The mention of the word trust is enough to light the fuse in Cath and the earlier nervousness changes in an instant to anger as she pulls her hand away.
“Bloody trust you! Are you fucking serious, Sean? You’re like a broken record. How many times did we have that conversation over the last couple of weeks and all I got from you was, ‘trust me, Cath’? Well, look where it has got you, Sean.”
Her outburst has attracted the attention of one of the prison officers and he shouts across the room at us, “Is there a problem, McMillan?”
I look to Cath and whisper another apology and she calms down. I turn to face the officer, “No, sorry, sir, all good, just a misunderstanding, that’s all.”
“Good, just keep the noise down. I get enough domestic strife at home, and I don’t bloody need it at work as well.”
With the situation calm again, I quietly take Catherine through as much as I can of the real account of the last few days including the attack on Carol Baker’s house and the murder of Donovan by DS Douglas. Her expression is of utter disbelief and she listens in complete silence until I finish.
“I really don’t know what to say, Sean. I know that Douglas is a bit shady, but I can’t believe that he is capable of murder.”
“And what about me, Cath? Do you think I am? Do you think I’m capable of murder?”
“Sean, that’s not fair. This is all so fucked up. How can you even ask me that?”
“It’s a simple enough question. Do you think that I killed Paul Donovan, Cath? I need to know whether you think I am a cold-blooded murderer?”
For a second, she is silent, and then she mirrors my own earlier gesture and takes my hand.
“As a detective, everything is telling me that you did it, Sean, but as your partner and friend, I refuse to believe it. That’s not who you are and deep down I know that. You need to give me something I can work with though, Sean. I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”
I obviously hadn’t been expecting to see Catherine, so I am not ready to ask for her help, but now I have the opportunity to find out if I can trust her and I ask if she has a pen and a piece of paper. She tears a sheet from a notepad in her handbag and hands it over with a ballpoint pen and I scribble down what I need from her and hand it back.
“What the hell, Sean? How is this going to help you and how is this supposed to convince me that Douglas is a crook?”
At the risk of setting her off, I ask her to trust me again, but with a little more subtlety this time.
“It’s not asking much, Catherine. Please just humor me for now. Just get what I want and pass it on to Jean Monroe; she will make sure it gets to me. In a week’s time, I will either be out of here fully exonerated or Douglas will have beaten me and you can move on. Please, Cath, I need your help.”
“You’re absolutely crazy, Sean. But if that’s what you want, fine. I will make sure that she gets it as soon as I can. You seriously need to start speaking up, though, Sean. Nobody else is going to believe or support you if you don’t speak up and say what happened.”
The duty prison officer is on his feet and making his rounds of the tables, reminding everyone of the time.
“Five more minutes McMillan, finish up and say goodbye to your wife.”
Catherine gets up to leave, but I pull her hand to sit back down and say, “Is there something that you still want to ask me, Cath?”
She knows exactly what I mean, but is afraid to ask. “Um, sorry, what do you mean?”
“In the interview yesterday, I was so close to telling Morgan about how you were ratting me out to Douglas, but when I saw you yesterday, I just couldn’t do it. Do you know why I couldn’t do it, Cath?”
She looks as embarrassed as I have ever seen her and I answer my own question to save her from further embarrassment, “I couldn’t do it, because I know that he manipulated you. You said as much yourself when I confronted you. I won’t let that bastard drag you down with him, Cath. Please think about that when I ask you for help or to trust me in the future.”
The prison officer is on his feet again and calls an end to visitation, “Alright, all visitors, visiting time is over; please make your way to the exits. Inmates, please remain seated until all visitors have left.”
Catherine is already back on her feet to leave as the officer gets to our table.
“I may not be able to visit again for a while, so if you need me, pass a message through Jean Monroe. Take care of yourself, Sean.” And then, gesturing to my bruises, she adds, “I told you before, you’re not bulletproof.”
I know that only too well and I know that time is running out fast for me. One week will be gone in the blink of an eye and if I haven’t managed to get myself out of this by then, I am as good as dead.
Inside our cell, Billy is still lying down on his bunk reading his comics, but he sits up and asks me about my visit as soon as I get back.
“So was that your girlfriend then?”
“Excuse me?”
“The black girl — was she your girlfriend?”
The question is a leading one and I am in no mood for playing games with him.
“It’s none of your fucking business, Billy — go back to reading your comics.”
“Yeh, I suppose you’re right,” he says. “Just like all that cash and the other bits stuffed in your pillow are none of my business. It would be a proper shame if it became everyone else’s business, though, wouldn’t it?”
My look of shock betrays me as a first-timer in prison and Billy laughs.
“What, you seriously thought I wouldn’t have a look? Get a fucking grip, mate, this is prison — it’s full of fucking thieves.”
I grab for my pillowcase and tip the contents out onto my bunk. Everything seems to be as I left it, but I look back at Billy for some reassurance.
“Don’t shit a brick, McMillan, I didn’t take anything. I reckon you fucking owe me now, though.”
The little fucker has me at a disadvantage and he knows it. No point giving in too easily, though.
“Oh yeh, what makes you think that then, Billy Boy? How about I smash the shit out of you? How does that sound?”
“Oh, I don’t know, how about that fucking stolen wallet and that warrant card in somebody else’s name? Remind me again who Constable Walker is? Punch me all you like, McMillan, but it is you that will be fucked if I start singing about your little treasure trove.”
I was going to use him for a job today anyway, but this sudden surprise has now undoubtedly upped the price for his services.
“Okay, whatever, Billy. How about we start things over? We don’t need to be friends, but you’ve probably worked out already that I can get things in and out of this place. How was that joint you had earlier? Good stuff, yeh? There’s plenty more where that came from and lots more cash as well. Play ball with me and I can make your stay here very comfortable.”
The greed in his eyes is obvious, but for a criminal, even a stupid one like Billy, it’s a moral dilemma to be cooperating with a copper, so I need to give him some further reason to work with me.
“Listen, Billy. I’m not a copper anymore and, to be honest, I was never really a proper one. I’m a criminal just like you. Why do you think I am in here? Do a few little jobs for me, nothing heavy, just a bit of fetching and carrying and I will make sure that nobody in here knows about our arrangement. What do you say?”
The thought of unlimited weed and cash is too much for him to resist and he agrees, but he is still concerned about our arrangement.
“What’s gonna happen when your week runs out?”
“What, how the fuck do you know about that, Billy?”
“Everyone fucking knows about it. Butler was putting it about in the canteen at lunchtime. He was saying that by lunchtime on Friday next week, it’s open season after he finishes with you. That Chinese bloke you laid out is already making plans to fuck you up.”
“Okay, well thanks for the warning, Billy.”
“It was
n’t a warning, McMillan; I don’t give a shit about you. I just don’t want to get dragged into whatever you have going on with Butler once your time is up.”
His complete lack of loyalty is staggering, but understandable under the circumstances. Loyalty in here only lasts as long as the perks keep flowing. After that, it’s every man for himself.
“I wouldn’t worry too much for now, Billy; a lot can happen in a week. Are you in or not?”
He smiles and nods towards the pile of cash on my bunk. “That all depends on what you want me to do and how much it’s worth to you.”
I explain what I need and, finally relieved that we have an agreement, I hand him three twenty-pound notes and stuff the rest of the items back in my pillowcase and then stress again the importance of the job.
“Now, you understand that it needs to be today and that I can’t get involved, Billy — any fuck up and it’s on you?”
“Yeh, yeh, stop fucking stressing. It’s a piece of fucking cake. I’ve been doing this kind of shit since I was twelve years old.”
By 5.40 pm, the canteen is already full of prisoners eating or queuing again at the hotplate and whilst there is no obvious hostility towards me from anyone, a few make no attempt at hiding their excitement at my imminent demise and throw a few insults and colorful suggestions about what awaits me. The Chinese thug is four or five places behind me in the queue and to get my attention he launches a handful of chips at the back of my head, much to the amusement of the rest of the prisoners and the prison officer managing the queue. I can’t let them think I am afraid, though, so I turn to face him.
“Thanks, but no chips for me today, fat boy, I’m trying to lose a bit of weight. You should try it yourself, you might be able to move a bit faster next time if you do.” Then, pointing to his bandages, “How’s your head doing? That really looks nasty.”
My comment winds him up, but he abides by Butler’s warning and keeps calm. “Enjoy it while ya can, McMillan. I can wait.” Then he loudly laughs and mimics the hands of a clock for his audience, “Tickety fuckin tock, the coppers on the fucking chopping block.”
Conscious of the growing tension, the officer by the hotplate finally intervenes, “Alright, that’s enough, Chan, wind your fucking neck in. Come on, McMillan, get a fucking move on and sit down.”
With a liberal portion of prison slop on my tray, I take a seat at a table where I can clearly see Billy and his target and I give him the nod for the two-minute countdown. The agreed plan is pretty much the same scenario that we had with Daz and DS Douglas, but with a couple of small variations. Firstly, I can’t have anything tipped over the victim as this would arouse too much suspicion and probably drop Billy in the shit. He might be a thieving idiot, but I need him and I have caused him enough problems already.
Secondly, this needs to be done in such a way that the victim doesn’t even realize he’s a victim. It’s a big ask, but if Billy is as good as he says he is, it should in his words, ‘Be a piece of cake.’
I nod again and, as planned, Billy gets up from the table with his mug and walks towards where Senior Officer Cartwright is standing next to the tea urn. I smile when I see that he has undone one of his shoelaces to add some authenticity to his performance and I wonder if I might have underestimated him. Cartwright hasn’t noticed, but his sidekick Taylor has and he points it out to Billy.
“Oy, McGuigan, sort your fucking lace out, ya fucking scruffy bastard.”
The warning comes too late to stop the performance and before Taylor has a chance to move or react, Billy theatrically trips over his own feet and crashes head first into Cartwright’s chest. As he falls to the floor, he pulls Cartwright down on top of him and the whole canteen erupts with laughter. By the time Cartwright gets back to his feet, he is absolutely furious and it is all he can do to hold himself back from throttling Billy, who is still lying on the floor holding on to Cartwright’s clip-on tie.
“You fucking clumsy son of a bitch, Brummie fucking moron. Get the fuck up off my canteen floor now and give me my fucking tie! I should fucking throw you in isolation for assault.”
Billy is shaking as he hands over the tie, but I know that Cartwright won’t follow through on his threat. It would look like Billy had got one over on him and that would be bad for his reputation. Cartwright obviously knows this as well and after putting his tie back on and straightening himself up he tells Billy to fucking sort himself out.
“Get that fucking lace tied up, and then piss off back to your cell before I change my mind. Count yourself lucky that it’s nearly the weekend and I’m in a good mood.”
It looks like Billy has kept up his end of the bargain. Nothing was spilled and Cartwright seems to be none the wiser. I won’t be sure, though, until I get back to the cell. But for now, there is no immediate hurry to find out. It’s still nearly six hours until lights out and, after missing lunch today, I am bloody starving, so I take my time over the slop and a cup of tea before heading back to find Billy.
Billy is perched on the end of his bunk looking like he has just taken Gold in the Olympic Marathon.
“Well, what did I tell you, McMillan? A fucking piece of cake. The stupid fucker had no idea what I was up to.”
Obviously, the plan has worked, but I can’t see where my prize is.
“Yeh, good job, Billy. World-class performance — now, hand it over.” I hold out my hand to him, but he pulls away and I know straightaway what is coming next.
“Not so fast, I think I deserve a bit extra. It’s a premium item and once Cartwright realizes it’s gone, he’s going to be all over me. More than likely I will end up in isolation after a good fucking kicking. Another fifty quid should do it.”
In fairness, he has a point, but a deal is a deal and I can’t appear to be weak. I fake a swing at him again and as he ducks, I reach into the pillowcase and throw another twenty at him.
“Don’t fucking piss me off, Billy. The extra twenty is a bonus for not fucking up. Now fucking hand it over or you will be getting that kicking sooner than you think.”
He reluctantly passes it over and as I examine it, he asks me what I need it for anyway, “You planning on impersonating a screw and breaking out or something? What do you need his ID badge for?”
Considering Billy’s low IQ, I could probably tell him that I am going to use it tonight as my dream trigger without having to worry about any repercussions. But it’s not worth the effort of trying to answer the inevitable questions that it would raise and I just give him a look to tell him to mind his own business and then I ask him about Cartwright, “You said he lives in Hounslow right?”
“Yeh, I heard him talking to Officer Taylor once about his fancy new house in some place called Westvale Park.”
“And you’re sure it was Westvale Park?”
“Yeh, I’m sure. He had a fancy brochure and he left it in the canteen. A few of the lads were fighting over it.”
I am looking confused at his last comment and he puts me straight, “It had a few fit-looking birds in it, you know, MILF types with big tits posing in posh kitchens and with a Pina Colada in the garden. Anything to get the imagination going is gold dust in here. It’s probably still doing the rounds in ‘B’ wing. The Westvale Park Wank Mag is a prison classic.
I could probably pull a few strings and get you a lend of it, if you want. It’s probably a bit sticky by now, though.”
He laughs at his own joke and I politely decline his tempting offer and lie down on my bunk. I have everything I need for my travels tonight, apart from a clear plan of what I need to achieve. It’s just as well I have nearly six hours to figure it out.
Just before lights out, Billy asks me again about why I need the badge and why I am so interested in where Cartwright lives, “Are you trying to dig some shit up on him or something? Haven’t you got enough shit on your plate already with Butler and Chan?”
I don’t have the information I have requested from Cath yet, so Cartwright is just a stopover tonight to see
if I can pick up anything of interest for future use if needed. He may be a bit dodgy, or it may be a complete dead end, but he is definitely worth a quick visit, just to be sure.
“I don’t know what you mean, Billy. I’m just gonna pop round for a nice cup of tea. Who knows, I might get lucky and bump into one of those MILFS you were telling me about.” This comment hits the spot with his Brummie humor and for the first time, he actually sounds happy to be talking with me.
“Yeh right, in your fucking dreams, mate. The only thing that will be wrapping itself round your dick tonight is your hand.”
If he knew just how accurate the first part of that statement was, he would fall off his bunk in shock, but I definitely feel that he is warming to me. Deep down he is probably a decent lad that has just got himself into a mess. If things go as planned, once I am out, I might ask Jean Monroe to look into his case to see if anything can be done to help him. In the meantime, I need him to keep quiet so that I can concentrate on Cartwright’s ID picture in readiness to travel.
“Thanks, Billy, now shut the fuck up and go to sleep.”
“Yeh, yeh. Sleep tight, McMillan, happy wanking!”
The Past – Friday, 7th September 2017
Using the words posh and Hounslow in the same sentence would have been unheard of a few years ago, but similar to many UK towns and cities, Hounslow has seen a big influx of new cash and foreign investment in recent years. As a result, many of the old run-down council estates have been bulldozed to make way for new privately funded developments.
The Westvale Park estate stands out as a shining example of this, but in my opinion it’s a little bit too shiny as far as Senior Officer Phillip Cartwright is concerned. I should imagine that a senior officer in the prison service would be earning roughly the same as a police sergeant, which is nowhere near enough to be able to afford one of the grand-looking detached houses in Westvale Park without some other form of income.
He may be a crook, of course, but he may also be married to a high earner or have been the beneficiary of a significant inheritance or other windfall. It’s too early to say yet, but my gut feeling and his reference to Butler reporting to him is edging me towards a second income that is less than legal.
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