‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean’ – he looked around making sure no one was in earshot – ‘he didn’t show up.’ Allison spoke in hushed tones. ‘Me and the boys, we were excited, you know? I mean, he may be a criminal, but the man is a legend. He took down so many scumbags, he put us all to shame. But the day came, the trial finished, and by the evening, we all clocked off, and nothing’s been said since then. Word from the skipper is to keep quiet and not talk about it.’
‘Are you telling me that Sam Pope never made it Pentonville?’
‘Yup.’ Confidently, Allison finished his drink. ‘Fuck if I know where they buried him.’
For a few seconds, the bar froze. None of the drunken banter or tedious pop music filtered through. Singh sat, shell-shocked, her mind racing as if she’d just emerged from water, before all her senses returned, along with a sense of clarity.
‘I have to go,’ she said firmly, standing immediately. Concerned, Allison stood, his hands held out in surprise.
‘Is everything okay?’
Singh stopped and laid a sympathetic hand on his arm. He was a good man and she could see the hurt in his eyes. She knew he would question everything he said, where he went wrong. The usual checklist people who were looking for love ran through when a date fell through.
With an apologetic smile, she answered him.
‘No, Matt. I have a bad feeling that things are very far from okay.’
Before he could respond, Singh marched to the door and as the cool breeze of the spring evening hit her, she felt the air rush into her lungs and she allowed herself to breathe.
* * *
The security system at Ashcroft had amazed Sharp since the day he’d started. No expense had been spared and it was common knowledge that the government had contracted the very best experts to create an impenetrable system and they’d been just as generous with the staff employed to run it.
During the quiet hours, between the staggered exercise breaks and dinner time, Sharp enjoyed spending time within the security office, the numerous screens on the wall offering a visual of every corridor and cell.
Watching the inmates maintaining their hourly push up routines was mundane, but there was a perverted sense of power Sharp felt when he observed them sat on the toilet or pathetically masturbating.
Even in their most private moments, Sharp ruled over them.
Along with the misguided sense of control, he enjoyed the fear he instilled in the security operators, especially Spencer Watkins. The man had more degrees than Sharp could count, but while his brain may have been impressive, his thin, breakable frame was not and Sharp enjoyed adding a little extra impetus into every backslap he gave the man.
Small displays of his strength, along with the hours of footage of him belittling and beating the inmates, meant Watkins shrunk into himself when Sharp sat idly by his side.
Today’s entertainment was Sam Pope.
Sharp glared at the screen, watching with a jealous rage at the calm man who sat quietly in his small cell with his legs crossed and his eyes closed. The idea of being locked away in this underground hellhole seemed to hold no fear to him and having reviewed the footage from his discussion with Chapman, the very real threats to his future had raised zero concern.
Sam’s calmness worried Sharp, but he would never admit it. The thought that he could beat Sam into submission, break him so he bent to his will was quickly becoming a fool’s errand.
After reviewing the footage of Sam’s dinner with Chapman, Sharp had begun to worry about how he would be perceived by The Guvnor going forward. Sure, Harris was sat in the main chair, but Chapman was running the prison. The inmates scattered when he walked by, laughed when he told a terrible joke, or asked ‘how high?’ when he told them to jump.
Sharp was Chapman’s safety net.
A very well-paid safety net.
With the man’s limitless fortune, Chapman had offered Sharp riches and pleasures beyond the paltry salary he earned from the government, and had sent him to the few establishments Sam hadn’t burnt to the ground.
With the money in his bank account and his name on the guest list, Sharp had indulged in his most depraved fantasies. Multiple women had been trapped under his meaty body, submitting to his grotesque demands while he stuffed as much cocaine up as his nose as he could. He could do whatever he wanted with them and he would often laugh when he tossed whatever money he deemed their worth, as they cried over what he’d put them through.
Well, the ones who were still conscious.
All he had to do to keep the gravy train running was facilitate Chapman’s life behind bars.
Sharp allowed him to bring in as much contraband through the guards as he desired, would set his guards on whoever Chapman pointed at and gave him the keys to his own cell.
It was a small price to pay for the doors Chapman had opened and in the back of Sharp’s mind, the idea of ending The Guvnor’s rule when he took the top job had crossed his mind once or twice. Until then, Sharp was more than happy watching his bank account grow and his desires fulfilled.
Watkins was aware of Sharp’s deal with Chapman, but a very clear threat to his family kept him quiet. A meek man, Watkins took his job seriously and he baffled Sharp with his technical talk. He was foolishly asked how secure the doors were, but as soon as Watkins began mentioning algorithms and self-changing identifiers, he glazed over, called him a nerd, and slapped him hard across the shoulder blades.
All Sharp knew was the prison was as secure as Fort Knox, but instead of being locked down by sadistic guards, it was controlled by
