Hard Landing

status, which meant he had thirty pounds a week to spend. There was nothing he could do about his phone calls, which had to be paid for from his account, but he could reduce all the other drains by getting other people to make purchases for him. All the food and drinkin the cell came from other prisoners. Carpenter placed orders and they brought it to his cell. He reimbursed them on the out, at a rate of ten to one.

Carpenter strolled out of his cell and leaned over the rail. Prisoners were lining up to be searched before going out into the exercise yard. Carpenter hated the yard. It reminded him of his schooldays. Turfed out of the classrooms for an hour to burn off excess energy so they'd be good little boys when lessons resumed.

Carpenter pushed himself off the rail and walked down the stairs to the ones. Several inmates nodded at him - anyone who'd been on the spur for any length of time knew who he was. Carpenter didn't plan to be behind bars long enough to have to build relationships. He'd bought Digger, and that was all he needed.

Hitchcock's cell was opposite the pool table. The door was open, but Carpenter knocked. 'Okay if I come in?' he asked.

Hitchcock was lying on his bunk. 'What do you want?'

'A chat,' said Carpenter.

'I just want to be left alone.'

'Difficult objective to achieve in here,' said Carpenter. He walked in and closed the door. It was a double cell and Hitchcock was on the top bunk: he rolled over so that he was facing the wall. Carpenter took the ring out of his pocket. 'I think this is yours,' he said.

Hitchcock twisted round. His mouth opened when he saw the wedding band. He rolled over again and took the ring from Carpenter, staring at it as if he feared it might disappear at any moment. 'Where did you get it from?' he asked.

'Thought you might want it back,' said Carpenter.

Hitchcock slipped on the ring. 'That was the first time it's been off my finger since I got married,' he said. 'Are you married?'

'Fourteen years,' said Carpenter.

'Why are you in here?' asked Hitchcock.

Carpenter wagged a finger at him. 'Prison etiquette. You never ask a man what he's done. If he tells you, that's fine. But you never ask him.'

'I'll remember that. Sorry.'

'There are other rules,' said Carpenter. 'Like you never step into another man's cell without being invited. And you always repay a favour. Nothing comes free in here.'

Hitchcock looked at the ring. Realisation dawned on his face. 'How much do I owe you?' he asked.

Carpenter smiled. 'Money isn't a currency in here, Simon.'

'But you want something from me?'

'You're a quick learner. Don't worry, Simon, I don't want anything major, just the FT.'

'The FT?'

'The Financial Times. Monday to Saturday. And The Economist every week. You place an order with the office and they'll have it delivered from the local newsagent. Soon as it arrives you bring it up to my cell. I'm on the threes. The top floor.'

'How do I pay for it?'

'Comes out of your allowance,' said Carpenter. 'Can't see you getting into trouble so you'll be enhanced, which means you get thirty quid a week to spend.'

'But I need that money to call my wife.'

'You'll have enough for that. You need anything else Digger can get it for you and you pay him on the out.'

Tears welled in Hitchcock's eyes. Carpenter knew his demands were unfair but he felt no sympathy for the man. In prison you were either a sheep or a wolf. Carpenter and Digger had come in as wolves and recognised it in each other. Even the new man, Macdonald, had shown his strength within days of arriving at Shelton. But men like Hitchcock had vulnerability stamped on them. Victim. Soft target. And if Carpenter didn't take advantage of him, others would.

'This is a nightmare,' said Hitchcock. He sat on the edge of his bunk with his head in his hands.

'You've got money outside, right?'

Hitchcock nodded.

'So use it. Digger's the man to help. You want a single cell, Digger can arrange it. You want a decent job, you see Digger.'

'He's the big black guy, right? He's the one who stole my ring. And my St Christopher.'

'He runs the spur. He can take pretty much what he wants.'

'Why don't the prison officers do something?'

'This isn't nursery school. You can't go running to the teachers.'

'I spoke to one of the officers. He said he could write up a report saying what had happened, but that if he did Digger would . . .' He tailed off. 'This is a bloody nightmare.'

'Which officer?'

'Hamilton. The young guy.'

'He was giving you good advice. If he'd taken a report it would have gone to the governor and you'd have been branded a grass. Grasses don't last long in prison.'

'So I just have to do what he says. Whatever Digger wants, he gets?'

'You can try standing up to him, but he's big and he's got a lot of muscle. Or you pay him for what you want. You're lucky, Simon. You've got money. The guys who've got nothing still have to pay him. One way or another.'

Carpenter headed for the door.

'Gerry?' Carpenter stopped and turned. 'Thanks,' said Hitchcock. Tears were running down his cheeks.

Carpenter felt a rush of contempt for the man. 'Just remember the FT,' he said.

Shepherd was watching two prisoners, in yellow and green Jamaican football strips, play pool when he saw Carpenter come out of Hitchcock's cell and head for the stairs. He caught up with him as he reached the twos. 'Gerry, can I have a word?'

'What's up?'

They stood together at the railing, looking down on the ones. It was just before three thirty, which meant that tea would be served in just over an hour. Lock-up would start at five fifteen, which meant another fifteen hours stuck in their cells. Another fifteen hours with Lee, watching mindless television. Fifteen hours during which Shepherd's investigation remained in limbo.

'What we were talking about yesterday - in the gym?'

'What about it?'

Shepherd looked about him to check that no one was within earshot, and lowered his voice to a whisper: 'I've got to get out of here, it's doing my head in.'

'There's none of us in here by choice,' said Carpenter.

'I'm going crazy. I couldn't do a year inside, never mind a ten-stretch.'

'You adapt,' said Carpenter calmly.

'Fuck that!' spat Shepherd.

'Don't get pissy with me, Bob. I'm just telling you how it is.'

Shepherd gripped the rail so tightly that his knuckles whitened. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I've just had as much as I can take, that's all.'

'That's why we go to the gym. Burn off the excess energy.'

'That's okay if you know you're heading out. I'm going down for a long time, Gerry. Unless I do something about it.'

Carpenter shrugged. 'I've got problems of my own.'

'But you're dealing with them, right?'

Carpenter's eyes were icy. 'How do you know?'