mingling with the general population.
He headed down the metal stairs. The food had arrived and inmates were lining up with plastic trays. A couple of guys at the head of the line motioned for Carpenter to cut in front of them, but he shook his head. He saw Lee at the pool table, practising his stroke, and went over to watch him. 'How's it going, Jason?'
Lee straightened and put his cue back in the rack. 'Same old, same old.'
'Your cellmate's got a pass, then?'
'Glasgow cops have taken him up north for an ID parade.'
Lee moved to get past him, but Carpenter gripped his elbow. 'Hang on a minute, Jason, I want to pick your brains.'
Lee looked uncomfortable, but stayed where he was, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
'What's he like, Macdonald?' asked Carpenter.
'Keeps himself to himself. Doesn't say much.'
'Listens a lot, does he?'
'Just stays quiet.'
'Hard or soft, would you say?'
'He's civilised, that's for sure, but if push came to shove he'd shove back.'
Carpenter nodded thoughtfully. 'Has he said much about the job he was done for?'
'Armed robbery, some warehouse out at Gatwick. Silicon chips, he said. State-of-the-art stuff. Went in with shotguns and it all went tits-up.'
'What about the guys with him?'
'Hasn't said a word about them.'
'He was in to see his brief yesterday, wasn't he?'
Lee nodded. 'Yeah, said he was looking for more cash. You know what lawyers are like. Bloody leeches.'
'They pulled him out of the gym, like the meeting wasn't expected.'
'Yeah, that's what I heard.'
'Did he say anything about it back in the cell?'
'Like what?'
'Like, was the visit by the cops a surprise? Did his brief tell him the Jocks were on their way?'
Lee's brow furrowed as he concentrated. 'Nah, he didn't say nothing. Just lay on his bunk.' He chewed the inside of his mouth. 'He was upset. Really upset. Maybe he did know they were coming to get him.'
'You saw him being taken out, yeah?'
'Yeah. Amelia took him.'
'How did he seem then?'
Lee rubbed his chin. 'Okay. Called to me to tell me what was happening.'
'Did he now?'
'Yeah, but it was kosher. Hamilton was having a laugh about it later. Little old lady took pellets in the leg when he was knocking over a post office. She's in intensive care so Macdonald gets a day out.'
Carpenter patted Lee's shoulder. 'Do me a favour, Jason.'
'Anything, Gerry.'
'Keep an eye on him when he gets back. Ear to the ground, yeah?'
'You want me to go fishing?'
'No need for that. Just keep a watching brief.'
'No problem. Whatever you want's fine by me.'
Carpenter winked at him and went over to the food line. Eric Magowan was standing behind a tray of lasagne with a metal spatula in his hand. He was a tall, cadaverous man in his fifties who'd been accused of poisoning three old women at the nursing-home where he'd worked as a care assistant. He'd been given the hotplate job on the basis of his catering experience, but Carpenter reckoned that the screws got a sadistic pleasure from having a poisoner, albeit an alleged one, serving meals. Magowan saw Carpenter and said something to the men in the line. They parted to allow him space. A prisoner handed Carpenter a tray.
'How's it going, Eric?' said Carpenter. 'What's least likely to make me ill, huh?'
Liam was engrossed in a video game, his thumbs almost in spasm over the control pad of his PlayStation, his eyes fixed on the screen where a shotgun was blowing away Russian soldiers.
'You know they're illegal,' said Shepherd, as he dropped on to the sofa next to his son.
'What are?' asked Liam, still watching the screen.
'Shotguns. Can't use them in war. They're against the Geneva Convention.'
'What's that?'
'The rules of war.'
'That doesn't make sense,' said Liam. 'You can use rifles but you can't use shotguns?'
'Them's the rules,' said Shepherd.
'Guns are supposed to kill people, right?'
'Sure.'
'So why can't soldiers use shotguns? They do more damage than regular guns.' On screen he blasted away at a Russian trooper, whose head dissolved in a cloud of red mist. 'Look at that!' he said.
'Yeah. Doesn't this game have some sort of parental guidance warning?'
'Mum always lets me play it.'
Shepherd smiled to himself. From the age of three Liam had tried to play him off against Sue, and vice versa. 'Your dinner's ready.'
'I'm not hungry.'
Shepherd didn't feel hungry either, but he knew they both had to eat. 'Your gran's gone to a lot of trouble,' he said. 'Try to eat something to make her feel better, okay?'
'Okay.' Liam went on playing his game.
'Now,' said Shepherd.
'Okay.'
Shepherd picked up his son and shook him until he dropped the control pad, then carried him, giggling, into the kitchen. Moira had set the table for three, using Sue's best china.
Liam frowned at the plates. 'Mum doesn't let us use those, they're for best,' he said.
'It's okay,' said Shepherd.
'I didn't know . . .' said Moira.
'It's fine, really,' said Shepherd.
'Mum always lets us eat in front of the TV,' said Liam.
'Well, we're eating here tonight,' said Moira, using a ladle to pour helpings of beef stew on to the plates.
Shepherd sat down. Moira had put mashed potatoes and boiled carrots into two bowls. He heaped vegetables on to Liam's plate, then helped himself.
Moira sat down, smiled at them, then closed her eyes and put her hands together in prayer. Liam looked at his father, who nodded at him to follow suit and they put their hands together as Moira said grace. The prayer was short and to the point, but Shepherd barely heard the words. He didn't believe in God. His time in the SAS had destroyed whatever religious beliefs he might ever have held, and his police career had done nothing to convince him that a higher power was taking care of things. The world was a mean, vicious place where the strong devoured the weak and where bad things happened to good people. Shepherd wanted nothing to do with any god that countenanced such unfairness.
Carpenter lay on his bunk, staring out of the small barred window above his desk at a sliver of the moon. Along the landing he could hear spyglasses clicking as a member of the night staff did the hourly visual check. Carpenter could never understand its purpose: if an inmate was serious about suicide, they'd simply wait until it had been done before they went ahead. An hour was more than long enough to fashion a noose from a torn pillowcase or cut a wrist.
Carpenter's spyglass flicked open. He didn't react. Then it closed. He was still staring at the moon. The inspection hatch below the spyglass opened. That was unusual. He sat up. A hand appeared and tossed a folded piece of paper into the cell. The hatch was shut. Carpenter rolled off his bunk and picked up the note. The spyglass clicked open. An eye winked and the spyglass closed. Carpenter switched on his light and opened the note: 'Phone
