Slammer (20 page)

'This was found in Officer Fox's pocket after the attack,' Fitch said. 'We've already taken the liberty of opening it.'

Glass saw that the outside packaging was loose. He knew they'd been waiting for him to look inside. He felt uncomfortable about doing so, though.

He reached forward, picked the package up, hands shaky. He hoped they didn't notice. The gold paper came away easily enough. It had been loosely wrapped around a wadding of bubble wrap. Inside the bubble wrap was something Glass recognised right away.

But he had to carry on. He found the end of the wrap and unrolled it. Peeled the cassette tape out of the packaging. Turned it over. Pretended to examine it. Laid it on the table.

Then he tucked his hands under the desk, linked his fingers together and squeezed. Looked up at Shaw, but Shaw wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. Shaw was looking at his face, trying to fathom what he was thinking.

The cops were staring at him too.

Glass wasn't sure what to think. Or what to say.

He looked at the desk again, at the cassette tape lying there. Jesus, his face was hot. 'What's …' His throat was dry. He started again, 'What's on the tape?'

'The parcel's addressed to you,' Fitch said. 'So I wonder if you'd like to guess.'

Glass shook his head hard. 'Shouldn't you be having that … thing … analysed?'

'You think?' Fitch said. 'Dust it for prints and all that? I thought I'd just take it home and record over it.'

Took Glass a second to realise Fitch had made a joke. He didn't laugh.
'S.O. Shaw said he had an idea who was behind this. You should pursue that line of enquiry.'

Fitch looked at
Richmond
. Nodded. 'Pursue that line of enquiry. Hmmm. What do you think, Constable?'

'Hard to prove,'
Richmond
said.

'That's not the point,' Glass said. 'You can't let these guys away with it.'

'What guys?' Fitch said.

'Whoever it is you think did it.'

'Did what?'

'Beat up Fox.'

'What about the tape?'

'What about it?'

'Good question,'
Richmond
said.

And right away Fitch said, 'What if we think it was you?'

Glass stared at him. Then looked at Shaw, who looked down at his lap. What the fuck had the bastard said? What if they thought it was him on the tape? They recognised his voice? Well, they would. That was the whole point.

Shaw straightened up and nodded. 'Officer Glass, it's no secret that you and Officer Fox don't get on too well.'

'I wouldn't say that,' Glass said.

'Well, I would. And it's not hard to back up. Want me to cite incidents?'

Richmond
said, 'We know about the kitten.'

Jesus Christ. Glass said, 'It wasn't mine.'

'Taking Headcase Harris out for exercise,' Fitch said. 'Him all covered in excrement. Must have made you feel terrible.'

They'd done their homework all right. Probably not that hard. Shaw wouldn't take much persuasion to blab. 'Yeah, I can see how you might think I was provoked,' Glass said. 'I don't like Fox. That's no secret. But I didn't arrange to have him beaten up. That's the truth.'

'That right?' Fitch dipped into his jacket pocket and his hand reappeared with a piece of folded paper. He made a big show of unfolding it. 'This came with the package.' He gave it to Glass. 'Take a look.'

The note read:
Job done. Fox on the run! Hope u & ur luvd ones r well, watt?

Caesar. If there was any trace of doubt in Glass's mind, it was gone now. He swallowed. 'What's on the tape?'

'A pop song. Pro-drugs, apparently. '
Ebeneezer Goode
'?'

Glass breathed deeply.

'Maybe there's a message there,' Fitch said. 'For you.'

'It's a set-up,' Glass said. 'If I had arranged this blanket party, I would have told the fuckers not to contact me. And I'd specifically have said not to leave a package addressed to me with a stupid note in it and a shite pop song. You can't take this seriously.'

'Can't we?'
Richmond
said.

'No,' Glass said. 'Only an imbecile would think I was involved.'

'Well,'
Richmond
said, 'lucky for us we don't.'

Now that he knew the tape wasn't the one he'd feared, Glass was all set to carry on being angry, but
Richmond
's comment stopped him short.

'It's transparent, as you say,' Fitch said. 'Somebody wanted to drop you in it, so they concocted this afternoon's little scenario. Just for you.'

'Looks that way,' Glass mumbled.

'What I want to know,' Fitch said, 'is why.'

Glass felt his lower jaw clench. He said nothing. Wondered if the policemen saw the veiled threat in Caesar's note. Probably not. It was hard to figure out how an outsider might read those words:
Hope u &
ur
luvd ones r well, watt?

But Glass knew exactly what it meant. He supposed Caesar thought that was a clever piece of misspelling.

'Why this particular "shite pop song"?' Fitch carried on. 'Do you know something about drugs and this prison?'

Maybe he should tell the police. Here they were. He could tell them. Get it all over and done with.

But what was the penalty for bringing drugs into a prison? Illegal possession of a firearm? Jesus, no, he couldn't tell them. It was too late for that. He had to take responsibility for himself. His actions had got him to this point. His actions would have to get him out of it.

Glass shook his head.

Fitch said, 'Well, if you don't know why, then I'd settle for who.'

'Someone who can write,' Shaw said. 'Which eliminates two-thirds of the prison population.'

Glass got up. 'I've no idea.'

'And you really don't have any idea why someone would send you this?'
Richmond
said.

Glass stuck his hand in his pocket. 'These people, they're hard to understand. I don't know why anyone would slit someone's throat and fuck them to death. Or what motivates someone to cut a guy's head off and play football with it on the street. No, I've no idea what provoked this. Maybe I looked at someone the wrong way. Or I'm too tall. Or too small. Or my hair's too long. Or short. Or curly. Or I have a stupid name. Or—'

'I get the picture.' Fitch sighed. 'We may need to speak to you again, Officer Glass.'

'You know where to find me,' Glass said. 'Mind if I get to work?'

*

Crogan walked into the locker room, in civvies. 'How'd it go?'

Glass said, 'Shouldn't you have gone home by now?'

'Wanted to catch you. Find out what happened. See if you were okay.' He grinned. 'Okay, I'm just a nosey bugger.'

Crogan was more than that. He wasn't exactly a bosom buddy, but he'd always been friendly. And that was such a rarity in the Hilton that Glass took a chance.

'I need a favour,' he said.

Crogan rubbed his chin with his thumb. 'From me?'

'It's to do with Caesar.'

Crogan stopped rubbing his chin. 'Keep talking.'

*

During the night, Glass pegged in every half hour, like he was supposed to, walking up and down the corridors, checking that everything was okay.

It was. Apart from Caesar. His cell alarm went off, again and again and again.

Glass ignored it. Caesar could make an official complaint in the morning. Glass didn't think he would, though.

All Caesar wanted was to talk to Glass, see if he was suitably scared now, scared enough to take part in the escape plan. But Glass wasn't scared at all. Not any more.

He had a plan of his own. Just the thought of it was giving him a major buzz. Felt just like a cocaine rush.

Caesar had controlled Glass's life for far too long.

TUESDAY

When Glass woke up, it was with a shout. His finger felt as if someone had grated it down to the bone, and set it alight. It throbbed and burned like no pain he'd felt before. He lay in bed wondering what kind of hell he'd fallen into.

He threw back the quilt and raised his hand. His right index finger was gone. Well, most of it. There was a stump attached to the knuckle, a bandage over it, spotted with blood. After the shock passed, he tried to remember what had happened.

He remembered driving home from the Hilton. The last thing he remembered was pulling up outside. After that, nothing.

He called for Lorna. She didn't come so he called again. Maybe she was out. Then he remembered something. She'd been packing. He remembered seeing her suitcase. He thought maybe she said she was going to her mother's with Caitlin. She'd left him? Then what? He'd taken a bucketload of pills and had a horrible accident?

His gun was on the bedside table. Maybe Lorna'd found it, got pissed off with him for not getting rid of it like he'd promised. A couple of blister packs of pills lay on the table too. And a handwritten note. Wasn't Lorna's writing, though. It read:
OXYs. Powerful painkiller. Take one every four hours.

Half of one pack was gone. He squeezed out another pill with his left hand until it poked through the foil, grabbed it between his teeth. Swallowed. Did the same again.

He stared at his hand, trying to will his finger back where it belonged. Maybe there was something wrong with his eyes. He looked at his other hand and all his fingers were there.

He ought to remember losing his finger, for Christ's sake. He stuck his hand back under the quilt, out of sight, tried to think who might have left the note.

When he did get up, he was none the wiser.

He kicked something on his way out of the bedroom. One of Caitlin's tumblers. He bent down to pick it up. Smelled sour milk and something meaty, saw the carpet stained red. Noticed the walls, pink patches against the magnolia. Looked like he'd cut his finger there and tried to clean up the mess.

He needed to examine his finger, see the extent of the damage.

In the bathroom, he removed the bandage, his hand shaking. He glanced at the stump, saw the charred flesh, the bone sliced through, and vomited into the sink. Nothing but frothy liquid and the two pink and beige capsules. He kept vomiting till there was nothing left in his stomach. Even then, he carried on, shivering as bile forced its way up his gullet and out his mouth. Eyes watering, he picked up the pills, turned on the tap with the heel of his hand, leaned over the sink, let the water clean the pills, swallowed them again. He put his mouth under the stream of water and sipped and spat, sipped and spat.