crew.'
Hargrove took his black notebook from his jacket pocket and started scribbling.
'The guy's name is Tompkins,' said Shepherd. 'Everyone calls him Digger. He's in for another murder, shot a Yardie. The Operation Trident guys should have the full SP on him. I went to see Digger to tell him I wanted a place on the cleaning crew and he told me to get five hundred pounds to his sister. Next day I was on the crew. Tony Stafford runs the block so any jobs have to be approved by him.'
'He could have rubber-stamped someone else's request, couldn't he?'
'Sure. We need a look at the paperwork. Gosden should be able to do that for you.'
'We'll put the sister under surveillance. If Digger's paying off a prison officer, she might be acting as a conduit.' Hargrove scratched his ear with his pen. 'Does Digger have much to do with Carpenter?'
'I haven't seen them together, but Carpenter keeps himself to himself.'
'Stafford could be Digger's man, Carpenter could have someone else.'
'Yeah, I know.'
Hargrove closed his notebook and put his pen away. 'Are you okay?'
'So far. But it's hard work.'
'I never thought it'd be easy, Spider.'
'You know what worries me most?' Hargrove raised his eyebrows. 'If I talk in my sleep,' said Shepherd. Hargrove smiled, but Shepherd was serious. 'I can control what I do and say when I'm awake, but I could say anything while I'm dreaming. What if I dream I'm talking to you? Or Sue? I've no control over my dreams.'
'Have you ever talked in your sleep before?' asked Hargrove.
'There's a first time for everything.'
'What about moving to a single cell? I could talk to Gosden.'
'Absolutely not. If I move I'll have to make it happen myself. There's too much status attached to a single cell. If I get it
'So you'll ask Digger to fix it?'
'My cellmate says Digger's the one to arrange it. I've already raised it with Carpenter. He said to put in an official request to Stafford. Be interesting to know how Carpenter got a single.'
'I could ask Gosden.'
'Might be an idea. Check the paperwork for his move with the paperwork for my job on the cleaning crew. See if there's a match.'
'I'm on it, Spider.'
Shepherd was tired. The previous night someone on the ones had been crying. The night staff hadn't thought it serious enough to intervene and they'd just let him get on with it. It had been almost dawn before he'd stopped. Now Shepherd appreciated just how tough prison was. In-cell televisions and a choice of menu didn't make the confinement any easier to bear. No one had shouted at the crying prisoner to shut up, because every man on the spur had known exactly how he felt.
Shepherd woke up and looked at his watch. Seven thirty. It was Saturday, his first weekend behind bars. There was no work at weekends, and no breakfast packs in the cells: breakfast was served at the hotplate. Shepherd had found himself waking at seven thirty every morning, a few minutes before the prison officers started the roll-call. He lay on his bunk, waiting for the spyglass to flick open.
Lee got up and padded barefoot to the toilet. He groaned and urinated. He was in mid-flow when the spyglass flicked open. 'I'm on the bog!' shouted Lee. The spyglass snapped shut.
Shepherd let Lee wash and clean his teeth at the basin before he got down from his bunk. The cell was so poky that there was barely enough room for two men to move around at the same time. Whenever possible he kept out of Lee's way, staying on his bunk. He also let Lee have ownership of the television's remote control, although both of them were paying the weekly rental.
As Shepherd washed and shaved, Lee sat on the chair and flicked through the television channels. News programmes and children's television. 'Why's there nothing on in the mornings?' asked Lee.
'Because most sensible people are lying in,' said Shepherd. He changed into a clean polo shirt. Weekend lie- ins were a Shepherd tradition, when he wasn't away on a job for Hargrove. He'd go downstairs, make a pot of tea and some toast, pick up the papers from the hall, then get back into bed with Sue. Liam would join them, and he and Sue would lie together munching toast and reading the papers while Liam looked at the comics.
The prison regime at the weekends was less restrictive than it was during the week. There was association in the morning and afternoon, but the cell doors were locked earlier, at five fifteen instead of eight o'clock. That meant a full twelve hours banged up.
Shepherd had applied to be on the gym list for Saturday and Sunday, and Lloyd-Davies had told him he'd made it on the Saturday list. Just. Eight prisoners from each spur were allowed to use the gym in each session and Shepherd had been number eight.
The cell door was unlocked at half past eight and Shepherd went down to the hotplate with Lee. There was already a queue of a dozen men there, which they joined. There were three hotplate men, watched over by the middle-aged West Indian female guard, Amelia Heartfield. Everyone used her first name and, even when she was giving prisoners an order, she did the same. She was always smiling and seemed to enjoy talking to them. In return they never gave her any grief. From time to time prisoners would let off steam on the wing but Shepherd had never heard anyone curse or shout at Amelia.
Shepherd picked up two plastic trays and handed one to Lee. The hotplate men worked efficiently, doling out the food: one sausage, two pieces of bacon, a scoop of scrambled egg, a tomato, a spoonful of beans, half a slice of fried bread. Two slices of bread.
Shepherd reached the head of the queue, but as he was about to hold out his tray a figure appeared at his shoulder. It was the prisoner with the shaved head from the threes, Carpenter's man. He nodded at Shepherd and pushed his tray forward. 'Two sausages, well done. Four rashers of bacon, crisp. Four slices of bread.'
One of the hotplate men put the bacon and sausage on the plate and handed him a side plate with four slices of bread. The man nodded again and headed for the stairs.
'Who is that guy?' Shepherd asked Lee.
'That's Gilly,' he said. 'Gilly Gilchrist. He's in for GBH.'
'But he fetches and carries for Carpenter?'
'He's not a butler,' said Lee. 'He's muscle. Haven't you noticed that he's never far away from Carpenter on the spur? When Carpenter goes out into the exercise yard, Gilly goes with him. During association Gilly goes wherever Carpenter goes.'
'Did Carpenter pull a thorn out of his paw?'
Lee frowned, not understanding. 'What?'
'Why does he work for Carpenter? It's not a gay thing, is it?'
'Don't let Gilly hear you say that, he'd rip your lungs out. He's got five kids, has Gilly. He's short of readies so Carpenter pays him on the out.'
They carried their trays into the cell. Lee sat at the table while Shepherd climbed up on to the bunk. The scrambled egg was rubbery and the beans were cold, but he ate them anyway.
At nine o'clock Shepherd heard doors clanging. 'Now what?'
'Lock-up,' said Lee, slotting sausage into his mouth. 'It's just for an hour while the screws get on with their paperwork. They'll unlock the gym list at ten fifteen and it's all doors open at ten thirty for association and exercise.'
Shepherd wiped his plate with a piece of bread. 'Why don't they give us a schedule, tell us what happens when?'
'That'd be too logical,' said Lee. 'Anyway, you soon get into the swing of it.'
'Who told you, though?'
'Guy who was in the cell before you had been here five months.'
Rathbone appeared at the door. 'Okay, lads?'
'Fine, Mr Rathbone,' said Lee, raising a forkful of beans.
'You're on gym list, Macdonald. Friends in high places?'
'Miss Lloyd-Davies put my name down,' said Shepherd.
