Locked Up

by GB Williams

  He took a deep breath. Disinfectant with a sour undertone. Someone had thrown up in here relatively recently, but it had been cleaned up. One of last night’s drunks, probably.

  The cell was smaller than his. He huffed a small laugh at that. Given the overcrowding and his absence, chances were, the cell had been reallocated. Tommy’s bed had been reassigned quickly enough. When he went back, which would probably be a prisoner transfer later that day, he could have been moved anywhere. His personal belongings moved to a box, and if the screws were really pissed with him, which they were bound to be, it would take a while for him to get his stuff back.

  Without room to pace, he stepped up to the narrow ledge and the blue plastic covered cushion. A quick check reassured him the smell was the only lingering vomit in the room, he laying down. Even with a cushion, the platform was hard and unyielding.

  He knew how this would go. By now, Teddington would be being interviewed, probably quite gently, with the requisite tea and biscuit. Piper would get her the good stuff from the staff canteen, not the mess from the vending machine. She’d be well treated – after all, she was on their side. A fellow officer, if in a different vein. And she appeared most innocent; that it was as much a fact as a cover up just made things easier. She’d probably then be taken to hospital to get her shoulder checked out, though he doubted they’d be able to fault the work. They wouldn’t be able to identify who’d done it, either – the Doc was in the clear, as long as they both kept quiet.

  Given that Charlie was known for being impatient, they would leave him here to stew for as long as they reasonably could, and when they did interview him, it would be a solid job, completely by the book, go on for hours, and be less than pleasant. No decent tea for him.

  Teddington could have no idea how wrong she’d been that returning was the best thing for him. She didn’t understand the parole she’d told him not to jeopardise was now a pipe dream. He hadn’t had anything to do with the shooting but that wouldn’t stop the authorities, or the papers, blaming him. He’d be serving his full sentence now. If he was charged in connection with conspiracy to shoot Richmond and/or Sanchez, he’d do more besides. He huffed. Was that likely? A high-profile shooting, one man dead, another critical. They wouldn’t let this lie. If they couldn’t find anyone else, they’d find him. Piper might believe he was innocent, but Piper wasn’t the only one he had to worry about.

  He didn’t want to think about what would happen when he got back to HMP Blackmarch. Against the odds, equilibrium had returned with both Winehouse and Keen; that didn’t mean it would continue when he went back. And he was still no closer to figuring out who had killed Tommy. Then, there was whatever Teddington was hiding, about what was happening behind the scenes, and her relationship with Keen. Why was she so ready to trust Keen above Winehouse? Charlie wouldn’t have favoured either. This was the part of being a cop he had always found most annoying. Myriad questions, few answers.

  Laying straight, his feet and head touching the walls, Charlie crossed his hands over his belly. It growled; he ignored it. Closing his eyes, he thought about last night, about the comfort of just being that close to another human being. He had never told a woman he loved her; he’d avoided serious relationships. When he went home, it was to his own bed, and alone. If he took a lover, he tended to go to hers or grab a hotel; he hadn’t wanted a woman with him in his own space. Cathy was the closest he’d ever come it a proper girlfriend, but he stayed at hers. She had never once gone to his house.

  His parents had always had, hopefully still had, a solid marriage. They were the perfect example of what a couple should be. Of all his colleagues, only Piper had maintained a steady and exclusive relationship, the others were cheating or worrying their wives into paranoia and divorces. He didn’t want to do that to any woman, or himself. Better for all concerned to keep them at arms length.

  Only that wouldn’t be enough with Teddington, with her he wanted … more. She was smart, strong, and kissed like an angel. Maybe she was right; maybe it wasn’t real, just an intense situation, but it felt real to him.

  ‘Get up.’

  Charlie opened his eyes, directing his attention towards the door. Carlisle was standing outside, squinting through the viewing hatch. Charlie carefully moved to stand, his feet slightly wider than shoulder width, his hands open and wide, a few inches clear of his body to show he was no threat. Only then did Carlisle unlock the door.

  The interview room had seen a lick of paint since last Charlie was in it, though, in fairness, he’d been on the other side of the table then, his own interviews as “the suspect” having been conducted in a different room. What surprised him most was Carlisle had left, and the only remaining occupant was Russell Towers, the lawyer he hadn’t seen since the day after his trial, when he’d instructed the man not to bother with an appeal.

  ‘I didn’t call you,’ Charlie observed as he sat down.

  ‘No one did,’ Towers advised in that upper crust accent that had grated on Charlie’s nerves by the time the trial was over. ‘I saw what happened and I knew you’d need a lawyer. My apologies for taking so long to get here. I had another meeting I couldn’t get out of.’

  ‘What time is it?’ His watch had been taken away in the custody suite.

  Towers checked his Rolex. ‘Five-o-six.’

  Six hours. How the hell had six hours washed over him so easily? ‘I can’t afford your time.’ Paying the last bill had nearly bankrupted him.

  ‘It’s pro-bono.’

  ‘Why?’

  Towers took a moment to draw in a breath. He was obviously considering what he was going to say. ‘I don’t like losing.’

  ‘Then, you should avoid all contact with me,’ Charlie advised. ‘This … I … am a lost cause.’

  ‘I don’t believe that, Mr Bell. I never have, and neither should you.’

  But, he had to. He couldn’t deal with the hope of anything more. ‘Do you know what happened with Teddington?’

  ‘I believe she was interviewed and then taken to hospital. Her injuries had to be checked and recorded.’

  ‘Have you spoken to her?’

  ‘No, but I will.’

  Charlie didn’t want that, but he wasn’t sure why. His urge was to protect her, to keep her from anyone or anything which could upset her. That was ridiculous; he was the one most likely to hurt her. Look at what he’d already done.

  ‘So, let’s get to it,’ Towers demanded Charlie’s attention. ‘Tell me everything that happened from the moment you arrived at the cemetery.’

  ‘So,’ Carlisle said, as he glared across the table, ‘you expect us to believe not only did you have nothing to do with the shooting, you actually “took care” of Mrs Teddington while you were missing, including removing the bullet from her shoulder?’

  ‘That is what my client said,’ Towers pointed out. ‘It is, in fact, what he has said at least three times, with further repeats for clarification on a number of points.’

  ‘Not all of the clarifications have been clear,’ Carlisle sneered.

  Towers was steady in his regard of the younger man, then he turned to the older officer. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Piper, I have to point out that it’s becoming increasingly obvious Detective Sergeant Carlisle here has an issue with my client. This level of persecution is bordering on harassment.’

  Charlie knew exactly what the problem was, too – the personal betrayal Teddington had so accurately diagnosed. He sat quietly and watched the interplay between the two men. He was beginning to wonder if he knew either. Carlisle was angrier than before, and even though he’d moved up a rank, he hadn’t matured into the calm, assessing officer Charlie would have expected under Piper’s guidance.

  He turned to Towers, the man was sharp as a tack. How had he missed that before? Too numb, probably. He’d killed Mansel-Jones and given up, resigned himself to a particular fate, and had never considered the alternative, the possibility he might not serve jail time.

  ‘Unless
you have some sort of evidence suggesting my client is lying,’ Towers continued, ‘then, this interview should be terminated forthwith, and DS Carlisle here should be removed from any further dealings with my client.’

  Piper checked his watch. ‘Interview terminated at 1923.’

  Carlisle clicked off the tape machine, and Charlie could see his clenched jaw, the narrowed, daggered look Carlisle threw him. It was Piper’s steadier, unrevealing expression that had Charlie worried. Then, Piper turned to his younger colleague.

  ‘Thank you, DS Carlisle.’

  Carlisle recognised the dismissal when he heard it, Charlie doubted he understood it. Snatching a tape from the machine, leaving one for the lawyer, Carlisle left the room. Only after the door was shut again did Piper fix his gaze on Towers.

  ‘Under normal circumstances, this is where I’d tell you your client is free to go, but that can’t happen, in this case. Mr Bell will be held in custody here, and transferred back to Blackmarch in the morning. Is there any other business you wish to go through now?’

  ‘No, I think that’s all.’

  ‘Good,’ Piper said. ‘Then, you can leave me to speak with Bell alone.’

  Towers turned to Charlie.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Charlie agreed. ‘I can’t go anywhere, so I might as well talk to him.’

  Towers ensured all the formalities were observed before he left. Alone with Piper, Charlie faced his old boss.

  ‘She’s fine,’ Piper told him. ‘Being kept in hospital overnight for observation.’

  ‘Did you interview her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Carlisle?’

  Unusually, Piper allowed himself a half smile. ‘She told him where to get off.’

  An involuntary smile moved Charlie’s lips up. ‘I can imagine that.’

  ‘Her story matches yours.’

  ‘Did you expect anything else?’ Clearly, Piper hadn’t. ‘What now?’

  ‘You get a night in a cell here. I’m going home to my wife.’

  20

  Charlie stood back in his prison cell. Same cell, all his stuff still here. Nothing missing, nothing even moved. He’d showered, changed. Jeans, tee and grey marl sweatshirt. His usual outfit. Comfortable. Nothing had changed. Had he even left? Had anything he thought had happened, actually happened?

  It’s not real.

  He could hear Teddington saying it. Maybe she was right. He sat down at the small desk. Three books sat on the top. Lee Child, Steven Leather, Jasper Fforde.

  He picked up The Killing Floor.

  He was ten pages in, when he noticed it.

  The place was quiet. Actually, it was more than quiet. It was library silent. Usually, sound echoed around the wing, bounced on the glazed bricks. He picked his head up, facing the door. No, he wasn’t imagining it. There was an absence of sound.

  Turning down the corner of the page, he closed the book and stood, crossing outside to the landing. Standing on the balcony, he observed his surroundings. Was he the only one left in the prison?

  He could see Morris in his room, and headed around the landing, wondering when he had grown so heavy-footed. Every echo was now a harsh, recoiling scream. Though he couldn’t see anyone, he had the unnerving feeling he was being watched.

  Morris didn’t look up from his own trembling book, as Charlie appeared in the door.

  ‘Can I come in?’ The door was wide open, but some respects had to be maintained.

  ‘You best had,’ Morris kept his voice low. ‘Sit there.’ The old man indicated the foot of the bed.

  Charlie sat. When he went to speak, Morris raised his hand. He held his silence and watched as Morris turned the page, the bottom of the book rested on the table, controlling the worst of the shakes. Morris must be used to it. It looked like one of the last pages in the book, as Morris’ eyes scrolled across the width. Charlie was rather surprised to see the cover – Gone With The Wind. Mentally, he shrugged, each to their own.

  Finally, the old man closed the book.

  ‘Good book?’

  ‘Surprisingly,’ Morris confirmed. ‘Why did you come back?’

  Straight to the point. Charlie liked that. ‘It was the right thing to do.’

  ‘Teddington persuade you of that?’

  His nod confirmed it.

  ‘Did you two …’

  Although the question trailed off, Charlie understood it. He finally understood why Teddington was so insistent, so right. ‘She’d been shot. I couldn’t take advantage like that.’

  ‘Most would.’

  ‘I’m not most.’

  ‘True,’ Morris acknowledged, inspecting the younger man. ‘What did you come over for?’

  ‘I was in my cell, and it felt like …’ he sighed, ‘it felt like none of it had happened, no funeral, no shooting, no running and hiding. Like it was all just an overly vivid dream.’

  Morris offered a bitter laugh. ‘Well, if it was a dream, we all saw it played out on national TV.’

  Charlie nodded. ‘But, I was reading, much like you were, then, I noticed how quiet it is. Normally, you’ve got men wondering around, talking, you can hear TVs or games, conversations, sometimes arguing, sometimes even fighting. But, not today. Everything is too quiet.’ Aware he was keeping his voice unnaturally low, Charlie looked to the door. There was no movement. He turned back to the older man, ‘Quiet as the grave.’

  ‘Which is what—’ Morris’ attention shifted to doorway. ‘Officer Robbins.’

  ‘Morris.’ Robbins nodded, then turned a frozen gaze on Charlie. ‘Back to your cell, Bell. Don’t want you disturbing other prisoners.’

  Charlie considered pointing out he wasn’t disturbing Morris, but the hairs standing on the back of his neck convinced him that wasn’t a good idea. So far, there had been no reprisals for his absence, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be. He turned to Morris, apologised, and stood.

  ‘You’ve always had sharp vision, Charlie,’ Morris noted, as he left.

  He was wondering about the odd comment, as he felt Robbins push him in the back, moving him on.

  ‘If I had my way, you’d be in solitary now for what you did.’

  ‘Getting Teddington out of the firing line and removing that bullet?’ Charlie threw over his shoulder, as he rounded the final corner of the landing and headed towards his cell. ‘For saving her life?’

  The nudge in the back became a shove, a hard one at that. He found himself stumbling into his cell, catching himself on the bunk as the door was swung shut and locked.

  Lunch time came and went, without the door being opened.

  Dinner time came and went, without the door being opened.

  Charlie wasn’t overly surprised when breakfast the following morning passed in the same fashion. He kept reading.

  What did surprise him was, just as Reacher was figuring out the last conundrum, a key turned in the lock, and the door was opened. Senior Officer Turner stood there. Charlie looked up from his seat by the table, meeting the gaze of the officer.

  ‘Giving an officer lip is not a good idea,’ Turner advised, ‘but I’m sorry you missed breakfast.’

  ‘I’m sorry I missed lunch and dinner yesterday too.’ Giving an officer lip really wasn’t a good idea, but Charlie figured he didn’t have much left to lose.

  Turner frowned. ‘Pardon?’

  Charlie had seen enough liars to know honest confusion when he saw it in a man’s eyes. ‘I’ve been locked in here nearly 24 hours solid. No respite, no meals.’

  Turner stepped into the cell, kept his voice low. ‘Who locked you in, and when?’

  ‘Robbins, around 11:45 yesterday morning.’

  Turner was obviously considering the point, but Charlie couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. ‘The shop’s open. Have you got money?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘Are you and Teddington friends?’

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Just wondered if she’s been released from hospital, if they gave
her the all-clear?’

  Now, Turner’s face clouded. ‘You haven’t heard? Of course not, you’ve been locked in here.’

  Bile rose in Charlie’s throat, lead lined his stomach, and it felt like every ounce of energy had drained from his body. ‘Heard what?’

  ‘Teddington had a reaction to the painkiller they gave her in the hospital. She had to be intubated. No one’s sure what her condition is this morning.’

  If Charlie still had a pulse, he wasn’t sure blood was getting to his brain. This really didn’t make any sense. Teddington in trouble? ‘But, she was fine last time I saw her.’

  ‘Like I said, unexpected reaction to the painkiller.’ There wasn’t much else Turner could say. ‘Anyway, DCI Piper is here, wants a word with you.’

  Like an automaton, Charlie put the book down. Still reeling, he barely noticed the walk to the visiting room; he didn’t really know what was going on, until he was sitting facing DCI Piper again.

  ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Piper commented.

  ‘Is it true?’ Charlie asked. ‘Teddington’s on a machine to keep her alive?’

  Piper took a deep breath and averted his eyes, a sure sign things weren’t good.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector?’ Turner called the man’s attention. ‘Would you object to me locking the two of you in here? There’s something I need to do.’

  Piper frowned. This wasn’t usual protocol, but Charlie hoped he’d agree all the same. He did. Turner left; the door was audibly locked.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ Piper advised, when Charlie moved to do just that. ‘Be assured Mrs Teddington is receiving all necessary care and attention.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Charlie was far from impressed. ‘You’re giving me a catchall phrase that doesn’t actually mean anything now?’

  Piper’s lips compressed.

  ‘Turner suggested there was a reaction to the painkillers they gave her.’

  Drawing breath in through his nose, Piper assessed him. Charlie hoped he’d see he wasn’t about to let this go without an answer.