'Just so long as you didn't break anybody's leg.' Rathbone closed the door.
Lee switched on the television and flicked through the channels. 'Can I ask you something?' he said.
'Sure.'
'Jurczak. Did you really break his leg?'
'He fell,' said Shepherd. 'We were having a chat and he fell.'
'But his knee was all smashed up.'
'He fell awkwardly,' said Shepherd, and laughed. It was important that he played the hard man with Lee. Lee was clearly a blabbermouth, so anything Shepherd said to him would be common knowledge on the spur. 'Let me ask you something,' he said. 'Who really runs the spur? Everyone says Digger, but they tug their forelocks when Carpenter's around. And at least Digger goes to the hotplate himself.'
'Different strokes,' said Lee. 'Digger's got muscle, right. If Digger wants you to do something, he tells you. He says jump, you say how high, right?'
'I've gathered that.'
'But Carpenter's got money. More money than you can shake a stick at. He doesn't have to threaten anybody. He just buys what he wants.'
'Through Digger?'
Lee's brow furrowed. 'What's your interest in all this?' he asked.
Shepherd held up his hands. 'Hey, just want to know who does what, that's all.'
'You're not thinking of taking him on, are you?'
'Digger? Or Carpenter?'
'There's got to be a daddy on the block. Always is. But Digger'll fight for what he's got.'
'What about Carpenter?'
Lee grinned. 'Carpenter doesn't have to fight.'
'Yeah, he doesn't look hard.'
'That's the point. He doesn't have to be hard. But he can have you sorted, inside or out. Cross him, and there's half a dozen guys on the spur who'd stick you for what he can pay them on the out. The screws know it too, which is why he's allowed to take liberties. You know he's on the gym list most days?'
'How does he manage that?'
'Buggered if I know.'
'What about his single cell? Did Digger get that for him?'
'No idea, mate. Why don't you ask him?' He frowned. 'Hey, I'm not getting on your tits, am I?'
Shepherd laughed. 'Nah, you're fine. I could just do with some privacy, you know?' He cleaned his plate, put it on top of the wall cupboard and lay back on his bunk. Other than the odd titbit from Lee, time spent in his cell was wasted time as far as his investigation was concerned. The only occasions when he could talk to Carpenter were on cleaning duties, out in the exercise yard, in the gym, or walking down the secure corridor. But the difficulties were compounded by the fact that his quarry spent much of his time in his cell, even when he was free to move around. It was all very well getting block gossip from the likes of Ed Harris and Lee, but if Shepherd was going to put a stop to Carpenter's wrongdoing he was going to need hard evidence. Soon.
Rathbone opened the cell door at ten fifteen and told Shepherd to wait at the bubble. Shepherd had changed into his prison-issue tracksuit, but when he got to the bubble he could see that he was underdressed. Bill Barnes was there in a brand new Reebok tracksuit and trainers. Three other prisoners, all West Indians, wore pristine sportsgear and thick gold chains round their necks. They grinned at Shepherd's attire. He flashed them a tight smile. He didn't care what he looked like: he just wanted to get rid of some of the energy that had been building up over the past few days.
He looked up at the threes. Carpenter was coming down the stairs, wearing a red Lacoste shirt with white shorts, socks and trainers. He was carrying a bottle of Highland Spring and a small white towel. He looked like a well-off businessman on the way to his local fitness centre.
Rathbone came up to the group as Carpenter arrived. The prison officer ticked off the eight names on his clipboard, then took them out into the secure corridor.
Shepherd hoped to talk to Carpenter on the long walk to the gym but before he could get next to the man, Barnes fell into step beside him. 'How's it going, Bob?'
Shepherd looked over his shoulder. Carpenter was walking at the rear of the group, talking to Rathbone.
'When's your next court appearance?'
'Not sure,' said Shepherd.
'You've got to appear before a judge every two weeks when you're on remand,' said Barnes. 'At least it's a day out. You okay for puff?'
'I'm still not smoking, Bill. Not tobacco and not wackybacky.'
'What about booze?'
'You can get booze in here?'
'Sure, home brew. I've got a couple of pints on the go at the moment.'
Shepherd laughed, thinking Barnes was joking.
'I'm serious, mate,' said Barnes, earnestly. 'I've got a mate in the kitchen who pinches yeast for me. You put it with a bit of fruit and water in a Ziploc bag, throw in some sugar, and Bob's your mother's brother. I've got some cider that'll be ready in a few days, and orange and pear that's ready to go. Once it's fermented we put it in 7-Up bottles and sell it. Get me two packs of Marlboro and I'll let you have a bottle.'
Shepherd wasn't that desperate. He liked a drink, sure, either beer with the lads or a good bottle of wine with Sue, but it wasn't the alcohol he enjoyed so much as the company.
'Suit yourself,' said Barnes. 'After you've been inside for a few months you'll want to get high, one way or another.'
They reached the gym. Rathbone searched the prisoners one by one, a perfunctory pat-down of their arms and legs. Shepherd followed Barnes in. A couple of dozen prisoners from the other blocks were already there. It was a big room, packed with equipment - half a dozen bikes and four good-sized treadmills along one wall, four rowing machines, two multi-gyms, and in one corner a weights section with half a dozen benches.
The West Indian prisoners immediately went over to the weights area where half a dozen others were standing around talking. They were greeted with high fives and clunked fists. No one seemed interested in lifting any weights.
Carpenter was still outside so Shepherd went over to the multi-gym and started doing some gentle stretching exercises. A balcony ran the length of one wall and a bored prison officer stared down at nothing in particular.
Carpenter came in and went over to one of the treadmills. Shepherd didn't want to appear too obvious so he stayed on the multi-gym, working on his arm and chest muscles. Rathbone and another officer stood at the entrance, chatting. Barnes was on a bike, pedalling for all he was worth.
Shepherd revelled in the exercise. He'd been doing sit-ups and press-ups whenever Lee was in his bunk but there was something therapeutic about working against the machine with its steel-grey weights and chrome pillars. He worked his upper and lower arms, his shoulders, then did a series of leg stretches.
He looked over at the treadmills. Carpenter was still there, running fluidly, his breathing regular and even, his towel draped round his neck and his bottle of Highland Spring in his right hand. There was an Arab on the machine next to him, an obese man with a thick moustache who was bathed in sweat even though he could barely manage a fast walk. As soon as the Arab climbed off, Shepherd went over to take his place.
He nodded at Carpenter and started off at a slow jog, giving his muscles a chance to get used to working.
Carpenter upped the speed of his machine but he was barely breaking sweat. He took a swig from his water bottle. He was staring straight ahead as he ran. Shepherd figured he was probably imagining green fields ahead of him, not a blank white wall. Shepherd increased the pace. It had been over a week since he'd last been on a run and his muscles were burning already. It felt good to be moving again, though. His trainers thumped down on the machine's rubber tread and he increased the pace again. He glanced across at the control panel of Carpenter's machine. Carpenter was running at almost twice Shepherd's speed. And while Shepherd was running on the level, Carpenter's was set at an incline of ten per cent. He didn't seem aware that Shepherd was running alongside him.
Shepherd altered the incline so that it matched Carpenter's. The machine whirred and he had to drive himself
