'As a rule I wouldn't be discussing operational matters with you,' said Hargrove, 'and certainly not with a civilian,' he nodded at Alice. 'But under the present circumstances, coupled with the fact that you are now effectively isolated from the outside world, we've decided to bend the rules.'
Roper leaned forward in his armchair, his head tilted to one side as he stared at Hargrove.
'I head up an undercover unit that reports directly to the Home Office,' said Hargrove. 'We are a police unit, but separate from all police forces. If and when a chief constable requires our assistance, a request is made to the Home Secretary. If it is approved, our unit is seconded to a particular case. More often than not it involves the positive targeting of a named individual, someone who has been able to evade conventional police operations. A request was made last week for my unit to move against Gerald Carpenter, and an operation to that effect is now in place.'
'You've got a guy undercover in a Category A prison?' said Roper, astonishment on his face. 'He must have balls of steel.'
Hargrove smiled. That pretty much described Spider Shepherd. 'His mission is two-fold,' the superintendent continued. 'We are trying to find out how Carpenter is continuing to run his organisation from behind bars, and we hope our man will be able to gather evidence that Carpenter was responsible for ordering the killing of Jonathon Elliott. Our man is risking a lot - everything, in fact - and I wanted you to be awareof that. He's undercover twenty- four hours a day in horrendous conditions that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. And if you do pull out and the case against him collapses, Carpenter walks and our man will have risked his life for nothing.'
'This man, he's a policeman?' asked Alice.
'He's a former soldier but he's a policeman now. He's been undercover for most of his police career, but this is the most dangerous mission he's ever undertaken.'
'And does he have a family?' Alice looked anxiously at Roper.
'Yes, he does,' said Hargrove. 'And his wife is as fearful for his safety as you are for your husband's.'
Roper was smiling now. 'You're going to get him, aren't you? Carpenter's going down?'
'We're going to get him,' said Hargrove. 'You and my team. Together we'll put him where he belongs. Hopefully for most of the rest of his life.'
'Sandy . . .' said Alice.
'You heard the man, Alice,' said Roper. 'This isn't just about us now. It's not as if the whole case rests on my evidence.' He looked up at Hargrove earnestly. 'Conspiracy to murder, right?'
'At the very least,' said the superintendent.
'That's life,' Roper said to his wife. 'He'd be awayfor life. And this time it wouldn't all be hanging on my evidence.' Alice's shoulders slumped. Roper got up and stood next to her. Then he knelt beside her and took her hands. 'What if it was the other way round?' he said. 'What if it was me in prison, putting my life on the line, and he was at home with his family? Wouldn't you want him to do what was right?'
Alice looked at him. A tear ran slowly down her cheek, but as he was holding her hands she couldn't wipe it away. 'It's not about what's right and what's wrong,' she said. 'I know that what you're doing is right, but I'm not a child. I know that sometimes bad people get away with doing evil things, and good people get hurt. I don't want our family hurt, Sandy.'
'You won't be hurt, I promise.'
'That's not a promise you can make,' she said. She took a deep breath, then looked across at Mackie. 'My husband can do what he wants,' she said, her voice suddenly stronger, 'but the children and I are not staying here.'
'Mrs Roper--' began Mackie, but Alice continued to speak.
'We're leaving now. I have a sister in Bournemouth. We'll go and stay with her.'
'Mrs Roper, that's really not wise,' said Mackie.
'You can have men watching the house there, but if what you say is true we'll be in no more danger there than we are here. It's Sandy who's in the firing line, so it makes sense for us to be as far away from him as possible.'
Mackie and Hargrove exchanged a look. Roper stood up. 'It's probably for the best,' he said to Mackie. 'It's a guest-house near the seafront. The Church could put people in there without attracting suspicion.'
'And you're still with us on this?'
'One hundred per cent,' Roper said. He smiled reassuringly at his wife, but she looked away, stony- faced.
Shepherd dropped to the ground in the corner of the exercise yard and started doing slow press-ups. He did twenty on the flat of his hands, then another twenty on his fingertips. He rolled on to his back and did a hundred crunches, then leg-raises.
As he stood up he saw Needles in the far corner, deep in conversation with Dreadlocks. Both West Indians turned to look at him and he knew they were talking about him. He had the feeling that whatever truce there had been with Dreadlocks following the fight on the landing was about to be rewritten. He'd already assumed that Needles wouldn't come for him one-on-one.
Shepherd knew that as long as he was in the yard he was safe. When the attack came it would be out of sight of the officers and CCTV cameras, in a cell or the showers. And this time Needles wouldn't be fighting empty- handed. It would start with a mug of boiling water thrown into his face or a plastic toilet-brush handle carved into a spike and thrust between his ribs. Needles wouldn't be fighting fair because nothing in prison was fair: all that mattered was winning.
Shepherd started touching his toes, swinging his arms and building up a rhythm. It was four o'clock in the afternoon so the inmates were allowed another forty-five minutes out of their cells before the evening meal was served and they were locked up for the night. If anything was going to happen that day, it could only happen within the next forty-five minutes.
Shepherd straightened up and started to walk round the perimeter of the exercise yard. He went clock-wise - everyone did, even though there was no rule that prevented them going the other way.
Lee and his football cronies were leaning against the wire fence, deep in conversation. Lee nodded at Shepherd as he walked by. He nodded back. He had to walk past Needles and Dreadlocks to get out of the yard. He didn't look at them, although he could feel them staring at him. He had gone past the stage of sour looks and menacing stares: he'd made his decision. All he needed now was the opportunity.
He walked out of the exercise yard, back on to the spur, and slowly towards the stairs. Half a dozen of the older inmates were sitting at a table playing dominoes, and four Jamaicans were playing pool. One of them was Stickman, the tall, thin guy that had attacked Shepherd with Dreadlocks on his first morning. Shepherd sensed no hostility from him as he walked past the pool table. No sullen look, no hard stare.
He reached the bottom of the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Needles and Dreadlocks emerge from the exercise yard. They'd been searched when they went into the yard so Shepherd knew they wouldn't be carrying weapons. He went up to the twos. Needles and Dreadlocks walked along the ones and into Needles's cell, which he shared with another West Indian who was still in the exercise yard. Shepherd leaned over the rail. Rathbone was at the entrance to the exercise yard, patting down prisoners who wanted to go outside. There were no other officers on the ones.
There were two in the bubble, drinking coffee and talking.
Shepherd turned and hurried down the stairs. The Jamaicans were intent on the pool game. The old lags were bent over their dominoes. He walked towards Needles's cell. Charlie Weston was at the water-boiler, filling his metal Thermos flask. A middle-aged prisoner in a prison-issue tracksuit was filling out a visitor application.
Shepherd reached Needles's cell. The door was ajar. He took a final look round and pushed it open.
Ray Mackie waited until the Rover was within a mile of the City, then told Hargrove he could remove the hood. He took it off and ran a hand across his hair and down the back of his neck. 'I look forward to taking you on a clandestine meet one day, Ray,' he said.
Mackie chuckled. 'You're lucky we didn't get the rubber gloves out.'
Hargrove settled back in the plush leather seat and looked out of the window at the passing traffic. The Rover's rear windows were tinted so other motorists wouldn't have been able to see that he was hooded. 'I didn't like having to lie to them like that,' he said quietly.
'We didn't have a choice,' said Mackie.
'Even so.'
