Clifton Chronicles 02 - The Sins of the Father (5 page)

‘Hessler’s put up three cons for the warden’s consideration, and your name isn’t on the list.’

‘Then that’s that,’ said Harry, thumping the side of his leg. ‘I’m going to be a wing cleaner for the rest of my days.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Savatori. ‘Come and see me the day before I’m due to be discharged.’

‘But by then it will be too late.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Savatori, without explanation. ‘Meanwhile, study every page of this very carefully.’ He handed Harry a heavy, leather-bound tome that rarely left the library.

Harry sat on the top bunk and opened the cover of the 273-page prison handbook. Before he’d reached page 6, he began to make notes. Long before he’d started reading the book a second time, a plan had begun to form in his mind.

He knew his timing would be critical, and both acts would have to be rehearsed, particularly as he would be on stage when the curtain went up. He accepted that he couldn’t go ahead with his plan until after Savatori had been released, even though a new deputy librarian had already been appointed.

When Harry carried out a dress rehearsal in the privacy of their cell, Quinn told him that he was not only paranoid, but crazy, because, he assured him, his second performance would be in solitary.

The warden made his monthly rounds of each block on a Monday morning, so Harry knew that he’d have to wait for three weeks after Savatori had been discharged, before he would reappear on A block. Swanson always took the same route, and prisoners knew that if they valued their skin, they disappeared out of sight the moment he came into view.

When Swanson stepped on to the top floor of A block that Monday morning, Harry was waiting to greet him, mop in hand. Hessler slipped in behind the warden, and waved his truncheon to indicate that if Bradshaw valued his life, he should step aside. Harry didn’t budge, leaving the warden with no choice but to stop in his tracks.

‘Good morning, warden,’ said Harry, as if they bumped into each other regularly.

Swanson was surprised to come face-to-face with a prisoner on his rounds, and even more surprised when one spoke to him. He looked more closely at Harry. ‘Bradshaw, isn’t it?’

‘You have a good memory, sir.’

‘I also remember your interest in literature. I was surprised when you turned down the job as deputy librarian.’

‘I was never offered the job,’ said Harry. ‘If I had been, I would have accepted it with alacrity,’ he added, which clearly took the warden by surprise.

Turning to Hessler, Swanson said, ‘You told me Bradshaw didn’t want the job.’

Harry jumped in before Hessler could reply. ‘Probably my fault, sir. I didn’t realize I had to apply for the position.’

‘I see,’ said the warden. ‘Well, that would explain it. And I can tell you, Bradshaw, that the new man doesn’t know the difference between Plato and Pluto.’ Harry burst out laughing. Hessler remained tight-lipped.

‘A good analogy, sir,’ said Harry as the warden attempted to move on. But Harry hadn’t finished. He thought Hessler would explode when he removed an envelope from his jacket and handed it to the warden.

‘What’s this?’ Swanson asked suspiciously.

‘An official request to address the board when they make their quarterly visit to the prison next Tuesday, which is my prerogative under statute thirty-two of the penal code. I’ve sent a copy of the request to my lawyer, Mr Sefton Jelks.’ For the first time, the warden looked anxious. Hessler could barely contain himself.

‘Will you be making a complaint?’ asked the warden cautiously.

Harry stared directly at Hessler before replying, ‘Under statute one-one-six, it is my right not to disclose to any member of the prison staff why I wish to address the board, as I’m sure you’re aware, warden.’

‘Yes, of course, Bradshaw,’ said the warden, sounding flustered.

‘But it is my intention, among other things, to inform the board of the importance you place on including literature and religion as part of our daily lives.’ Harry stood aside to allow the warden to continue on his way.

‘Thank you, Bradshaw,’ he said. ‘That’s good of you.’

‘I’ll be seeing you later, Bradshaw,’ hissed Hessler under his breath.

‘I’ll look forward to that,’ said Harry, loud enough for Mr Swanson to hear.

Harry’s confrontation with the warden was the main topic of conversation among the prisoners in the dinner queue, and when Quinn returned from the kitchen later that evening, he warned Harry that the rumour on the block was that once lights were out, Hessler was likely to kill him.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Harry calmly. ‘You see, the problem with being a bully is that on the flipside of that particular coin, you’ll find the imprint of a coward.’

Quinn didn’t look convinced.

Harry didn’t have long to wait to prove his point, because within moments of lights out, the cell door swung open and Hessler strolled in, swinging his truncheon.

‘Quinn, out,’ he said, not taking his eyes off Harry. Once the Irishman had scurried on to the landing, Hessler closed the cell door and said, ‘I’ve been looking forward to this all day, Bradshaw. You’re about to discover how many bones you’ve got in your body.’

‘I don’t think so, Mr Hessler,’ said Harry, not flinching.

‘And what do you think will save you?’ asked Hessler, advancing. ‘The warden isn’t around to rescue you this time.’

‘I don’t need the warden,’ said Harry. ‘Not while you’re being considered for promotion,’ he added, meeting Hessler’s stare. ‘I’m reliably informed that you’ll be appearing before the board next Tuesday afternoon at two o’clock.’

‘So what?’ said Hessler, now less than a foot away.

‘You’ve clearly forgotten that
I’ll
be addressing the board at ten o’clock that morning. One or two of them may be curious to find out how so many of my bones came to be broken after I dared to speak to the warden.’ Hessler slammed his truncheon down on the side of the bunk, only inches from Harry’s face, but Harry didn’t flinch.

‘Of course,’ Harry continued, ‘it’s possible that you want to remain a wing officer for the rest of your life, but somehow I doubt it, because even you can’t be so stupid as to ruin your one chance of promotion.’ Hessler raised his truncheon once again, but hesitated when Harry took a thick exercise book from under his pillow.

‘I’ve made a comprehensive list of the regulations you’ve broken over the past month, Mr Hessler, some of them several times. I’m confident that the board will find it interesting reading. This evening I’ll be adding two more indiscretions: being alone in a cell with a prisoner while the cell door is closed, statute four-one-nine, and making physical threats when that prisoner has no way of defending himself, statute five-one-two.’ Hessler took a pace back. ‘But I’m confident that what will most influence the board when they come to consider your promotion, will be the question of why you had to leave the navy at such short notice.’ The blood drained from Hessler’s face. ‘It certainly wasn’t because you failed the exam when you applied to be an officer.’

‘Who squealed?’ said Hessler, his words barely a whisper.

‘One of your former shipmates, who unfortunately ended up in here. You made sure he kept his mouth shut by giving him the job as deputy librarian. I expect nothing less.’

Harry handed his past month’s work to Hessler, pausing to allow this latest piece of information to sink in before adding, ‘I’ll keep my mouth shut until the day I’m released – unless, of course, you give me some reason not to. And if you ever lay as much as a finger on me, I’ll have you thrown out of the prison service even quicker than you were drummed out of the navy. Do I make myself clear?’ Hessler nodded, but didn’t speak. ‘Also, should you decide to pick on any other unfortunate first-timers, all bets are off. Now get out of my cell.’

5

W
HEN
L
LOYD STOOD
to greet him at nine o’clock on his first morning as deputy librarian, Harry realized that he’d only ever seen the man sitting down. Lloyd was taller than he’d expected, well over six feet. Despite the unhealthy prison food he had a spare frame, and was one of the few prisoners who shaved every morning. With his swept-back, jet-black hair, he resembled an ageing matinee idol, rather than a man who was serving five years for fraud. Quinn didn’t know the details of his crime, which meant that nobody other than the warden knew the full story. And the rule in jail was simple: if a prisoner didn’t volunteer what he was in for, you didn’t ask.

Lloyd took Harry through the daily routine, which the new deputy librarian had mastered by the time they went down for supper that evening. During the next few days he continued to quiz Lloyd with questions about matters like collecting overdue books, fines, and inviting prisoners to donate their own books to the library when they were released, which Lloyd hadn’t even considered. Most of Lloyd’s answers were monosyllabic, so Harry finally allowed him to return to a resting position at his desk, well hidden behind a copy of the
New York Times
.

Although there were nearly a thousand prisoners locked up in Lavenham, fewer than one in ten of them could read and write, and not all of those who could bothered to visit the library on a Tuesday, Thursday or Sunday.

Harry soon discovered that Max Lloyd was both lazy and devious. He didn’t seem to mind how many initiatives his new deputy came up with, as long as it didn’t involve him in any extra work.

Lloyd’s main task seemed to be to keep a pot of coffee on the go, just in case an officer dropped by. Once the warden’s copy of the previous day’s
New York Times
had been delivered to the library, Lloyd settled down at his desk for the rest of the morning. He first turned to the book review section, and when he finished perusing it, he turned his attention to the classified ads, followed by the news, and finally sports. After lunch he would make a start on the crossword puzzle, which Harry would complete the following morning.

By the time Harry got the newspaper, it was already two days out of date. He always began with the international news pages, as he wanted to find out how the war in Europe was progressing. That was how he learned about the fall of France, and a few months later that Neville Chamberlain had resigned as Prime Minister, and Winston Churchill had succeeded him. Not everyone’s first choice, although Harry would never forget the speech Churchill had made when he presented the prizes at Bristol Grammar School. He wasn’t in any doubt that Britain was being led by the right man. Time and again Harry cursed the fact that he was a deputy librarian in an American prison, and not an officer in the Royal Navy.

During the last hour of the day, when even Harry couldn’t find anything new to do, he brought his diary up to date.