by GB Williams
He guessed she had felt the weight of his gaze, because she turned to him as he passed. There was something cold and calculating in her eyes. No surprise there, no one treated him as human anymore. Except, maybe the one screw, but only maybe. It wasn’t that he was treated badly; merely he was made to feel like scum. Then again – he mentally shrugged, as he moved on – he had killed a man. He was scum. There again, it could be he was punishing himself for what he’d done. Time to move on, and get over himself.
The cold suddenly warmed up and Fry stopped in front of him. ‘I have an opening. Four o’clock. We can sort out a few things for you.’
Not sure what needed sorting for him, Charlie had no idea what to say as Fry’s quiet steps took her away. Literally shrugging the moment off, he continued his journey.
Halfway up the stairs to the first landing, what he glimpsed stopped his heart. The skip was momentary, and when it started again, his ticker raced like it was sprinting for the finish line. He couldn’t afford to give the game away, but his legs felt boneless, his feet like lead weights. He continued the familiar course back to his cell. Eyes front and centre, he turned left, then left again to the line of doors, but all he could see was that glimpse – Teddington manoeuvring with two men through the airlock arrangements of the entry doorway onto the open area beneath him. A third of the way along the landing, he reached his cell. Not them. Had he the luxury of slamming the door, he would, but he had to act normally, had to leave that door wide open.
He heard measured steps coming up the stairs in triplicate. A quick look over his shoulder showed the other inmates were out on the landing, watching the trio’s movements. Anything new in this place generated observation and speculation. Charlie took several steadying breaths and returned to the open doorway, doing what he needed to do in order to appear like any other inmate.
Leaning with a forced casualness, Charlie watched first Teddington appear, and then, the two men behind her. His heart hammered as they turned at the top of the stairs. They were heading towards him. Of course, they were heading towards him; the men were so obviously police, it was painful to behold. They had to be here because of Tommy, and Tommy’s cell was three down from Charlie’s own.
He watched Teddington lead the way. Her eyes flicked to him as she approached, but showed nothing. Next in line was an older man, his authority stamped over his every feature, his every movement. He didn’t acknowledge Charlie with so much as a glance, but Charlie knew this man would know he was there. A lack of reaction was not a lack of observation. Bringing up the rear, the younger officer caught sight of Charlie and did a double-take, turning his head as they passed. Charlie saw an instant surprise turn into a cold, dark hatred. Then, the man turned away, head held high.
Charlie got the message.
Scum.
This time, it bounced straight off him. He wasn’t going to just accept that, not anymore. He was the same man he’d always been; it was his circumstances that were different.
They moved on, and Charlie waited. He looked across the way and saw Steven Morris staring back, the old lag was watching him way too close for comfort. For a moment, Charlie returned the gaze, then he stood erect, shrugged towards Morris, and moved back into his cell, where he went into his exercise routine.
Halfway through the first set, he became aware of the body in the door. Not wanting to get caught out Sanchez-style again, he lowered himself to the floor. Morris stood in the doorway, his hands in his jogger pockets. Moving as usual. Though, unlike many, Charlie understood the difference between fiddling and early stage Parkinsons.
‘They your lot?’ Morris tipped his head in the direction of Tommy’s cell.
Carefully, Charlie got to his feet, overshadowing Morris by nearly a foot. ‘What would my lot be?’
‘Coppers,’ he sneered.
‘I’m not a cop,’ Charlie stated, ‘I’m a killer, remember? That’s why I’m in here.’
‘Once a cop, always a cop,’ Morris parried. ‘They friends of yours?’
‘No.’ It was surprisingly easy to say. ‘They are cops, though. You’re right about that. Given that Tommy died in here, there’s bound to be an investigation. Odds are, it needs to be seen to be independent of the prison staff, so they’ve had to bring in outsiders.’ Charlie shrugged. ‘Procedure, probably.’
‘See, you still think like a pig.’
‘Thanks.’
‘That why you’ve been asking about Tommy?’
‘What can I say? I guess I’m irredeemably nosey.’
Morris considered him for a long moment. Charlie wasn’t sure he liked the apparent sneer behind those eyes. ‘Watch your back. You don’t want Leo finding out.’
Then, Morris was gone, and Charlie frowned, as he returned to his exercise.
Leo?
Alarm bells were ringing, but he wasn’t sure why.
Teddington tried not to sneer. She wasn’t impressed by either Detective Chief Inspector Piper or Detective Sergeant Carlisle. She never claimed to be anything other than a guard, didn’t expect them to treat her as an equal, but she did expect to be treated with a little common courtesy, not condescension and disdain. Most of all, she didn’t appreciate their obvious lack of interest in the case. A man had died, for God’s sake. Leading them out of the cell block, it grated that they had spent more time joking with the Governor than looking at Tommy’s accommodation. They’d only given the most cursory glance to where he died – in a cleaner’s cupboard.
The Governor’s implication that the whole thing should be ‘dealt with, quietly and efficiently’ hadn’t exactly encouraged her, either. A whitewash at Whitewalk.
She led them back to a side room off the wing. The now-redundant administration office had been assigned for police use. Here, Tommy’s few belongings had been gathered and set out.
When they reached the office, Piper indicated Carlisle should precede him, and then stepped into the doorway when Teddington moved to join them. ‘We’ll call you, if we want you.’
‘You do that,’ Teddington snapped. ‘I’m just twiddling my thumbs after all.’
‘Miss Teddington.’
Taking a deep breath, Teddington stopped mid turn, and faced the DCI. ‘It’s Mrs Teddington, but you should call me Officer Teddington, as you have all my male colleagues.’
The DCI acknowledged the point with a slight tip of his head. ‘If it is more convenient for you,’ he stepped aside and raised a hand into the office, ‘perhaps you could join us now, Officer Teddington?’
Suddenly, that was the last thing she wanted to do. She squared her shoulders. You pushed him. Now, deal with it. She stepped inside, stopping in the middle of the office. She found the sound of the door closing behind her surprisingly ominous.
Looking forward, she met Carlisle’s steely gaze and felt her skin crawl, as Piper walked around her, pulled out the one chair in the room, and carefully sat. He took a moment to clear the area off the desk immediately in front of him, before turning to look up at her.
‘You were on duty when Thomas Walters died?’
‘I cannot confirm that.’ She kept her chin up and her eyes on Piper.
‘Why not?’
‘Time of death is currently unknown. All I can confirm is I was on duty when his body was found.’
‘Where were you at that time?’
She took a calming breath. ‘C-Wing.’
‘Doing what?’
‘My job.’ She knew that wasn’t the question. ‘Checking all was quiet, keeping an eye on the inmates, ensuring there were no disturbances, generally being the required presence of authority.’
Piper returned her gaze with blank gravity.
‘What about Bell?’
Teddington turned to Carlisle and frowned. ‘What about him?’
‘What was he doing?’ the younger man asked.
‘When?’
‘When Walters was found.’
Her frowned deepened, and she shrugged. ‘Exercising, probably. He does
a lot of static exercises to pass the time. Or possibly reading. He does a lot of that too.’
‘He was near Walters?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’ Carlisle demanded.
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he was in his cell when the alarm was raised. All we had to do was close the door.’
‘Did he know Walters?’
Teddington felt the waves of abhorrence emanating from Carlisle. ‘Everyone knew Walters.’
‘Everyone?’ Carlisle called her on the point.
‘Well, okay, most people.’
‘Bell?’
She considered it. ‘I would have thought so, but I can’t be sure. Bell keeps himself to himself. As far as I know, he doesn’t smoke, have a drug habit, or need any of the services Tommy used to provide.’
‘Teddington,’ Piper asked, ‘is it possible to get a decent cup of coffee in this place?’
‘There might be a filter brew going in the staff canteen. Otherwise, the stuff from vending machine is drinkable.’
Piper turned to Carlisle, a flick of the head indicated the door. The younger man straightened, his flat lips compressed. He wasn’t impressed at being dismissed. As he moved away, Teddington watched him.
‘You know where it is?’ When he shook his head, she followed him to the door and pointed. ‘Down there, turn right, second door.’
‘Teddington.’
The sound of Piper’s voice brought her up short. It really was a distinctive voice, not especially loud, though she suspected it could be, but mostly, what she heard was iron-hard authority. She turned back to him.
‘Close the door.’
‘Which side would you like me on?’
His look told her she was testing his patience. ‘This one.’
Carefully closing the door, she returned to her previous position; feet shoulder-width, hands behind her back, chin up, eyes on Piper. She found him quite a formidable presence. Probably what makes him a good DCI. He was watching her too closely; she suspected he saw more than she’d like.
‘How many men in here?’ he asked, as he leaned back.
‘This wing has one hundred sixty-three.’
‘How many is it designed to hold?’
‘One hundred thirty.’
‘Who shares with Bell?’
She’d expected questions about Tommy, not Bell. Her skin was starting to crawl. Had contacting Bell been a mistake?
‘Er, no one at the moment. His last cellmate was released earlier this week. None of the others want to move in with him.’
‘You give them the choice?’
‘Not always,’ she admitted. 'But, there are still other cells available to be assigned, and so far, they have been, and Bell’s cell hasn’t.’
‘Why? ’
She shrugged and tried not to frown. ‘Assigning cells is down to the receiving officer. I haven’t processed any of the new arrivals, so I cannot define on what basis any of them have been assigned where.’
Piper regarded her. His lack of expression made her stomach flip. What is he thinking?
‘What is your relationship with Bell?’
Teddington felt her jaw drop; her brows rose before they descended to a slight frown. She had no problem meeting Piper’s direct gaze. ‘He’s an inmate, I’m a guard.’
Piper rose to stand directly in front of her. Their eyes were almost level, and she knew he wouldn’t miss anything. She swallowed.
‘He’s a man, you’re a woman.’
‘How observant, sir.’
‘How sarcastic, madam.’
They glared at each other. Teddington rarely disliked anyone. To hate took effort, and she wasn’t prepared to waste that. Her feelings were darkening, but for once, she wouldn’t hide that, and she glared straight back into Piper’s eyes.
‘I don’t even want to think about what you’re suggesting, but let me be clear. I am a prison officer. I am responsible for the security, supervision, training and rehabilitation of the men in this facility. Bell is self-contained, non-violent, quiet. In the three years he’s been here, he’s taken and passed five computer courses, one in literature, another in nutrition, and is booked onto another starting next month in mechanics, which I personally hope he won’t be able to do. He is, frankly, a model prisoner. He takes up very little time, makes few demands, and gets on with the fact that he’s in here. Honestly, we all wish more were like him.’
‘Why do you hope he won’t be able to do the mechanics course?’
Did he really need to ask? ‘He’s served three years of seven. Because of good behaviour, the recommendation has been made he be considered for early parole. He’ll be out in six months anyway.’
‘Who made that recommendation?’
‘Prison Officer Robbins.’
‘The officer you’re usually partnered with?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not you?’
She didn’t like the implication. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
She shrugged hoping it looked more nonchalant than it felt. ‘Robbins spoke first, but most of us agreed.’
Piper watched her, scrutinised her. She had no idea what he was thinking. ‘Do you know why Bell’s in here?’
‘He killed a man.’
‘Do you know who that man was?’
She remembered processing Bell into the prison. The details would be on his file. She even remembered seeing headlines about him, but she hadn’t been that interested at the time, and she wasn’t bothered now. ‘I don’t need to.’ Now, she frowned at Piper. ‘Why all the questions about Bell? You’re supposed to be investigating Tommy’s death.’
‘If Walters was killed, it was either by a con or a screw.’
‘You’ve eliminated the Tooth Fairy, then.’
‘You’ve taken an adversarial stance, Officer Teddington. Do you really think that will hide your guilt?’
‘No!’ She dragged in a breath, clenched her jaw, and closed her eyes. Get control. ‘I’m not guilty. I’ve nothing to hide.’
‘Nothing?’
She couldn’t quite meet his eye, so she scowled at his mouth, her own lips tight. ‘I am a trained, respectable individual, and I take exception to being presumed guilty until proven innocent. And since we’ve been talking about Bell, why don’t you asked me how may bent “screws” we’ve got locked up for anything, let alone murder?’ Finally, she was able to look him in the eye, and she was willing to bet hers were full of fire. ‘You’ve heard of pots and kettles, right, Detective Chief Inspector?’
Whatever Piper would have said, Carlisle halted it by returning with two coffees. Piper hadn’t changed stance, he hadn’t even moved, but Teddington knew he had shut her out.
‘Trusting is a difficult choice,’ his voice was almost a whisper. Then, he stepped away. ‘That’s all.’
Teddington bristled at being dismissed with a brusque flick of his wrist.
Charlie wasn’t sure what he was doing in the room. Another dull grey room. The posters, which were supposed to be “motivational,” were as flat as everything else. Not that it mattered, he was more concerned about Teddington and Piper. Mostly Teddington. The images his imagination had created last night weren’t as fleeting as they should be. Focus on the case.
The door closed behind him and metal turned. He twisted in his seat, eyes on Fry behind him. She was in her early thirties but dressed like she was in her sixties. Not to mention thick glass frames which weren’t doing her any favours. They also didn’t change the magnification of her eyes, so he wondered why she needed them. Fry’s hand was on the lock. Seeing his interest, she smiled and stepped away from the door.
‘Don’t want anyone disturbing us.’
Probably not, she was a parole officer after all and details discussed in here were of no concern to anyone but them. He was surprised when her hand slid across his shoulder. She leant down to say close to his ear, ‘This is our private time.’
; He sat back in the hard plastic chair. He was in prison, he didn’t have anything private any more, all there was was time. As she moved away, that hand brushed down his arm. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. Felt like an invasion of his personal space.
Ha!
Personal space was another joke in here.
Fry sat her side of the desk with her buff file – well his buff file – in front on her. There was little of note about the woman. Except that Twin Set and pearls didn’t really suit her or the situation. She tipped her head up to smile at him.
‘Rather warm in here, don’t you think?’
It was unnecessarily warm in the small room with no windows; he glanced at the radiator. It was on full. When he returned his attention to her, Fry was stripping off the cardigan, her breasts, as average as they were, pointed straight at him. The fading bruises on her left upper arm were a surprise. He’d seen such things before. Fingerprint bruising. Usually a sign of a battered wife. Sometimes of BDSM. He glanced at Fry’s hand. She wasn’t wearing a ring.
‘So, Mr Bell, Charlie, you don’t mind if I call you Charlie, do you?’
Her hands were crossed over the paperwork, elbows in. He imagined how it would look if Teddington did that. ‘Fuller’ was the word that came to mind. He concentrated more on Fry’s eyes, realised she had asked him a question and shrugged. There were worse things she could call him.
There were a number of procedural questions, but he wasn’t paying much attention. It really was warm in here, stuffy and uncomfortable and he could feel sweat beading on his upper lip, the crew neck of his sweatshirt felt suddenly restrictive, not allowing air to cool him. He’d need a shower when he left at this rate.
‘Perhaps you should make a statement of what you would like to do when you’re free.’ She looked up at him. Her hand was on her pendant now. Running it back and forth along the chain. Drawing attention to her décolleté might work better if she was actually displaying cleavage. ‘If you were free to do anyone you wanted, what would it be?’