It had been light outside for a couple of hours when the cell door was unlocked again. Lee was standing at the ready, jiggling from foot to foot. As soon as it opened he rushed out and hared along the landing. Macdonald heard the pounding of feet as other prisoners rushed to the showers. He felt dirty but without a towel and clean clothes to change into, he didn't see the point of showering.
He climbed down from the top bunk and stared at his reflection in the mirror tiles above the sink. There were dark patches under his eyes and his hair was lank and greasy. He bared his teeth. He looked as if he'd been sleeping rough for a week.
He took the shaving soap and brush, lathered his face, then shaved with the small plastic razor. He cleaned his teeth with the foul-tasting toothpaste. Plastic bristles came off the brush and he spat them out.
As he was rinsing his mouth, the cell door opened. It was Harris, carrying a dark blue towel and a plum- coloured prison-issue tracksuit. 'Lloyd-Davies isn't here until this afternoon but I scrounged these for you,' said Harris. 'Bit worn but they're clean.'
Macdonald thanked him, tossed the clothes on to his bunk and wiped his face with the towel.
'You know you can have clothes sent in from the outside?' asked Harris.
'There's no one I can call,' said Macdonald.
'You can get a change of clothes here once a week, but it'll be the same as you've got there,' said Harris. 'I couldn't get you underwear or socks but I'm on the case. I had a word with the screws and you can use the showers this morning.' He grinned. 'Told them Jason was complaining about the smell.'
He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and handed Macdonald two printed sheets of paper. 'I got you a canteen list, too,' he said.
Macdonald studied the printed pages. It was like a shopping list, starting with half a dozen brands of cigarettes, tobacco and cigarette papers. The bare essentials of prison life, but Macdonald had never smoked. Next on the list were seven different types of battery, stationery, postage stamps, sweets and chocolate, toiletries and groceries.
'You tick off what you want and it'll be delivered tomorrow,' said Harris. 'Providing there's enough money in your account you can spend up to five quid a week as a basic prisoner. If you toe the line they make you an enhanced prisoner and you can spend thirty. Standard is fifteen quid.' He looked pained. 'The bad news is that withholding your details puts you straight on the basic list. That fiver's all you'll have for extra food and telephone calls. It's just one of the ways they can make your life a misery.'
Macdonald tossed the list on to his bunk. 'Nothing there I need,' he said.
A smile flickered across Harris's face. 'Say that after a couple of weeks of prison food,' he said. 'And tobacco gets things done here.' He jerked a thumb at the fresh clothing. 'Better gear, for a start.'
'Thanks, Ed,' said Macdonald, who had realised that Harris was doing what he could to make him feel at home. He wondered if the man really had killed his wife with his bare hands, but decided it would be bad manners to broach the subject.
'You can get money sent in, but it has to come from people on an approved list.'
'I won't be giving anyone a list,' said Macdonald.
'You can bring your own money in, but that'll mean identifying yourself.'
'I figured that much.'
'There's jobs here, and that'll earn you some. If you're available for work but they can't find you a job then you get two pounds fifty a week unemployment rate. Refuse to work and you get nothing.'
'Like I said, Ed, there's nothing on that list I need. And I won't be making any phone calls.'
'And like
As Harris left the cell, Macdonald scooped up the tracksuit and towel and walked down the landing. Two black men in their early twenties, wearing Nike tracksuits and gleaming white Nike trainers, stared at him stonily as they leaned against the railing around the inner atrium. 'Hiya, guys, I'm looking for the showers,' he said.
The men stared at his forensic suit. 'What planet are you from, then?' asked one. He had shoulder-length dreadlocks and a scar that ran the full length of his left forearm.
'Showers, guys, please. I've only got ten minutes.'
The men pushed themselves off the railing and stood in front of him, blocking his way.
'Where's your manners, Smurf?' said Dreadlocks.
His companion snorted. 'Smurf,' he repeated. He was tall and stick-thin, his lanky arms protruding from the sleeves of his tracksuit showing half a dozen beaded bracelets.
Macdonald's eyes hardened and he tried to push past them. Dreadlocks shoved his arm with his left hand and pulled the right back in a fist. Macdonald moved fluidly, tossing his clothes and towel at Stickman, then grabbing Dreadlocks's arm. Macdonald twisted Dreadlocks's arm behind his back and gripped his neck, digging into either side of his windpipe. 'Keep struggling and I'll rip your throat out,' he hissed. Dreadlocks grunted and pushed back, trying to force Macdonald against the railing, but Macdonald's foot was behind his right knee and he pushed down, forcing the man to the ground. He released his grip on Dreadlocks's throat and kicked him in the ribs, savagely.
Stickman kicked out at Macdonald but Macdonald caught his foot andstood up, forcing him to hop backwards. He kept him off balance then kicked him hard between the legs. Stickman's arms windmilled as he fell backwards. His head thudded against the concrete and he slumped to the floor.
Dreadlocks was curled up in the foetal position, his hands at his throat, gasping for breath. Macdonald bent down to pick up his towel and clothing. He looked up and down the landing. Three teenagers in polo shirts and black Adidas tracksuit bottoms stood at the stairs, watching with open mouths. Across the landing, two middle-aged prisoners turned away as Macdonald looked in their direction. Stafford was in the glass-walled administration cubicle, deep in conversation with another male officer. Neither were looking his way. Ahead of him, Ed Harris was standing in the doorway to a cell. 'Winning friends and influencing people already?' he said drily.
'I had no choice,' said Macdonald.
'Watch yourself,' whispered Harris, as he walked by. 'Those guys have friends in here.'
'The more the merrier,' said Macdonald. 'Where are the showers?'
'Along the landing on the right,' said Harris.
Macdonald thanked him and walked away. He could sense Harris watching him, but he didn't look round.
The teenagers scattered, like sheep from a barking dog. 'Nice moves,' said one, but he averted his eyes when Macdonald looked at him.
'Serves the black bastards right,' whispered another.
There were three showerheads, each with a chrome push button set into the wall. Two black men were showering, their hair frothy with shampoo. Macdonald nodded when they looked at him. He took off his laceless trainers. When he turned to hang up his clothes and towel he heard them whisper, then laugh. He was looking forward to ditching the forensic suit. He unzipped it, slipped it off, then hung it on the hook next to his clothes. It was only when he stepped under the free showerhead and pressed the chrome button that he realised he didn't have any soap.
The water kicked out, lukewarm at first but then steaming hot. Macdonald closed his eyes and let the water play over his face and down his body.
'You okay there, man?' one man called.
'I'm fine,' said Macdonald, and opened his eyes.
'Just got in?'
'Yes,' said Macdonald.
The man next to him held out a tube of shower gel. Macdonald hesitated, then took it and thanked him. He squeezed a few drops into his palm, then handed it back.
'Anything you need, I'm your man,' said the guy with the shower gel. 'Name's Digger.'
Macdonald thanked him again.
'Dope if you need it. H. Whatever burns your candle.'
'I'm a man of simple needs, Digger. Plus I've got bugger-all in my account at the moment.'
'Think of me as a credit union,' said Digger. He was well over six feet tall with close-cropped hair and a barrel chest. He ran two shovel-sized hands over his head, then stepped out of the water and wrapped a towel round his waist. 'You can borrow from me, arrange to have me paid back on the outside.'
