Joint Judgement (An Emma Harrison Mystery Book 3)

by Wendy Cartmell

  Joint Judgement

  An Emma Harrison mystery

  Book 3

  By

  Wendy Cartmell

  © Wendy Cartmell 2016

  Wendy Cartmell has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  This kindle edition published 2016

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Author Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  By Wendy Cartmell

  From Wendy

  Death Rites

  Prologue

  1

  Author Note

  Her Majesty’s Young Offenders Institute (HMYOI) in Reading is no longer a working institute. However, the building is still there and plans are being considered by Reading Council to turn it into a hotel and leisure complex.

  The prison has a long and rich history and its most notable prisoner was Oscar Wilde, who wrote the Ballad of Reading Goal, based on his incarceration there.

  I worked as a teacher in the Education Department at Reading HMYOI, teaching a range of subjects including English, Maths, Computer Skills, Art and, rather badly, Cookery. I loved my time at Reading and also at other nearby prisons, where I did supply teaching. My family has experience in prison education. My father was Deputy Chief Education Officer for Prisons and Borstals in England and Wales in the 1970’s and 1980’s and my mother taught at Reading Prison and Broadmoor. Both had the dubious pleasure of meeting some of Britain’s most notorious prisoners.

  Whilst the Judgment series may draw on our experiences from time to time, all characters and events are fictitious. Although I try and be true to policies and procedures, this is a work of fiction. Therefore, all mistakes are my own.

  Joint Judgement

  Murder and mayhem. Will anyone step forward to stop it?

  It starts out as a normal day at the Reading Young Offender's Institute. But it does not stay that way for long. A new inmate attacks the institute's doctor. Then someone murders the art teacher, Jack Walker. When an inmate holds the remaining teachers as hostage and refuses to let the police investigate the murder, Emma calls her boyfriend, Sgt Billy Williams, a Special Investigator with the Military Police, for help.

  Can Billy solve a murder, and keep anyone else from meeting the same fate?

  Prologue

  The day in question started out the same as any other in the life of the well-oiled machine that was Reading Young Offenders’ Institute. There was no clue as to the chaos that would ensue. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing and no one was out of place.

  The day had begun its slow grind with the squeaking and squealing that signified the opening of cell doors and the call for breakfast. The 200 plus inmates stretched, grunted, groaned and grumbled their way to the bottom tier of each of the four wings to eat. The yawning prison officers conducted their usual hand over between the night and day shift. The medical staff in the hospital began checking vital signs and handing out medicines. And in the education block, teachers were opening up the classrooms and making their preparations for the lessons ahead. Emma Harrison, Assistant Governor for Inmate Welfare, once she arrived, would be sorting through the files of the lads she would be interviewing that day: ready to cajole recalcitrant boys into a more positive attitude; praise those who were embracing the system; and give pep talks in the form of exit interviews to those who were leaving, hopefully never to return.

  None of them had any idea how fragile that happy equilibrium was. They didn’t realise how quickly a situation could deteriorate, in the potentially volatile atmosphere that goes hand in hand with the incarceration of hundreds of inmates.

  Everyone would be affected.

  There would be nowhere to hide.

  Chapter 1

  It was the same every day. When he first awoke Aiden felt free, happy and glad to be alive. At 18 years of age, he had his whole life ahead of him. The possibilities were endless. But then the clamour of B Wing intruded and he realised he was still in Reading Young Offenders’ Institute. Still incarcerated. Still serving a 5-year sentence for attempted murder.

  As he climbed out of his bedcovers on the top bunk, he paused with his skinny legs dangling over the side and scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to wake up. He always found it hard to sleep at night, because of the noise that never seemed to cease, meaning he was groggy and exhausted every morning. He was just about to call to his cell mate Dave, to make sure he was awake, when he remembered he wasn’t there. Dave, the lucky bastard, had been released the day before and Aiden was still awaiting the arrival of a new cellmate. He only hoped the bloke they paired him with would be alright. He was all too aware of the large number of nutters that made up the general population in prison, and the thought of sharing his cell with one made him shudder.

  Glancing at the calendar stuck onto his battleship-grey painted wall with toothpaste, he saw it was Tuesday morning. Grinning, Aiden jumped down and made for the toilet in the corner of his small cell, anxious to get ready and be on time for breakfast. Once he’d gulped down some stale cereal doused in lukewarm milk and chewed on some cardboard toast, it would be time for his art class. The art classes had pretty much been his salvation while he’d been inside, he realised, as he combed his black hair back off his forehead, adding a small amount of goo to make it stay in place. He found the therapy of learning a new skill and creating something out of nothing, soothing. For just a few precious hours he could forget about his incarceration and the injustice of it all and concentrate on something positive for once. As he cleaned his teeth, he thought about his current project. They were studying surrealism and cubism, with the emphasis on Salvador Dali, and their task was to make their own art in that style.

  He was crap at it, he knew that, not having been gifted with an artistic bent, but he found it interesting to learn the techniques. They were pretty lucky with the art teacher, Jack Walker. Some of the boys said he was a bit of a dandy, and liked to call him Oscar, after the prison’s most famous gay inmate, Oscar Wilde. Others used blunter expletives to describe the man. It seemed the boys either loved Walker, or hated him. Aiden wasn’t interested in the bloke’s sexual leanings and respected Walker for his knowledge of art and his ability to motivate his students.

  There was to be an exhibition in three months’ time, when the prison was to be inspected by the authorities and their teacher had infused them with his enthusia
sm for the project. Everyone was encouraged to find their forte and could choose from water colours, oils, charcoal or sculpting in clay. In the class were a few gang members, whose passion on the outside had been tagging and graffiti art. Even they were catered for, as Mr Walker had arranged for large pieces of board, on which they were painting a mural, to adorn the large blank walls of the education block. The other smaller works of art would be placed around it, as the exhibition was intended to showcase all of their talents.

  Aiden was struggling at the moment with the interpretation of a still life piece in watercolour, and it was that that was on his mind as he joined the melee of boys surging downwards towards the dining area.

  Chapter 2

  While Aiden was eating his breakfast, Emma Harrison, Assistant Governor of Inmate Welfare, was driving towards Reading Prison from the house she shared with Military Police Detective Sgt Billy Williams in Wokingham. As she sat in her Mini Cooper in the usual traffic jam at the lights at the Earliegh crossroads, wishing she’d used the A329M, her thoughts turned to her partner, Billy.

  She’d crept out of the house that morning, leaving him sleeping deeply in bed, even though she’d been desperate to speak to him, needing to feel his touch and see his lopsided smile and his blue eyes that crinkled at the corners as he gazed at her. She’d taken a moment to look down on him, lying amid the crumpled sheets, and had wondered about their relationship. They’d seemed to have lost that easy closeness they normally had, as over the past couple of months he’d been so distant. But last night he’d arrived home, exhausted yet jubilant and said that now his big case was closed, things would return to normal. She hoped he was right. He’d been travelling all over the South East of England, working a particularly complex fraud case and the ridiculously long hours he’d had to put in meant they’d barely seen each other at all. He now had a few days off and so she’d left him in bed, still sleeping, and could only hope that the coming days would help them bond again.

  As she sat there, she thought about the pitfalls that came with dating a soldier. On the plus side he was strong, protective, loving, great fun and she’d found that he had a very soft centre once she’d managed to penetrate the metaphorical shield of armour he wore that protected his emotions. And that was where the negative side came in. When in full ‘army mode’ he seemed not to have any time for her. He could be brusque and kept her at arm’s length by not talking about the case he was working on. In fact, he barely talked at all. At those times he rarely arrived home in time for dinner, most of the time climbing into bed in the small hours of the morning, a frozen alien body against her own warm one. Then he would be up and out at dawn, which had the effect of distancing himself physically as well as emotionally. Only the memory of the man she knew to be under the army persona kept her in the relationship. She tried her best to believe that the Billy she knew and loved would come back to her. For he’d managed to wrap her in the skeins of silk that were his personality and his boyish good looks and she was very much stuck in the middle of his web.

  A blast of car horns brought her back to the present and she began to wonder if the traffic lights up ahead had failed, as it was taking a ridiculously long time for them to change to green. She glanced at her watch. If they didn’t hurry up and change colour, she’d be late for work. Traffic or no traffic, being late wasn’t an option. It wasn’t in keeping with the professional image she needed to project, being very much a woman in a man’s world inside the prison. She squirmed in the seat of her Mini Cooper, wishing she’d taken the jacket of her dark blue trouser suit off before she’d climbed into the car. She flapped the lapels of it backwards and forwards in an attempt to cool down. She then ran her hands through her shoulder length auburn hair, before smoothing it down and tucking it behind both ears. She was just considering putting on some makeup, when at last the traffic began to move. Quickly putting the car into first gear, she accelerated away, staying close to the car in front, hoping to make it through the junction before the lights turned red again.

  Chapter 3

  Chief Prison Officer Robinson glanced down at his clipboard. The final item on the morning briefing was the arrival of a new prisoner, Titas Arendall. He sighed inwardly, but outwardly he squared his shoulders and stiffened every molecule of his ex-military bearing and cleared his throat to get the attention of the prison officers gathered before him.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘One last thing before you can all get on with the job, which I know you’re itching to do, being highly motivated officers who can’t wait to get to work in the morning.’

  He paused for the obligatory titter, although he and his men knew that at times that statement was far from the truth. It was a hard, gruelling and mostly boring job being an officer in one of Her Majesty’s Prisons. It was tough on the feet and exacting on the nerves. It took a special man, or woman, to be able to suffer the verbal abuse every officer had to contend with every day. Not all of the lads were bad, of course, but many were foul mouthed, full of their own self-importance and carried a chip on their shoulders. A chip they blamed on the police and the prison officers, as though those bodies were responsible for their incarceration. When, of course, all the lads were in Reading prison because they’d committed a crime, which they had to take responsibility for and suffer the consequences of.

  ‘Titas Arendall arrives with us today,’ the Chief said.

  ‘Oh joy,’ quipped someone, raising many smiles and even more raised eyebrows.

  ‘I see some of you know of him and his reputation,’ continued the Chief. ‘Contrary to popular belief, or urban legend, Arendall is officially a young man with multiple health problems, both mental and physical. He’s being transferred to us in the hope that our facilities will be a better fit for him.’

  ‘What facilities are those then, Chief?’

  Chief Robinson glared around at his officers, but couldn’t ascertain who had spoken.

  ‘Our hospital, mental health team, inmate welfare team and education,’ he responded, his clipped tone implying his displeasure at the sarcastic remark from one

  of his men. ‘So, as I was saying, the team who are receiving the prisoner have already been picked and briefed. He’ll be taken directly to the hospital, where he’ll undergo a medical admission assessment and then be interviewed by the Assistant Governor responsible for Inmate Welfare, Miss Harrison.’

  ‘So why are you telling us this, Chief?’ a voice called.

  ‘Because I need everyone to be alert to a possible threat this morning. Should Arendall kick off at any point today, the riot officers will be called. So those on call today need to be aware of that. And those that aren’t, need to be aware that they could suddenly find their ranks severely depleted on the wings.’

  ‘What’s he like then, Chief?’ a young officer on the front row asked. ‘Is he as bad as his reputation implies?’ the waiver in the young man’s voice giving away his fear.

  Chief Robinson decided to tell it as it was. ‘He’s 6’4, a well-muscled body builder, and has been sentenced to 10 years for manslaughter. He’s angry with the world, the police and the prison system. He hates everyone, no matter who they are, including his legal team and his family. He’s a drug addict and has personality and bi-polar disorders.’

  ‘He’s going to be a handful then,’ the young officer said, showing his mastery of the art of understatement.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ agreed the Chief. ‘Right,’ he said, looking at his watch, ‘It’s time we were on the wings. Dismissed.’

  As his officers filed out, Chief Robinson closed his eyes for a moment. He had endured many challenges since joining the Prison Service from the British Army. But he had a feeling that today was shaping up to be the toughest yet.

  Chapter 4

  Standing outside the education block, Aiden saw that not everyone seemed as happy to be there as he was, as eager to get through the door and start working on their masterpieces. Most had their heads down, as though the floor offered something fasc
inating to focus on, their feet jiggling to some rhythm only they could hear, or kicking at the floor. Some seemed to be suffering drug or alcohol related withdrawal symptoms; scratching at itching arms, sweating although the hallway was cool, and occasionally shuddering. Others had that faraway, dilated pupil look. They were the lucky ones who’d managed a hit or two before having to report for education.

  The ragged lines of lads were dressed more or less alike. Grey sweats with white tee-shirts, or at least they were once white, most showing their age and tiredness, pretty much like the lads who were wearing them. One lad stood out, though. Memphis Colby, the last in the line. He wore a brilliant white tee-shirt that matched his teeth, which were set in a hard white face and hairless head. He was occupying himself by tensing and then relaxing his muscles, showing off to his coterie of adoring fans.

  As the shrill bell sounded, followed by the opening of the doors, Aiden was pushed out of the way by the boys surrounding Memphis, ensuring that their hero had a clear walk through the large open plan area to the art room at the end of the block. Mumbling under his breath, riling against the stupidity of some of his fellow inmates, Aiden followed in their wake.

  After they’d all piled into the classroom and found their work and the supplies they needed, the teacher, Jack Walker, took a few minutes to address the class. The boys were ranged around the room; most stood in front of their paintings and sculptures, some mixing paints to the required shade, others starting to work stiff and unwieldy clay. He reminded them of the style of work that they were using as a basis of their art; cubism and surrealism. He stressed that they weren’t there to make direct copies of the sculptures or paintings on display by the major artists of that style, but to use them in their own interpretations.