harder to maintain the same speed. The adrenaline kicked in and he stopped being aware of his feet hitting the treadmill. He increased the speed again, to match Carpenter's machine, and the two men ran in synch.
Carpenter glanced at Shepherd's control panel, then jabbed at his speed button. The pace picked up and he started breathing heavily. Shepherd smiled to himself. Carpenter was clearly competitive, and he was more than happy to take him on. He increasedhis speedagainto match Carpenter's, and fell into the other man's rhythm. They ran together for ten minutes. Then Carpenter increased his speed. His mouth was open, his arms pumping as he ran.
Shepherd matched his speed and settled into the new rhythm. He knew he was close to his maximum; he was a distance runner, not a sprinter. But Carpenter was also close to his limit, and he seemed to be tiring quickly.
Shepherd knew he could outlast Carpenter - stamina was his strong point, always had been - but he was trying to win the man's confidence, not humiliate him. Sweat was pouring down Carpenter's face, and his Lacoste shirt was soaked. Shepherd let his own breath come in unsteady gasps, and faked a stumble. He powered on, but let his feet slap on to the rubber tread and his knees go weak. He reached out and slowed down his machine, panting. He stole a glance at Carpenter, who was smiling grimly.
Shepherd slowed his treadmill to a walk, wiped his face with his hands, still faking exhaustion, then stopped his machine and climbed off.
Carpenter ran for another full minute, then slowed to a jog.
Shepherd bent over, then dropped into a crouch. Carpenter grinned and stopped his machine. He stepped down, wiping his face with his towel.
'You're fit, all right,' said Shepherd.
'Just practice,' said Carpenter, stretching his legs.
'You know, in the old prisons they used treadmills as hard labour. Nowadays they're a privilege. Progress, huh?'
Carpenter chuckled.
'You're in the gym every day, pretty much, aren't you?' asked Shepherd.
'Pretty much.'
Shepherd straightened up. 'How do you manage that?'
Carpenter took a long drink from his water bottle but his eyes never left Shepherd's. Shepherd didn't look away, but kept an amused smile on his face, knowing that Carpenter was weighing him up. Carpenter wiped his mouth with his towel. 'You know how I manage it,' he said.
'Digger?'
'That and a broken leg should do it,' said Carpenter.
'There's only eight on the spur allowed at any one time, right?'
'That's the rule.'
'And Digger can get me on the list every day?'
Carpenter grinned at him. 'You'd have to ask him about that. Just don't try to get my slot.'
Shepherd pulled a face. 'Wouldn't want to screw things up for you.'
'You won't,' said Carpenter. He went over to a bike and climbed on. As he started pedalling, Shepherd climbed on to one next to him.
Both men cycled in unison, but this time there was no competition.
'Heard from your wife?' asked Carpenter.
Shepherd shook his head. 'I reckon it'll be her solicitor I hear from.'
'She seemed pretty angry.'
'Be different if I was outside,' said Shepherd. 'If I could just talk to her without the bloody screws looking on. The whole thing is bound to turn her against me, isn't it? The wall, the bars, the searches, the drugs dogs.'
'I've told my kids not to come,' said Carpenter. 'No way I want them seeing me in here.'
'Yeah, I wish mine hadn't brought my lad in. Especially if that's the last time he sees me. Hell of a memory. His dad behind bars with that stupid yellow sash.'
'You'll see him again,' said Carpenter. 'Fathers have rights.'
'Not if I'm sent down for twenty,' Shepherd said. 'By the time I get out, he'll have forgotten me.'
Carpenter didn't say anything. He took a drink from his bottle.
'You seem pretty calm about your situation,' said Shepherd.
Carpenter shrugged. 'No point in letting off steam in here,' he said. 'Throw a tantrum and they'll either drug you up or put you in a cell with cardboard furniture.'
'If it looks like I'm going to do twenty, I'll top myself.'
'You adapt,' said Carpenter.
'Fuck that,' said Shepherd.
'How would killing yourself make it any better?'
'Now you sound like Ed Harris. I mean it, I'd be better off dead.'
They pedalled in silence for a while. Shepherd wanted to keep Carpenter talking but without appearing over- eager. The West Indians had split into two groups and were lifting heavy weights.
'Your wife seemed okay,' said Shepherd, eventually. 'About coming to see you in here, I mean.'
'She knows it won't be for ever,' said Carpenter.
'But what if you don't get off ?'
Carpenter snorted softly. 'It's not about getting off. If I get in a courtroom, I'm buggered.'
'So what's your way out?'
Carpenter flashed him a sideways look. 'Why are you so interested?'
'Because if I don't come up with something, I'm fucked.'
Carpenter looked at him, his eyes hard. Then he nodded slowly, as if he'd decided he could trust Shepherd. 'How much money have you got on the outside, tucked away?'
'A fair bit.'
'You'll need more than a fair bit. Getting out from an open-and-shut case costs.'
'I've got a few hundred grand offshore. Even the wife doesn't know about it.'
'How good is the case against you?'
'I was caught red-handed. I wasn't carrying but there was a shotgun inside the warehouse.'
'Witnesses?'
'I think one of the guys is grassing.'
'That's where you start,' said Carpenter. 'You have to get him out of the equation.'
'Buy him off, you mean?'
'Whatever it takes.'
Shepherd's heart was racing. This was what he'd been working towards. It was why he was behind bars. 'Are you talking about something else?'
'Like I said, whatever it takes.'
'And what about the evidence?'
'You make it go away.'
'What - like abracadabra?'
'Like paying someone to make it go away.'
'You can do that?'
'Anyone can do it, providing you've got the money and the right person to give it to.'
Shepherd was pedalling slower now. 'The cops have got the shooter,' he said.
'So a cop can make it go away.'
'And you've got people who can do that?'
'We're not talking about me,' said Carpenter, 'we're talking about you. You find out where the shooter's kept and then you get to someone in the station. Or an officer on the case.'
'Oh, come on,' protested Shepherd. 'That's Fantasy Island.'
Carpenter put his hands on the bike's handlebars and concentrated on pedalling. Shepherd realised he'd offended him. 'I mean, do it wrong and I'll end up on corruption charges,' he said.
'So don't do it wrong,' said Carpenter. 'Put out feelers. You don't do it yourself, obviously. You get someone
