‘What, so he can do the job himself? Kill me, face to face?’
‘The meeting will be properly monitored. He’ll know not to step out of line. He won’t. I’m sure of it.’
‘Oh, you’re sure of it, are you? You know him that well?’
Louisa reddened. ‘Yes, I think I do. I’ve come to understand him quite well.’
Tom laughed. Something harsh escaping from a trap. ‘Really? He’s playing you. That’s what he does. Plays people. Tells them what they want to hear. Until he gets bored of you. And you really wouldn’t want to be around him then.’
‘I think he’s changed since he’s been here.’
Tom held up his arms. ‘I’ve got the scars that say he hasn’t.’
Louisa shook her head. ‘I think it’s worth a try. For him as well as you. I’ve worked with him a lot. I don’t believe he’s the same person he was when he came in. People change. Especially in somewhere like this.’
She looked directly at him as she spoke. He felt the truth in her words.
‘Don’t they?’ she challenged.
Tom didn’t answer.
‘Tom?’
‘How can I trust you? What about the other stuff? Cunningham?’
‘I asked you to do that in good faith. I knew nothing about why you say you are really in here.’
‘ “Say” I was in here. That’s why I am in here.’
‘And I believe you. Honestly I do, but you have to admit, it’s easy for someone like Shelley to reach the conclusion that you’re delusional.’
‘And how does that help me?’ Tom felt anger rise within him. He turned to face her, aware of how much he towered over her, how much more physically powerful he was. How much he could hurt her. ‘The whole point of me being here was to get Cunningham to talk. My outside contact’s been killed and for whatever reason my other contact is denying all knowledge of me. I have to get out. Never mind Foley, what are you going to do to help me?’ Leaning over her, dwarfing her. Hands clenched into fists, ready.
Fear on her face, Louisa shrank away from him, pushed herself into the wall. Her hand went to the pocket of her jeans.
He moved backwards, away from her personal space. Unclenched his fists, averted his eyes from her. ‘Sorry . . . sorry. That’s not me. That’s not me . . .’
Her hand stayed by her pocket. She kept staring at him.
‘I’m sorry. It’s . . .’ He looked up, around, aware once again of just how enclosed he was, how much at the mercy of someone else’s timetable. How his life was no longer his own. ‘It’s this place, it’s . . .’ He looked at her, briefly. ‘Sorry.’ His eyes darted away, didn’t wait for a reply.
She nodded then slowly moved herself away from the wall. Her hand still hovered over her jeans pocket. ‘OK.’
‘It’s just . . . I’m just . . .’ He felt this new persona, the one the prison had forced upon him, the battle-scarred survivalist, crumbling away again. He was reverting to Tom once more. ‘I’ve got to get out of here. I should never have accepted this job. Should never have said yes.’
Louisa made no response.
He looked at her again. ‘You have to believe me. I’m not delusional. I’m not a liar or a fantasist. I know that phone call to Blake made me seem so, but I swear to you I’m not. Please. You have to believe me.’
She didn’t answer straight away. ‘You seem . . . certain. And Dean Foley’s told me things that back up your story, like I said. But why would she deny all knowledge of you? Especially if her partner’s just died?’
‘She must be up to something. And I don’t know what she’s after. But I’m not going to find out in here.’
‘Would Dean Foley know?’
Tom gave the question thought. ‘If he’s in on all this then he might do.’
‘All the more reason for us to arrange that meeting.’
Tom didn’t reply immediately. He weighed up his past, his future. Sighed. ‘Looks like it’s my only choice, doesn’t it?’
Louisa nodded, more from relief than anything else, he thought.
‘I’ll get it set up,’ she said. ‘In the meantime, do you want me to find out about this DC Blake for you?’
Tom looked directly at her once more. There was none of the recent prison savagery in his gaze. Just hurt and honesty. ‘Would you do that?’
She attempted a smile. It didn’t quite come off. ‘I said I believed you, no matter how ridiculous it sounds. I mean, I’m not much of a detective or anything, but let me try and find her. Talk to her.’
‘I would really appreciate that. But be careful.’
‘I will.’
‘Thank you.’ So emotionally fragile was he that he felt tears threatening the corners of his eyes. He quickly blinked them away, refused to acknowledge their existence.
But Louisa caught him. Pretended she hadn’t seen them.
‘OK.’ Her voice was soft. ‘Get yourself sorted. And I’ll take you to your wing.’
Tom tried to harden himself up once more, ready to front it out on the wing.
It took him longer than he thought.
43
Louisa ushered Tom back into his cell, both of them trying not to make eye contact that could be read as significant by anyone else. Cunningham seemed to have barely moved. Even though it was well past breakfast Tom wondered if he was still asleep.
‘Morning,’ said Tom.
Cunningham came alive immediately. Jumping up, looking at Tom like he was a ghost. Staring at Tom but not truly seeing him. Then he noticed the state Tom was in.
‘You . . . what happened? Where’ve you been?’
Tom sat down on the rigid chair, tried to look relaxed. Compared to where he had just spent the night this was beginning to feel positively homely. It was easy to see how inmates became accustomed to it and became scared to leave.
‘I seem to have made some enemies since I’ve been in here,’ he said.
Cunningham examined Tom’s injuries with his eyes, let them rove all over him. Tom couldn’t tell if Cunningham was excited by what he saw or appalled. Truth was, he didn’t want to know.
Tom sighed, rubbed his face with his hands, trying not to reopen wounds, pull dressings off as he did so.
Cunningham was fully interested now. ‘Have you been . . . what happened?’
Tom sighed, not wanting to go over it again. He was about to brush Cunningham’s question off but stopped. This might be it, he thought. A way of sharing something, getting him to open up. He sat back. Took a deep breath.
‘I was attacked. In the old topping shed. Two blokes. They came at me with shivs.’
Cunningham’s eyes widened. He glanced nervously towards the door, as if expecting the blokes to come barging in.
‘It’s OK,’ he said, ‘they’ve gone now. I took care of them.’
‘Two of them?’ Was that fear in Cunningham’s voice or admiration? Tom couldn’t tell. Yet.
‘Like I said, I seem to have some enemies.’
Cunningham nodded, his jaw slack. Thinking. He looked up. ‘Was this because of me?’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Because you stopped that man attacking me the other day? Did they come after you for what you did to him?’
Tom was about to say no, it was something else, but stopped himself. ‘I don’t know. Might have been. Dreadlocked Darren might have wanted me taken care of.’
Cunningham’s eyes were off somewhere else. ‘You did that for me . . .’
Tom nodded. ‘Could well be.’
Cunningham’s mind was off somewhere else. Tom waited.
‘So you saved me from him and then they did this to you. Because of him. Because of me.’
‘Looks that way,’ said Tom.
Cunningham was nodding once more. ‘So you are my friend, then . . . you must be my friend . . .’
‘Told you I was.’
‘Yeah . . .’ Cunningham slipped back into his own world.
Tom waited. Was this the right time to ask him about the graves? Would there be a better one?
‘How’ve you been?’ he asked. ‘Since I was away.’
Cunningham looked up again, confused by the question, not used to being asked by anyone not in a professional capacity. ‘I . . . I’ve been . . . here.’ His head fell, eyes darkened. ‘I’ve been . . . lonely.’
Tom tried to contain his excitement.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘No need for that. I’m back now.’
Cunningham frowned. ‘Did Dr Louisa drop you off?’
‘She did. She’s good, isn’t she?’
‘She’s helped me a lot. Since I’ve been in here. I told her about you.’
‘I know. She said. Said it was good that we were friends. That we could help each other. Confide in each other.’
Another nod from Cunningham.
‘She knows you want to go and see your mother and she’s keen to arrange that. And you know what they want to know. But like I said, if you wanted to tell me, I could let them know as and when you needed me to. If that would help you.’
Tom said nothing, waited.
Eventually Cunningham looked up at him. Smiled. He opened his mouth, ready to speak.
And the cell door opened.
‘Visiting time for Killgannon. Come on, mate. On your feet.’
44
Tom’s hands clenched into fists. ‘Me?’ he asked the officer.
‘Yeah, Killgannon, that’s you.’
Any other time, thought Tom. Any other time . . .
‘Who is it?’ asked Tom, getting to his feet. ‘Who’s here to see me?’
‘Scarlett Johansson. How the hell do I know? Come on.’
‘I’ll see you later, Noel,’ he said, but Cunningham had already turned his back to him, was staring once more at the cell wall. Tom tried to quell the anger he was feeling, get his head round the trip to the visiting room, the visit itself.
He followed the officer out, watching all the time for attacks, ready to defend himself. Nothing happened.
He saw them straight away. Lila and Pearl. Sitting together. And they saw him. He could tell from the way their expressions changed on taking in his appearance. His bruises had started to heal but not quickly enough. Yellow wasn’t any more attractive than purple. He felt so ashamed that they were seeing him like this. So ashamed that he actually looked like this.
‘What happened?’ asked Pearl as soon as he sat down.
Tom paused. Tell them the truth or make something up? He couldn’t not tell them the truth but he didn’t want to worry them unduly. ‘I got jumped,’ he said.
‘Jumped?’ said Pearl. ‘Who by?’
‘There were a couple of them. I fought them off, don’t worry. They didn’t really hurt me. Looks worse than it is.’ The last sentence accompanied by a smile that became weaker as the words went on. ‘Occupational hazard, here. Not much health and safety in the workplace.’
He glanced at Lila. She hadn’t spoken, just stared at him. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or disappointment on her face. Or something else altogether.
Pearl was also staring at him. He wished he had never come to the visiting room.
‘It won’t be long now,’ he said, attempting another smile. ‘He’ll open up to me soon. Really. Soon.’ His words faded away.
‘You said that last time,’ said Lila.
‘Yeah I know, but—’
‘About the fighting. You looked bad then. You look worse now. And about coming out soon. You said that last time. And you’re still here. And now it’s worse.’ Her voice was slowly rising, becoming shakier.
‘It’ll . . . it’ll not be long now. Promise.’ Tom hated himself for saying that.
‘Just come out, Tom,’ said Pearl. ‘Come home.’ She reached across the table, placed her hand on his. It felt like an electric shock to his body.
He locked eyes with her. Their silence said more than words could. Lila looked away, giving them a semblance of privacy.
He took his hand away in case it attracted the attention of a prowling officer.
‘I will. I promise.’
Silence fell between them. All they could hear were the hushed conversations around them, as families and friends pretended they were alone too, talking normally.
‘Quint’s been to see us.’ Lila, recovered, spoke again.
‘Quint?’ said Tom. ‘What for?’
‘Said he was keeping an eye on us. You know, just like you asked him to.’
‘Yeah, but he didn’t need to come and see you. Just check you were both OK.’
‘Well, he thought otherwise. I found him with his arm up the chimney in the spare bedroom.’
Both Pearl and Tom stared at her. Then both spoke at the same time.
‘What?’ said Tom, more a statement than a question.
‘You didn’t tell me that,’ said Pearl.
‘Yeah,’ said Lila, continuing. ‘Said he was checking to see if someone could get into the house that way. Making sure we were safe.’ The last sentence dripped with mockery.
Tom’s features hardened, his voice flattened. ‘What does he look like, Quint?’
‘Black guy on a motorbike,’ said Pearl. ‘Wears a Belstaff jacket. Nice one. Not cheap.’
‘Hair?’
‘Short,’ said Lila. ‘But not shaved. No beard or anything. And in good shape. About your age, maybe a bit less, I’d say.’
Pearl nodded in agreement. ‘Why?’ she asked, ‘You think there’s something up? He seemed fine to me.’
‘It sounds like him. Just seems a bit odd, that’s all.’ He sighed. ‘Maybe he’s just doing what he thinks is best.’
‘Who is this guy, anyway?’ asked Lila.
‘He’s an old friend of mine from Afghanistan. We were on a crew together. He’s a good bloke. He runs a security firm now, protecting Arabs and Russian oligarchs, that sort of thing. He doesn’t get the chance to do much hands on work anymore. When I asked him to keep an eye on you two he jumped at it. Maybe I should call him. He’s on my list of approved numbers in here. Yeah, I’ll do that.’
Lila had fallen silent once more. The others followed suit.
‘So,’ said Tom, trying to be cheerful, ‘anything else to tell me?’ He turned to Lila. ‘How’s your . . . friend?’
She reddened. ‘Fine. Going to bring her round. Introduce her to Pearl.’
‘Must be serious.’
Lila shrugged, tried to conceal a smile. ‘Yeah, you know. Is what it is.’
Tom smiled. For the first time in a long time feeling genuinely happy.
‘Come home. Then you can meet her.’ Steel behind Lila’s words.
He knew the subtext. Just come home. I’m missing you. Not that she would ever say it. He looked into her eyes. She knew he understood.
An officer announced that visiting time was over. They stood up, embraced, Tom clinging to them both like they were life rafts and would drift away if he let go. But he had to let go.
They left. He went back to the wing.
Still watchful, still in that tiring state of perpetual readiness.
45
‘Hello, Dean. I managed to get another session for you. Make yourself comfortable.’
Foley sat down in the armchair. Louisa passed him coffee. Just the way she knew he liked it. He thanked her. Took a sip. Too hot. Placed it carefully on the floor beside the chair. Looked at her. It seemed like there was something she wanted to say to him but was waiting for the right time. He blinked the thought away. Probably just being paranoid. What with everything else going on.
‘So how have things been?’ Louisa asked, settling back into her armchair, notepad angled away from him so he couldn’t see what she was writing. ‘You were very agitated last time. Wanted to meet again urgently. Has there been an event of some significance in your life since we last met?’
There it was again, he thought. Her tone of voice. That sense that she had something t
o say to him but was waiting for him to speak first. Perhaps he would have to be wary. Even if it went against everything that these sessions were supposed to stand for. Or maybe he should just confront her head on. Get rid of all this pissing about, get it out in the open.
He sat back. Looked at her. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Say it.’
She had the good grace to look confused, he thought. I’ll give her that. ‘Say what, Dean?’
‘That you think I had . . .’ He paused. Didn’t want to say a name, either real or assumed. ‘. . . That I had someone attacked in this prison. That I took revenge. Is that it?’
‘I don’t know, Dean,’ said Louisa, face as unreadable as her notepad, ‘is it?’
‘Well you seem to think it is. So maybe it is.’
She just looked at him. Didn’t reply. He began to feel uncomfortable.
‘Isn’t it?’ he said.
Again, she waited.
Foley sighed. Tired with all this. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Yes, I heard there was someone attacked in this prison. Like everyone did. Like you did. But I had nothing to do with it. I never gave that order.’
He saw some kind of spark in her eye. She tried to hide it, he thought, but he had seen it.
‘Do you know who did?
Another sigh. ‘Does it matter?’
She thought for a moment before speaking. ‘This person who was attacked. Would I be right in thinking he was the undercover police officer you previously had dealings with? The one you blame for being in prison?’
‘Yes.’ Straight away. No point lying.
‘And you didn’t give the order to have him attacked?’
‘I said I didn’t, didn’t I?’ Voice rising with anger. He pushed it back down. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Which implies someone else did.’
‘Well, obviously.’
A thoughtful expression appeared on her face. ‘And how d’you feel about that?’
He paused. That wasn’t the question he had been expecting. Although thinking about it later, it was the only one worth asking. ‘I . . . I haven’t thought about it. In those terms. The way you’re saying.’
The Sinner Page 22
