Flash Gordon smiled. ‘Thank you, Captain.’
‘You’re very welcome, Flash.’
Haltingly the conversation on the merits of betting to win as opposed to betting each way was resumed. I had to prepare some stuff for my class, so I had to leave soon after.
‘Excuse me please, gentlemen,’ I said and the people at the table responded as they normally did to me leaving. At least some things were still normal. As I left the dining room I could feel over a hundred pairs of eyes watching me or was I becoming paranoid?
On the landing outside of my cell was Tom. Tom was a finder. He could find anything that you wanted. He traded in everything except drugs and he would have traded in them except it was, as he described it, ‘heavy shit’.
‘Morning, Captain, I just wondered if you needed anything.’ He’d never approached me before but I knew that Harry had dealings with him.
‘I don’t think so, Tom.’
‘I’ve left you a few items as a token of goodwill.’
‘Thank you, Tom. Can you get me some information?’
‘Information can get heavy, Captain. It depends what it is.’
‘I just wondered what visitors Jase had before he was topped and what visitors Mr Wharton had.’
‘I reckon I might be able to do that. Would be a pleasure. I liked Jase.’
‘What will that cost me?’
‘You’re a very special customer, Captain. I’m sure you’ll reward me when I’m in need.’
Leadership is a very funny thing, as is respect. Leaders in prison were the same as leaders elsewhere. They were just people who had followers and like elsewhere, they were only real leaders if the people wanted to follow them. Respect in here could be odd and was different from outside. I’m unsure what it was for any one person to respect another but I clearly had the respect of many convicts in here. Perhaps being a killer and getting away with it was a core. It was also clear that Harry had emerged as the leader of The Brothers. Their leadership had been fragmented, although the factions were cooperative towards each other. Now the factions seemed to be coalescing under Harry. I expect that would be seen as a threat by some in here. Black power was bound to be seen as a threat. There were still three groups: the Afro-Caribbeans, the Africans and the Asians (mainly Indians and Pakistanis; they were two subgroups. The difference was religion, so the Pakistani group was Muslim and had some other Middle Eastern individuals in it).
A power struggle was emerging and, unlike the political scene, the contestants hadn’t generated it; it was coming from the prisoners and it was pitching Mr Wharton and Tug Wilson against Harry and me. We hadn’t chosen this confrontation; it had just happened and I think the catalyst had been me killing Ratty, underpinned by the incident with Tug Wilson in the dining room.
24
I wandered down to the classroom. I suppose I just wanted to clear my head and be alone and I knew that the classroom would be empty on a Saturday, but it wasn’t. Maniac was sitting in it. I’d never been alone with Maniac before.
‘Hello, Maniac. What can I do for you?’
‘My name is Joe, Captain, Joe Nokes.’ The alter self, that was an advantage as Joe was far more in control. As he answered I mused on the fact that prisons must be super study grounds for academics: all these people with something strange about them all under one roof and nowhere to go. That was not quite true; they probably had somewhere to go, they were just not allowed to go there.
‘Okay, Joe, what can I do for you?’
‘You have this great thing of being all about the other person, Captain.’
‘Thank you, Joe, and?’
‘And you helped Arthur and I want you to help me.’
‘Explain please, Joe.’
‘Well, he had some sort of hang up and you unhooked him.’
I had to smile. It was a neat visual description.’
‘So tell me, Joe.’
‘I bumped some people off, women, and thought that if I tried the mentally incompetent bit I might get a light sentence in a mental institution.’
‘I thought you killed two women and a small boy.’
‘No, I now think the woman I killed had killed Mary and little Pauley; I just killed the murdering bitch. Yes, I thought I’d try the spilt personality thing but, well, it didn’t work. Got fifteen years so I thought I’d keep it up and they would transfer me. Still, it did have a payoff; nobody has ever tried any of the sex stuff on me or any other stuff. They try to stay away from me.’
‘So, what do you want from me then, Joe?’
‘Well you helped Arthur, so I wondered what you might do for me.’
‘If you are sane, Joe, and not suffering from multiple personality syndrome why not just behave normally?’
‘If I do, won’t they smell a rat and bang me up for longer?’
‘No, Joe, you’re in here for a crime, a crime you have been found guilty of. They can’t retry you but you may have grounds for appeal.’
‘Appeal?’
‘Yes appeal, it depends on the reason you committed the murder of the one you did kill.’
‘I didn’t have a choice.’
‘Explain.’
‘I walked in and Pauley and his mum were dead, stabbed, the woman went for me and I took the knife off her and killed her.’
‘So it was a struggle for the weapon and you killed this woman in the struggle.’
‘Yes, well, I suppose so.’
‘You suppose so?’
‘Well, I think I killed her. There wasn’t anybody else there or I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so? Is this what you told the police?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know. Let me take you back. There are two women and a child dead, stabbed. You are covered in blood. What happened next?’
‘I don’t know?’
‘Do you remember stabbing the woman?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Well, it was like I said. Pauley and his mum were dead, stabbed, the woman went for me and I took the knife off her and killed her.’
‘You took the knife off her. Were you injured?’
‘Yes. My hands and arms were cut and my face. See?’
He had a scar that ran from above his temple, jumped his eye and started again on his cheekbone.
‘Let’s go back again. Where were you?’
‘At Mary Collins’s house. We’d been going out and she found out that I had, well, done a couple of jobs and she broke up with me so I wanted to explain and, well, you know… I remember her answering the door. She was all upset and she left me there and told me to stay there so I did. I remember going into the kitchen and she and my kid were dead; there was blood everywhere and this woman had a knife and I stabbed her.’
I registered ‘my kid’ but just stored it.
‘How?’
‘The police said I stabbed her fourteen times.’
‘What do you say?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘If you were to remember what would you remember?’
‘That I stabbed her and she hit me with something and she kept hitting me and I kept stabbing and she stopped hitting me and I kept on stabbing her.’
‘Were you injured?’
‘Yes my left arm was broken and my left collar bone.’
‘What did she hit you with?’
‘I think it was an iron.’
‘Were you treated for those injuries?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘In the A and E of a hospital.’
‘Where?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you stay in the hospital?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You were questioned by the police?’
‘Yes.’
‘When was that?’
‘I don’t know?’
‘Did you have a solicitor?’
‘I think so.’
&nb
sp; ‘But you’re not sure?’
‘Look, it’s all a blur. The police told me what happened and so I tried the nutty trick.’
‘Did you kill Mary Collins and Pauley?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so, but the police said I did. I must have done but then sometimes I think this woman did it.’
‘What was the woman’s name?’
‘Mable Nokes. She was my wife. Well, we were divorced.’
‘Let me get this right. There is some confusion in what you tell me. You went to Mary Collins’s house. She told you to wait at the door. You went into the kitchen and Mary Collins and Pauley were dead. Mable Nokes attacked you with a knife that you took from her and you stabbed her with it and she attacked you with an iron. You had defensive knife wounds, a broken arm and collarbone. Is that correct?’
‘I think so.’
‘At the time you were arrested were you clear what had happened?’
‘Well, not really. At the trial I was clear but since then I keep remembering things and I don’t know if they’re real or not.’
‘Do you remember killing little Pauley?’
‘No, not really?’
‘Did you or didn’t you kill him?’
Joe started to cry. He was sobbing. I let him settle.
‘Tell me, Joe.’
‘He was my boy. I wouldn’t kill him, but the police said I did.’ That cleared up the question I had stored.
‘Did the police know he was your son?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So you didn’t tell them?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you see a psychiatrist before the trial?’
‘Yes. He said I was fit to plead but he said some other things like I was sick in some way.’
‘What way?’
‘I think he said I suffered from dissociative identity disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder.’
‘Joe, do you know what those things are?’
‘I think so. I am me and I lose time and I know I have done things, but I don’t know what those things are. I’ve never been a soldier.’
‘Does it matter that you haven’t been a soldier?’
‘Well it’s soldiers that get that post-traumatic stress disorder.’
‘I see. Before you killed and were arrested what did you do for a living, Joe?’
‘I was a gardener and tree surgeon, worked for a company called Garden Care.’
‘Did you lose time then?’
‘I think so, Captain.’
‘I’m confused again. You have just said that you think you lost time before the killing, then when it came to the trial you said you tried the mentally incompetent bit.’
‘Yes, it’s like I’ve always lost time but it didn’t matter so if I told them it might help me.’
‘When did it start?’
‘I don’t know really. I must have been small.’
‘Did anything happen to you when you were small?’
‘Well, my mum died and I went into the home.’
‘Do you know when you are going to lose time?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Do you try to stop it?’
‘Yes, it’s all sort of confused.’
‘Have you seen the psychiatrist recently?’
‘I don’t know. I think so.’
‘Why did you come to see me, Joe?’
‘To get help, Captain.’
‘Help to do what?’
‘I don’t know really. Just to get better I suppose.’
‘Joe, only a psychiatrist can get you better. I can’t.’
He was looking at me and he seemed confused.
‘If you get better you may find out you did kill your son. What do you think about that?’
‘I don’t know, Captain.’ He sat looking at me then he said, ‘I suppose it would be better than wondering. I know sometimes I’m crackers, Captain.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, I’m always me but then I want to be Maniac, so I am.’
‘Okay, just try to be the real you and I suppose I’m talking to him now. I will talk to somebody who knows about the legal stuff and we’ll see what she says.’
That evening, I phoned Sarah and outlined the issue as I saw it. Basically, here was a suspect, probably a guilty suspect, who was in no condition to be interviewed and in a suggestible condition, probably post-traumatic stress syndrome or a similar condition. The result was that they put together a case and he’s in the can for what amounts to life. The present result was mental illness.
Her response was, ‘Okay, what are you suggesting, Jake?’
‘You talk to him and see if you get the same feeling as me. Go over the stuff done by the police, his solicitor and the CPS.’
‘If it’s dodgy, what do you suggest, Jake?’
‘Have him treated by EMDR or some similar therapy.’
‘What is that, Jake?’
‘Eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing. It can help remove the blockages to his memory and he may be able to say what actually happened and why he killed his wife and child.’
‘I’ll get back to you, Jake.’
A week later, I got a phone call. Sarah was taking this on and she had fixed a project with her old university as a case study for some module or for some qualification.
The next week Joe, Sarah and I were in an interview room with the psychiatrist Professor Roland Quinby and the prison doctor. Sarah had been through the CPS notes with Andrew Miles, a QC who worked for Sir Nicolas. Joe had seen a psychiatrist from the NHS and the prison service. They agreed that there was some form of memory repression. Roland Quinby explained the process that Joe would go through. He talked it through and they discussed what they would attempt to achieve and the main symptoms that were apparent, such as the lack of memory of the event of the murders, and also some previous loss of memory. He also talked about the discussions that he and Joe had about things he knew to be true and he felt safe with. Then he explained that EMDR stood for eye movement desensitization and reprocessing, and is a psychotherapy that alleviates the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder and is used for individuals who have experienced severe trauma that remains unresolved. The idea is that it overwhelms the normal cognitive and neurological coping mechanisms. It is these coping mechanisms that block the memories. Joe would be asked to follow a light that moved backwards and forwards from left to right and talk about negative ideas he has and then make positive self-statements that are preferable to negative thoughts. This took some explaining as Joe didn’t understand some of the ideas, but he got the picture that he would remember things and some of them would be disturbing and he would become emotionally upset as he recognised what he had done, but within that he would recognise the positive actions that he took and the reasons he did what he did. It was also pointed out to him that this may not lead to anything that may help his present situation and it could take months.
Joe sat and thought about all the stuff he had been given. He looked at me and said, ‘What would you do, Captain?’
‘Not my decision, Joe. You have to decide.’
‘Yes, I know, but if you were me, what would you do?’
‘Me, I suppose it may not make any difference or it may make some difference. Either way, you’ll know more about what happened. The question is: do you want to know?’
‘I could do all this, go through a lot of angst and still be in here?’
‘Yes, Joe, you could.’
‘But I would know more about me?’
‘Perhaps, Joe, and if you do you will have to live with that.’
‘I know you would do it, Captain.’ He sat looking at me. I think he was trying to read my mind. ‘Oh fuck it! I’ve got fuck all else to do.’
‘I take that as a yes,’ said Sarah.
‘What about the multiple personality thing, Professor?’ I asked.
‘That may be related but would be much more deep-seated. It may be that the str
ess suffered at the time of his son’s death we can tackle but the childhood trauma may be something we can only treat.’
That was me out of the loop and what would happen I really had no idea.
25
I was teaching when Boy Pritchard stuck his head round the door of my classroom.
‘Can I have a word, Captain?’ Boy was a very pretty homosexual who sold oral sex.
‘Hey hey, Captain! We didn’t know you were into that!’ said one of my class members.
‘Silence or I’ll sit you in the corner on the naughty stool wearing a pointy hat. Now finish the exercise,’ I told them and left the room.
‘Captain,’ Boy began, his voice quivering, ‘they’re going to rape you today to take you down.’
‘Tell me more, Boy.’
‘I don’t know but, well, they’ll do you in the showers.’
‘Who are they?’
‘Mr Wharton and Tug Wilson. Mr Wharton will do you first and then Tug Wilson. It’s horrible.’
I didn’t ask how he knew, but the message was interesting. He said ‘Tug Wilson’; normally only first names were used here in conversation. I didn’t know what it meant but it was different.
‘Will you go and tell Sergeant, please?’
‘Okay, Captain.’
It’s amazing how power and respect grows. I’m sure that two weeks ago Boy would never have told me, let alone run a message for me.
Ten minutes later, Harry slipped into the room and sat at the back. You could feel a change in the room.
‘Are you in trouble, Captain?’
‘I don’t know, Arty, but I could be.’ He looked around the room. There was no oral communication but a series of nods.
Maniac spoke. ‘If it comes to trouble, Captain, we’re with you.’ His voice was as it normally was but sane with purpose. Were the psychiatrists right and he really was sane?
‘Thank you, fellas. If I need help Sergeant will enrol you.’
‘I can spell that,’ said George. ‘E-N-R-O-L – enrol.’
‘Thank you, George.’
George wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. He was big and soft like a teddy bear and usually missed what was going on around him, but he was a trier. He’d avoided being used as a bitch for some of the experienced prisoners because somebody with a conscience and some muscle would always step in and protect him. He should never have been in prison; he needed care and guidance not confinement. He’d been tortured and goaded for months. Then one day he’d exploded and killed four younger boys who were bullying him. He went into hiding or rather somebody hid him but he was seen and he was frightened and killed two women and a policeman. In fact, he was as gentle as a lamb but he was just scared by threat, and threat made him violent. I’m sure with appropriate psychiatric treatment he would recover and be okay in some form of sheltered accommodation. I’d once heard a recording of a woman who I think was named Joyce Grenfell. I found myself doing her thing with him: ‘George, don’t do that’. George used to smile, a shy smile, and stop doing whatever it was, usually with his hand in his pocket.
Staying Alive Page 14
