Barnes grunted. 'You're wasting your time.' He gestured up at the four CCTV cameras covering the exercise yard. 'Big Brother's watching you everywhere you go,' he said. 'You're escorted every move you make. Don't bother looking for a way out. There isn't one.'
'Escape-proof?'
'This place and Belmarsh were built to hold the most dangerous criminals in the country.' Barnes grinned. 'That's you and me, Bob.'
'And no one has ever got out?'
'Not from here.' Barnes started walking round the perimeter of the yard and Shepherd followed him. 'Guy got out of Belmarsh once.'
'Yeah? How?'
'Swapped identities with a prisoner who was being released,' said Barnes. He took another drag on his cigarette. 'The guards don't know every inmate's face and most of the file photographs are out of date by the time a guy's let out. So if you can find someone who's going to be released and persuade him to change places with you, you might get out.' Barnes grinned. 'Thing is, he's going to get another ten years for helping you. You either pay him off or threaten his family. If he's under duress, maybe he won't get sent down for it.'
Shepherd cracked his knuckles. Finding someone to change places with Carpenter was out of the question. He didn't have time and, besides, he had to escape with Carpenter. If they didn't go out together he had no guarantee that Liam would be released.
'There's always transit,' said Barnes.
'Transit?'
'You've got to make regular court appearances so that they can keep you on remand. Let Securicor take you through the gate. Minimum wage in uniforms, they are. The vans are heavy-duty, but they're still only armoured cars driven by monkeys. You've got mates with shooters?' Barnes made a gun with his right hand and faked shooting Shepherd in the face.
Shepherd nodded thoughtfully. Yeah, he had mates with shooters.
Rathbone unclipped his spaniel's lead and let her run free, in ever-increasing circles, sniffing and growling, happy to be out in the open air. Rathbone's mother took care of the dog when he was working, but she had a bad hip and couldn't do more than let her out into the tiny back garden. She had been on an NHS waiting list for a new hip for the best part of four months, but there was no sign yet of her getting anywhere near a surgeon's knife. It wasn't fair, thought Rathbone. His father had paid a lifetime of tax and National Insurance contributions and had died of a heart-attack two weeks after he retired. Now his mum had to wait in line for medical treatment while asylum-seekers stayed in hotels and got money in their pockets. It wasn't fair, and life wasn't fair. But at least he was doing something to redress the balance. Five grand for delivering the photograph to Carpenter. Ten grand for the phone. With any luck Carpenter would stay behind bars for years. And if Carpenter got out, the prison was full of wealthy guys who could afford the service Rathbone offered: access to the little comforts that could make life inside a bit more comfortable.
The dog ran off, barking. Rathbone twirled the lead and walked after her. He'd have liked nothing more than to whisk his mother into a private hospital and have her pain taken away, but if he did that he risked losing everything. The money had to stay untouched until he left the prison service. Until then he had to live at home, drive a three-year-old car and watch his mother hobble upstairs to bed each night.
A man was walking along the path towards him. He was in the centre so Rathbone stepped to the side but the man moved the same way. Rathbone smiled an apology.
'Nice dog,' said the man. He had unnaturally white teeth and they seemed slightly too big for his mouth.
'Yeah,' said Rathbone, disinterestedly. He had no wish to get into a conversation with a stranger. He didn't mind talking to other dog-owners, but the man had no lead in his hand and there was no dog nearby. Rathbone called his dog, but the spaniel was having too much fun to respond.
'Cocker spaniel, isn't he?' said the man.
'She,' said Rathbone. 'She's a bitch.'
The man smiled. 'Yeah. So's life.' He pulled a hunting knife from his coat pocket and thrust it into Rathbone's chest. Rathbone fell back and the knife came sucking out, still in the man's hand.
Rathbone turned and tried to run but another man was in the way. He, too, was holding a knife, and he slashed it across Rathbone's throat. Rathbone tried to scream but his windpipe was full of blood and all that came out was a soft gurgle. He fell to his knees, clutching his throat, feeling the warm blood pump through his fingers.
'You shouldn't have opened the envelope, Craig,' said the man with white teeth. He kicked Rathbone in the chest and he fell backwards into the grass.
'Big mistake,' added his companion.
'Huge,' said the first man. Rathbone's eyes glazed over and his mouth fell open, bloody froth on his lips. 'Get his wallet and watch. Let's at least try to make it look like a mugging.'
The spaniel watched them from behind a tree, her body low to the ground.
'Do you want to kill the dog?' Rathbone heard the second man say, his voice far off in the distance.
'No, Pat, I do not want to kill the fucking dog.'
That was the last thing Rathbone heard, and he found it strangely comforting. At least his dog would be okay.
Shepherd waited until no prisoners were waiting to use the phones, then walked over and dialled Jimmy Sharpe's number. It was a mobile and when the detective answered he could hear an approaching siren in the background.
'DC Sharpe, this is Bob Macdonald.' He spoke quickly so that Sharpe would know they had to stay in character.
'How's prison food?' asked Sharpe.
'I need a favour,' said Shepherd. 'I need you to check on my boy.'
'You think there's a problem?'
'If there is, I don't want you to do anything about it,' said Shepherd. 'You've still got that number I gave you?'
'Yes.'
'If there's anything untoward at the house, call my friend and tell him what's happened. But that's all. Don't start raising red flags.'
'Okay,' said Sharpe, hesitantly.
'Mum's the word on this,' said Shepherd. 'Any comeback, any shit heading towards the fan, and you know nothing.'
'Understood.'
'Thanks,' said Shepherd.
'Are you okay?'
'Not really, but there's nothing you can do to help. Just check on my boy, and make that call. Then forget we spoke.' Shepherd replaced the receiver and walked up the stairs to the threes. He went along the landing to Gilly Gilchrist. 'I need to talk to him,' said Shepherd.
Gilchrist went into the cell, and reappeared a few moments later. He waved Shepherd inside.
Carpenter was sitting on his chair, a pair of headphones in his hand. 'Mozart,' he said. 'Nothing better than a bit of Mozart in the afternoon.'
'I think I've got a plan,' said Shepherd.
'I'm very glad to hear it,' said Carpenter. 'And I'm sure Liam will be, too.' He smiled.
Shepherd wanted to grab him and slam his head against the concrete wall until the back was a bloody mess. 'When's your next court appearance?' he asked.
'Next week,' said Carpenter. 'Tuesday morning.'
'That gives me enough time,' said Shepherd.
'Time for what?'
'I can get you out while you're in transit. In the van on the way to court.'
Carpenter scowled. 'Do you have any idea how they take me to court?' he asked.
'In a Securicor van. Same sort they brought me in, right? It's not a problem.'
