We Are the Hanged Man (43 page)

He thought he heard a sound from along the beach, but it was a passing moment and not enough to drag him out of bed.

The sea rolled up onto the stones. Gordon Durrant stared at the ceiling.

The Assistant Governor of Broadmoor prison tapped the cover of the folder that was lying on the desk in front of him. Some people tap because of a beat that always plays in their head. Some people only tap when they're nervous.

Quentin Brookes was nervous. He had signed the paper that authorised the release of Gordon Durrant, because that was what he'd been told to do. He knew all about Durrant, he knew the crimes he'd committed before being sent to prison. He also knew that Durrant had been an absolute model prisoner for every one of his thirty years. Never caused trouble with the other inmates, was utterly respectful of the prison staff, never wasted a minute of his time. He worked, he studied in the library, he kept himself fit. There wasn't a hint of him attempting any illegal activity on the inside, or of him conducting any on the outside through some sort of intermediary. Indeed he never had any visitors whatsoever. If only they were all like Durrant.

There had been people at the prison over the course of the thirty years who had actually advocated Durrant's release, but that was only people who had no knowledge of why he was there in the first place. As soon as they saw his file those opinions where changed.

Yet Brookes had to hope that his thirty years of solid behaviour was indicative of who the man had become. Changed. Orderly. Able to live comfortably with, if detached from, society. Because the thought of him being on the loose terrified him, and the thought that it was his signature on the release order terrified him even more.

Like all the instructions that came his way in life, he'd had to do as he was ordered and hope that he wasn't crushed by the fallout.

Which was why he was extremely nervous about the fact that a police officer from Wells had called a couple of hours previously wishing to discuss the matter of Durrant's release.

He'd wondered how long it would be before Durrant came to the attention of the police. Two weeks, that was all. Three years would have been too little time. Ten years, maybe fifteen, when he would have been long gone and sitting quietly in his retirement home in Spain. That would have been all right.

There was a knock at the door. Mrs Henderson opened it without waiting for an answer, and then, without entering the room, said, 'Detective Sergeant Haynes to see you, Mr Brookes.'

*

Haynes was giving nothing away, having no intention of informing Brookes that this was entirely a speculative visit.

'You still haven't made clear why it is that you're interested in Mr Durrant,' said Brookes.

'We're aware that he's been released from prison, and we're doing some follow-up enquiries the nature of which I'm not under any obligation to disclose,' said Haynes. He'd taken an instant dislike to Brookes, very quickly deciding that he was not a man to trust with more information than was required.

Brookes made a movement to push the folder to one side.

'Well, I'm sure you'll understand that I similarly am under no obligation to disclose any of the information pertaining to the prisoner's release.'

Haynes nodded, took his eyes off Brookes for a moment. He hated interviews like this, where it came down to intimidation and testosterone and threats.

'I'm sure I can find someone else to speak to,' said Haynes. 'The Governor, perhaps, or if I need to, I'll go to the Home Office.'

Brookes knew that it depended on to whom he spoke at the Home Office, and that the Home Office would make damn sure that he spoke to the right person as far as they were concerned, but more than anything else they wouldn't be happy that Haynes was sniffing around the Home Office in the first place.

'His record was exemplary,' said Brookes. 'We always said, if only they were all like Durrant. The decision was made that his rehabilitation was complete, that he had served his time and that we were in a position where we could comfortably allow him to re-enter society.'

'Who made that decision?'

'The board here at the prison, in conjunction with the Home Office.'

'Can I see the minutes of that board meeting?'

Brookes shook his head. This, at least, was an argument that he would take all the way, and on which Haynes could hold no threat. There were no minutes.

'Do I need to ask elsewhere?' said Haynes.

'Feel free to do so, Sergeant,' said Brookes.

Haynes recognised the different quality in the man's voice.

'Durrant's original conviction paints a pretty horrible picture,' said Haynes. 'He showed no signs of that inside?'

'None,' said Brookes. He paused, tossing a more relaxed hand in the air. He was happy to talk about Durrant's prison time, because if anything it reinforced the decision to release him. He just wasn't going to talk about that decision.

'Hardworking, honest, respectful, helpful, kept out of trouble, completely disinterested in petty prison politics. Kept himself busy, wrote prodigiously. I don't think it would be too much of an exaggeration to term him an academic.'

He'd said the phrase
petty prison politics
in such a way that Haynes thought it was probably one that he used often, enjoying its alliterative nature.

'Who sat on the board that decided to release him?' asked Haynes. 'Shouldn't the Governor have sat on that board, and if so, why was it not his name that went on the release documents?'

An easily rebutted question, but Brooks was annoyed that he continued to return to it.

'And can I ask you one more time, why do you ask? Has Mr Durrant been in some kind of trouble?'

Haynes stared blankly across the desk.

'Did you speak to any of the original arresting officers with regard to Durrant's release?' asked Haynes, changing tack.

'Not normal procedure,' responded Brookes quickly.

'Durrant was not a normal prisoner,' said Haynes pointlessly, receiving nothing in return.

'Did you seek any police opinion when considering the matter?'

'Naturally,' said Brookes, although he hesitated before saying it.

Haynes waited to see whether he was going to give him any more, but he remained silent. The Assistant Governor's fingers tapped on top of the folder. Haynes considered leaping across the desk and grabbing it from him.

'Would you be able to tell me the name of the office or officers that were involved in the process?'

Brookes smirked. He held Haynes' gaze. Haynes was getting nothing further.

*

Haynes was furious as he left the office, his face set hard. He closed the door, stood in the outer office for a moment composing himself. Closed his eyes, straightened his shoulders. Deep breath, drawn into his chest. Relaxed his fingers.

Thought about what Brookes would be doing at that very minute, five yards away on the other side of the door. Picking up the phone perhaps.

Haynes opened his eyes. Mrs Henderson, to whom he'd spoken briefly on his way into the meeting, was watching him with a smile on her face.

'Didn't go well then?' she asked, her voice low.

Haynes smiled ruefully as he looked at her. Bobbed dark brown hair, round face, early thirties, wedding ring, white blouse buttoned all the way up.

He shook his head.

'He can be a bit awkward sometimes,' she said, mouthing the word
awkward
.

Haynes nodded this time, gave her another smile and then started walking from the office.

He stopped at the door, turned back. Would Jericho just walk out on a conversation with a woman? Well, it depended on the woman, but if the woman was someone from whom he might be able to finagle information, then more than likely not,

He stood inside the door, still not saying anything, his hesitation born of not being entirely sure how to proceed.

'Can I get you anything else?' she asked.

'Yep…' replied Haynes, and he stepped forward, smiling with seeming awkwardness. 'Sorry, this is really embarrassing. I was discussing with the Assistant Governor…… he dealt recently with someone from the Police Service on a matter of prisoner release… I'm sure he does it all the time, that's the tricky thing. I meant to get a name from him, just forgot to ask. I, eh… feels a bit uncomfortable going back in there. Don't really like to disturb him….'

'He's a busy man,' she said.

'Exactly,' replied Haynes. 'I don't suppose…'

He was fishing, and for all his attempts at laid-back, disarming panache, he wasn't fooling anyone. Even a PA who hated her boss and who found herself naturally disarmed by Haynes' smile.

'I'm afraid I'm not in a position to give out any information of that nature,' she said.

Haynes smiled instantly and then held up his hand in apology.

'Of course,' he said. 'Shouldn't have asked.'

He held her gaze for a moment, suddenly aware that he had more confidence with women after realising he'd made some sort of connection with Leighton at the British Library, then he flashed one final smile at her and turned towards the door.

She let him get as far as one foot in the corridor.

'I can say that I wasn't surprised to get your call today, as we've had a few dealings recently with the Superintendent from your station.'

Haynes turned back. His mouth was slightly open. His eyes narrowed in curiosity.

'In relation to the release of Gordon Durrant?'

She held his gaze for a moment and then shook her head. The second the words were out she regretted it. Loose tongue. Again.

'The Assistant Governor will be out soon,' she said. 'You'll need to go.'

Haynes felt the vibration of the phone in his pocket. He contemplated stepping back into the office, but was there any point? He only threatened to get the PA into trouble, and hadn't she just told him the precise information he'd been looking for?

All those diagrams that he and Jericho had been drawing, diagrams with lines that went all over but never seemed to connect, now had Superintendent Dylan in the middle, and those lines had an apex, and she sat there, like a train station in the middle of a city.

*

There was a lull at the production offices of
Britain's Got Justice
. The day before had been so full of exciting events and speculation; a rogue police officer, a kidnapped police officer and a dead body.

The two desks in the room were littered with the detritus of that morning's newspapers, which were plastered with pictures of Lol and Jericho and Sergeant Light. Fear and hysterical loathing were everywhere. The attacks on Jericho, this week's comedy villain, had been raised to new heights of hate-filled vituperation.
Lol Suspect Is Sleazo Cop
said the Mirror.
Police Service in Tatters At Latest Outrage
laboured the Independent.
Cher Terrified As Killer Cop Cuts Loose
said the Sun. And so they went on.

The heights of the previous day, however, meant that there was a bit of an air of the day after the Cup Final about the office, even though they were now into the show's penultimate day, with a huge Saturday night to follow, when show insiders were happily and absurdly predicting to anyone who'd listen that they were anticipating the highest viewing figures ever gained by a television show in the UK.