could.
“Why does Olive want this book written?” asked the Governor mildly.
“She hasn’t sought public notoriety before and you’re not the first author to show an interest in her. We had several applications in the early days. She refused them all.”
“I don’t know,” said Roz honestly.
“Perhaps it has something to do with her father’s death. She claimed that one of her reasons for pleading guilty was to avoid putting him through the mill of a trial.” She shrugged.
“Presumably she felt a book would have been just as devastating to him, so waited till he died.”
The Governor was more cynical.
“Alternatively, while he was alive, her father was in a position to contest what she said; dead, he cannot. However, that is no concern of mine. My concern is with the ordered running of my prison.” She tapped her fingers impatiently on her desk. She had no desire at all to be drawn into a three-cornered dispute between herself, the Home Office, and Roz, but time-consuming correspondence with civil servants would pale into insignificance beside the murder of a civilian inside her prison. She had hoped to persuade Roz to abort the visit herself. She was surprised and, if the truth be told, rather intrigued by her own failure. What was Rosalind Leigh getting right in her relationship with Olive that the rest of them were getting wrong?
“You may talk to her for half an hour,” she said abruptly, ‘in the Legal Visits room, which is larger than the one you are used to. There will be two male officers present throughout the interview. Should either you or Olive breach any regulation of this prison, your visits will cease immediately and I will personally ensure that they will never resume. Is that understood, Miss Leigh?”
“Yes.”
The other nodded.
“I’m curious, you know. Are you raising her expectations by telling her your book will get her released?”
“No. Apart from anything else, she won’t talk to me about the murders.” Roz reached for her briefcase.
“Then why are you so confident you’re safe with her?”
“Because as far as I can make out I’m the only outsider she’s met who’s not frightened of her.”
Privately, she retracted that statement as Olive was ushered into the Legal Visits room by two large male officers who then retreated to the door behind Olive’s back and stationed themselves on either side of it.
The woman’s look of dislike was chilling, and Roz recalled Hal saying to her that she might think differently about Olive if she ever saw her in a rage.
“Hi.” She held Olive’s gaze.
“The Governor has allowed me to see you, but we’re on trial, both of us. If we misbehave today my visits will be stopped. Do you understand?”
BITCH, Olive mouthed, unseen by the officers. FUCKING BITCH. But was she referring to Roz or the Governor? Roz couldn’t tell.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it last Monday.” She touched her lip where the ugly scab still showed.
“I got thrashed by my miserable husband.” She forced a smile.
“I couldn’t go out for a week, Olive, not even for you. I do have some pride, you know.”
Olive examined her stolidly for a second or two then dropped her eyes to the cigarette packet on the table. She plucked greedily at a cigarette and popped it between her fat lips.
“I’ve been on the block,” she said, flaring a match to the tip.
“The bastards wouldn’t let me smoke. And they’ve been starving me.”
She threw a baleful glance behind her.
“Bastards! Did you kill him?”
Roz followed her gaze. Every word she and Olive said would be reported back.
“Of course not.”
Olive smoothed the limp, greasy hair from her forehead with the hand that held the cigarette. A streak of nicotine staining along her parting showed she had done it many times before.
“I didn’t think you would,” she said contemptuously.
“It’s not as easy as it looks on the telly. You’ve heard what I did?”
“Yes.”
“So why have they let you see me?”
“Because I told the Governor that whatever you had done was nothing to do with me. Which it wasn’t, was it?” She pressed one of Olive’s feet with hers under the table.
“Presumably somebody else upset you?”
“Bloody Chaplain,” said Olive morosely. A bald eyelid drooped in a wink.
“Told me that God would do the rock’ n’roll in heaven if I got down on my knees and said: “Alleluiah, I repent.” Stupid sod. He’s always trying to make religion relevant to modern criminals with low IQs. We can’t cope with “There will be much rejoicing in heaven over one sinner that repenteth”, so we get God will do the fucking rock’n’roll instead.” She listened with some satisfaction to the snorts of amusement behind her, then her eyes narrowed. I TRUSTED YOU, she mouthed at Roz.
