See about getting him some proper medical attention.’

  ‘Leave off, Jack, I’m starving,’ the prisoner protested; a feeble response, for Lynn meant business.

  ‘Bobby’s up there dying, by the sound of it. Pass the word.’

  Lynn stopped another prisoner as he came down the stairs. One or two were getting through despite his efforts. Some not only wanted to get their food but would eat it regardless of Bobby Mark. The big loon maybe didn’t mean much to them, but what they wouldn’t want, he knew, was to go against him, or get out of step-with everyone else on the wing.

  Mark had got off the block a few days after him with all his cuts and bruises healed and settled back into the routine of the wing without trouble, until he started complaining about pains in his stomach. The pains got worse, and he vomited a couple of times. The MO wasn’t any help, and simply declared Mark fit for work. The doctor did little more the following day when Mark was unable to get up, diagnosing indigestion, and again declaring him fit for work. That was when Lynn decided they would have to have a protest.

  Word quickly went round as the screws began unlocking. The threes was solid to a man. Alan Parker went along the second-floor landing telling cons about the hunger strike. Frank Timper stopped anyone on the first landing from going to collect their food. Lynn went up the stairs and watched from outside his cell. He was as hungry as any, but more determined than most.

  Apart from the warders creeping uneasily about, the wing was silent, with the slightest cough echoing up to the trussed roof. There was no activity at all around the food trolley on the ground floor. The trusty and the two warders close at hand watched nervously.

  Finally, po Allen emerged from his office on the ground floor. The noise at meal times was usually deafening. Now not even a television set could be heard.

  ‘Are they all fed, Mr Rogers?’ Allen asked.

  ‘Just coming for you, sir,’ Rogers explained. Their reedy-sounding voices came up the building like ping-pong balls being batted around. ‘They’ve all stayed in their cells, refusing their food.’

  ‘Why? What’s the problem?’ The po snatched the lid off one of the containers to inspect the food. The reason for their refusing might have lain there. Lynn smiled as he watched.

  ‘They’re protesting over Mark.’

  ‘Right,’ the po said, ‘feed the nonces. There’s no way they are going to refuse their food.’ He marched off back to his office.

  Clearly, Chief Officer Carne was being summoned. The position hadn’t changed by the time he was admitted to the wing. He was met by po Allen and two warders.

  ‘Are they still refusing, Mr Allen?’ Carne asked.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Allen snapped. ‘All still refusing.’

  ‘Who got it started, d’you know?’

  Their glances came up the building through the safety wires, but Lynn made no attempt to move. Someone would have to state what the situation was about. It may as well be him.

  Chief Officer Carne turned his look back to po Allen. ‘I might have guessed. Have any demands been made? Is everyone involved?’ He walked along to the food trolley and lifted one of the lids. He sniffed, then nodded, as if satisfied that the food was wholesome. Lynn wanted to shout out and challenge him to eat it, but didn’t.

  ‘What does the MO say?’

  ‘He’s on his way over to see Mark now, sir.’

  When the chief got to the cell with the MO, the other uniforms following like No 23 buses, Lynn went and waited near the open door. He wanted to make sure they did nothing they shouldn’t.

  ‘What’s the word?’ Carne was asked after a few moments.

  ‘Same as it was this morning, I’d say. A bit of indigestion. I’ll give him something.’ The doctor nodded.

  Lynn’s medical knowledge didn’t even extend to first aid, but he doubted the accuracy of the diagnosis as he watched his friend writhing on the bed.

  They suddenly all turned out of the cell, where they confronted Lynn. He straightened and became alert.

  ‘You haven’t collected your dinner,’ Carne said. ‘Do so.’

  Shaking his head slowly, Lynn said, ‘When something proper’s done about Bobby Mark.’

  ‘You saw the MO examine him.’

  ‘He needs a proper doctor, not that tosspot.’

  To his surprise, no one there gave him an argument.

  ‘Refusing to obey a lawful order. You’re on governor’s report,’ Carne informed him finally, and wheeled away followed by the others.

  ‘Collect your dinner,’ he ordered, stopping at Brian Smith’s cell. Lynn followed there.

  ‘When someone medically qualified examines Mark, chief,’ Brian Smith said courteously.

  ‘Refusing to obey a lawful order? Come on, lad.’ He waited, like he was expecting Brian Smith to respond to reason. ‘Who put you up to it? This one?’

  ‘Chief?’ was all Brian Smith said and winked.

  He went on report. The uniforms wheeled away.

  ‘As a man of some sensibility, one who has seen a lot of suffering in his time,’ Collins announced, making a speech when confronted by the chief and his gang, ‘I cannot stand idly by and allow a fellow prisoner to suffer in need of proper medical attention… s’that right, Jack?’

  ‘Bollocks!’ Carne interrupted. ‘Sensibility? You kneecapped a business rival with six-inch nails. So don’t give me this old rubbish.’

  ‘A man can change, Mr Carne, mend his ways. That’s what prison is about.’

  ‘Get your fucking food. I won’t tell you again.’

  ‘Do something about Bobby Mark, then I’ll eat, pal.’

  All Carne could do was put him on report, like every other prisoner on the wing, apart from the nonces. The prisoners felt a real sense of pride over their solidarity, even if they hadn’t advanced Bobby Mark’s position.

>   Then, when word went round that the governor wasn’t going to bother seeing any of them, Lynn wondered if this was a victory after all, and how long they would stay solid when they looked at the next meal being sent back to the kitchen.

  That test never came. Bobby Mark had an ulcer that ruptured. His pain was then so intense, his sweating so profuse, that if the doctor hadn’t called an ambulance and sent him to hospital one of the screws would have done so.

  When the ambulance crew carried Bobby Mark out on a stretcher – escorted to hospital by two screws – all the prisoners on the wing cheered. Like Lynn they felt a sense of elation. The cost to them was a meal, little enough when they could feed off their victory for a while.

  #

  ‘What the fuck were they doing, Jack? Washing the fucking blood off?’ the wiry man said angrily, glancing round at the screw in the legal visiting room. ‘Do you know how fucking long they kept me fucking well waiting? Just because they’re doing time for the rest of their fucking lives they think everyone’s got to do time with them.’

  Jack Lynn glanced round at the warder, almost feeling embarrassed for him. Alex Gladwell’s managing clerk didn’t look like he was going to stop rucking the screw and Lynn doubted if it was this one who had caused the delay anyway. Neither solicitors nor their clerks, in his experience, behaved like this man, and he wondered if it would reflect badly on him or his case.

  ‘What a bunch of fucking wankers,’ Trevor Reid continued. ‘They deserve being in here for life.’ He ground his cigarette into the floor. ‘It’s an out-and-out fucking liberty, you being in here, Jack. But you see if we don’t get you a nice result. These fucking wankers will be sicker than fucking parrots when we do.’

  Again Lynn glanced round at the screw. Then back at the managing clerk. He was in his mid-thirties, older than his boss, and looked more like a villain than someone who worked in a solicitor’s office. He wore his hair long and tied at the back, and seemed to enjoy his openly contemptuous manner towards authority. Then he had nothing to lose! Reid glanced round at the warder, who was in the room with them, and shook his head. ‘It’s fucking outrageous that you can’t talk to your lawyer in private. We’ll whisper so the wankers get earache.’

  Lynn wanted to smile, but didn’t. ‘How’s it all going, then?’

  Reid glanced round at the screw again. ‘It’s such a fucking liberty not being allowed to conduct this in private. Alex wouldn’t stand for it.’

  The warder said, ‘You are in sight of, but out of hearing of, an officer, sir,’ – quoting the book.

  ‘I s’pose you’re fucking deaf.’ He turned and winked at Lynn, then leaned across the table and whispered, ‘Alex asked me to pop down. Got some right good news, we have. Your appeal’s been set for two weeks tomorrow. That’s not all, Jack. Your chances look very good. We did a bit of work out at Abbey Wood nick. Managed to pull out some info’.’ He smiled and glanced at the screw again before leaning still closer: Lynn could scarcely stand the tension. ‘The second half of the proceeds from that robbery you were supposed to have had turned up intact. What’s more, it turned up well before you went to trial.’

  ‘The dirty no-good fucking slags!’ The words burst out of Lynn and he rose out of his seat, making the screw alert. ‘That proves it then, don’t it?’

  Reid waved him back down and gave another glance at the prison officer. ‘It goes a long way. What it suggests is there was a conspiracy against you from the off. That the fifteen hundred pounds found in your possession couldn’t have come from the robbery like the Bill claimed. That statement they had from the cashier at the Gas Board was a get-up.’

  ‘What does it amount to, Trev’?’ Lynn asked, excitement rising through him. ‘Will it do it?’

  ‘It gives a lot of weight to the grounds for your appeal.’

  ‘But is it gonna come to a nice result? That’s the thing.’

  ‘I’d say so. We’ll slaughter that detective.’

  ‘Fuck I,’ Lynn said, greatly relieved. He closed his eyes to stop himself crying. ‘Cor, you done brilliant. That is good news.’

  The feeling of excitement he carried back to his cell caused him to laugh as little shudders of pleasure rocked his body. The thought of gaining his freedom, walking free on the outside, made him want to shout his news for everyone in the prison. He was scared to in case someone came along and stole it from him. He didn’t want to think about that, but thought instead about his family, and Dolly, how throughout the months of his incarceration she had kept faith with him. She was a diamond and he didn’t know how he deserved such a wife.

  His excitement about his future prospects aroused him sexually as he continued thinking about his wife. He found himself getting a hard-on, and closed his eyes and imagined he was alone with Dolly. He saw just how it would be when he got out, like in the past. It had been good then, almost perfect. The image stayed sharp and clear on the back of his eyelids as he imagined himself running his hand up her strong, well-shaped legs, under her skirt, feeling her moist crotch, and as he did so he reached into his own flies. He imagined her without any pants on and he eased her legs apart. She let him enter her, first with his finger. He saw himself stroking her, keeping the rhythm he was making with himself now. She began making those low moaning sounds of pleasure. He could hear them as clearly as if she was on the bed with him. I love you, Dolly, he told her over and over in his thoughts, and his breath came faster as his excitement increased. He felt her excitement increase, her wetness as her need became as great as his. He pulled her skirt up her thighs and slid on top of her. He didn’t fumble, not then. Her hand found him and helped guide him into her. His penis was hard and reaching. He could feel her arms clasped around his back, like they were never going to be apart again, her lips so soft on his, no matter how hard she pressed them against him… suddenly he ejaculated, his body going rigid with the intensity of that surging pleasure. He rocked and he ached and he tensed every fibre of his body before release. When it was finally over, he kept his eyes closed, not wanting to return to the harsh reality of that cell.

  51

  NOW WITH THE PROSPECT OF his appeal coming on soon and the near-certainty of getting a result, the time he was doing became easy for him. In a curious way he even began to enjoy it, especially the company of good villains. He enjoyed also suddenly being able to laugh at the screws, who would have to serve their time until they retired. One thing that worried him was Bobby Mark and Brian Smith remaining behind, feeling responsible for them as he did, and both relying on him and expecting something from him. He would now walk, leaving them with their time to do and little chance of getting early release. He didn’t quite know what to do for them, if indeed he could do anything. He would have a go at the Home Office about Bobby Mark, but beyond that? Prolonging his own stay inside wasn’t going to help either of them.

  From where he sat at the table in the threes’ tv room, Lynn’s gaze fell on Bobby Mark who, fully recovered from his stomach operation, was across the room, glued to the tv like it was a life-support machine. Other prisoners were equally entranced by a stunt motorcyclist appearing on Blue Peter. Lynn brought his attention back to what was being said at the table. It had started off as an intelligent discussion about police corruption, but had eventually come round to storytelling. Each of the prisoners with a story about how they were fitted by the police or what the Bill earned off them.

  ‘I did some business with the filth on the Squad,’ Micky Dunkerton was saying. ‘Me and a pal of mine plotted up some gear what some other villains had off. About a hundred and eighty grand’s worth of scotch. We steamed in and nicked the whole lorry load off them, had a reliable placer lined up, everything. Then about ten cid jumped us, right boary geezers, all tooled up they were. “You fucking move, we’ll split your heads right open.” They meant it an’ all. First we thought they were other villains on the same firm, I mean, we didn’t know. Then they told
us, like – s’your pal, Steve,’ he said, glancing over the table at Collins. ‘Alan Greene, one of the dcs down there. He took about four grand off us, pumped us right up about some help.’

  ‘Well, how bad’s that?’ Collins wanted to know.

  ‘Terrific,’ Dunkerton responded. ‘He sent another squad out the next day and nicked us again along with the placer.’

  ‘He always was a snaky sod,’ Collins said, suddenly disassociating himself from the di.

  There was a silence at the table. Collins was the focus of attention, like he was responsible for Dunkerton’s misfortune. It was illogical, but that was the way most villains reacted.

  Turning to Brian Smith, Collins said, ‘How come a bright boy like you ever got sent away, Brian? I’d’ve thought a psychiatrist could have fannied in court and got you a nice result with your background.’ Then the negative attention was on Smith. He represented the moneyed classes, and everyone there knew they all got different treatment by the courts.

  ‘Don’t talk fucking silly, Steve,’ Brian Smith snapped. ‘My old lady took me to all sorts of trick-cyclists when I was a kid. We almost camped in Harley Street. What she was doing was looking for the right one – the one who would confirm what she wanted to hear. Finally, she found him. He was in a class of his own. He said to her, “Mrs Smith, I can tell you exactly why your unfortunate son burns things.” “Yes, yes,” my old lady replied, hanging on his every word.’ He told the story well and all the cons were silent with anticipation. “He’s a fucking arsonist, madam!”’

  The laughter that exploded seemed to be at Collins’s expense, but was finally interrupted by a shout from Bobby Mark across the room.

  ‘Here, why’d he do that?’ Mark said, shouting at the tv. ‘That’s fucking stupid, why’d he do it?’

  ‘To think we starved ourselves for that,’ Collins said.

  ‘What’s the problem, Bobby?’ Lynn wanted to know.