Cat O'Nine Tales: And Other Stories (27 page)

Pete
susses
straight away what she’s been up to: tart, having it
off with his best mate while he’s inside. She lit his short fuse, didn’t she?
So Pete jumps up and puts one on her. Karen goes
arse
over
tits,
and lands up flat on the floor. The alarm
goes off and screws come running through every door. They had to pull him off
Karen and drag him away to segregation. Ever been to segregation, Jeff?”

“No, can’t say
I have.”

“Well, don’t
bother.

Diabolical liberty.
Bare cell, mattress on the floor, steel
basin screwed into the wall and a steel bog what don’t flush.
Next day Pete’s put on report, and comes up in front of the
governor, who, you have to remember, is God Almighty.
He don’t need
no
judge or jury to help him decide if you’re guilty–Home
Office regulations are quite enough.”

“So what
happened to Pete?”

“Sent back to
closed conditions, wasn’t he? Shipped off to Lincoln prison the same day, with
another three months added to his sentence. Some cons, when they’re sent back
to a closed nick, lose their rag, start breaking the place up, taking drugs, setting
their cell on fire, so they never get out. I was banged up with a
muppet
in Liverpool once. Started off with a three-year
sentence and he’s still there–eleven years later. Last time he came up in front
of the governor for...”

“Pete,” I said,
trying not to sound exasperated.

“Oh, yeah, Pete.
Well, Pete goes the other way.”

“The other way?”

“Good as gold
all the time he’s banged up at Lincoln. Three months later he’s back enhanced,
with all his privileges restored. Gets a job in the kitchen, works like a
slave, six months later he puts in a request for a visit and it’s granted, with
the exception of one Karen Slater. But he never wanted to see that whore again
anyway No, this time Pete applied for a visit from one of his old mates who was
on the out at the time.

Now this mate
confirms that Brian is not only having it off with Karen, but now that Pete’s
safely banged up in Lincoln she’s moved in with him. What a diabolical
liberty,” said Mick. “Pete’s mate even asked if he wanted Brian done over. ‘No,
don’t go down that road,’ Pete told him.

‘I’ll be taking
care of him myself, all in good time.’ He never went into
no
detail of what he had in mind, on account of the fact that in the end someone
always opens their mouth.
Must be the same in politics,
Jeff.”

“Pete.”

“Well, Pete
goes on being as good as gold. Cleanest pad, working all hours, never swearing
at
no
screws, never on report. Result? Twelve months
later he’s back at
Hollesley
Bay open prison, with
only nine months left to serve.”

“And once he
was back at
Hollesley
Bay, did he try to contact
Karen?”

“No, didn’t put
in a request for a visit.

In fact, never even mentioned her name.”

“So what was
his game?” I asked, slipping into the prison jargon.

“He only had
one game all along, Jeff: he wanted to get himself transferred to the
enhancement block, on the other side of the prison, didn’t he.”

“I’ve lost
you,” I admitted.

“All part of
his master plan, wasn’t it?

When you first
arrive at
Hollesley
Bay, which, don’t forget, is an
open nick, you’re allocated a room in one of the two main blocks.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah, north
and south block. But if you get enhanced–another three more months of behaving
like a saint–then they move you across to the enhancement block, which gives
you even more privileges.”

“Like what?”

“You can have a
visit from a mate every Saturday Pete wasn’t interested.

You can go home
once a month on a Sunday–he’s still not interested. You can apply for a job
outside of the prison during the week–still no interest, even though it would
of
given him a chance to pick up an extra bob or two before
he’s released.”

“Then why
bother to earn all those privileges if you don’t plan to take advantage of
them?” I asked.

“Weren’t part
of Pete’s master plan, was it? Trouble with you, Jeff, is that you don’t think
like a criminal.”

“So why was
Pete so keen to get himself transferred to the enhancement block?”

“Good question
at last, Jeff, but for that you’ll need a little background. Pete ‘ad already
worked out that over on the enhancement block they ‘ad five screws on duty
during the day, but only two at night, on account of the fact that if a
prisoner reaches enhanced status he can be trusted, not to mention how
short-staffed the prison service is. And don’t forget that, in an open nick,
there are no cells, no bars, no keys and no perimeter walls, so anyone can
abscond.”

“So why don’t
they?” I asked.

“Because not
many cons
who’ve
made it to an open prison are that
interested in escaping.”

“Why not?”

“Logic, isn’t
it? They’re coming to the end of their sentence, and if they’re caught, and
nine out of ten of the morons are, you’re sent straight back to a closed nick,
with extra time added to your sentence. So forget it, it’s just not worth it. I
remember a con called Dale. What a
muppet
he was. He
only had three weeks left to serve, when he...”

“Pete,” I tried
again.

“You’re such an
impatient bastard, Jeff, and it’s not as if you’re going anywhere. So where was
I?”

“Only two
officers on duty in the enhancement block at night,” I said, checking my notes.

“Oh, yeah.
But even on the enhancement block you have to
report to the front office at seven in the morning, and then again at nine each
night. Now Pete, as I told you, ‘ad a job in the prison stores, handing out clothes
to the new cons, and supplying laundry once a week for the regulars, so the
screws always knew where he was, which was also part of Pete’s plan. But if he
hadn’t reported to the front office at seven in the morning and then again at
nine at night, he would have been put on report, which would have meant he’d be
sent back to north block with all his privileges removed. So Pete never once
misses a roll call, his cell was always spick and span, and his light is always
out long before eleven.”

“All part of
Pete’s master plan?”

“You catch on
fast,” said Mick. “But then Pete came up against an obstacle–that the right
word, Jeff?” I nodded, not wishing to interrupt his flow. “During the night,
one of the screws would walk round the block at one o’clock and then return
again at four in the morning, to check that every con was in bed and asleep.
All the screw has to do is pull back the curtain on the outside of the door,
look through the glass panel and shine his torch on the bed to make sure the
con is snoring away. Have I ever told you about the con who was caught in his
room, with a...”

“Pete,” I said,
not even looking up at Mick.

“Pete would lay
awake at night until the first screw came round at one o’clock to make sure he
was in his room. The screw lifts the curtain, shines the torch on his bed and
then disappears. Pete would then go back to sleep, but he always set his alarm
for ten to four when he’d carry out the same routine. A different screw always
turns up at four to check you’re still in bed. It took Pete just over a month
to work out that there were two screws, Mr. Chambers and Mr. Davis, who didn’t
bother to make the nightly rounds and check everyone was in bed.

Chambers used
to fall asleep and Davis couldn’t be dragged away from the TV.

After that, all
Pete had to do was
wait
until the two of them were on
duty the same night.”

With only about
six weeks to go before Pete was due to be released, he returned to the
enhancement block after work to find that Chambers and Davis were the duty
officers that night. When Pete signed the roll-call sheet at nine, Mr. Chambers
was already watching a football match on TV, and Mr. Davis had his feet up on
the table drinking a coke and reading the sports pages of the
Sun.

Pete went up to
his room, watched TV till just after ten, and then turned off his light. He got
into bed and pulled the blanket over him, but kept on his tracksuit and
trainers. He waited until a few minutes after one before he crept out into the
corridor and checked to make sure no one was around–not a sign of Chambers or
Davis. He then went to the end of the corridor, opened the fire-escape door,
and disappeared down the back stairs, leaving a wedge of paper in the door,
before he set off on an eight-mile run into Wood-bridge.

No one can be
sure when Pete got back that night, but he reported into the office as usual at
seven the next morning.

Mr. Chambers
ticked off his name. When Pete glanced down at the screws clipboard, all four
of his roll-call columns–nine, one, four and seven–had a tick in every box.
Pete had breakfast in the canteen before reporting to the stores for work.

“So he got away
with it?”

“Not quite,”
said Mick. “Later that morning the cops turn up in numbers and begin crawling
all over the place, but they’re only looking for one man. They end up in the
stores, arrest Pete and haul him off to Woodbridge nick for questioning. They
interrogate him for hours about the deaths of Brian Powell and Karen Slater,
both found strangled in their bed. Rumor has it that they were having it off at
the time. Pete stuck to the same line: ‘Can’t have been me, guv. I was banged
up in prison at the time. You only have to ask Mr. Chambers and Mr. Davis, the
officers who were on duty that night.’ The copper in charge of the case visited
the enhancement block and checked the roll-call sheet. Brian and the tart were
strangled sometime between three and five, according to the police
 
doctor, so if Chambers saw Pete asleep in bed
at four, he couldn’t have been in Woodbridge at the same time, could he?

Logic, isn’t it?

“An independent
inquiry was set up by the Home Office. Chambers and Davis both confirmed that
they’d checked every prisoner at one o’clock and then again at four, and on
both occasions Pete had been asleep in his room. Several of the other cons were
only too happy to appear in front of the inquiry and confirm they’d been woken
by the flashlight, when Chambers and Davis did their rounds.

This only
strengthened Pete’s defense. So the inquiry concluded that Pete must have been
in his bed at one o’clock and four o’clock on the night in question, so he
couldn’t have committed the murders.”

“So he got away
with it,” I repeated.

“Depends on how
you describe got away with it,” said Mick, “because although the police never
charged Pete, the copper in charge of the case later made a statement saying
that they’d closed their inquiries, as there was no one else they wanted to
interview–hint, hint. That wasn’t what you call a good career move for Chambers
and Davis, so they set about stitching Pete up.”

“But Pete only
had six weeks to serve before he was due to be released,” I reminded Mick, “and
he was always as good as gold.”

“True, but
another screw, a mate of Davis’s, reported Pete for stealing a pair of jeans
from the stores just a few days before he was due for release. Pete was carted
off to segregation and the governor had him transported back to Lincoln nick
even before they’d served up tea that night, with another three months added to
his sentence.”

“So he ended up
having to serve another three months?”

“That was six
years ago,” said Mick.

“And Pete’s
still banged up in Lincoln.”

“So how do they
manage that?”

“The screws
just come up with a new charge every few weeks, so that whenever Pete comes up
on report the governor adds another three months to his sentence. My bet is
Pete’s stuck in Lincoln for the rest of his life. What a liberty.”