Jailbird

by Caro Savage

  ‘Like they’re happening right now,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘Like you’re re-living them. Like you’re actually there all over again, seeing the same things, feeling the same feelings, smelling the same smells.’

  Excitement gripped him. At last, he was getting somewhere! He had finally broken through that defensive shell of hers.

  ‘Yes, Bailey! That’s precisely it! I’m so glad you understand what I’m saying. You see, talking about it, although it might be painful, can help to reintegrate those traumatic memories into your consciousness and thus get rid of those unpleasant intrusions.’

  He saw the shutters come down – a tautening in her jaw muscles, a sudden frostiness in her eyes.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she replied.

  ‘Why not?’ He was genuinely puzzled by her unwillingness to discuss the issue. After all, it sounded like she was well aware that she had a problem.

  ‘I just can’t,’ she said. ‘So please don’t ask me about it again.’

  57

  It was a bright fresh Saturday morning and there was a definite crispness in the air. Amber loved being outside on days like this. She was on her way to start her morning shift and she was walking across the prison car park in the direction of the gatehouse.

  Even the bruise on her temple couldn’t dent her positive mood. It had gone down considerably since the fight in the canteen, but it was still a little bit on the tender side. She would definitely be more careful from now on when it came to intervening in prisoner-on-prisoner disputes. At least now, though, she had a little extra insurance in the form of the CS gas Terry had given her. So saying, she kept it in her locker most of the time as she didn’t feel completely comfortable with the idea of using it.

  As she drew closer to the gatehouse, she fell within the shadow of the huge perimeter wall that towered up above her. Even on a nice sunny morning like this, the place still looked incredibly draconian and unwelcoming. But then she guessed that was supposed to be the idea – it was a prison, not a five-star hotel.

  As she made her way through the car park, she recognised Terry’s maroon S-type Jaguar pulling into a nearby bay. Presumably he was due to start work on the same shift that she was on. She looked at his car in admiration and wondered, not for the first time, how he had managed to afford such a nice vehicle on a prison officer’s salary.

  She’d almost reached the entrance to the gatehouse when the howl of a police siren cut through the tranquillity of the morning. She jumped in shock, startled by the loud noise, and spun around to see what was happening.

  At least three police cars and one police van had suddenly appeared from different directions, seemingly out of nowhere, their blue lights flashing. They skidded to a halt, their doors swung open and a torrent of uniformed and plain-clothes police officers poured out.

  Amber stood rooted to the ground, watching in astonishment, completely taken aback by this sudden frenzy of activity. What the hell was going on?

  At the epicentre of the commotion was Terry’s Jaguar. He had just opened the door and stepped out and he looked just as bewildered as she did. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before he was overwhelmed by a squad of police officers and roughly manhandled into a face-down position on the bonnet of his car, where he was handcuffed and read his rights.

  At that point she thought it best to continue on into the prison, if only for the reason that hanging around outside any longer would have made her late for work. She went through gatehouse security in a semi-trance, her mind still processing what she had just witnessed. Terry had obviously done something very wrong to be the subject of such a furore, but what exactly?

  By the time they were sitting down for the morning briefing, the news of his arrest appeared to have spread throughout much of the prison and speculation was rife.

  Dylan had sat down next to her. He seemed to have been making a habit of doing that recently in the morning briefings. Not that it bothered her particularly. She could smell his cologne and she couldn’t deny that he smelt quite pleasant. He smiled at her, observing her appreciatively with his pale blue eyes. She adjusted her bun and straightened her glasses.

  ‘I hear you witnessed the big drama,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve never seen so many police in all my life. What do you think it was all about?’

  He shrugged in an offhand manner, a humorous slant to his mouth. ‘I heard his wife was a bit of a shrew. Maybe she tipped him over the edge.’

  Amber emitted a giggle. ‘What? You think he did her in?’

  ‘Probably with a side-handle baton.’

  The two of them promptly stopped their joking as soon as the Governor entered the room. The assembled officers all fell silent, hoping to get a definitive explanation.

  The Governor looked solemn. He cleared his throat.

  ‘As many of you are probably aware by now, Terry has been detained by the police.’

  He paused to look over the room. They were all sitting forwards on their seats in anticipation of what he was about to say next.

  ‘In case you’re wondering why he’s been arrested, that information hasn’t yet been disclosed to me, so I’m as much in the dark as you are.’

  There were a few groans of disappointment.

  ‘I heard drugs were involved,’ said someone.

  ‘Do you think he’s on the take?’

  ‘He has got a gambling problem.’

  ‘And that wife of his…’

  ‘That’s enough speculation!’ barked the Governor. ‘Now there’s no reason why this should affect your work. So it’s business as usual, understand?’

  Amber knew how much the Governor detested Terry, and vice versa. They locked horns in almost every briefing. But if the Governor was pleased at the misfortune that had befallen his enemy, he made no outward show of it.

  The prison officers all stood up to begin their day’s work. As Amber got to her feet, she noticed something lying on the floor next to her chair. She frowned and leant down to pick it up. It was a black leather glove.

  She held it up and examined it. The leather was soft and supple and it felt expensive.

  ‘Hey, Dylan,’ she said to his departing back. ‘Did you drop this?’

  He turned around. At the sight of the glove, his face broke into a surprised smile.

  ‘Whoops! Must have fallen out of my pocket.’ He took it from her. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Looks like it’s designer,’ she said.

  He pulled the matching glove from his trouser pocket and held them together in a pair. ‘They’re Italian,’ he said. ‘I find I drive better when I’m wearing them. I guess I should go and put them in my locker.’

  He winked at her and walked off, casually slapping the pair of black leather gloves into the palm of his hand.

  What a nice pair of gloves, thought Amber. Perhaps she should buy herself a pair.

  58

  From the second Bailey woke up on Saturday morning, her insides had been twisted in apprehension at the prospect of what today would bring.

  She kept her ears open, subtly monitoring the murmurings within the cliques hanging about on the landings, and it wasn’t long before she became aware of the news she’d been hoping to hear. Terry had been arrested as he’d arrived at work that morning. No one seemed to know the reason why, and she felt an almost smug sense of superiority that, not only did she know, she was the very person who’d engineered it.

  Things were moving fast now. A turning point had been reached in the operation, and now it was almost at its end. She felt simultaneously elated and also extremely jittery. If things went to plan she’d be out of here very soon indeed.

  At lunchtime, she went down to the canteen. The ABC were all sitting at their customary corner table – Toni, Keisha, Rong, Muscles and Poppy.

  She could instantly tell that they were preoccupied with Terry’s arrest. They seemed unusually subdued, picking disinterestedly at their food, muttering in low tones amongst themselves.
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  They acknowledged her arrival with only the slightest of nods. She sat down opposite Toni, who fixed her with a long, piercing stare. Bailey forced herself to remain calm, modulating her breathing. Act normal, she thought. Carry on as usual.

  ‘Today’s pick-up is not going to happen,’ said Toni in a quiet voice. ‘Our contact has been arrested.’

  ‘Terry was our contact?’ said Bailey, trying her best to sound surprised.

  Toni nodded slowly. ‘This really fucks things up.’

  She glanced around the canteen murderously, then turned to address the gang.

  ‘Let’s tone it down for the next few days. No dealing. Let’s keep a low profile until we know exactly what’s going on.’

  They all nodded and murmured their approval.

  Bailey watched Toni as she ate her lunch, noting the way she kept glancing over her shoulder as if someone was going to get her. She seemed to have a hunted look about her, her animal instincts telling her that the net was closing in. The tables were now turned. The predator had become the prey. It was only a matter of time before Terry gave them all up and Alice would be avenged.

  But Bailey tempered her sense of jubilation with the knowledge that a cornered animal could be the most dangerous. Right now was the time that she needed to be more vigilant than ever. She prayed for this limbo state not to last for too much longer.

  59

  The cell was dark and silent, moonlight casting a shadow of the bars across one wall. Lights had gone out two hours earlier, but Bailey was still wide awake. She lay on her bunk unable to sleep, unable to stop herself brooding over all the possible turns that events might take from now on.

  Sharon’s voice drifted up from the bunk below. ‘Are you still awake?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can’t get to sleep?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  A pause.

  ‘Do you like stories?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  ‘My nan used to tell me stories to help me get to sleep when I was a kid.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Do you want me to tell you a story?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  Bailey didn’t imagine she had much of a choice anyhow. Sharon seemed determined to talk and Bailey might as well have something to fill the silence other than her own thoughts.

  A pause.

  ‘Okay,’ said Sharon. ‘Well… once upon a time, there was this criminal gang, see. They stole cars. High-end motors. BMWs, Mercedes, Maseratis… that kind of thing. They’d steal them and then they’d sell them abroad. Lots of money involved. Big operation.’

  Bailey lay there breathing in and out, listening, an unpleasant feeling growing inside her. This wasn’t the sort of story she’d been expecting.

  ‘But one day they found out, somehow, that they had an undercover police officer in their midst. A woman. She was posing as a secretary apparently. Fairly low-level in their organisation. But she was spying on them, feeding information back to the cops, setting them up for a bust.’

  Bailey felt herself stiffening. Sharon’s voice tinkled along casually as if this was just some kid’s fairy-tale.

  ‘They ran a very tight outfit so they were pretty sure that she’d only been able to infiltrate them with the help of someone inside their organisation, someone high up who had turned snitch. And they wanted to know the identity of this traitor. So instead of killing her immediately, like they wanted to, they decided to torture her until she gave him up.’

  Bailey’s mouth had turned dry. Her heart was pounding against the inside of her chest.

  ‘So that’s what they did. Tortured her horribly. And raped her. But she didn’t break. She didn’t give him up. She refused to even admit that she was a cop. I guess she must have been a pretty tough cookie.’

  Sharon paused as if she was listening, trying to gauge Bailey’s reactions. Bailey lay there frozen, barely breathing now.

  Sharon resumed: ‘As soon as the traitor heard they’d caught her, he panicked and fled. Went straight to the police. Now he’s in a witness protection programme apparently. He’s a dead man if they ever find him. He’s got a massive contract on his head.’

  Prone on her bunk, Bailey stared straight up at the ceiling, saying nothing, the atmosphere in the cell pressing down on her with a suffocating pressure.

  The meat hook…

  The burning cigarette…

  The straight razor…

  The blood…

  The pain…

  The violation…

  ‘And the undercover cop?’ said Sharon. ‘She managed to escape. Somehow. Lucky for her.’

  Bailey forced herself to breathe. Steady. Even. In. Out. In. Out.

  ‘The traitor, the one she refused to give up,’ said Sharon. ‘Do you know what his name was?’

  Bailey said nothing.

  ‘His name was Spyros,’ said Sharon.

  Silence in the dark cell.

  Spyros.

  She’d refused to say the name at the time, knowing that if she had done so, then they would have killed her just as surely as they would have killed him.

  Now she repeated it night after night in a fruitless attempt to give her torturer what he wanted, to just make him stop, to make the nightmares go away…

  Sharon knew. Somehow she had found out. She must have heard about the contract – it was the kind of thing that was common knowledge in underworld circles.

  ‘What a coincidence,’ said Bailey, trying to keep her voice level. ‘Must be some other Spyros.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Sharon. ‘Must be a plain old coincidence…’

  The next morning no mention was made of the previous night’s conversation, but as she was getting dressed, Bailey noticed Sharon paying more attention than usual to the lattice of scars which adorned her upper body. She self-consciously pulled on her tracksuit top to cover them up and began to prepare breakfast.

  As they sat there drinking tea, Sharon was infuriatingly and uncharacteristically quiet, a smug knowing glint in her eyes.

  There was no way that Bailey was going to acknowledge that Sharon had come anywhere near the truth, regardless of how plain the connection might appear. If confronted outright, she would deny it completely. She had no other option.

  Never. Break. Cover.

  Although they shared an ostensibly friendly relationship as cellmates, Bailey felt a deep ambiguity about Sharon’s motives. She was well aware by now of the reason that Sharon was in here and was under no illusion as to the possibility that she would stitch her up if it served her purposes to do so.

  ‘Up to anything exciting today?’ asked Bailey in an attempt to puncture the awkward silence.

  Sharon smiled enigmatically and tapped the side of her nose.

  Bailey knew Sharon was dying for her to ask more, but she decided to deny her the satisfaction of doing so. Today in particular she was in no mood for playing her mind games.

  Instead she finished her tea and started on a cryptic crossword, impatient for free association time to start so she could escape the claustrophobic atmosphere in the cell.

  60

  The ABC were out in force in the atrium, sprawled across one of the plastic picnic-style benches. During free association time they were usually engaged in some form of criminal enterprise but, since Toni’s edict to tone down their drug-related activities, they were sitting idle.

  Keisha and Rong were playing ‘I spy’, Poppy was lounging languidly across the top of the table, Muscles was sitting motionless as a block of stone, her huge hands resting on her knees, just staring straight ahead, and in the centre was Toni, a scowl on her face, grinding her teeth, scanning the atrium back and forth relentlessly.

  Bailey walked over and sat down amongst them. There wasn’t really much else to do apart from sit there and project the appropriate air of casual menace, which is what she did.

  Rong had made a little telescope with her hands and was looking around the atrium.

 
‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with… ugly.’

  ‘That’s not a letter,’ said Keisha.

  Rong removed the telescope from her eye. Her lip curled in an expression of disgust. Bailey followed her gaze. Amber had just entered the atrium with an inmate who Bailey didn’t recognise.

  ‘Yeah, I see what you mean,’ muttered Keisha, peering at the inmate who Amber was accompanying.

  Despite her long black hair, large breasts and tall, relatively slender figure, the inmate had an unfortunately masculine-looking face, at odds with the rest of her figure.

  ‘Looks like a bloke,’ said Rong.

  ‘Probably got a cock,’ said Keisha.

  The rest of the gang snickered.

  As Amber and the inmate passed the gang, Rong and Keisha began to chant a little taunt.

  ‘U-G-L-Y, you ain’t got no alibi, you’re ugly!’ Clap clap-clap ‘Ugly!’ Clap clap-clap.

  The inmate cowered self-consciously behind her long hair, hiding her face from them.

  Amber shot them an angry glare, placing a protective hand on the inmate’s shoulder as she escorted her past the gang and out of the atrium. Bailey got the impression the inmate was relatively new to the prison and unused to the harshness of the place. She’d soon learn.

  The gang burst into cackles of laughter and then proceeded to banter about other things.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ muttered Rong about ten minutes later.

  She had spotted Amber marching towards them, her eyes blazing with anger.

  Amber was alone now, having delivered the inmate to whatever destination she’d been taking her. She halted in front of them, standing there with her hands on her hips. Her gaze rested on Bailey for a fraction of a second and in that brief look Bailey detected both disapproval and disappointment that she was now sitting with the gang. Bailey would have liked to explain to her that it wasn’t what it seemed, that she was doing this for a very good reason, but her hands were tied and instead she just dropped her eyes in shame.