The Woodcutter (50 page)

‘How much did she ask for?’

‘Half. I think Pippa wanted to haggle, but Toby said there was no point.’

He was right, thought Hadda bitterly. They were lucky she left them anything.

And anyway, Toby was probably already mapping out the future. Mastermind the divorce first, then marry her. But if he thought that was going to regain him full access to his ill-gotten gains, he clearly didn’t know her as well as he thought!

Unlike himself, who clearly didn’t know her at all.

Or perhaps he knew her all too well but had never systematized his knowledge.

She had set him three goals as the price of her hand. A fortune, an education, a social polish. He’d gone away a poor ignorant clod and he’d come back, if not yet a wealthy civilized gent, certainly a piece of malleable clay she could mould into shape.

She’d kept her side of the bargain, more or less. And now she was told that he was reneging on his. Didn’t matter that losing his wealth wasn’t his fault, obtaining it had been part of the contract.

Was that all their marriage had ever amounted to? It hadn’t felt like that. But what had it felt like?

It certainly hadn’t felt like she was shagging away behind his back. Yet from the sound of it . . .

He said, ‘So things fell out all right for her all round, didn’t they? I mean, her and Toby getting together like they did. Things going well there, are they?’

‘Seem to be,’ said Nutbrown. ‘They have their ups and downs, I expect. Don’t we all? And you know Toby, he likes his office comforts. Pippa says she’d cut his balls off, but it doesn’t seem to bother Imo. Of course, they’ve known each other a long time.’

‘That’s true. You were all chums together long before I came on the scene. So how long had they been at it, would you say?’

This time enough of his feelings came through to pierce even the Nutbrown carapace of insensibility.

‘Come on, Wolf, no point dwelling on the past, all water under the bridge, eh?’

‘Of course it is. Still, just as a point of interest, how long would you say?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose, off and on for as long as I’ve known them. Never meant anything, they’d been chums for ever, it was the same for all of us . . .’

All of us!
Had they all been at it? Trying each other out, exchanging notes . . .

Don’t go down that road.

Not now. ‘Of course it was. So whenever any two of you met, if you had time on your hands you’d jump over the hedge for a quick one, right? Perfectly understandable behaviour. Among pack rats!’

The snarl in which he uttered the last phrase got Nutbrown to his feet. At the sudden movement, the dog rose too, its teeth bared.

‘Easy, Wolf. Don’t lose your rag. I remember what you can be like. Don’t want another bloody nose, eh?’

Hadda took a deep breath and even managed a smile as he stood up also.

‘Don’t worry, Johnny,’ he said. ‘I’m a changed man. We all are, aren’t we?
Tempus fugit
. The past’s dead, it’s the future that matters.’

‘You don’t know how happy I am to hear you say that, Wolf,’ said Nutbrown, looking genuinely relieved. ‘Not that I had any doubt. I tried to tell the other two, there’s nothing to worry about, let’s just be glad Wolf’s out of that dreadful place. Look, why don’t you come back with me now, see Pippa, let her know that all this business about selling up and leaving the country’s just a load of nonsense?’

‘Very tempting,’ said Hadda. ‘But not today. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure that things are put right between me and Pippa some time very soon, OK? But maybe for the time being it’s best not to mention you’ve met me. Let’s pick our moment carefully.’

‘If that’s what you think best, Wolf,’ said Johnny. ‘Only, I was hoping it might put the kybosh on this sale thing. It’s pretty near being all signed and sealed, you know.’

Wolf smiled and said, ‘I shouldn’t be too concerned about that, Johnny. I’ve got a feeling that your sale’s going to fall through, and you’ll be able to relax and enjoy Poynters and everything that’s in it for a little time yet.’

‘You think so? That would be great.’

His face lit up with a child’s joy at the promise of a treat. The sight of it filled Hadda with a great sadness. He had come to see Nutbrown because the man had come to see him, and he felt he owed him a hearing. McLucky and the Trapps all told him it was pointless, but he’d insisted, even though he knew what he would find: a child in a man’s body, a child whose responses were all based on his own immediate needs and appetites.

A child’s punishments should be different from a man’s. Or maybe a child’s punishments always felt different.

‘For you, Johnny, it will be like being sent to bed without any supper,’ he murmured, half to himself.

‘Sorry?’

‘Nothing,’ said Hadda. ‘Here, don’t forget your gun.’

He stooped to retrieve the weapon.

‘Nice piece of kit. Nothing but the best, eh?’

He raised it to his shoulder, pointed it at Nutbrown, who stepped back in alarm.

Then he saw that Hadda was sighting down the barrel at him with his patched eye.

‘Can’t see a damn thing!’ Wolf laughed. ‘Catch!’

He threw the gun to Nutbrown, picked up his axe easily with one hand, slung it across his shoulder, then turned and limped slowly away, not looking back. But the dog who followed at his heels gave many a backward glance.

9

On his way home on Wednesday night, George Proctor knew he was being followed, and he knew who by, and he had a strong suspicion why.

Ahead was a long lay-by, usually packed with lorries there to enjoy the gourmet cuisine offered by The Even Fatter Duck, a mobile catering van that reputedly served the best bacon butties in Essex. But the Duck was long flown on this gloomy winter’s evening and the lay-by was empty.

Proctor signalled and pulled in, not stopping till he was almost at the far end. In his mirror he saw the grey Fiesta come to a halt just inside the entrance. He got out of his car and waved imperiously.

After a moment, the Fiesta began to move slowly forward. He made a violent denying motion with his hand, and when the Fiesta stopped again, he jabbed his forefinger towards it two or three times then used the same finger to beckon.

Alva Ozigbo got the message.

She slid out of her car and advanced to meet the Chief Officer.

‘What do you want, miss?’ asked Proctor.

His breath hung visible in the freezing air. A cartoonist could have written his words upon it.

‘I want to talk, George. Privately.’

Her breath balloon rose and merged with his.

‘You could have come to my office, miss.’

‘Oh, I did, George, remember? Three times I looked in on you this week.’

‘And?’

‘You wouldn’t switch the radio on. In fact, once you switched it off.’

He looked at her frowningly for a moment then his face relaxed into a smile.

‘Could tell from the start you was a sharp one, miss. And I tell you, you need to be sharp to survive at Parkleigh.’

‘So why didn’t you want to have another little confidential chat with me, George?’

‘Because I didn’t see no point. Anyway, we’re talking now, so say what you want to say before we catch pneumonia.’

‘We could talk in my car. Or yours.’

‘Might be OK. Probably is. But better safe than sorry, eh? So?’

This really shocked her. But even hard-headed men could get bees in their bonnet.

‘OK I’ll be quick. I get the impression that whatever is said in Parkleigh is overheard.’

‘Yeah?’

‘And I think you’ve got that impression too.’

‘Maybe.’

‘And I think that maybe that was why my predecessor and the Director were having that row you told me about.’

‘Could be.’

‘For God’s sake, George,’ Alva said in exasperation. ‘Are you going to keep this up till we freeze to death? I’m talking to you because the alternative is to go along and confront Mr Homewood.’

‘I shouldn’t do that, miss,’ said Proctor, alarmed.

‘Why not?’

He regarded her dubiously, then shrugged like a man who has counted the alternatives and found none.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t know nothing except that over a long period I started getting this feeling when I was talking with the Director that occasionally he knew stuff before I told him, or sometimes he knew stuff I hadn’t told him! I did a couple of little tests and I wasn’t happy to find out I was right. It’s my guess that when they refurbished Parkleigh, they fitted it up with a wall-to-wall bugging system. Total non-privacy. Everything anyone says anywhere gets heard. So I keep my radio turned up in my office. Or I step outside the main gate when I fancy a bit of privacy.’

This is what Alva had asked for, this is what she’d expected. But this blunt confirmation that her suspicions were shared still came as a shock.

‘But why?’ she demanded, though she could guess the answer.

‘Look at who they’ve got banged up there. Politicals, terrorists, mega fraudsters, serial killers. Hearing what any of that lot have got to say to their lawyers, their visitors, on the phone, in the yard, anywhere, everywhere – just think how useful that could be. Stick people in Parkleigh, everyone thinks it’s like throwing them into an old-fashioned dungeon. But it’s really like putting them into the most advanced listening post in the country!’

‘You’ve obviously thought a lot about this, George. But you’ve never said anything, I take it?’

‘Me? No way! I’m not so green as cabbage looking as my old gran used to say.’

‘But you talked to me. A bit obliquely, I admit. But you talked. Why was that?’

Proctor slapped his arms around his body to drive out the cold and said, ‘Getting soft in my old age, maybe. I just got the impression watching you dealing with Mr Homewood that you’d gone off him a bit. Compared with how you started. Can’t put my finger on it, just sometimes talking to him you were coming over a bit hesitant, like you didn’t altogether trust him. And him with you too. And the only reason I could think why was you’d got a hint he knew things he didn’t ought to, personal confidential stuff you hear in your tits-a-tits.’

Which she had. But not till very recently.

Alva thought she could see what had happened. Her concern at picking up signals that Homewood was developing the hots for her had caused her to introduce a measure of circumspection into her dealings with him. But eagle-eyed Chief Officer Proctor, his sensors honed by a lifetime of dealing with violent men whose mood swings could be a matter of life or death, had detected something. Detected and misinterpreted.

What was especially worrying was that this hard-headed, down-to-earth, long-serving prison officer preferred to stand out here in the freezing air rather than take the risk of talking in his own car. Or hers, for that matter. A bad case of paranoia? She looked at the man standing before her and wished she could think it so.

She said, ‘When you say you think the Director’s attitude to me changed too, what do you mean?’

‘Little things again. Thought he started being a bit more abrupt with you.’

Meaning he’d spotted as she had that Homewood, fighting against the attraction he felt to her, started over-emphasizing that she was just another member of staff.

But Proctor hadn’t finished.

‘And he was always asking how you were getting on, saying he hoped I was making sure that no obstacles got in your way, like he was concerned to give you a chance to do well. But I sometimes felt like I was being asked to spy on you. Then on Monday . . .’

He hesitated. Alva pressed.

‘What happened, George?’

‘He called me in and gave me a spiel about having to compile some kind of report on you for the Home Office by the end of the month.’

‘That in fact is true, George,’ she interrupted. ‘More or less. My contract doesn’t come up for renewal for another two years but there is this annual review written into it. Just a matter of ticking off the boxes.’

‘Yeah? Well, it didn’t sound to me like the Director was thinking about just ticking boxes,’ said Proctor. ‘He asked straight out how I thought you were doing. Never asked me that before. What kind of effect did I think you were having on the prisoners’ morale? Had it been a mistake to bring a female in? Hello, I thought, what’s brought this on?’

‘And you said?’

‘I said I know I’d been against appointing you at the start, but now I’d had time to get to know you and see the way you worked, I thought you were doing a good job.’

This was the best unsolicited testimonial she’d ever had, thought Alva.

She said, ‘Thanks, George.’

‘Don’t bother. I got to thinking later maybe I’d done you no favours.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Maybe if they just ease you out gently, unsuitable job for a woman, that sort of thing, no harm done to you professionally, or not much, everyone happy, that would be for the best.’

‘So that was why you didn’t want another confidential chat with me!’ she said indignantly. ‘You really don’t want me around the place after all! Why didn’t you just badmouth me to the Director in the first place?’

‘Wasn’t thinking, miss. But if he asks me again, I’ll be ready.’

Her mind was whirling in search of a viewpoint that would bring all this into perspective.

There was no doubt that a negative report from Homewood, even unsupported by a thumbs-down from Proctor, could put her job in jeopardy. But why would he want to do that? And why should Proctor be so ready to shift his position from a reluctant recognition that she might be doing a decent job to reverting to his original attitude and wanting her out? It made no sense . . .

Unless the man was thinking there were worse ways to go than getting the sack!

But that was absurd! Wasn’t it?

She said, ‘You said way back when we talked in your room that my predecessor had a big row with the Director. Was that about these listening devices?’

‘That’s right, miss. Dr Ruskin had worked it out like you. Must be something in your training, I suppose. Makes you spot things. But he wasn’t like you in most other ways. You’re the calm rational sort. Dr Ruskin saw something he didn’t like, he really let you know. I heard him screaming at the Director that it breached all medical ethics, it was an outrage and he reckoned it was his duty to let the whole country know how their hard-earned money was being spent.’