Code Runner (Amy Lane Mysteries Book 2)

by Rosie Claverton

  She sent her text—rich porter poss missing pls check @—and looked up Owain’s location. What was he doing in Butetown?

  Hadn’t Jason seen Owain in Butetown the other night? She was sure Owain lived somewhere outside Cardiff. Maybe he was still on duty and following up a lead. Maybe the Colombian investigation had been closed or Owain had been reassigned?

  There were too many unknowns. Amy stopped tracking Owain and shifted to Jason’s GPS. They had moved him again—this time, to the Vulnerable Prisoners Unit. Amy was counting down the hours until he made bail, having absolute faith in Joseph to get him out.

  Joseph had been her lifeline. She had confessed her crimes to him years ago and, together, they had worked out a contingency plan for if she was caught. Her police work only bought her so much immunity, but the evidence connecting her to the robbery of her parents’ money was long gone. It was the ongoing transgressions that could endanger her—downloading movies, hacking government agencies, Photoshop work for divorce court—but Joseph felt he could ensure she wouldn’t serve time.

  Despite everything, Amy believed in justice. If Bryn and Jason couldn’t help her now, Joseph would have to be her white knight. Justice demanded it.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Silence in the Library

  The guards noticed.

  Unsurprisingly, his story of hitting his face—and his ribs and his arms—on a piece of gym equipment didn’t wash. He was already up on report for the “intimidation” and canteen incidents, and Garlic threw in another count of brawling for good measure. Even though he didn’t have a scrap of evidence that Jason had hit anyone else.

  Lewis threw a good punch and Jason’s nose and lips had doubled in size by morning. His adjudication was postponed and he was transferred to the infirmary for treatment. The nurse chided him for waiting and gave him some ice for his lip while she placed six sutures across his split forehead.

  She was sympathetic and caring, so when she asked him how he’d come by his injuries, he had to force himself to remember that everything he said would be documented for the official record. So he said nothing, allowing her to cluck and fuss uninterrupted.

  He reckoned Amy would be singing a similar tune if she were there. His eyes sought out the camera in the corner and smiled at it, to show he was okay. He had no doubt she was watching him like a hawk, the government-funded security system crumbling under her powers.

  As for Keira, she had likely moved on. It wasn’t a relationship, and you couldn’t have a regular hook-up with a guy who was behind bars. He found he was okay with that. He had never been looking for strings.

  The doctor pointed out the new cracks in his ribs, bordered on all sides by the old ones, and recommended his transfer to the Vulnerable Prisoners Unit.

  “Usk?” God, he didn’t want to go back there. They knew him in Usk. He would have to look his rehabilitation counsellor in the eye and tell her that he hadn’t kept his nose clean, like he’d promised.

  “No, the VPU at Swansea. Just until your bail hearing.” The doctor frowned at his record. “To be honest, I’m not sure how you ended up in General Population—remand prisoners always go to VPU.”

  After his morning in the infirmary, Jason spent a relatively comfortable afternoon in his single cell, remembering to cough regularly and trying to avoid poking at his split lip with his tongue.

  During Association, he ventured out to call his mother—avoiding any mention of the previous day’s events—and limped to the nurse to get some more painkillers. He could really do with Amy’s dubious stash of meds right now.

  He pushed his dinner round his plate, the relief at being in VPU fading with the throbbing of his injuries and the lack of conversation. He even missed sniping with Alby.

  Sleep did not come that night, the fire of his cracked ribs curling around his chest and squeezing the breath from him. He couldn’t find a way to lie on the bed that didn’t hurt, so he sat up in his chair, listing slightly to one side to take the weight off them. His arm then decided to ache in sympathy, which made him irrationally angry. He poked at the limb, hoping to chase away the phantom pain, but that only made it worse. Bloody brilliant.

  The guards flashed a light in his cell at four o’clock and told him to get back to bed. Jason tried to explain his pain but was met with a string of expletives about his supposed crimes of a sexual nature.

  “I’m not a nonce,” Jason said petulantly, before shuffling towards the bed.

  “What you doing here then?”

  “I’m on remand. And my ribs are all smashed in.”

  It seemed the guard had a change of heart, because he dug up a spare pillow from somewhere and helped Jason position himself so that it all hurt a little less.

  “Used to be a boxer,” he said, and Jason could see the hallmark misshapen nose in the torchlight.

  Jason thanked him sincerely and snatched a few hours sleep before daylight snuck up on him and it was time for breakfast. And then the whole thing began again.

  It was as if he’d never left. The course of the day was determined by meals, Association, painkillers. His ribs ached from a beating and not a single woman in sight. At least adjudication this afternoon would break up the monotony.

  No matter how much it might harm his case, he wasn’t going to roll on Lewis. He was decided on that, even though he could imagine Amy and Joseph would be less than pleased about it.

  Before that pleasure, however, he had to do something with his day. Being on remand, he didn’t have education or work, and the gym was out for the moment. That left the library and he used his first Association to make slow, plodding progress towards the books.

  His awkward gait attracted the usual catcalls and innuendo, but it took more than a few words to rile him. He eventually reached the blessed quiet of the library and browsed the shelves.

  The crime section was well thumbed, but Jason didn’t need to read about police and justice right now. He picked up a comic strip collection about a young boy and his talking stuffed tiger and went to look for some light horror.

  He’d never been much of a reader, but he had his GCSE English and he didn’t struggle with his words like some of his mates. Amy, he’d discovered, had a deep mistrust of books and didn’t like anything that couldn’t be found for free on the internet. His reading material of late had been restricted to copies of tabloid papers in Dylan’s garage and the occasional takeaway menu.

  He chose a Stephen King novel (not the one about the clown—even ex-cons had phobias) and asked to photocopy a couple of the comic strips for some cell decor. The librarian gladly showed him to the copy room, after checking his credit, and then left him to it.

  As he was waiting for the thing to warm up, Jason looked through the pane in the door at the rest of the library. They’d done the place up since he’d last been here, and added extra shelves bearing computer textbooks and religious materials. A few Enhanced prisoners were dotted around assisting the librarian, a privileged status in the prison, but it was otherwise quiet. Most blokes were in work or class at this time and Jason’s continued lack of company stung him. He was even tempted to flirt with the librarian, though she was old enough to be his mother.

  The door to the copy room opened and a couple of guys came in, carrying heavy reference texts about zoology. “You almost done with that, mate?”

  The copier beeped to let him know it was finally ready. “You go ahead,” Jason said, stepping back and smiling, friendly-like. It never hurt to make friends inside.

  “Ah, cheers. You’re a star, you are.” The chatty bloke squeezed past him in the tiny room and set down his books.

  His friend snickered. “Good job someone already bruised him.”

  Before his words registered, a textbook had collided with Jason’s face, stunning him. He fell backwards into the waiting embrace of Chatty, face smarting and senses a
ll knocked about.

  Something warm and plastic cut into his neck and Jason feebly tried to struggle away.

  “Should I hit him again?”

  “Nah, he’s dozy. All be over soon, mate.”

  Jason’s body was dragged across the room as he tried to kick out, but the plastic dug into his neck, his face swelling up, red and hot.

  “Zook sends his best.”

  They released him. Jason fell, heavy and uncoordinated, and the cord pulled tight around his neck. His vision sparkled black and silver, precious air evaporating from him. Why is it always the neck?

  The darkness rushed in, like a midnight cloak, and the pain ebbed away into the shadows.

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Hanging in the Balance

  The GPS beeped to say Jason was moving to yet another location and Amy, bored with stalking Colombians, decided to follow him.

  The VPU had better camera coverage than D-wing and she was able to track him from just outside his cell. He walked very slowly, with an odd shuffle that reminded her of the times she’d watched him soldier on after a beating, walking wounded. His injuries were obviously hurting him and she hoped he was taking good, strong painkillers.

  He made slow but purposeful progress until he reached his destination, the library. Amy chucked the feed onto her second monitor and went back to checking Eduardo Días’s email. He did all his business online, using a crude code to pretend he was a soft drinks merchant and sold “crates of cola.” In his absence, his brother Cris ran the shop, showing a lot of caution and common sense for a man whose business was getting people off their heads.

  Amy glanced back to Jason. It was almost like him being at home, puttering around the kitchen while she worked and stole the occasional glance.

  He was talking to a middle-aged woman who was obviously staff and she showed him into a little room at the back. Amy looked for adjacent camera angles, but she could only get the door.

  It had two vertical strips of reinforced glass down its centre, and she could just make out his figure as he stood at the machine. The librarian left him to it, and Amy spent a couple of minutes fiddling with brightness and contrast to get a better view.

  Two men with books approached the room and went inside. One of them obscured her view of Jason completely and Amy gave up her quest for the perfect levels. Swansea really needed to upgrade their surveillance. She would inform them—after she got Jason out, of course.

  The two men emerged from the room, still carrying their books, and closing the door carefully behind them. Amy frowned—she couldn’t see Jason through the glass.

  One of the men inspected one of the books he was carrying and wiped a smear of something off the corner. The other one glanced back at the room.

  Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong.

  Without thinking, Amy activated the emergency alarm in the library. Within seconds, guards stormed in, demanding to know the problem. The librarian was perplexed, looking all about the place, before finally gesturing to the copy room.

  The guard sauntered over and shouldered open the door.

  He looked behind him and yelled, his colleagues running to him. The librarian threw him a pair of sharp scissors and detached a first-aid kit from the wall behind her desk.

  Amy watched the silent black-and-white movie as if it were a dream, detached from what she was seeing. The librarian made a phone call, and then another host of people arrived, bearing a large bag between them and also trying to fit inside the tiny room.

  The two men tried to make themselves scarce, but Amy screen-grabbed their faces. She wasn’t letting anyone else get away with hurting Jason.

  Hurting Jason...

  As the thought came to her, the reality of the commotion on the screen became real. Why wasn’t he walking out, laughing and joking with the guards, nursing a bloody nose or a broken finger? Why did they need the scissors? Was he...?

  Finally, a nurse arrived and pushed aside the crowd of guards to get in the door. She was the same nurse who had treated him yesterday, the one he had clearly been flirting with. Amy gripped the edge of her desk, her vision dark around the edges as she tried to remember how to breathe. He was going to be fine. She had raised the alarm and he was going to be fine. There was no other option.

  She took a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm. Panicking would not help Jason. Jason would not want her to panic. If...if the worst had happened, she had to tell Gwen. She couldn’t tell Gwen if she panicked.

  Instead, she watched, breathing slowly and steadily, keeping the tight, painful feeling in her chest at bay. After a few minutes, some of the guards moved away from the door and started questioning the librarian. Amy wanted to leap through the monitor and point at the two men, but she was helpless in the face of the librarian’s stupidity and the men’s feigned ignorance. She would have to wait for her revenge.

  Finally, two paramedics arrived, bringing a gurney and all their kit. The remaining guards moved aside and Amy could just make out Jason’s booted feet in the doorway. Why was he still lying down? What had they done to him?

  The paramedics joined the nurse in the small room. One came back out immediately and fetched a neck brace. Amy breathed.

  And then there he was, supported between two paramedics with the brace around his neck. He looked unsteady and he quickly sat on the trolley, accepting their assistance to lie down again. An oxygen mask was given to him and he held it loosely over his face.

  He lived. Jason lived.

  With some quick cracking work, Amy tapped into ambulance control and checked where they were taking him. Morriston Hospital, the largest hospital in Swansea and the only one with an A&E department.

  She wasn’t taking her eyes off him again.

  * * *

  Jason was roused from his doze by the sound of his mam’s voice, quietly but firmly demanding that the prison guards get out of her way.

  He tried to sit up, but the handcuff pulled against his wrist and stopped him dead. His right arm was stretched above his head, secured to the bed railing, and tugging on it aggravated his old fracture.

  “Don’t even think about trying a Houdini.”

  Jason blinked and tried to turn his head, but he was stopped by the surgical collar around his neck. “Can I see my mam?” he rasped, throat screaming with the effort.

  “Is that who’s hollering out there?” The guard came into view as he stood up and opened the door. Jason could see another two guards standing on either side of the door to the small side room, and beyond that the bustle of A&E.

  “Yes, I am his mother and I want to see him.”

  “Madam, he is currently a prisoner—”

  “I am his next of kin. Don’t you have visiting rights?” Without further ado, she barged past them and through to Jason’s bedside, squeezing his left hand. “I’m here, bach. It’ll be all right now.”

  And strangely, it did feel all right and Jason was so very glad to see her. She looked worn, a pinched look about her face, and he regretted being the cause of it.

  “What happened?”

  “He hanged himself.”

  The voice came from his right side, behind his head, and Jason recognise the voice as Garlic. Oh, just brilliant.

  Gwen looked horrified and Jason hurried to reassure her, even though his hoarse croaked words were far from reassuring.

  “Two blokes jumped me in the library and tried to strangle me.”

  “They what now?” The other guard was returning through the door as Jason spoke, and looked completely flummoxed.

  “Don’t lie to your mam, boy,” Garlic said, clearly prepared to dismiss everything Jason said as false.

  “I’m not,” Jason said hotly. “These two blokes came into the room with the copier—carrying books, they were. And then one of them
smacked me with the textbook, and the other, he put something round my neck. That’s all I remember.”

  “That’s a serious allegation,” the guard said. He was young, barely older than Jason, his hair sticking up at angles and a tuft of ginger in his beard. “There’s...there’s no shame in it, if you did tie the cable yourself.”

  “But I didn’t. They jumped me.”

  “Right.” Garlic could load one word with a metric ton of sarcasm. “And that’s why you activated the alarm, was it? Not so we’d all find you in plenty of time.”

  Jason frowned. “What alarm?”

  “The emergency alarm. You didn’t set it off?” The young guard looked even more confused, if that were possible.

  “‘’’Course he did. Who else could’ve done it? Would hardly be these alleged ‘attackers’ now, would it? And Cheryl said she never, so that only leaves him or one of the Enhanced boys.”

  While the guards were puzzling out the alarm, Gwen leaned in to him, concern on her face. “But you’ve not done yourself an injury?”

  “I’m still waiting on the doctor.” They’d given him some painkillers though a drip in the ambulance, which had taken the edge off, but the bloody collar was pressing on the tender swollen tissue of his abused neck.

  As if his ears were burning, the A&E doctor arrived. He had startling ginger hair, the same bright orange as DC Carrot Top, and spoke with a soft Northern Irish accent. Jason wondered if the good drugs had kicked in, because he seemed to resemble a ginger Irish teddy bear.

  “Jason Carr? Do you want to talk with your mum here?”

  Jason looked at her, wishing he instead had the option to chuck out the guards. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Can you tell me a wee bit about what happened?”

  Jason related his story again, suffering the repeated interruptions of Garlic who tried to correct him to his version of the truth at every turn.

  “And what was it that you had around your neck?”