Gosden smiled. 'Shows, does it? Started off walking the landings in Parkhurst. Six years. Then moved to an open prison and couldn't stand it. Went back to the Isle of Wight, got made Principal Officer and did an Open University degree.'
'It's not a job I could do.' Shepherd was trying to get on the right side of the man, but he was being truthful. Undercover work was stressful but at least he had the adrenaline rush and the satisfaction of putting away the bad guys. Prison officers were at their most successful when nothing happened, when the status quo was maintained. And the job was never-ending. For every prisoner who walked out of the gates, another moved in to take his place. Shepherd doubted he had the stamina or the patience to make a career of keeping people locked up.
'It has its moments,' said Gosden. 'Believe it or not, most prison officers care about what they do. At least, when they come into the service. And a lot of inmates are genuinely remorseful and want to turn their lives round.'
'I sense a 'but' . . .' said Shepherd.
'There are enough bad apples to turn even the best-intentioned prison officer cynical after a few years,' Gosden told him. 'Hot water thrown over them, HIV-infected prisoners cutting themselves and flicking blood around, razor blades in soap, ears bitten off. You know all prison officers wear a clip-on tie? That's in case a prisoner grabs it. And these days all the prisoners know their rights, from the
'Absolutely,' said Shepherd. 'It's the same on the job. Your colleagues come first. They have to, because when the shit hits the fan they're all you've got.'
Gosden nodded.
'But sometimes cops go bad,' said Shepherd.
'We've some in here too. On Rule Forty-five. Couple of Vice cops who were on the take for years.'
'What I'm saying is, when cops go bad you can't turn a blind eye.'
'That's not what I'm doing,' said Gosden, defensively. 'What I'm doing is giving my people the benefit of the doubt. You tell me that one of them's on the take and their feet won't touch the ground, I promise you.'
'That's fine by me,' said Shepherd.
'But if you disrupt my prison, if I think you're putting the safety of my men at risk, I'm pulling you out. I don't care what some Home Office mandarin says, this is my prison.'
Shepherd didn't say anything. He knew that Gosden didn't have the authority to halt the operation, but he could make Shepherd's life impossible. A word in the right ear and his cover would be blown. Once that happened he would have no choice but to bail out.
The two men stared at each other for several seconds, then Gosden relaxed. 'That's my pep talk over,' he said. 'I'm told I have to co-operate with you, so is there anything you want me to do?'
'I need to get close to Carpenter, but I'll have to do that myself. If you were to pull any strings it'd tip him off that something was up. But I could do with a look at your personnel files. Just the officers on the spur.'
Gosden shook his head. 'I'd have a walk-out if I did that. If nothing else they fall under the Data Protection Act.'
'No one would know,' said Shepherd.
'That's not the point. It's a breach of trust.'
'I only need background, just so I know who I'm dealing with.'
Gosden massaged the back of his neck. 'God, this is a mess.'
'Governor, it's as much in your interest as mine to find out who's helping Carpenter.'
Gosden went over to a filing cabinet, opened it and pulled out a dozen files. 'You mustn't make any notes,' he said, 'and I think you should be quick about it. Hamilton's going to wonder why you're in here so long.'
'What reason have you given him for bringing me here?'
Gosden was pacing up and down his office again. 'I told Tony Stafford that I wanted to talk to you about a family matter. I said your wife had written to me saying she was considering divorce. In view of the violent nature of the crime you've been charged with, I said I'd have a talk with you. It wouldn't be unusual, I'm pretty hands-on here.'
Shepherd sat down with the files. He scanned the pages quickly, but his eyes passed over every line. He had to read the words to memorise them. Every name, every date, every fact was recorded perfectly, and would remain in his memory for several years, then begin to fade. Shepherd had no idea how his memory functioned. He could only memorise, not understand.
He went through the files page by page, then stood up. 'There's one other thing you can do for me,' he said. 'I need some phone numbers authorised, and to be able to make calls.'
'I'll set up a pin number for you,' said Gosden, reaching for a pen and a notepad.
'I need money in my account, apparently.'
'I'll get that sorted. I'll put you on 'enhanced'.'
'Won't that raise eyebrows?'
'Not necessarily,' said Gosden. 'I'll simply say that after our chat I've decided that you're becoming more co- operative and that, as a gesture of good faith, I'm making you enhanced. It's happened before.'
Shepherd gave Gosden his fictitious Uncle Richard's number.
'Do you want to be able to call your wife?'
'There's no way I can risk it from the prison,' said Shepherd.
'You could call her from here,' said Gosden. 'I have a direct line.' He gestured at his desk. There were two phones, one cream, the other grey. 'The grey one doesn't go through the switchboard. The Home Office uses it and I take personal calls on it.'
It had been four days since Shepherd had spoken to his wife, and he had no idea how long it would take Hargrove to get her in as a visitor. He swallowed and realised his mouth had dried.
'It's there if you want it,' said the governor, 'but we're going to have to get a move on. You've already been in here much longer than I'd normally spend with a prisoner.'
Shepherd's mind was in turmoil. He wanted to talk to Sue, to let her know he was okay and missing her. But a call from the prison, even on the governor's direct line, was a risk. If anyone should ever trace the call from his house to the prison it would be the end of the operation. He dismissed the thought. No one knew who he was. As far as the prison population was concerned, he was Bob Macdonald, failed armed robber. No one other than the governor would know that he'd made the call. The benefits outweighed the risks. He nodded.
'I can't leave you alone,' said the governor, apologetically.
'That's okay,' said Shepherd. He picked up the receiver and tapped out Sue's number. His hand was trembling as he put the receiver to his ear. The governor busied himself at the fish tank.
Sue answered the phone on the fourth ring. 'Hello?'
Shepherd closed his eyes, picturing her. Shoulder-length blonde hair, probably tied back in a ponytail. Green eyes. Faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose. She hated her freckles and was forever covering them with makeup. Shepherd loved them. 'Sue. It's me.' Even with his wife, Shepherd rarely identified himself by name.
'Oh, God! Where are you?'
'Didn't Sam tell you?'
'He said you were in prison on a job, but he didn't say which prison. He said that was an operational detail and he couldn't tell me.'
'I'm sorry, love. I don't know why he didn't tell you because he's going to try to fix up for you and Liam to visit. I'm in London, not far away. Did Sam tell you why I was here?'
'Just that you were targeting someone. But he said it was important.'
'It is, love, believe me.'
'How long are you going to be away? Liam's going crazy not seeing you. And Sam said I wasn't to tell him anything, just that you were going to be away for a while.'
'Is he at school?'
'Of course. Life doesn't stop because you're away.' There was a touch of bitterness in her voice. Shepherd
