Locked Up

by GB Williams

  Charlie blinked. He hadn’t received any such thing. ‘Wait a second.’ He decided not to think about thongs, because it just brought to mind finding Ari wearing one. ‘Both Winehouse and Keen told me to look to the top. That would be Peter Jones.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Carlisle asked. ‘You think a senior man, like Peter Jones, would be involved in something like this? Just coz you fell from grace don’t look for it in others.’

  That cut. Charlie shifted his attention to Teddington. Her face was clouded, lips compressed. This was how she’d looked earlier; this was her thinking face. He moved his eyes back to Carlisle, trying to defend the indefensible. ‘Why not? Lack of evidence isn’t proof of innocence.’

  ‘He’s not some scrote who came out of nowhere. He’s a good man, who knows a lot of powerful people.’

  ‘He’ll need to,’ Teddington spoke quietly. ‘He’s going into politics.’

  Piper frowned, his habitual straight posture, straightened. ‘You’re sure?’

  Charlie paced the room and scrubbed his face with both hands. He couldn’t believe they were actually going to do this.

  ‘There’s still the issue of evidence,’ Piper said. ‘No offence, but with your interwoven history, neither of you will stand well as eyewitnesses. Whatever you try to convey, a barrister will remind the jury of your time out of jail together. We need something incontrovertible. You’ll have to wear wires.’

  ‘No way,’ Teddington objected.

  Charlie knew the dangers of wearing a wire, especially in a situation where fighting and torn clothing was likely. ‘Why not?’

  Her skin was pallid, her eyes wide, as he sat down beside her. She passed a fleeting glance over him, before focusing on the table top. ‘Because, if I’m caught up in the riot, it’s obvious what could happen to me, especially after the pictures Regis has been circulating.’

  Charlie wasn’t quick enough to control his smile.

  ‘Oh, God, you’ve seen them.’

  It was rather cute how she could still blush. She closed her eyes and covered her bowed head with her hands.

  ‘I haven’t,’ Carlisle said.

  ‘Apparently,’ she muttered looking up, ‘Regis did several drawings of me when I walked into the wing to calm Brett down.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I was wearing knee-high heeled boots over tight jeans and a corset on top.’

  ‘And they let you in?’

  ‘They didn’t know about the corset ’til I took my jacket off.’

  Carlisle was beginning to get the image.

  ‘Turner apparently confiscated those, and other images, of me and Regis’s drawing equipment.’

  ‘Didn’t stop him,’ Charlie advised.

  She looked horrified. ‘You mean he’s still …?’ she shuddered.

  Taking a little pity on her, he shook his head. ‘I had to threaten to do to him what I did to Mohr, but he stopped.’

  ‘Good.’ She nodded, then frowned. ‘What did you do with the pictures?’

  This time, he didn’t even try to stop the grin.

  ‘Uggh.’ She looked pained, but turned back to Piper and Carlisle. ‘Personal cringing aside, the obvious happens, and a wire’s going to be instantly found. And that could get me killed. But it does bring something to mind – Regis is an artist who turned forger. There’s a reasonable chance he’s the one who forged the worksheets.’

  ‘Possible.’ Piper nodded, addressing Teddington. ‘When’s your next shift?’

  ‘Thursday.’ She thought about it. ‘I think I’m on mornings.’

  Piper questioned with a look.

  ‘Start at seven, finish at three.’

  ‘How long do you think Keen needs to make arrangements?’

  ‘Depends how detailed you want him to get, but anything from a couple of hours up.’

  30

  Teddington didn’t want to get out of bed. This wasn’t the usual, early morning lethargy; it was unusually strong. Throwing the duvet off her felt like a herculean task, but the force pinning her to the bed didn’t lessen. With a groan, she grabbed her dressing gown. She was at the bathroom door when she heard the knock. She rushed bare foot to the door.

  ‘Detective Inspector,’ she greeted, pushing unbrushed hair from her eyes.

  ‘Come in.’

  The day wasn’t bright, and she didn’t feel so either. Oh, the joys of getting up at half-five.

  She pointed Piper to the lounge, and carefully closed the door, not they would wake her mother. Teddington was hiding a yawn, as she followed Piper into the room.

  ‘Are you ready for this?’ Piper asked.

  ‘No,’ she said, hugging her dressing gown to her. ‘The alarm went off ten minutes ago. I just didn’t want to get out of bed.’

  ‘We all have mornings like that.’ He smiled. ‘Here.’

  Curious as to what the folded paper bag contained, Teddington took what she was offered and looked inside. She saw tissue paper.

  ‘It’s your wire,’ Piper explained as she reached in and pushed the tissue aside. ‘A 24 hour battery, so more than enough life.’

  She looked at the thing and blinked. She blinked again. Nothing had changed. ‘It’s a bra,’ she said and checked the label. ‘In my size.’ She looked up at Piper. ‘How – Oh, I don’t want to know.’

  Alone in her room, she dressed. She’d brushed her teeth, and her hair, but it was still loose and kept falling over her face. She felt surprisingly vulnerable.

  As she pulled on the works shirt, she looked at the bra again. Apparently, there was a microphone hidden under one pretty white flower and the battery under another. Teddington couldn’t see the electronics, but she actually liked the design. That it came from Piper was a bit of worry.

  ‘Surely all this is going to pick up is my heartbeat,’ she said as she returned to the lounge.

  Piper smiled at her.

  ‘I can’t say we won’t hear it, but software will filter that out at our end.’

  She kept her head down and stared at the floor, doing everything she knew to control the fear, but waging a losing battle. Her heart was slamming, her eyes burning with unshed tears. There was a simple fact she couldn’t ignore any longer. ‘I’m not sure I can do this.’ She dare not meet Piper’s eye.

  Then, she felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine. Charlie will look out for you. Keen will look out for you. By the time my men are pulled in, they will have been briefed to look for you first, too.’

  ‘That’s great,’ she agreed. ‘By the time your guys are pulled in, I’ll be dead. Or wishing I was.’

  Teddington stood on landing one, her hands gripping the rail so tight, her knuckles had lost their colour. She’d already spoken to Keen, and he was on the case, making arrangements. Breakfast was being served, and Keen had actually descended to get his own food, which felt odd. Keen didn’t usually come down for service; he had runners to go get him everything he needed, but all that had changed under the new regime. Can we ever get the old regime back? Do we want it?

  At least they’d spoken, and Keen was going to do his bit. He hadn’t told her when or where, or who. She didn’t want to know, either. That was her condition – she needed to be as surprised as everyone else.

  She felt sick.

  She pushed herself upright from the banister and turned right, walking the long way around, deliberately avoiding going past Charlie’s cell. Each step was calculated. She controlled her breathing and schooled herself not to react when she saw Charlie step up to the door of his cell. The huge man leaned on the frame, his arms crossed, as he watched her.

  Unable to stop herself, Teddington looked back at him. There was no expression in his regard, but she felt her stomach twist all the same. What they were doing was dangerous. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably, and the knots in her stomach ratcheted tighter, suggesting retching was in her immediate future. Looking away from Charlie, she could see three of her colleagues; who she couldn’t see was Robbins.


  Anywhere.

  Shivering, she headed towards the laundry room, nodding to a few people in acknowledgement as she passed. It was one of the warmest places in the jail.

  Entering the area, she was surprised to see no one there. There was usually someone in there; that was why it was on the rounds at meal times, to make sure anyone in there didn’t miss out.

  Sighing, she sank down on the bench and closed her eyes. It was no good. She couldn’t keep this up. She was going to have to go back on the sick and take up the service’s offer of counselling. She needed to get her head right, if she was going to carry on with this job, and she did want to carry on with the job.

  The pain split across the back of her head, and despite the instant fear forcing her eyes open, the world was swirling and dimming.

  She was already falling, when the second blow landed.

  Charlie couldn’t settle to read. The sensation of an approaching storm was no longer just in his head, but in the certain knowledge, at some point today, there would be a riot. Putting the book aside, he went to the open door. There were more bodies out than usual. Still, not as many as there should be – as there used to be – but the place didn’t seem quite so abandoned. Looking down, he could see Will Norman and Chris Roberts on the main floor, talking to two inmates. He wondered if they were even aware of the other small knots of men moving into position around them. Never more than four per knot, they were, nevertheless, looking increasingly cancerous. He stepped back into his room, a last bit of preparation. Then, to check out the way the landscape was forming, Charlie adjusted the polo neck of his top and stepped out to do a circuit of the landing. He was just passing the stairs, as Robbins came up.

  He nodded in acknowledgement and got a sneer for his trouble, as the other man moved to the steps up to the second landing.

  ‘Where’s Teddington?’

  Robbins turned only briefly, delivered another scowl. ‘Working.’

  Charlie hadn’t been asking him, but apparently, Robbins had better hearing than he’d realised. The voice in Charlie’s ear wasn’t exactly helpful. ‘Still in C-Wing,’ the voice said. ‘Not getting an audio feed right now.’

  ‘Equipment?’ This time he kept his voice as low as possible that the mic would pick up, but no one else.

  ‘No, she’s just somewhere quiet.’

  Charlie considered that, as he continued to pace. There weren’t that many places she could be quiet, without one of the guys talking to her. He looked around the floor, the two landings, and the men lurking. He saw another man appear, this one followed by Fry. There were folders under her arm, and he looked pleased with himself – someone would be getting out soon.

  Charlie stopped. The surprising sight of Keen following Robbins did little to ease the tension tightening his shoulders. He returned to the stairs as they were coming down, able to gather nothing from the two blank expressions as they passed him. Given what Keen had to do, this was a worrying development.

  The library.

  There was no rule about silence in the library, but those who used it generally did keep quiet. In the wake of Keen’s departure, Charlie headed down to the ground floor. The tension here was palpable. Hearing his footsteps, Norman turned, as Charlie took the direct line towards the library.

  ‘What are you up to, Bell?’

  ‘Going to the library,’ he said easily. ‘Where’s Teddington? She’s usually visible through most of her shift.’

  Norman looked uncomfortable. Charlie got the impression of ignorance rather than malice. ‘Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s doing her job, and she doesn’t need your help.’

  Charlie shrugged off the comment, and he just hoped the man was right. It didn’t take long to establish she wasn’t in the library – it wasn’t the biggest room ever. But not only was she not there, no one was. He paused in the quiet space, and wondered where to look next.

  Pain jolted his head forward, felt like it was splitting his skull, though he suspected it was only his scalp that gave way. He staggered forward, then stumbled in trying to turn towards his assailant. Assailants, he noted as he turned, only just raising his arm in time to defend his head from another crashing blow from what looked like a chair leg. A leg wielded by Paul, Winehouse’s bodyguard.

  Though dizzy, Charlie saw enough to know however good he was at looking after himself, three-to-one weren’t good odds with their weaponry. He had to even the playing field a little. The three men surrounded him, and blows started from all angles. With a war cry roar, he butted into Paul and slammed him backwards, smashing him bodily against the book shelves and driving the air from Paul in one sudden grunt. The shelves wobbled but held, as Charlie grabbed the chair leg, his hand wrapping around the squared wood, twisting and yanking it from Paul’s grasp.

  Fearing attack from behind, Charlie used the momentum of the yank to carry him around, swinging the chair leg against the cheekbone of the nearest of the men – Hart. Blood spurted, as the man was knocked sideways; the contact with bone reverberated through the groaning wood to Charlie’s hand. Hart went straight down. Too scared of the officers not to attack an inmate on order. But, a glass jaw was no use in a fight.

  Repositioning the leg with a mid-length grip, Charlie propelled it blindly backwards, pumping it into Paul’s stomach, just as he started to recover. The third attacker, had clearly been hanging back, but was now just spoiling for a fight, going in fast and hard. Rough fists were brought into heavy contact with Charlie’s already sore head.

  Charlie was faster and stronger; he forced himself to draw up to full height, leaving his chest and neck vulnerable but his seven-inch advantage over his opponent ensured his head was no longer a viable target. As the man concentrated on keeping a boxer’s fighting stance, Charlie brought the wood up like a baseball bat. The boxer saw the blow coming and blocked it fast enough, but was utterly unprepared for the kick that blew out his right leading knee. Charlie followed through, smashing the chair leg down over the man’s head, the wood shattering at the weakened spot where the hole had been cut to support the cross bar of the frame.

  One down, still and quiet, probably out, but Paul and Hart were recovering, stumbling towards him. Hart was closer and the easier target; Charlie grabbed him by the back of his collar, unerringly forcing his knee and Hart’s chin into direct and jolting contact. Hart groaned but didn’t quit, his arms flailing widely, so Charlie dragged him half to his feet, gritting his teeth against the blows pounding on his side, stomach, and back. Hart had help from Paul, now. He kept moving, Paul’s grasp on his shirt slowing him down but failing to prevent him from running Hart into the nearest wall.

  Two down.

  He turned in time to see Paul’s punch coming and ducked out the way. His own fist connected with the bottom of the man’s ribs, not placed right to do any damage. They moved around the space, in almost balletic form, both having been trained to fight by years of experience. The Marquess of Queensberry would despair at the wilful disregard of his rules; this fight was dirty and staying that way. Evenly matched, they swapped blow for blow, but Charlie channelled every ounce of disgust for Paul and worry for Teddington into one final mighty blow that connected hard with Paul’s jaw. The man went down.

  Charlie dragged in a breath, blinking away the blood dripping into his eye from a split brow. He could see Paul was conscious but defeated. He grabbed him by the shirt, rattling Paul’s teeth, as he made him focus bleary eyes which were already starting to swell shut.

  ‘Who told you to do this?’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  Charlie jabbed a finger into the man’s left eye.

  Paul screamed, clapping his hand over it. ‘Bastard!’

  ‘Who gave the order?’

  When he didn’t answer, Charlie pressed his fingers between Paul’s until he felt eyelid. ‘Unless you want this out, tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘I was to be paid when I get out.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Killing you.’<
br />
  ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t care. Just asked if I wanted to do it.’

  ‘Who asked?’ Charlie shook the man when he didn’t answer. ‘Who was paying you, Paul?’

  ‘Fish Hook Freddy,’ he growled.

  Fish Hook Freddy – a robber he’d put away some years ago and a known associate of Mansel-Jones. Staring down at Paul’s bludgeoned and ruined face, Charlie almost took pity on the man.

  ‘Why now?’

  Paul raised his hand. An ineffectual barrier, but the sign of surrender Charlie was looking for. ‘They said to do it when the riot happened. We just weren’t expecting it today. We didn’t have the weapons we’d planned on.’

  Only now did the background sound of fighting and shouting and alarms properly penetrate Charlie’s consciousness.

  ‘When were you told there was to be a riot?’

  ‘Weeks ago.’

  So long before their little plan had been hatched. ‘Who by?’ Charlie could see the man’s pupil dilating. He was running out of time, they all were. He shook Paul. ‘WHO BY?’

  ‘Leo.’ It was a weak response.

  ‘Who is Leo?’

  But, it no longer mattered how much he shook Paul, the man was unconscious. Leaving him to slump, Charlie stood up. The library door was open. He could hear the fighting, smell something burning. Teddington was somewhere in this, and he had to protect her. As he moved off, he put his fingertips to his throat, pulling the polo neck up and re-covering the mike. Then dragged out the bottom edge of the shirt to wipe blood off his face.

  ‘You got all that right?’

  ‘Yep,’ said the voice in his ear. ‘All utterly inadmissible, of course, but we got it.’

  31

  She was lost in a world of hurt.

  She tried moving, but her hands were tied.

  Teddington didn’t know what annoyed her more. The pain, the restriction, or that she was getting used to both. She opened her eyes. It didn’t help much. She couldn’t focus, but was glad to have any sight at all, given that she’d been hit at the back of the head – the optical processing area of the brain.