Locked Up

by GB Williams

  Locked Up

  GB Williams

  Copyright © 2017 GB Williams

  The right of GB Williams to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2017 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  Contents

  Also by GB Williams

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Locked In

  Coming Soon

  A Note From Bloodhound Books

  Author Acknowledgements

  Also by GB Williams

  The Locked Trilogy

  Locked In ( Book 2)

  For Jonathan, Conner and Tyrell

  For putting up with, joining in with

  and encouraging the crazy

  1

  Every breath felt like scorched iron. His heart fluttered, defibrillated. Hot urine flooded his groin.

  Tommy knew fear, having spent most of his life afraid. Oddly, prison was the one place he usually felt secure. Until now. Never much good in a fight, he made himself useful to those who were. He wasn’t the smartest man on the block, but he could tell who was. His allies kept him safe.

  Now weak and fallen, he watched the sharp thing thrust into his belly, and the flow of blood he couldn’t stop. As the light darkened, he looked up at the figure looming over him.

  His murderer.

  With the blood, all aggression, anger, and fear poured out of him. In that last second of life, Tommy experienced the only moment of peace on earth he had ever known.

  2

  The lockdown began shortly after breakfast. Charlie lay on the top bunk staring at the ceiling with only the weak illumination of a waning sun for company. Strips of light from the barred window crawled slowly across the room. In a different world, he might have reached up and made shadow faces for his son, but not today, not with Oscar so far away. That’s how I want it, Charlie lied to himself.

  The sharp, metallic retort of the viewing panel in the cell door being pulled back announced the guards were checking on him, probably checking on everyone. Even though the prison was full to bursting, and this cell could hold two, for the last four days Charlie had enjoyed being the only occupant, the other inmates having little desire to share with someone they still considered the enemy. The view cover slammed shut, metal scraped against metal, and the sound of the key in the lock filled the cell.

  Frowning, wondering what he’d done to deserve such attention, Charlie raised his head to watch the door open, but otherwise remained still. The door swung in to reveal Officer Robbins. Bulked up from too much gym time, the ape-like man nearly filled the doorway. Looks like a real knuckle dragger, Charlie thought, except he knew Robbins wasn’t as dumb as he liked people to think.

  Behind him, almost hidden by the man’s greater width, stood Officer Teddington. At five-seven, the quality of her figure was hard to determine beneath the unflattering uniform. Her dark hair was always pinned back, and her face free of make-up. No muscle-woman, she looked more like a negotiator than a fighter, but she was more than capable of handling herself. Just two weeks ago a new arrival had tried manhandling her. Charlie had watched, ready to spring into action if necessary, but a swift defensive elbow jab to the nose had her attacker’s eyes watering, his head down, and his respect levels way up.

  Every time Charlie looked at Teddington, he saw a puzzle. She talked to him like he was human. Not only him to be honest, she treated everyone fairly. She understood prison wasn’t about being punished inside, but that being inside was the punishment. She knew where to draw the line.

  Charlie didn’t know why any woman would want to be a prison officer, or why the Ministry of Justice thought female officers in a male prison were a good idea, but he was hardly in a position to influence the decision, or, at this point, even disagree with it. Not to mention she was easier on the eye than any of her colleagues, even the other female ones. Or perhaps that was just Charlie’s view; there’d been something about her from the start. When she processed him into Whitewalk, she was the first person to treat him with some common courtesy after his arrest.

  Of course, generally, he had the same problem with the screws as he did with the inmates; in a world of ‘them’ and ‘us,’ both sides considered him ‘them.’

  ‘Stay put, Bell,’ Robbins commanded.

  Charlie was about to point out he wasn’t moving, when Teddington’s hard look and small head shake stopped him.

  ‘We need to search your cell,’ Teddington added in monotone. ‘Don’t move. Don’t get in the way.’

  Why? It had to be related to the lockdown. He didn’t know what had caused it. Being an outsider on the inside, few would talk to him so he expected to be the last to find out, but whatever was going on, it wasn’t sounding good so far.

  Teddington stayed by the door and Robbins began the search. Not that there was much to go through. The room was roughly eleven feet by six, door at the narrow end, window opposite. The bunk beds took up most of the floor space, although there was a small table, a chair and two lockers – all in regulation boring grey, stainless steel sink and toilet unit in the back corner. Given the lack of space, it was little surprise Robbins wanted him to stay put. The two of them would pretty much have filled the room. It was only a cursory search, and when he was done, Robbins stood against the outer wall beneath the window and shook his head. Teddington held her silence, but her gaze switched to Charlie. He saw nothing in her eyes, nothing. No warmth, no coldness. No hate, no affection. Absolute indifference. It was chilling.

  ‘Down.’

  Frowning at the single word command, Charlie unlinked his hands from behind his head and carefully twisted his body until he was sitting on the edge of the top bunk. With slow control, he used his arms to lower his feet to the floor. Standing facing the long wall, the officers either side of him, Charlie glanced from one to the other.

  ‘Legs spread, arms wide.’ The order came from Robbins.

  There was no obvious reason for a pat down, so Charlie faced Teddington before he complied, outstretched his hands easily touched each side of the cell, so he had to keep his elbows bent as he offered her the option to run her hands over him. He smiled, part invitation, part dare, all mockery. Certain she had a wry sense of humour, he wondered how far could he push her.

  He’d served three years and he’d only known her to pat down five men - all complete queens – men who didn’t care for a woman’s touch. She or Robbins woul
d tell him to turn around any second now. In the second surprise of the day, Teddington stepped forward, running her hands down each of his arms in turn and down his sides, over his chest. Then her hands smoothed around his waist, checking for anything hidden in the waistband of his jeans. Her touch moved up his back, bringing her up close and personal. She tipped her chin up to look at him; the coldness of her eyes took away any potential invitation. As she reached his shoulder blades, he recognised the scent she carried: Fresh apples. Yum.

  Then she crouched, checking he had no weaponry in his trousers. The sight of her kneeling before him assaulted his imagination with ideas he had forced aside for years. Images crowded his head, and heat pooled in the most inconvenient way. Then her hands were running down his legs, first one, then the other.

  He was feeling at a distinct disadvantage, and he didn’t like that. Time to see how far he could push her. ‘Wanna feel the crown jewels, babe?’

  She was standing now, though at six-four he easily overshadowed her. Her eyes shifted over his shoulder, but he knew she wouldn’t be able to see Robbins, nor would Robbins see her, Charlie stood taller than both. Her eyes shifted back to his, not that there was anything there to see. Whatever she was thinking, she was hiding it well. With the same steady look, she grabbed his crotch. His eyes widened and his breath caught. The grip eased, turned more intimate, teasing as she ran her hand slowly over his hardening length. Oh, dear God, he was in trouble.

  ‘I’ve had better.’

  Behind him, Robbins sniggered, and for the first time, Charlie wondered if Robbins was the ‘better’ Teddington had had. He just as quickly dismissed that idea.

  Robbins grabbed his still outstretched arm and forced him back, spine against the bunks then down to sitting, pushing past him to get out of the cell. Teddington flattened her chest against the top bunk, pushing her hips into the gap between the beds to give Robbins room to pass. As soon as he did, Charlie stood.

  Robbins stood at the door, but Charlie concentrated on Teddington.

  ‘You, Bell,’ she spoke carefully, ‘are scum.’

  He heard no inflection in her voice; she was simply stating a fact. That she called him Bell was a worry, since she usually addressed him as Charlie. They weren’t friends – they couldn’t be – but right now there was a wall between them he didn’t understand.

  ‘Not because you’re in here. Not because you killed a man. Not even because you’re a bent copper. You’re scum because you refuse to see your own son.’ She withdrew something from her pocket, threw it on his bunk. The folded papers automatically opened up a little and he could see bright crayon images as drawn by a five-year-old. He kept his eyes on the papers, but his heart and mind were rebelling. This didn’t make sense.

  ‘Bleeding heart.’ The scoff was from Robbins.

  ‘No, just a mother.’

  Teddington was focused on Charlie. Robbins couldn’t see her face, and now, her expression was less glare, more hesitation, nervousness even. He frowned, his look questioning. Swallowing, she composed herself and turned smartly on her heel. Then, the officers were gone. The door slammed, like a coffin lid. He was alone. Again.

  Teddington was wrong. He wasn’t refusing to see his own son. True, he didn’t want the boy to see the inside of a jail – not for any reason, not even as a visitor. However, the real reason Oscar couldn’t come was because his mother wouldn’t bring him. Cathy had never offered. She wouldn’t ever apply for a visitor pass. Hell, she wouldn’t even write and let him know Oscar was okay. His letters out were returned as ‘addressee unknown.’ Their three-month relationship had been flawed from the get-go. If it weren’t for Oscar he would happily forget that whole period in his life. Having met when she was working at a drug rehab facility, they’d both been trying to help the same kid. Being together had felt good at the start. But, he’d kept secrets, and was too late in finding out she had too.

  Whatever Cathy might once have felt for him had turned to hate, so much so, she’d kept her pregnancy from him. When he found out, she tried to keep the baby from him, too. He had had to go to court for the right to see his own son. For a little over a year, he had enjoyed those visitation rights just as often as she would let him, which wasn’t often enough. Then, another court case had put an end to that by sending him here.

  Charlie’s frown deepened.

  He glanced to the closed door. Never mind past problems, it seemed there were present problems to deal with. Something was wrong. Teddington wasn’t acting like Teddington.

  Carefully, he reached for the papers. Dragging them with him as he sank to the lower bunk, he opened up the quarter folds. The top picture near broke his heart. A line of green at the bottom, a line of blue at the top, a yellow disk in the top right. Standing on the green band were two stick figures, one labelled Daddy, and one, Me. He didn’t know Oscar could write. A lump lodged in his dry throat.

  He moved to the next picture. Daddy and Me, and a house. He turned to the next, but this time, it wasn’t a drawing that caught his attention. It was the small ripped scrap of paper folded into the centre of it.

  ‘Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark. Need your help.’

  3

  Teddington bit down on the inside of her lips to keep them compressed. Embarrassment and confusion warred through her. What is wrong with me? Grabbing a man’s crotch was something she’d never done in her private life. At work, it was an act so unprofessional if Charlie or Robbins reported her, she would be on a warning, possibly lose her job. She was already on thin ice for elbowing that scrote a couple of weeks ago.

  Her insides were knotting and quaking. She dragged in a deep breath and let reality overtake her. The scent of battery-farmed men really wasn’t pleasant. She controlled her features. Carry on. Business as usual.

  ‘What was that?’ Robbins demanded as he locked Charlie inside again.

  ‘Pat down,’ Be calm. ‘As ordered.’ Business as usual.

  Only business wasn’t as usual, no matter the veneer they were trying to put on it. All the vague menace and lurking threats she had been trying to convince herself weren’t real had stepped out of the shadows and killed a man. Killed a man. Right here. Inside HMP Blackmarch. That had never happened before.

  According to the bosses it hadn’t happened this time either.

  ‘I meant whatever you gave Bell?’ Robbins faced her, closer than she cared for, but she wasn’t about to be cowed.

  ‘Kid’s drawings. There was a harassed young mother having to deal with a son who didn’t want to leave without seeing his daddy. A man refusing to see him. To help calm the kid I said I’d pass the pictures to his father.’ She shrugged. ‘Meant to pass them on ages ago, but forgot.’ She turned slightly, hoped her mask of calm was intact, and indicated the next cell. ‘Shall we?’

  As Robbins unlocked the door, she swallowed.

  The menace was out of the shadows, but the killer had stepped straight back into them. Looking at her colleague’s back, his bulk worried her. For the first time, she was seeing him as a threat. She glanced around – on the ground floor beneath them, the second floor above – she saw other pairs of officers searching those floors. None of them knew what they were looking for – scrub that – one of them might know what they were looking for and they’d therefore know where not to look.

  Bile bubbled and burned through her. These were people she knew, the men and women she should trust, but she couldn’t, not now.

  She glanced at Charlie’s cell door. Why did she instinctively trust him? She’d thought being able to fetch those drawings had been a bonus. Now, she chewed her lip. It could be the biggest mistake of her career. Robbins was telling the next lot they were to do a search. She stepped in behind him. Business as usual.

  Charlie stared at the scrap in his hand. What is with the Hamlet quote? Like most people he knew it was a tale of murder and betrayal, but that was about all.

  Stomach gurgling, he checked his watch. Lunch time. He stared to the do
or; it remained obstinately shut.

  Why would Teddington send him such a message?

  His mind and stomach still churned a couple of hours later when the door finally unlocked and Teddington said he could go to get food, as she moved to unlock the next cell.

  ‘Tommy Walters.’

  He heard the name whispered along the line. He knew Tommy, a skinny little runt in for possession with intent to supply. Tommy had managed to find ways to continue to supply inside; it was probably what saved him being beaten every night and used as a sucker to those who wanted to cop off. Until today, when he had caused the lock down.

  ‘’e used enough to top ’imself.’

  Charlie frowned at that.

  ‘Nah, he stuck himself with a screwdriver from the engineering workshop.’

  ‘I ’eard it was a sharpened trowel from the gardens.’

  It was impossible for Charlie to know which rumour was true; it literally depended on who he believed. Charlie based his belief on trust, and he didn’t trust any of the men around him. He took the food tray and found an empty seat at a table. Most men chose to eat in their cells; for once, he made a different choice.

  Charlie looked up and saw Teddington. She was walking the first-floor landing, making sure those coming from or going to their cells were aware of constant observation. He must have been watching her too long. She looked down and their eyes met. He nodded just once.