Osama

trial, which could take anything up to a year. My name’s Jacqueline Thomas. I’ve been assigned to your case and I’m—’

‘Where’s Conor?’

‘I understand he’s being looked after by his paternal grandfather. Sergeant Mansfield, I’m going to recommend from the get-go that you don’t attempt to—’

‘I didn’t do it,’ Joe said, keeping his voice quiet.

There was a pause. Jacqueline Thomas’s eyes flickered towards the door, and Joe could tell she was wondering whether to call in the guard from outside. She obviously decided against it, and continued as though Joe hadn’t said anything. ‘A plea of diminished responsibility could reduce the charge to manslaughter…’

‘I didn’t do it.’

The lawyer laid her file on the table, removed her glasses and looked him in the eye. ‘Fine,’ she said in a neutral voice. ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me what happened last night?’

Joe closed his eyes. The horror flashed back into his mind. The knife entering Caitlin’s body, the noose, Conor’s scream… When he opened his eyes five seconds later, he saw that his hand was shaking again. The lawyer made a show of noticing it too. One eyebrow shot up meaningfully. ‘Sergeant Mansfield?’ she pressed.

He stared at her. Unbidden, another image returned to him. Dom Fletcher, his OC, asking if any of them had breached SOPs. The way his gaze had lingered for a fraction of a second on Joe.

‘Who sent you?’

She blinked. ‘I told you, I’ve been assigned to your—’

Joe made an impatient tutting sound. Why the fuck should he trust this woman? Why should he trust anyone?

‘I want to go back to my cell,’ he said.

‘You can’t do that. You’re looking at life without parole, Sergeant Mansfield. As your designated legal counsel I’m obliged to advise you that we request a full psychiatric evaluation, and that we do it immediately…’

‘Shut up!’ Joe roared at her. ‘Just fucking shut up!’

He could feel himself losing it, feel his whole body shaking with anger.

He could see Ricky, looking at him across the minefield… ?Caitlin’s face as the knife entered…

He was on his feet, banging on the door with his fists, vaguely aware that the woman behind him was shouting for help.

The guards were there… barking at him… restraining him…

And ten minutes later Joe was back in his cell, trembling, his breath jerky, cold sweat soaking his body.

Hunter stared at him like he was a lunatic. He was sitting cross-legged on the top bunk. The TV was on. Some fucking Noel Edmonds game show. Behind him, Joe heard the sound of a key in the cell door. He kept his back to the door, breathing deeply, trying to regain control of himself.

‘Lock-up till twelve-thirty, fella,’ Hunter said nervously. Joe stepped forward and switched off the TV. No complaint. Hunter clearly knew what was good for him. Joe lay on the bottom bunk. Perhaps emboldened by the fact that Joe hadn’t threatened violence, he spoke again. ‘I can sell you some snout,’ he said. His voice had taken on a wheedling tone. ‘Pay me back when you get—’

‘What’s that?’

A huge din had erupted outside. Shouting. Clattering. Joe jumped up and strode towards the window. He opened it – it was grimy and smeared – and looked through the bars onto the exercise yard. Approximately twenty inmates had walked out into it. Without exception they had their hands in their pockets and their heads down. None of them spoke to anyone else, and everyone ignored the din. It came, so far as Joe could tell, from the windows that overlooked the exercise yard, of which there had to be almost fifty. He could see hands emerging from the windows, grabbing the bars and rattling them. Amid the chaos of shouting, he heard two words repeated: ‘beast’ and ‘nonce’.

‘I saw you talking to Finch.’ Hunter’s voice was slightly strained, as if he wanted to distract Joe from what was going on outside. Joe closed the window – the noise deadened slightly – and turned back to him.

‘Who’s Finch?’ he demanded.

‘He’s from Northern Ireland.’

Joe remembered the man in the breakfast queue.

‘Give you a word of advice for free?’ said Hunter.

‘What?’

‘Finch thinks he’s top dog. Least, he wants other people to think that. But he can’t touch Hennessey. Don’t matter where he is…’

‘Who the fuck’s Hennessey?’

‘He’s in the Seg Wing,’ Hunter said. ‘Solitary. Often is. Reckon he prefers it that way. Don’t stop him running the place.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You think the screws are in charge here?’ Hunter snorted dismissively. ‘That’s bullshit. Hennessey’s in charge. Ain’t afraid of nothing or nobody. Up to his eyes in drugs and killings when he was on the outside. Done three murders since he’s been banged up. Knows he ain’t never getting out.’

‘Who did he kill?’

‘Scoobies wouldn’t give him his own cell up in Hull when he got banged up. Bumped his cellmate off first night he was in. Smashed the bloke’s skull against the wall, that’s what I heard. Done it another two times before they give him his own room. Fucking stupid, some of these screws, if you ask me. Anyway, what Hennessey says goes. Even the scoobies do what he tells them, and there ain’t a single inmate won’t follow his orders. Except Finch and his crew, of course. But they’ll learn. He’s a clever bastard, Hennessey, on top of everything else. Sly. Knows how to make things work for himself.’

Another pause. Hunter started examining his fingernails.

‘Does he get visitors?’ The more information Joe could get on this Hennessey, the better.

‘Why you so interested?’

Joe gave him a dangerous look.

‘All right, all right,’ Hunter said quickly. ‘There’s a woman, least that’s what I heard. Comes in once a month. Scoobies let them hook up, dunno where.’

‘Know her name?’

‘No.’

‘Anyone else get the same treatment?’

Hunter shook his head. ‘Special privileges. Word is, the only thing that’s stopping Hennessey’s lot rioting is his say-so. Take away his privileges…’ He made a sign with his hands like a bomb going off. ‘Like I say, clever bastard. Knows how to fix things. Course,’ he added quietly, ‘it’s because of Hennessey that I’m not in the Seg Wing with the others.’

‘What others?’

‘The others that are… in here for the same as me.’

‘The sex cases?’

Another sniff. ‘If that’s what you want to call us. Got the scoobies in his pocket, ain’t he? Knows he’ll never get us all out into the general prison population, so he’s doing us one by one. Last fella they done in the showers. Cut him to ribbons, his dick and all. Broke both his arms. Didn’t kill him, though. Dunno why. Young lad. Nice fella.’ He sniffed again. ‘I’m next. They already had a go, didn’t they?’

‘The train tracks on your neck?’

‘You been eyeing me up?’

Joe immediately stepped forward and grabbed the disgusting little nonce by his hair. Hunter squealed like a frightened girl. ‘What did they use?’ Joe hissed.

‘A shiv.’

‘What the fuck’s a shiv?’

‘A weapon,’ the nonce babbled. ‘Home-made. The block’s full of them…’