Running Blind / The Freedom Trap (31 page)

I immediately broke my promise about rationing curiosity by beginning to read the informational pamphlet, but that was absolutely necessary. I was a new boy in this school and the sooner I learned the ropes the better. There were too many tricks that could be played on the newcomer by the old hands and I didn’t want to fall for any of them.

It was an interesting compilation of data. I discovered that the spare shirt in the cell was to be used as a night shirt, that lights-out was ten-thirty, that the waking call was six-thirty in the morning, that I was to be issued with a razor blade to
be returned after shaving. There were other helpful hints even to the point of finding a way out of prison.

For instance, I could refer my case to the Court of Criminal Appeal and, if that failed, I could apply to the Attorney-General to put the case before the House of Lords. At any time I could petition the Home Secretary and I was permitted to write to my Member of Parliament.

I couldn’t see myself doing any of those things. I wasn’t pally enough with the Home Secretary to enter into any kind of extended correspondence and my Member of Parliament was a shade too far away to do any good—6,000 miles away.

I read the booklet through and then started on it again from the beginning. I had nothing else to do so I decided to memorize the whole goddamn thing. I was still reading it when the light went out.

The bell clanged and I opened my eyes and was confused until I remembered where I was. I dressed hurriedly and made the bed, then hoisted it up so that it stood on end in a corner of the cell. I sat on the chair and waited. Presently there was a slight metallic sound from the door and I knew someone was watching through the Judas hole.

There was a sharp snap from the lock and the door opened. I stood up and the warder came in. He looked appraisingly around the cell and then fixed me with a hard eye. ‘You’re new here. You’ve been reading that thing, haven’t you?’ He nodded to the booklet on the table.

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Your bed’s in the wrong corner, and the book should be hanging on the wall where you found it. You’ll learn. Take a tip from me; do just what you’re told and you’ll be all
right. Now, pick up your chamber-pot and get ready for slopping out.’

‘I haven’t used it,’ I said.

‘It gets slopped out whether you’ve used it or not,’ he said curtly. ‘Remember what I told you—do as you’re told with no arguments. That’s lesson number one.’

I picked up the chamber-pot and followed him on to the landing which was full of men, all lined up and each holding his pot. ‘All right,’ someone shouted. ‘Move along.’

There was mephitic stink in the air. I trudged along and found that I was expected to empty the pot into one sink and wash it in another. I went through the motions and returned to my cell, taking my cues from what the others were doing.

The warder came back. ‘You can eat in your cell if you like. You’ll be served with the others down in the hall, but you can bring your tray up here if you don’t feel like joining the party just yet.’

I didn’t feel like talking to anyone at all right then. I was too busy trying to keep a firm hold on myself. ‘Thanks,’ I said, and heard my voice crack.

He was ironic. ‘Don’t thank me; it’s regulations for new prisoners. And another thing, you’ll be seeing the Governor this morning. A trusty will take you to his office.’

The trusty came just before ten o’clock and I went with him out of ‘C’ Hall. ‘You’re Rearden,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard about you.’

‘Have you?’

‘I’m Simpson.’ He nudged me in the ribs with a sharp elbow. ‘You’re going before the Reception Board. Don’t volunteer anything—that’s my tip.’

‘What happens?’

‘Oh, it’s just the big boys giving you the once-over. The Governor, the Bible-Slapper, the Senior Screw, the Welfare Officer—people like that. The Governor’s not too bad if you
keep on the right side of him, but Gawd help you if you don’t. Some of the others’ll try to feed you a load of old cod’s wallop—a crowd of flaming do-gooders. But watch out for Hudson—he’s a right bastard.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘The Chief Screw.’

Simpson took me into a waiting room in which half a dozen other prisoners were sitting. They all looked dispirited. Simpson chuckled. ‘
You
won’t have to wait your turn, mate. You’re on first; you’re someone special.’

I stared at him. ‘What’s so special about me?’

‘You’ll see. The Governor’ll explain it all very nicely.’

I was about to pursue that a bit further but a warder came into the room. ‘Rearden, come this way. Simpson, get back to “C” Hall.’

There were five men seated around a large table, two of them prison officers in uniform. It’s a funny thing about prison officers—they never take off their caps, not even when sitting in the Governor’s office. Perhaps it’s a tradition of the service. One of the civilians wore a dog-collar, so he’d be Simpson’s Bible-Slapper—the Prison Chaplain.

The military-looking man in the middle spoke up first. ‘Rearden, I’m the Governor of this prison. You are here because you have committed a crime and society has decided that you cannot be allowed to remain at large. How you get on in this prison is your own affair. There are two ways of looking at a prison—as a place of punishment and as a place of rehabilitation. The choice is up to you; we have ample facilities for both modes of operation. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

He picked up a paper from the table. ‘It is normally my practice to treat all prisoners alike. However, I have received notification from the Home Office that you are to be treated as a high-risk prisoner and that entails certain
restrictive modifications of your treatment here. For instance, you were brought to this office by a Star Class trusted prisoner, that will never happen again. In future, if you have to move about inside the prison you will be escorted by a prison officer. You will also wear coloured patches upon your clothing. I have prepared a list here of all the other restrictions appertaining to a high-risk prisoner which you will study and to which you will conform.’

He handed me the paper and I folded it and put it into my pocket.

He cleared his throat. ‘You must understand, Rearden, that whether you remain in the high-risk category depends entirely upon yourself. The position is reviewed at regular intervals and my recommendations are forwarded to the Home Office. You must also understand that the Home Office is at liberty to disregard my recommendations. The fact that you are a high-risk prisoner is entirely of your own doing, and if there is any way you can convince the police authorities that you are not a risk then I strongly recommend that you do so.’

He meant the diamonds, of course. They still wanted those bloody diamonds. ‘Yes, sir,’ I said woodenly. ‘I’ll try to think of something, sir.’

The Governor turned his head. ‘Anything from you, Padre?’

The chaplain smiled. ‘My name is Clark. I note you claim to have no religion.’

‘That’s right, sir.’

‘I’m not one for pushing religion down a man’s throat,’ said Clark. ‘But do you mind if I come to see you from time to time?’

‘No, sir.’

The Governor said, ‘This is Mr Anderson, our Welfare Officer. He can do a lot for you if you will let him. Any time
you want to see him ask your landing officer. Have you anything you would like to ask him now?’

‘Yes, sir. How do I get writing material and books?’

Anderson said easily, ‘The writing materials—pens and paper—you will buy in the canteen shop with money you will earn by doing work in the prison. You will be paid a minimum of one shilling and eightpence a day, but you can improve on that if you choose to. Books you can obtain from the prison library.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ I said. ‘Is it possible to get books from outside?’ I hesitated. ‘I’ll be here for a long time—I want to study. I want to improve myself.’

Anderson started to speak but checked himself and looked at the Governor, who said, ‘Very commendable, but we’ll have to see about that. That will depend upon your general conduct and, as you say, you’ll be here a long time.’ He nodded to the uniformed officer at the end of the table. ‘This is Mr Hudson, the Chief Officer responsible for prison discipline. Have you anything to say, Mr Hudson?’

‘Just one thing, sir,’ said Hudson. He had a hard face and eyes like chips of glass. ‘I don’t like high-risk prisoners, Rearden. They upset prison routine and cause trouble among the other prisoners. Don’t give me any trouble, that’s all. If you do it will be the worse for you.’

I kept my face studiously blank. ‘I understand, sir.’

‘I sincerely hope you do,’ said the Governor. ‘You have a visitor—a police officer from Scotland Yard.’ He signalled to a warder standing by the door. ‘You know where to take him.’

I expected to see Brunskill but it was another detective. ‘Detective-Inspector Forbes,’ he said. ‘Sit down, Rearden.’

I sat down, facing him over the table, and he said pleasantly, ‘I expect the Governor has broken the news that you
have been classified as a high risk. Do you know what that means?’

I shook my head. ‘Not really.’

‘You’d better find out,’ Forbes advised. ‘The Governor must have given you a copy of the high-risk rules. I’ll give you five minutes to read it.’

I took the sheet of paper from my pocket and smoothed it out on the table. It was immediately apparent after a cursory reading that life was going to be made quite a bit tougher. The light in my cell was going to be on all night, for one thing. All my clothes, except for shirt and slippers, were to be deposited outside the cell door each night. Any letters I wrote I would have to hand to a prison officer—copies would be made and only photostats would be sent to the ultimate destination, the originals to be filed in the prison. Any conversations with visitors were to be monitored by a prison officer.

I looked up at Forbes. He said, ‘Those are only the rules which concern you directly, of course. There are other things. You’ll be moved from cell to cell without warning; your cell will be searched—and so will you—at a moment’s notice. It will all be very harassing.’

‘And what is it to you?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘Nothing really—except that I feel sorry for you. If you weren’t so stupid you could get yourself out of this jam.’

‘Out of this nick?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said regretfully. ‘But the Review Board would look upon you very kindly if you co-operated with us.’

‘What sort of co-operation?’

‘Come off it, Rearden,’ he said tiredly. ‘You know what we want. The diamonds, man; the diamonds.’

I looked him in the eye. ‘I’ve never seen any diamonds.’ Which was the exact truth—from the start to the finish of the caper. I never saw the diamonds at all.

‘Look, Rearden; we know you did it, and we’ve proved it conclusively. Why try to act the innocent? My God, man; you’ve been sentenced to a quarter of a lifetime in prison. Do you think you’ll be good for anything when you come out? The judge was right—the game isn’t worth the candle.’

I said, ‘Do I have to sit here and listen to you? Is that part of my punishment?’

‘Not if you don’t want to,’ Forbes said. ‘I don’t understand you, Rearden. I don’t understand why you’re taking all this so calmly. All right, let’s try another tack. How did you know the drop? How did you know where the diamonds were being sent? That’s of some interest, too.’

‘I don’t know anything about it.’

‘You don’t know anything about it,’ he repeated. ‘Do you know—maybe that’s true. You could be telling the truth.’ He leaned back in his chair, opened his mouth and shut it again and stared at me. After a few moments he began to laugh. ‘Oh, no!’ he said. ‘It couldn’t be as simple as that! You couldn’t have been double-crossed, could you, Rearden?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Forbes tapped the table. ‘You arrive in England out of the blue, and four days later you do the snatch. It must have been set up for you—you couldn’t have laid it all on in three days. Then we pick you up and there are no diamonds. So where are they? Obviously, someone else must have them.’

He chuckled. ‘Could it be the same someone who made a telephone call and wrote an anonymous letter? You passed on the diamonds and then got shopped, Rearden. Your brainy pal who planned all this made a patsy of you—isn’t that the truth?’

I sat mute.

‘What!’ he said. ‘Honour among thieves? Don’t be as big a fool as you make out to be. Your friend sold you to the law for a few thousand lousy quid and you’re standing for it.’ He
sounded disgusted. ‘Don’t think you’re going to get out of here to go looking for him; it’s not going to be as simple as that. I’m to make recommendations to the Home Office, too, you know; and I’m going to report a total lack of cooperation. And that will mean that you’ll be a high-risk prisoner for a hell of a long time—no matter what the Governor may recommend. You can be a good boy in here—you can be the perfect prisoner—but it will cut no ice with the Review Board after they read my report.’

I said hesitantly, ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘You do that,’ he said forcibly. ‘Any time you want to see me just pass word to the Governor. But don’t try to play the fool with me, Rearden. Don’t waste my time. You give us what we want and we’ll nail your friend for you. We’ll crucify him. And
you’ll
be off the hook as far as high risk is concerned. What’s more, I’ll see to it personally that the Review Board gives your case every favourable consideration. I can’t do more than that, can I?’

Privately, I doubted if he could do as much. A detective-inspector is pretty small fry at Scotland Yard and if he thought I couldn’t see what he was up to he must have thought I was a dumb bunny. All that Forbes wanted was to clear the case and get a good conduct tick on his card—the man who recovered the unrecoverable. And once he’d done it then I could go to hell as far as he was concerned. I wouldn’t count; I was just another bent villain, and you don’t have to keep promises to crooks. Talk about honour among thieves!

I said slowly, ‘Twenty years is a long time. I’ll think about it very seriously, Mr Forbes.’