Goodnight Lady

by Martina Cole

  Limmington had taken the statements made by Heidi Thompkins to the Home Secretary himself. He wanted this done properly, without any mistakes whatsoever. The Home Secretary gave him the go ahead to arrest Briony Cavanagh and Thomas Lane for two murders. Heidi Thompkins was going to swear in a court of law that she was at the house where Bolger died and that she saw Briony Cavanagh and Thomas Lane put the gun to his head. She was going to swear also that she had been present when they had discussed the murder of Ronald Olds, how Tommy Lane had ripped his belly open with a double-bladed boning knife. As long as he kept her away from the Cavanaghs, off the drink, and promised her a good few pounds, she was as sweet as a nut.

  Limmington stood now, in full view of the photographers and reporters, outside Bernadette Dowling’s house, the warrant for their arrest clutched firmly in his hand.

  Cissy, with eyes red and swollen from crying, let him in. He walked into the drawing room with two officers, and was amazed by the number of people he saw.

  Briony stood up and greeted him with a nod. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Limmington?’

  He was struck by the sadness in her husky voice. In the wake of her nephew’s death she seemed to have aged considerably, and looking at her, so tiny, so diminished in her grief, he felt a moment’s shame at what he was about to do.

  Willy Bolger had been nothing but a dealer in porn and child prostitution, not exactly a pillar of the community. But Limmington’s deep-rooted desire to take this women off the streets overrode the moment of compunction.

  ‘Miss Briony Cavanagh and Mr Thomas Lane, I have a warrant here for your arrests...’

  Briony’s eyes widened. She heard Tommy’s voice as if from a distance.

  ‘What the bleeding hell are you arresting us for?’

  ‘For the murders of William Bolger and Ronald Olds.’

  Tommy laughed outright. ‘Fuck me, couldn’t you go back no further? Why don’t you chuck in the murder of Abel and all while you’re about it!’

  Limmington smiled. ‘If you’d both like to accompany me to the station?’

  Tommy shot out his arm and grabbed him.

  Two DCs grabbed him in his turn, expertly forcing his arms behind his back.

  Briony sighed.

  ‘Come on, Tommy, we’ll be home before the day’s over: She looked at Limmington with hooded eyes.

  ‘I’ve never heard so much old bollocks in all my life. You’re living in a fantasy world, Mr Limmington, and you’ll find out soon enough what happens to people who annoy me. I’ll sue you and the police force for every last halfpenny you possess. I hope for your sake you’re ready to take us on, because I can tell you now, we’ll have cast-iron alibis.’

  Limmington watched her warily as she went out to the hallway for her coat.

  ‘I have everything I need, Miss Cavanagh.’

  Briony faced him and smiled.

  ‘Shall I tell you something, Mr Limmington? A lot of people have tried to get one over on me, an awful lot. But I’m still here.’

  Limmington smiled back.

  ‘Yes, but for how much longer?’

  Before Briony could answer, Molly was shouting her head off.

  ‘You fuckers of hell! You dirty bastards! My grandson’s not cold and you’re haunting the rest of me family.’

  Bernadette took her mother in her arms and gave her a kiss.

  ‘We’ll be home before you can say knife!’

  Limmington watched the scene and said in a low voice: ‘Would that be double-bladed boning knife by any chance?’

  James McQuiddan was supposed to be the best as far as barristers went. Or so Briony had been told. She sat in chambers with Tommy as the man argued their case for bail.

  McQuiddan was enormous. Even the man’s hands were huge, and he had an undeniably menacing presence.

  The Judge, Mr Justice Melrose Deakins, listened to McQuiddan’s lightly accented Scottish voice attentively.

  ‘Your Honour, we have here two people of the highest repute. And yet today they stand accused of two murders committed over forty years ago.

  ‘One of the so-called murder victims is in fact on public record as having committed suicide. How can you not grant these two people bail? Briony Cavanagh is an esteemed member of her community, she has been an active charity fundraiser, a businesswoman widely respected. Thomas Lane is similarly regarded. Neither has ever been in trouble with the police. How my learned friend here can oppose bail...’

  ‘Mr McQuiddan, I have listened to you with interest, and all I can say to you is, Miss Cavanagh and Mr Lane, pillars of the community, fundraising charity workers and otherwise exemplary citizens notwithstanding, are here charged with murder, not traffic offences. Murder is a heinous crime, and not one to be taken lightly. In view of the gravity of the charges, I have no alternative but to refuse them bail.’

  Briony’s face dropped, and Tommy closed his eyes tightly.

  McQuiddan shook his head dramatically and stood up once more, his black robes billowing around him.

  ‘Your Honour, I really must protest...’

  Mr Justice Deakins held up one scrawny hand for silence. ‘I think we have heard quite enough protesting from you for one day, Mr McQuiddan.’

  Outside, when the news was broken, DI Limmington smiled and chalked the first round up to himself.

  Briony walked into Holloway Prison in a daze. She had been so sure she was going to get bail, the decision of the judge had shocked her to the core. As she sat in the prison van between two policewomen she felt a plummeting inside herself. The bang of the steel doors behind her as she entered through the side door of the prison reverberated in her head.

  The elder of the policewomen helped her down from the van. ‘Come on, love.’

  Briony smiled woodenly. She would not show them that she was frightened. If they put her away for a long time ...

  She swallowed down the terror and walked unsteadily through to the prisoners’ reception. This room was dark, a window letting in the minimum of light due to its reinforced glass. She felt a pair of arms divest her roughly of her fur coat. Without it and her handbag she felt suddenly very vulnerable. This couldn’t be happening to her. This was all some kind of mistake.

  A woman called Marilyn, a prison officer for twenty years, grinned at her nastily.

  ‘Come on, darlin’, let’s get you stripped, washed, suited and booted. Then we’ll escort you to your cell. You’re sharing with two bitches who should suit you right down to the ground.’

  Briony drew herself up to her full height, five foot, and said coldly: ‘Let’s get something straight here, shall we? I am not your darling. In fact, the thought of it makes me feel physically sick. You may be big and you may be ugly, but it’ll take more than that to put the frighteners on me.’

  Marilyn looked down at the tiny old woman - and she was old, there was no mistaking that - and felt a great rage.

  ‘No one talks to me like that!’

  Briony, her old self back to the fore now the shock had worn off, said scathingly. ‘Up yours, darlin’. I’ve dealt with bullies all my life, one more won’t make much difference. Now then.’ She looked at the assembled screws. ‘Let’s get this over with, shall we? Where do I shower?’

  A younger officer called Tracy took her arm.

  ‘I’ll take you through to the showers just as soon as we’ve signed you in.’

  Marilyn catalogued Briony’s possessions in silence, the diamond rings and necklace patently annoying her. As Briony walked away with Tracy in tow she said to the other girl: ‘That one needs knocking down a peg.’

  ‘And you’re the woman to do it, I suppose?’

  Marilyn stared at the girl and nodded, a twisted smile on her face.

  Briony had showered, been disinfected, and was now dressed in a skirt and blouse, her wet hair plastered to her head. Devoid of make-up she still looked good, which surprised Tracy. As she was walked across the landing to A wing, Briony took in everything around her. She was put in
a cell on the top landing, and as the door opened a stench of stale cigarette smoke and urine hit her full in the face. She hesitated a few seconds at the door. Tracy, feeling the woman’s discomfort, pushed her gently over the threshold.

  ‘In you go, love. We eat tea at five-thirty, you’ll be out for that.’

  Briony stood in the cell as the door banged behind her and, taking a deep breath, stared at the two faces before her.

  A tall black girl, no more than nineteen, stood up and held out her hand.

  ‘Hello, love. My name’s Letitia and this here is Marla.’ Marla was small, plump and blonde, in her forties.

  ‘Sit down, we’ve been expecting you. Would you like a roll?’

  Letitia’s face was open and friendly. Briony nodded and sitting on the bottom bunk, accepted a thin rolled cigarette.

  ‘Tracy will bring you round a cuppa in a minute. Everything’s been taken care of, Belinda has seen to that. You’ll see her at teatime. It’s only a sandwich but force it down, you won’t get nothing else ’til the morning.’

  Briony allowed Maria to light her cigarette and tried desperately to relax.

  The walls of the cell were too close, the place stank, and nice as the two women were being to her, Briony would rather be anywhere in the world than here, in a small cell in Holloway prison.

  Marla smiled, sensing her thoughts.

  ‘Listen, love, it’s a shock the first time. I know that from experience. But I’ll give you a bit of advice. When you walk out of this cell, walk like you own the fucking place. You’re a name, a big name. Your reputation’s preceded you. There’s plenty of little tarts in here who’d love to be the one to do you up. Get my drift?’

  Briony took a deep pull on the match-thin roll-up.

  ‘I know what you’re saying, Maria, and don’t worry about me. I can more than take care of myself.’

  Something in the little woman’s demeanour, her tone of voice, even the way she held her head, told both women she was speaking the truth.

  Marla grinned.

  ‘Get the feel of the place. It stinks, it’s full of arseholes, but you get quite attached to it, as hard as that may be to believe. I’m waiting to go off to an open. Cookham Wood will do me lovely!’

  Briony relaxed. ‘What you in for?’

  ‘Clipping. Prostitution and fraud. Me usual. Now our Letitia here is in for the big M like yourself, so you two should get on well!’

  Letitia laughed.

  ‘I’m on remand, there ain’t no one proved I done it yet!’

  Briony smiled. These two women, whom she would normally have avoided like the plague, had made her welcome in their own way and she was inordinately grateful.

  ‘Who are you accused of topping?’

  Letitia grinned.

  ‘My pimp. His name was Delroy Lafayette, believe it or not.’

  Briony took another drag on her cigarette. ‘With a name like that, he deserved to be murdered!’

  Letitia and Marla screamed with laughter.

  ‘You’ll fit in here lovely, Miss Cavanagh. Just lovely.’

  Briony laughed, her old self.

  Tracy, outside on the landing bringing them three cups of tea, heard the sound with approval. Briony Cavanagh was settling in. If she could laugh she could do her time, whatever it was going to be. Marian Jurgens had slipped her a quick grand through a mutual friend to see that Briony had whatever she wanted while she was a guest, and Tracy had every intention of seeing that she carried out her part of the bargain to the last letter. Putting a packet of Strands on to the tray with the tea, she entered the cell.

  Belinda, or Big Belinda as she was called, watched out for the new arrival as they were let out of their cells at teatime. She stood leaning nonchalantly on the top landing, her keen eyes scanning the faces around her. She saw a mass of red hair between Letitia and Marla and walked towards them slowly. Belinda was in for aggravated burglary. She was big and fat, and had the most beautiful face Briony had ever seen on a woman.

  As Belinda pushed her way through to Briony, people moved instinctively out of her way.

  She smiled and held out a soft pudgy hand. ‘Belinda Crane, pleased to meet you.’

  Briony shook the proffered hand and grinned.

  The four women walked down to the canteen together, Briony aware of the glances she was gathering from the other inmates. As they entered the canteen she saw a girl being dragged from the queue by her hair, then her face was slammed into the side of one of the wooden tables. No one took any notice. The prison officers in the room looked the other way.

  Belinda smiled and said. ‘That’s Mary Molinero, she’s in for drowning her baby.’

  Briony watched as the girl crawled to a chair and pulled herself on to it, her face bleeding and her sobs audible.

  ‘She gets fucking tortured over it. She held its face in boiling water. Can you understand people like that?’

  Briony shook her head.

  Belinda carried on talking as if the scene had never happened.

  ‘Mariah Jurgens has seen to it that you got a good reception committee, and I’m part and parcel of it. I run this wing. If you want to take on any of the action, just say and I’ll cut you in immediately. But you’re only on remand at the moment and you might get a court date any time, so I’d wait ’til you’re sentenced before going in for the big scams. There ain’t no one gonna say a dicky bird to you, your reputation’s guaranteed that, plus I’ve put the word out. There’s some right fucking nutters in here, cut their own granny up for the price of a packet of fags! So watch your back all the same, we all have to do that.’

  Briony took a mug of tea and a plate of spam sandwiches to a back table. From there they had a grand view of the whole canteen. The noise was deafening. Briony drank in everything around her, and now the enormity of what had happened had begun to wear off, she realised she had to assert herself.

  ‘Belinda, let me eat me sandwich. I want to think, all right?’

  Belinda nodded, looking askance at the two other women at the table. Briony bit into the dry as dust sandwich and made a face. What Belinda had said had worried her. ‘Wait until you’re sentenced.’ It was as if everyone had already found her guilty.. She took a sip of the hot sweet tea and that made her feel better. It was the stewed tea of her childhood. A, reminder of home. She felt a lump rise in her throat as she thought of what she had come to. Hastily swallowing it down she said: ‘Who is Mariah working through? That Tracy the screw?’

  Belinda nodded.

  ‘Then tell her I want a message out of here today. I want to see my brief, and quick.’

  Belinda nodded once more. The sheer force of the little woman’s attitude and her commanding presence hit home.

  Gradually conversation started up between them and they chatted amicably until the bell rang for them to go back to their cells. It was as they walked up the stairs to their landing that the trouble started. Marilyn, the most hated screw in Holloway, stood arms akimbo in front of Briony. The buzz of conversation on the landing died out in seconds. Blank faces were swiftly averted. Briony felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as she looked into the hard face before her. Other screws were standing with the inmates, waiting to see the result of this confrontation.

  ‘I don’t like you, lady.’ Marilyn’s voice dripped venom.

  Briony raised her head slightly to look her in the face.

  ‘You got the “lady” right, anyway. Now get out of my way.’

  Even Belinda moved back as Marilyn’s arm came up. Briony grabbed at her uniform front and, jerking it as hard as she could, swung her body and turned, sending Marilyn careering down the iron stairs. Briony walked down after her slowly. Then, kneeling on the floor, she said in a whisper: ‘I don’t like you, fat girl, I don’t like you at all. You push me too far and I’ll see you dead. That’s a promise.’

  Standing up, she tidied her hair and walked sedately back up the stairs and on to the landing. The buzz of conversation started up a
gain as soon as she was safely inside her cell.

  The prison was as quiet as it was ever going to be. The hollow sounds of people coughing, and others moaning in their sleep, could still be heard.

  Briony lay in her bunk, her face white and strained. She had to get out of here, she had to get away!

  Today had been, a nightmare. There was so much contained violence around her. And yet she was in here as Miss Briony Cavanagh, aunt of the twins, lover of Tommy Lane. She had her creds. Even her sister being a famous singer was thrilling to the average inmate, and her notoriety thanks to the papers had guaranteed her a place in the prison hierarchy that would be her protection. But Briony wanted none of it. She wanted to be at home in her bed, with Tommy beside her.

  Before she slept, she saw Benedict’s face. He would have heard everything by now. It would go out on the evening news. What would he be thinking?

  Please God, she prayed, please dear God in heaven, help me.

  Tommy awoke to the sound of shouting. He rubbed his eyes wearily, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Shut up!’ His cell mate Timmy Carlton punched his pillow in temper. ‘I can’t stand that bleeding racket any longer, first thing in the morning I’m going to drown that ponce in his own slop bucket!’

  Tommy laughed softly.

  ‘He’s only a kid, Timmy. He’s scared.’

  ‘He’ll be scared in the morning. I’ll give him something to shout about mate!’

  ‘Oh, stop being such an arsehole and give me a fag.’

  Timmy took a tin from under his pillow and gave Tommy a roll-up.

  Tommy lit it in the dark, saying, ‘Can’t you get these any thinner? It’s like smoking a match!’

  ‘Smoke it will ya! Gordon Bennett, Tommy, a fag’s a fag. If you hadn’t given all your Strands to that little ponce shouting his head off we’d be quids in!’

  Tommy grinned.

  ‘Timmy and Tommy, we sound like a bloody double act.’