Locked Up

by GB Williams

  ‘She was given too much morphine. Some damn fool got the dosage wrong.’

  ‘Christ, that could have killed her.’ Charlie slumped back in his seat. ‘Medical negligence?’ Something about the way Piper wouldn’t quite meet his eye told him not. ‘Piper?’ He sat back up again. ‘What really happened?’

  ‘A double dose. Thankfully, the nurse who had given the first injection thought she saw an agency nurse come from Teddington’s room, and caught the error before it did too much damage.’

  Charlie pushed his hair back with one hand. ‘Jesus. I wish there was something I could do.’

  ‘Right now, all any of us can do is hope and pray. And concentrate on something else.’

  ‘Are you sure it was just a mistake?’

  Piper frowned at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  He tried to find the words, but there was nothing concrete. ‘I don’t know. Just with everything else that’s going on … what if it wasn’t a mistake, but an attack?’

  Piper sat a little straighter, his brows down, his lips straight, as he considered the possibility. ‘I think you’re being paranoid.’ He raised a hand to cut off Charlie’s objection. ‘Think about it. Why would anyone attack her? Where’s the motive? Now … about Thomas Walters – Tommy. I believe you were asking questions about him. What answers did you get?’

  ‘Bugger all, Guv,’ Charlie slipped into old habits. ‘Something’s going on, but since getting back I’ve pretty much been locked in my cell, no contact with the others.’

  ‘Surely you can mix at meal times?’

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ he watched Piper watching him.

  ‘I came to tell you the investigation didn’t reveal any evidence you had anything to do with the shooting, but we’re drawing a blank on other avenues. Now, about your parole.’

  ‘What parole?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Now, Charlie was confused. ‘What?’

  ‘A hearing has been scheduled, but I’m going to apply to have it held back. This shouldn’t go against you in future hearings, but I’m delaying it. I want you in here, and asking questions.’

  When Turner escorted Charlie back to the wing, he didn’t escort him to his cell. Instead, Charlie paced through the eerily quiet hall to the shop. He brought fruit, a paper, a drink, and turned back. Cell doors were open, a couple of lags stood in doorways, watching him, but they shifted away when he caught their eyes.

  The gardening detail was returning, dirty as usual, but they headed straight for the showers. Their silence was unnerving. Winehouse acknowledged him only with the smallest of nods, before heading directly for the shower block.

  Charlie moved across the floor. He would see what Keen had to say, but Keen was heading away from the shower block. Winehouse and Keen acknowledged their passing in silence, and their respective groups moved passively, no exchange of looks, let alone insults. Charlie frowned – this wasn’t normal.

  His timing, however, was perfect; it put him precisely by Keen, as they ascended the staircase.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Charlie asked under his breath.

  ‘Truce.’

  ‘What brought that on?’

  Keen fixed a hard look on Charlie; for the first time, he saw the darkness under the older man’s left orbital. The remains of a black eye. What happened to Runt? He hadn’t seen Hightower around, and Keen went nowhere without his bodyguard. How had that happened?

  ‘Winehouse?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘Then, why not work with him?’

  ‘Too late,’ Keen offered under his breath. ‘Watch your back. Leo catches up with all of us, eventually.’

  Charlie sat in his room, tapping his foot. Stir crazy. That was it. Attempts to reintegrate were stymied by increasingly long hours of being locked in his cell. There was only so much a man could read. He got on the bunk and lay back. Closing his eyes, he thought of Teddington, the way she’d felt in his arms, sleeping against him. Images swamped him of her alone and vulnerable in a hospital bed, a machine doing her breathing.

  Every part of him screamed for news of her. But how could he ask? Strip away the delusion of intimacy, the Stockholm Syndrome, and they were jailer and prisoner. It wasn’t an easy mental adjustment, but one he had to find a way of making.

  No good.

  With a frustrated groan, he rolled off the bed. The door was open, so he stepped out. Again, no one around. This time, he headed to the ground floor. Baker was in his cell.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed wide-eyed, as Charlie walked into the cell.

  ‘I just came to talk,’ he said, as he sat on the lower bunk. ‘Where’s Holden?’ he asked after Baker’s cellmate.

  ‘He’s got some education programme thing.’ Baker’s eyes kept zipping between Charlie and the door. ‘That it? Can you go now?’

  Charlie frowned. ‘What’s going on, Baker?’

  Baker shrugged, the nonchalance was too studied. ‘Nothing. You know what it’s like. People are keeping to themselves, ’cept you, apparently. Everything’s running like clockwork.’

  ‘And we’re all supposed to act like good little cogs and stay in our cells all day and night?’

  ‘Would it kill ya?’ Baker whispered harshly. ‘Of everyone in here, that should suit you best. You already spend most of your time in your cell. Normally, you hardly talk to anyone, even me. Can’t you go back to that?’

  ‘I might not interact much, but I’ve a basic human right to do so, if I want. I miss the background hum of humanity that used to be around. The place feels more like a dungeon than a prison, each of us locked up with our own heads. No release, no reprieve. This isn’t how it’s meant to be.’

  Baker’s eyes were still constantly on the lookout. ‘It is what it is. Go away.’

  This wasn’t getting him anywhere. ‘If you need to tell me anything—’

  ‘I don’t.’

  Charlie stood. At the door, he paused. Across the way, he saw Brett. The man literally just popped his head from around his cell door, his wide eyes fixed on Charlie, his face paled, and he darted back behind the door again.

  ‘And there’s the problem.’

  ‘What?’

  Charlie turned back to Baker. ‘Brett, how’s he been acting lately?’

  ‘Nervous, but when ain’t he?’

  The medication and socialisation had helped with that. ‘Is he eating?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Guess?’

  ‘No more communal eating. Hadn’t you noticed all the tables are gone?’

  He had noticed, but assumed they’d be brought back out for meal times. As he headed back to his cell, Charlie glanced in at Brett. The man was pacing, head down shoulders hunched, muttering to himself.

  Charlie noticed the prison officers were relaxed. If they relaxed too far, they could get complacent. Not immediately, of course, but it would happen.

  For a couple of days, he kept his head down. Just watched and waited, observed.

  ‘Officer Robbins?’ he called the man’s attention, as the officer patrolled the landing.

  The big man stood in the door and glared. ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough attention?’

  Charlie wasn’t about to be beaten down just because a man could overshadow him. ‘This isn’t about me. It’s about Brett.’

  ‘Brett is not your problem.’

  ‘But, he could be yours,’ Charlie said. ‘He’s nervous, acting paranoid, may not be eating. That’s exactly how he was before he had to go on suicide watch last year.’

  Robbins’ eyes were hard; he was considering how to respond. ‘I’ll look in on him.’

  Charlie tried to find out if anything improved, but the days passed without news.

  He continued to request work, checked the rota every day, just in case, but his name never appeared. He asked about the mechanics course, only to be told it was cancelled. He read and re-read the books Teddington had left him, and more from the li
brary. He thought about Piper, and the million and one things he hadn’t said about the delay for parole. How being in here was safer for him. Charlie was at a loss to understand, but he had to trust Piper. That he still did trust Piper remained a surprise to him.

  No matter who he asked, he couldn’t get news of Teddington.

  ‘Bell!’

  Charlie was surprised by the call for correspondence. Never having received a letter while inside, he didn’t know what to expect. Gingerly, he took the envelope and returned to his cell, looking over the letter. It had been opened and vetted, someone else getting to read first what was meant for him. He knew the handwriting.

  Containing himself, he returned to his cell, jumping up to the top bunk to read what she had sent. The handwriting was unusual, the name and address written in italics, while the letter inside was much more upright.

  Mr Bell,

  I hope you’re in good health, my own health is much improved, and the doctors assure me of a full recovery. Thank you for your part in tending to that when I was incapable.

  I really just wanted you to know that I went back to the cemetery and spoke with the vicar after the unfortunate incident. The boys were given a respectful send off, and have been laid to rest in peace. A headstone will be added in due course, though for the moment, the grave will stay unadorned. I think that best, while any notoriety remains.

  After a clear out of my own bookshelves, I came across a number of titles I thought might interest you and have sent them on to the library. They should be waiting for you. The others you can donate to the library once you are done with them. Remember, ladies first.

  Yours sincerely,

  Teddington.

  * * *

  Charlie wasn’t certain what it was about the letter that bothered him so much, the coldness of the tone, or the fact she had cared enough to check on the boys, which was something he hadn’t even thought about. She had a wonderful way of making him feel like a heel, even though she didn’t mean to.

  21

  The drumming of her own fingers was driving Teddington up the wall, as was her mother’s constant fussing.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  Teddington steadied herself as she stood. ‘I’m going to go for a walk.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No,’ Teddington stopped her mother as she moved.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Mum, I’m just going to get some air.’

  ‘You just got out of hospital.’

  ‘Twelve days ago,’ she pointed out. ‘Look, Mum, I’m sorry, but I’m not a baby, and I want some time alone.’ As bad as she felt for dropping her mother, she needed to clear her head. Grabbing her coat and bag, she headed out.

  In town, window shopping was far from riveting. The problem was, she needed something to occupy her mind, as well as her time. Reading wasn’t doing it. Whenever she opened a book, she started thinking about all the times she’d seen Charlie reading in his cell.

  Stop thinking about Charlie! It’s not real.

  At least today her fifteen minutes of fame seemed over. No stranger came rushing up asking her about her ‘ordeal,’ and how terrified she must have been. She’d tried to be polite, but her life wasn’t public property, and she was finding such interest intrusive. Only … her life wasn’t back to normal, like it should be. Still, she could just pop in. Especially since it seemed she was already standing outside the prison.

  She headed in via the staff entrance, went directly to the Governor’s office, and asked Vera if he was available.

  ‘I am.’

  Teddington jumped to see the Guv appear at his office door.

  ‘But, I need to visit the little boys’ room first, do go through.’

  This was rather a turnaround from the last time she’d been in this office and spoken to the man. Eyebrows raised, she turned to Vera in the Guv’s wake. She simply shrugged.

  Teddington stepped into the office. A visitor’s chair was still waiting, but her restlessness turned against that. Instead, she looked around. The room was largely utilitarian, except for the leather executive chair, but on the one wall was a display of certificates. She went over to read them.

  Set before her were the qualifications of Peter Jones, her boss for the last five years, each one in a thin black frame. Certificates from Trent University, another from the University of Kent, one from National Offender Management Service, a diploma in Custodial Care, just to prove he was keeping up to date. Business Management and Psychology … an odd pairing, but – she shrugged – they’d be useful in his current position. There was even a picture of him with the Secretary of State for Justice, a congratulatory moment for the way he had turned around a ‘problemed’ prison. She didn’t remember which prison, so moved up to look.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Teddington,’ he greeted, as he came into the room, closing the door behind him. ‘Ah, I see your admiring the article about my work in Featherstone.’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, Guv.’ As she shifted back to the front of the desk, and he moved behind it, she wasn’t sure admiring was the word.

  ‘He’s been very helpful, you know.’

  Teddington looked up as they were both sitting. ‘Sorry, who?’

  ‘Anthony,’ he indicated the picture, the minister. ‘He’s been helping with my campaign.’

  ‘Campaign?’ Teddington wondered if she was suffering with amnesia suddenly.

  ‘I’m running for election.’

  ‘Oh.’ She felt she should say something better than that. ‘Didn’t know you had political ambitions, sir. Good luck with it.’

  His smile was broad. ‘Thank you.’ Then, he plastered on a more concerned face. ‘Now, how are you?’

  ‘Very well, sir, thank you.’ She couldn’t completely keep the smile from her lips, as she looked at the Play-Doh hair do. Just what a man needed for political photo ops, hair that never moved.

  ‘The shoulder?’

  ‘Sore in the cold, but otherwise fine.’

  ‘Good. Good.’ He nodded like the proverbial dog in the back of a car. He put his hands on the desk, his long fingers woven together, a very earnest look on his face. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’

  Given her career status, she couldn’t afford to mess this up. That was why she had kept him informed of every move regarding Oscar’s funeral arrangements and her subsequent involvement. With a calming breath, she spoke.

  ‘I want to come back to work,’ Teddington said, noting the surprise on the Governor’s face. ‘Not on the wing, I know I’m not ready for that, but I would like to be back in work. There’s a number of systems I need to brush up on, and there’s that training day for the new Prism computer programme next week I’d like to attend.’

  His face closed slightly, considering her words and looking at his hands. ‘That demonstrates an impressive dedication, Mrs Teddington, and God knows we are down on manpower at the moment.’

  She could hear the ‘but’ coming.

  ‘But, I don’t want you coming back before you’re ready.’

  She nodded. ‘I understand, but sitting at home isn’t doing me any favours. As I said, I know I’m not ready to work on the wing, but I’d have thought that this would prove the perfect opportunity for me to undertake some training, and since it’s all arranged, isn’t it better I attend the Prism training now, rather than going to the expense of arranging another session in a few weeks’ time?’ He wasn’t the only one who had a business degree, so she knew he couldn’t reasonably argue.

  He levelled his gaze at her. ‘You’re putting me in a difficult position.’

  His smile was probably meant to be avuncular; Teddington found it creepy.

  ‘I can appreciate the business arguments, and I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. However, I have to consider your health—’ He stopped her objection with a raised hand. ‘I appreciate your eagerness to return, truly I do, but as an employer, I have to be sure I’m not putting you at risk. If yo
u can get a written confirmation that you’re fit to return on light duties, then I’ll allow it. But, I need that letter. Is that acceptable?’

  On a personal level, not really, but she could see the reason from a business standpoint; she just hoped her doctor would agree. ‘That would be great. I’ll speak with my doctor.’

  ‘Erm …’ His hedging stopped her when she moved to stand. ‘Was there anything else you wanted while you’re here?’

  She sat back down, frowning at him. She knew exactly what he was asking, but she had to play dumb. ‘Is there something else you think I should want?’

  His discomfort became more pronounced.

  ‘If you have something to say, sir, just say it,’ she said evenly.

  He opened his mouth, then stopped. Then, tried again. ‘Bell,’ he said. ‘I need to know there isn’t something between the two of you.’

  Teddington did her best not to react. ‘I understand the dilemma. But, I can tell you, just as I told the police and psychiatrists, I’ve been forced to see, nothing questionable happened. I remember being shot, I remember waking up in a dingy room with blacked out windows and being handcuffed to a bed. I know between the two, someone removed the bullet from my shoulder, but I don’t remember it. I do remember being blindfolded and taken to a sunless back alley, and then walking up to the police press conference. I even remember the belief I was going to die in hospital. But, at no point was there ever anything between Bell and I, other than general concern for a fellow human being. Despite what the papers say.’

  ‘Then, why did you write to him and send those books?’

  She met his look openly. ‘Since you read the letter, you know what it was about. I checked the burial of his son and the half-brother, and was sending him books I was otherwise going to throw away. The rate he reads, he’ll go through the library before he’s out of here.’

  ‘Which brings us to another problem. Why are you persisting with this personal oversight of his welfare?’

  Teddington made sure her breathing was steady. ‘I’m not overseeing his welfare.’ She tried to remain firm, but could feel heat running up her neck. Hopefully, her foundation would keep the blush from her face. ‘I checked on the children. There was no-one else to do it. As you know, I lost a child, a daughter, before I started working here. You have children.’