Burn Out (Dr. Anne Vernon Book 1)

by Alan Scholefield

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘I thought you’d enjoy that. Don’t you get it yet? They’ve forgotten you, Jason. Everybody’s forgotten you. You’re a has-been. You’re just a dot on the horizon, a piece of shit. They don’t give a tinker’s about you. Nobody does. Except . . .?’

  Jason began to get dressed.

  ‘Except . . .? Answer me, Jason.’

  Jason kept silent.

  ‘Give me back my lighter then!’ The teasing tone had gone.

  Jason fished the lighter out of his pocket and gave it to him.

  ‘D’you think you can survive without me, Jason? D’you think you can get through life in Loxton?’

  ‘I’m not going to Loxton!’

  ‘You carry on like this and you will, old fruit. Remember, when they do your evaluation they also do me. What if they ask me about your behaviour? What am I going to tell them?’

  Jason looked at him sharply.

  ‘Yeah,’ Billy said. ‘Think about it.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re always friggin’ sorry. You want to act proper and then you won’t need to be sorry. Now . . .’ he came forward and straightened Jason’s collar. ‘Who loves you, baby?’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘And don’t forget it.’ He patted Jason on the cheek.

  The escorting officers came for them just after nine o’clock. There was a rattle at the door and the sound of a key in the lock. The door opened. One of the officers said, ‘Get your gear together. All of it.’

  They were signed off the wing and taken to reception. Jason and Billy were told to take their clothes off and given dressing gowns to put on. Their clothes were searched by hand then passed back to them. Once they were dressed staff went over them with metal detectors.

  ‘Right. Get the rest of your gear.’

  This came from the bigger of the two officers. He was a man called Prosser with a reputation for standing no nonsense.

  ‘What for?’ Billy said. ‘It’s only remand. We’re coming back.’

  ‘Because I said so.’

  ‘Yes sir, Mr Prosser, sir.’

  They collected their gear at the reception counter. Billy put on a tweed jacket that had seen better days and wrapped a claret-coloured woollen scarf round his neck. Dressed up in his street clothes he seemed, to Jason, a different person from the one he had shared a cell with.

  ‘Come on,’ Prosser said. ‘Let’s get going, the taxi’s in the yard.’

  As they moved off, the second officer, a smaller, thinner man called Hall, grinned at Jason as though to say: Don’t mind him, we’re not all like that.

  The car was a black London taxi and it was parked on the cobbles in the yard. Prosser looked at Jason and said, ‘You’re a big bloke, give me your right hand.’ He fixed a handcuff to Jason’s right wrist and coupled it with Billy Sweete’s left.

  The driver was a pale, thin young man who looked bored, as though he had done this a hundred times before; which he had. The four men got into the rear of the cab and it was then Jason realised why they used these cabs. He and Billy sat on the back seat, the two escorting officers on the fold-down seats directly opposite and facing them. The glass partition separating the driver from the rear of the cab was partially closed.

  Once they were settled they waited a few moments until the visitors had been cleared from the front reception area, then the steel gates to the yard were opened, and the big doors were opened, and the taxi drove through both into the outside world.

  The day was dismal with black clouds, wind and rain. The traffic was heavy coming down the hill but finally there was a gap and they moved away from the prison into the Kingstown rush hour.

  The four men stared out of the windows. In the grey light the prison looked forbidding. Officer Hall said, to nobody in particular, ‘The forecast never said anything about rain.’

  ‘They never get it right,’ Prosser said, sourly.

  ‘You remember that bloke on tv who said we were definitely not going to have a hurricane and then half the country blew away?’

  ‘Bloody civil servants,’ Prosser said.

  ‘Aren’t prison officers civil servants?’ Billy said.

  ‘You being funny?’ Prosser said.

  ‘’Course not. I just didn’t know whether you was privatised or not.’ Billy turned to Jason. ‘They’re privatising everything these days. Prisons. Prison officers. They’re going to privatise the Queen. She’s going to have a stall outside the palace selling home-made marmalade.’

  Jason continued to stare out of the window. Prosser looked at Billy Sweete with unreserved contempt.

  ‘Yeah,’ Billy went on. ‘It’s because everything’s becoming too expensive for the country to run. Now you take us, Jason. We been told to collect all our gear. But we’re only going for remand to the magistrates’ court. Then back to the hotel on the hill. But we got to take it to court. Check it in with the police there. Go to the courtroom. Stand up and be remanded. Go back to the police. Check our gear out. Be searched. Go back to the hotel on the hill. Check in our gear again. Etc, etc, etc. That’s bureaucracy, Jason. That’s why the Prison Officers’ Association doesn’t want no private firms muscling in. That’s why they need so many blokes. Like counting lamp posts. There’s no work any more so the government has this brilliant idea: they send you out to count lamp posts and then they send me out to check that you counted them right.’

  ‘Highly amusing,’ Prosser said.

  ‘Thought you’d get a smile out of that, Mr Prosser. That’s why the country’s deep in the shit. It’s from counting lamp posts.’

  ‘You know everything, don’t you, Sweete?’

  ‘Not everything, Mr Prosser.’

  ‘I’ve seen people like you before. Know-alls. Well, you don’t know everything, Sonny Jim. If you knew everything you’d know why you were taking all your gear.’

  The cab was caught in traffic, the diesel engine idling with the sound of safety pins rattling in a cup.

  ‘Yeah,’ Prosser said. ‘Mr Bloody Know-all. If you know everything, how is it you don’t know you’re being split up?’

  Jason turned sharply from the window to look at Billy and saw his expression change.

  ‘Split up, Mr Prosser?’

  ‘You’re not going back to the same cell. He’s going into the hospital.’ He nodded towards Jason.

  ‘What?’ Jason said. There was alarm in his tone.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Billy said. ‘He’s talking balls.’

  ‘Don’t be cocky. You’ll see.’

  There was something in the smug way Prosser said it that seemed to enrage Billy ‘What the fuck do you know!’

  Hall said, ‘Steady the buffs.’

  Prosser laughed. It was an unpleasant sound. ‘Let me tell you what I know, sonny, and then you might not be so know-all about everything. Mr Farley from the hospital told us. Isn’t that true?’ He turned to Hall for confirmation.

  Hall nodded. Then he said to Jason. ‘They want you by yourself. Mr Farley said you’d gone silent.’

  Jason had turned to face Sweete. ‘Billy?’ he said.

  ‘He’s lying. He’s trying to upset you, can’t you see that?’

  ‘Why would I want to upset him?’ Prosser asked. ‘What’s the point!’

  ‘The point is because you’re a friggin’ screw; that’s the point!’

  Hall said, ‘Come on, Sweete, none of that.’

  ‘Oh, leave him,’ Prosser said. ‘He’s round the bloody bend if you ask me.’

  ‘Billy?’ Jason said again.

  ‘Don’t take no notice, Jason. Can’t you see he’s trying to make you lose your cool.’

  ‘Like he did in the police station,’ Prosser said.

  ‘Don’t listen to him!’

  Prosser said, ‘I don’t give a monkey’s what you do. Listen or don’t listen, it’s all the same to me. All I’m telling you is, you’re going into the hospital, and you,’ he leered at Billy, ‘you’re going back to
Loxton.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stands to reason. You were there before. You set fire to your cell here – or so they tell me. You’re a bloody nutcase. We don’t want nutcases. We don’t want all the aggro. I bet the magistrate sends you to Loxton. Unfit to plead.’

  ‘Balls. They can’t do that.’

  ‘’Course they can. New powers under the Criminal Justice Act.’

  ‘What’s he mean?’ Jason said to Billy.

  ‘He’s talking bullshit.’

  Prosser sat back and folded his arms. There was a faint smile on his lips.

  ‘He’s only doing it to wind us up,’ Billy said, but there was doubt in his voice.

  The taxi moved forward more swiftly.

  ‘I want a smoke,’ Billy said.

  The cab driver said, ‘Didn’t you see the notice? This is a non-smoking vehicle.’

  ‘Piss off. It’s a free country.’

  ‘Let him have a smoke,’ Hall said. The driver closed the window angrily. ‘Where’s the packet?’

  ‘Just the makings. In my pocket. This side.’ He indicated his right-hand side and held up his hand waiting for Hall to give him the go ahead, but the prison officer leaned forward, reached into Billy’s pocket and came out with papers and tobacco.

  ‘You going to roll it too?’ Billy said.

  ‘Not me. I used to smoke tailormades, but that was a long time ago.’

  ‘What about you, Mr Prosser?’

  ‘You want to ruin your health, you go ahead by yourself.’

  Billy lifted his manacled hand and began to roll the cigarette. ‘Jason, you want one?’

  Jason shook his head.

  Billy licked the paper and put the rollup in his mouth. ‘Anybody got a light?’

  ‘I thought it had a self-starter,’ Prosser said.

  ‘There’s a lighter in my pocket,’ Billy said, indicating his left side.

  Hall leaned forward and stretched his right hand into Sweete’s left-hand jacket pocket. As he did so, Billy clamped his arm down hard, trapping Hall’s hand and pulling him forward so that his head was almost touching Billy’s knees. Then Jason saw something the colour of blood in Billy’s right hand.

  Prosser said, ‘What the fuck!’

  Billy said, ‘Anybody move and he gets it in his eye.’

  Hall said, ‘Dave, I can feel it. He means it.’

  ‘You bastard,’ Prosser said to Billy, ‘You think you—’

  Hall said, ‘Shut up, Dave, I don’t want to go blind.’

  ‘That’s better,’ Billy said. ‘And I know what your orders are. Anybody in danger from a prisoner and you don’t try heroics, you just do what you’re told. Isn’t that so?’

  ‘That’s so,’ said Hall.

  ‘Okay, you tell the driver—’

  ‘Listen, Sweete—’ Prosser began.

  ‘Mr Sweete. You call me Mr Sweete. And you call him Mr Newman. Okay?’

  Hall said, ‘For Christ’s sake, do as he says!’

  Prosser looked at Billy as though he’d be pleased to see him pulled apart by bulldozers.

  Billy said, ‘You, Prosser, you tell the driver to get out of this traffic. Tell him to take the first street he can. And you tell him that if he touches that radio I’ll stick this through this bloke’s eye into his brain.’

  ‘Do it, Dave,’ Hall said.

  Jason watched this happen like time-lapse photography, fast yet slow. He was bewildered and mentally unanchored.

  Prosser opened the sliding window. ‘Take the next street to the left, driver.’

  ‘You think I don’t know the way to court?’

  ‘We got a problem,’ Prosser said. ‘My mate’s in danger.’

  The driver turned. ‘Oh Christ!’

  ‘And don’t touch that radio,’ Billy said.

  ‘I don’t want any trouble,’ the driver said.

  ‘You won’t get no trouble,’ Billy said. ‘Just do what I tell you.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that about smoking; you smoke as much as you like.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake shut up and turn out of this traffic. Now you,’ he said to Hall. ‘Slide down off your seat and onto the floor. And you, Prosser, you just sit upright and look at the view. There were four of us. There’re three of us now.’

  The taxi swung into a side street.

  ‘What you want me to do?’ the driver said. His voice was showing signs of panic.

  Billy said, ‘You just listen carefully. You know Fernham?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Black Down?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Okay. Fernham’s to the east of that. Take the road towards Petersford. But don’t go into the town. There’s a by-pass. You come off the by-pass on the Winchester road then you go up Fernham Hill. When you get to the top there’s a lot of little lanes. I’ll tell you from there.’

  ‘What happens if the radio starts? They may want to know where I am.’

  ‘It’s not linked to the prison is it?’

  ‘No. The taxi firm.’

  ‘They often get onto you?’

  ‘Only when they need me to pick up a punter. But today’s special. They never know how long the court’s going to take. So they don’t usually bother.’

  ‘If they do and you don’t answer?’

  ‘They’ll think I’ve gone for a cup of tea.’

  ‘Then don’t answer. And listen very carefully; I grew up in these parts. I know the roads and lanes like the backs of my hands. You try and do anything and this bloke loses his eye. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Prosser said, ‘You must be out of your skull.’

  Billy giggled. ‘You hear that Jason? That’s what he said a little while ago. He said I was a nutcase. That we both were. But now I got something that’s going to get some respect.’

  Jason looked down and what he had thought was blood was the deep red handle of a toothbrush sharpened to a needle point.

  Billy said, ‘They’re so bloody clever with their searches and their security – and it was here all the time.’

  He pointed to the seam of his tweed jacket collar. There was a small cut in the stitching. ‘Just sitting in there waiting. And not all the metal detectors in the world could find it.’

  Hall said, ‘My knees are hurting, can I move? Lie down?’

  ‘No,’ Sweete said. ‘You keep your head where it is.’

  ‘What’re we going to do, Billy?’ Jason said.

  ‘We’re going to look after ourselves, that’s what we’re going to do.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Yeah, what are you going to do?’ Prosser said. ‘When we don’t show up at court there’re going to be coppers all over these roads.’

  ‘You think so do you, Prosser?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Billy?’ Jason said.

  The driver half turned.

  ‘You keep your face to the front,’ Sweete shouted. ‘And don’t drive more than thirty. You understand?’

  The driver nodded.

  ‘Say it!’ Billy yelled.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Billy?’ Jason repeated.

  ‘For Christ’s sake stop saying “Billy” like that! You want to go to Loxton? Because that’s what’s going to happen. They split us up, they put you in the prison hospital, then you ain’t got a chance from there. I’ll look after you, don’t worry.’

  ‘What about these people? What’re you going to do with them?’

  ‘Kill them if I have to.’

  ‘What?’

  Hall said, ‘Mr Sweete, you’re hurting me.’

  Prosser said, ‘Listen, I didn’t mean all that about the Criminal Justice Act. I was only having you on, like.’

  ‘Well, I’m only kidding you too,’ Billy smiled at Prosser. ‘Don’t worry I ain’t going to kill you unless you don’t do what I say. Okay?’

  ‘Sure. Anything.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’

  They drove towards Petersford, the black
cab making its way at a sedate speed along the road.

  Hall said, ‘It’s not too late, Billy. Let us go now and we’ll put a good word in for you. Tell ’em you treated us right.’

  ‘I’m not Billy to you, only to Jason. You understand?’

  ‘Right.’

  Billy winked at Jason. ‘You want co-operation, you got to be firm. Let that be a lesson to you, Jason.’

  The taxi left the by-pass, wound up a hill, and when it came to the top, Billy told the driver to take a small road. They entered a tangle of lanes in the parish of Fernham. The rain, which had followed them all the way from Kingstown, now turned into low mist which hung over the top of what was, in reality, not so much a hill as an escarpment eight hundred feet above sea level.

  ‘They call this place Little Switzerland,’ Billy said. ‘You ever been to Switzerland, Prosser?’

  In spite of the chill, sweat was standing out on Prosser’s face.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘No, Mr Sweete.’

  Through the mist they could see isolated houses, beech woods, the occasional surprised face of a Friesian cow.

  ‘Driver, turn right.’

  A narrow lane appeared. At its entrance a sign, covered in green fungus but still legible, said, ‘Unsuitable for Vehicles’.

  The driver took the lane. It went up steeply and then flattened out. Now they were in a different world. Another sign said, ‘Forestry Commission. Keep Out’. A muddy track disappeared into a dark coniferous forest.

  ‘Take that,’ Billy said.

  ‘The motor’ll never—’

  ‘Take it!’

  They bumped and churned slowly along a logging track until the trees seemed to close over the taxi. What light there was became dimmer and dimmer and they were surrounded only by mist and the spectral shapes of tree trunks. They were as lost to human contact as it was possible to be in the south of England in the latter part of the twentieth century.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Anne stood at the window of her office and watched the rain beat on the towering prison walls. It was a sight out of Dickens, and names like Newgate and the Marshalsea rose in her mind. On such a day, she thought, Magwitch had been on the run from the Hulks in the Kent marshes, Smike on the Yorkshire moors.