by Caro Savage
First a capital ‘F’. Then the downwards stroke of an ‘l’, the tail jerking sharply to the right to lead into the first lower-case ‘e’, which was followed by a further lower-case ‘e’. It was the ‘l’ that niggled at Bailey though. There was something ambiguous about it. She’d assumed that it was a lower-case ‘l’ with a wonky tail joining it to the following ‘e’, but what if it had actually been a capital ‘L’? Maybe it was just written so closely to the following ‘e’ that it looked like it was joined up when in fact it wasn’t supposed to be. After all, the two ‘e’s weren’t joined up. And if Sharon had meant to write the word ‘flee’ then surely she wouldn’t have used a capital ‘L’ in the middle of the word. Of course, when she’d written it, she’d been scalped, her throat had been cut and she was dying – not exactly the best condition to be in when attempting neat legible handwriting – but still… had she actually been trying to communicate something completely different? Had she deliberately intended to write it as a capital ‘L’? And if she had, then did that mean that the capital ‘F’ was actually an initial of some sort?
Bailey peered into her mashed potato, trying to unlock Sharon’s true intent. She smeared it smooth and started again, this time separating the first two letters: F Lee.
Maybe she hadn’t written ‘flee’ at all.
89
Amber was patrolling the third-floor landing of C-Wing, stopping here and there to chat to the inmates lounging on the balconies.
Bailey watched from a short distance away, waiting for Amber to disengage from her current conversation. As soon as she did, Bailey stepped forward and made her approach.
As she drew closer, Amber recognised her and her face tautened with that same whiff of censure she’d expressed towards Bailey ever since she’d discovered that she’d become a member of the Ace Blade Crew.
‘Hello, Bailey,’ she said stiffly. ‘What brings you to C-Wing?’
‘You, actually.’
‘Oh?’
Bailey glanced around and lowered her voice slightly. ‘I was wondering if you could help me out with something.’
Amber seemed to soften slightly. ‘I’m always happy to be of assistance.’
‘I’ve been thinking about what Sharon wrote in her own blood when she was murdered.’
‘Oh… right. Most unpleasant.’
‘What did you see?’
Amber hesitated, shuddering at the memory. She looked at Bailey with a puzzled expression.
‘Why were you thinking about that?’
‘I have a funny feeling that there’s more to it than meets the eye.’
Amber frowned as she tried to recall. ‘Well… I saw the word “flee”. At least that’s what I think it said.’
‘What did you make of it?’
‘It seemed like… like a warning maybe. Who knows? She was dying. People probably think and do all sorts of crazy things when they’re dying. It doesn’t necessarily mean that it signified anything.’
‘I’m not so sure.’
‘What are you getting at?’
Bailey took a piece of paper out of her pocket, on which she had replicated in biro what she had drawn in her mashed potato. She showed the piece of paper to Amber.
‘It looked like this, didn’t it?’
Amber peered at the piece of paper. ‘Yes… yes, I believe it did.’
‘What if it didn’t say “flee” but “F Lee”?’
Amber frowned. ‘You mean… like a name?’
‘Exactly. I needed to talk to you about it because you were there and you clearly saw it. And you’re smart.’
Amber nodded slowly as she turned the idea over in her mind. ‘Hmm… you could have a point. But who does “F Lee” refer to?’
Bailey shrugged. ‘I have no idea. That’s the problem.’
‘I’m not sure I can help you, Bailey, and if I’m to be honest, it sounds a little dubious to me.’
Bailey nodded glumly, downhearted. She wasn’t about to give up just yet though.
‘You wouldn’t happen to know anyone in here by that name, would you?’ she asked hopefully. There were over six hundred inmates in the prison, and a good number of prison staff on top of that. Bailey didn’t know the names of all of them by a long stretch, but she was hoping that Amber might be able to provide some insight on that front. As a prison officer, Amber was probably acquainted with many more of them than Bailey was.
Amber sighed, eyeing Bailey with a mixture of pity and reproach, then her kinder side seemed to get the better of her. She tilted her head and pondered for a few moments. Then she shook it.
‘I’m afraid not. I can’t think of a single inmate or member of staff who goes by that name. It could be someone who was in here before my time though. I only started working here quite recently.’
‘Okay. Thanks anyway.’ Bailey was disappointed, but Amber had just sparked an idea in her mind of who she might ask next.
Bailey folded up the piece of paper and tucked it back in her pocket.
‘Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?’ said Amber.
‘It was my cellmate who got murdered.’
‘Of course,’ replied Amber. ‘I forgot Sharon was your cellmate.’ Amber nodded sympathetically. ‘Well… stay out of trouble, okay?’
90
‘SILENCE’ read the sign above the librarian’s desk. It stated what was quite clearly apparent. The place was completely dead. The librarian was nowhere to be seen and there didn’t appear to be anyone else in here.
Bailey stood there by the entrance briefly and then ventured down one of the aisles in search of Jacqui. She trailed her fingers along the spines of the books, inhaling the musty smell, thinking to herself that it was a pity this tatty collection of texts wasn’t better funded.
She turned down another aisle. Still no sign of the librarian. It was quiet, too quiet…
She stopped, turned around to retrace her footsteps… and jumped in surprise.
Jacqui was standing just a few centimetres away from her, peering at her over the tops of her half-moon glasses. How did she do that?
‘Change your mind about wanting to borrow that poetry book?’ rasped Jacqui, a vague undercurrent of menace in her voice.
‘Er… not exactly. Although I was wondering if you could help me with something.’
‘What are you looking for?’
‘It’s not a book I’m looking for exactly.’
Bailey tried to think of the best way to phrase it without causing possible offence.
‘Last time I was here, you mentioned that you’d been in here for quite a while.’
Jacqui nodded slowly. ‘That’s right. Eleven years. Got a further seven to do. Why?’
‘So you probably have a good knowledge of who’s been locked up here in the past?’
‘Not really. I keep myself to myself. I find it works better that way. I’m barely acquainted with anyone in here. I’m like a hermit. The only people whose names I’m familiar with are those who use the library. And that’s not many people, as you can see. Why do you ask?’
Bailey felt disappointment weigh down upon her. Maybe it had been a waste of time to come here. ‘Well, it’s a bit of a long shot really, but do you know any inmate who would have had the name F. Lee?’
Jacqui pondered for a few moments, tapping her lip with a large tattooed finger.
‘There is one name that springs to mind.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Felicia Lee.’
‘Felicia Lee?’
‘Anyone who’s been in here longer than two years knows the name of Felicia Lee, even a recluse like me.’
‘Why? What’s so special about Felicia Lee?’
‘Well, when she was in here, no one paid her much attention. She kept herself to herself. If you asked me what she looked like, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. It’s what she did subsequently which made her famous. Or perhaps “infamous” is a better word to use.’
Bailey found
herself seized with a sudden excitement. She was onto something. She knew it.
‘What did she do?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘She escaped. It’s prison legend. One day she just disappeared without trace. And they never figured out how she did it. And she’s never been caught. She’s still a fugitive to this day, I believe.’
Bailey racked her mind as to what possible connection there could be between Felicia Lee and Sharon and the murders, if indeed there was any kind of connection…
‘What was she in for?’
‘She murdered her baby.’ Jacqui wrinkled her nose. ‘Bashed its skull in apparently.’
‘Jesus!’
‘Why are you so curious about Felicia Lee?’
‘You know Sharon who was murdered in the prison kitchen? She wrote the name “F Lee” in her own blood as she lay dying. And I’m wondering if she was referring to Felicia Lee.’
‘How odd.’ Jacqui paused. ‘Well, I suppose it’s not completely random. After all, they did use to be cellmates.’
91
On the way to the phones, Bailey observed Dylan patrolling in her direction. He noticed her at almost exactly the same time that she noticed him. At the sight of her, he appeared to recoil slightly, an almost fearful expression on his face.
As they passed each other on the landing, he gave her the widest possible berth and refused to meet her eyes, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the ground in front of him. She couldn’t help but smile to herself at the effect she had on him. No doubt he was still convinced that she was ‘one crazy bitch’ as he’d called her.
Clearly he hadn’t been suspended though. Not yet. It looked like Maggie hadn’t reported his misdemeanours with the inmates this time around, although Bailey got the impression that she’d probably given him a pretty stern telling-off. She hoped he’d learnt his lesson for the time being. At any rate, she couldn’t imagine he’d be coming onto her again. And she was pleased, at least, that she hadn’t ended up on the nicking sheet as a result of the whole incident. She contemplated reporting him if and when she got out of here, but decided that it probably wouldn’t be worth her while. Anyhow, there were slightly larger problems plaguing this prison and getting those ironed out was her main concern.
The queue down by the phones was thankfully short and she didn’t have to wait longer than a few minutes before one became free. She tapped in her PIN number and waited for Rita to answer.
‘Hello, Sullivan Knight Solicitors. How can I help?’
‘It’s Bailey Pike speaking. I’d like to talk to Mr Knight please.’
‘Just putting you through.’
Several seconds of Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’, then Frank.
‘Hello?’ he said, a cautious tone in his voice.
‘It’s okay, Frank,’ she said. ‘No one’s listening in this time.’
‘Good. What happened? Is everything okay?’
She heard the worry in his voice, and it reassured her that he still cared for her as her boss.
‘Yeah. Just a little hiccup with my cover. I think I managed to straighten it out though.’
She glanced over her shoulder. She couldn’t spot any of the gang in the vicinity. Even so, she tucked herself further into the phone booth.
‘I want you to check something out for me. A name. A person.’
‘Who?’
‘Felicia Lee.’
‘Who’s that?’
She outlined the meagre amount of information she knew.
‘I thought you said Sharon was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,’ he said.
‘She wrote that name for a reason.’
‘Why would she write the name of her former cellmate in her own blood?’
‘Beats me. That’s why I want you to try and track her down.’
‘You said she escaped two years ago. That’s a long time. She could be anywhere by now.’
‘We’ve got four days until the next murder.’
‘I’ll do what I can but don’t get your hopes up.’
‘Felicia Lee is the key to this whole thing. I’m sure of it.’
92
The razor blade lay on the table between the stack of coloured paper and the ashtray. On the edge of the ashtray balanced a half-smoked joint waiting to be relit.
Long brown bony fingers skittered like two spiders mating as they expertly folded a red piece of paper. Mountain fold… valley fold… reverse fold… pivot fold… sink fold…
The fingers manipulated the paper with expert dexterity, twisting and creasing it into the desired shape. Gradually it took form…
93
Bailey sat outside in the yard on one of the concrete benches, her eyes closed, her face to the sky, savouring the sensation of the warm July sun on her skin on this bright fresh morning, taking the opportunity to absorb a bit of vitamin D before she was locked up back indoors again.
With her eyes closed, she could almost pretend that she wasn’t in prison but on some beach somewhere, tanning herself. She certainly didn’t need to be looking at the prison. Even nice summer weather like this couldn’t do much to soften its oppressiveness.
As she sat there, she became aware, all of a sudden, that something was blocking out the warm light of the sun. She opened her eyes and blinked.
A figure stood over her, silhouetted against the sun, the features not immediately visible. But that distinctive frayed afro was enough to tell her who it was.
A brown hand placed something on the table in front of her.
It was a small red origami creature.
Crazy Mel moved out of the sun and looked down at Bailey with her manic bloodshot eyes. Bailey guessed she was stoned, as usual.
Mel nodded at the origami creature.
Bailey took a closer look at it. It had a rectangular body, four triangular legs, a head with two tiny ears, and a pointed tail. She marvelled at the intricacy of it. It was evidently supposed to be some kind of animal, but which one, she couldn’t tell.
‘That’s fabulous, Mel. What is it?’
‘It’s a tiger.’
‘For me?’
Mel nodded. ‘Protection.’
‘Against what?’
‘Him.’
Bailey picked up the origami tiger. It was insubstantial, almost as light as a feather. Some protection! She looked up at Mel and smiled.
‘Why thank you, Mel.’ She spoke in the manner that you would to a child or a mentally handicapped person.
‘Be careful,’ said Mel. ‘It bites.’
Bailey examined the tiger’s tiny head.
‘I don’t see any teeth, Mel.’
Mel nodded sagely and winked at her. Then she turned and limped off across the yard. Bailey watched her jerking along awkwardly in her weird lopsided gait until she disappeared around the corner of B-Wing.
She turned over the little origami tiger in her fingers. It didn’t exactly look like a tiger, but there was no doubt as to the level of craftsmanship which had gone into its construction. She contemplated leaving it there on the table. But then in a moment of superstitious panic she carefully pressed it flat and slipped it into her back trouser pocket. Mel had met the Hairdresser and survived. Maybe some of that survival instinct would rub off on Bailey. Perhaps the little tiger would offer her some kind of talismanic protection, if nothing else. At this point in her investigation she needed whatever luck she could get.
94
If only Doctor Bodie would get rid of that stupid ‘World’s Okayest Dad’ mug he insisted on using, Bailey thought, as she sat there in his office. In her eyes, it came across as a feeble and slightly condescending ploy to try and appear more approachable to the inmates. And it didn’t seem to be working, because from what she’d overheard, most of them thought he was a patronising middle-class wanker. Still, she couldn’t fault him for trying.
He scrutinised her earnestly through his wire-rimmed glasses.
‘If you remember, Bailey, you promised that the next time you came
to visit me you would talk openly about yourself.’
‘Yes, Doctor. I remember. And I don’t break my promises. That’s why I’m here today. I think I am finally ready to tell you everything.’
He grinned and rubbed his hands in anticipation.
She felt slightly guilty as she did have an ulterior motive for coming here today. But she knew she couldn’t string him along for too much longer.
She put on a pained expression. ‘Just one thing first though.’
‘Is there something the matter?’ he asked, concerned.
‘I really need the toilet,’ she said.
He frowned. ‘You should have gone before you came here.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s all that coffee I drank for breakfast. I should cut down on it really. Can I use the toilet here?’
‘Technically I should call a prison officer to accompany you.’
She sighed. ‘To use the toilet? It’s just a few doors down the corridor, isn’t it? It’s hardly like I’m going to be able to escape.’
It was true. The administration block was situated well within the prison security perimeter.
He sighed. ‘Okay, better make it quick though.’
‘Thanks!’
She got up and left his office, closing the door behind her. But instead of turning left and going to the toilet, she turned to her right and went directly to the room next door, which was marked ‘Filing Office’ on the frosted glass.
On previous visits, she had noticed that there was a staff toilet situated at the end of the corridor, but that had just provided a convenient excuse for her to get out of Doctor Bodie’s office for the few minutes that she needed in order to do what she wanted to do.