“All?” Creevey’s voice was politely incredulous.
“Yes. From, say, six in the morning of the twenty-first of December until half past four in the afternoon.”
“I think that might be a problem.”
“It’s my right,” she said. “The judge said you were to give me everything I asked for. I demand it.”
A hefty sigh came down the phone. “It might take some time.”
“I haven’t got time.”
“I need a different room. It’s my right.” She sneezed loudly.
Deborah Cole stared at her across the polished desk as if she were an alien species, something curious and faintly repellent. “You don’t seem to understand the rules,” she said. “This is a prison, not a hotel.”
“I have the right to see all the evidence I need before my trial.”
“You’re beginning to try my patience.”
Tabitha squeezed her fists together. She knew she mustn’t lose her temper but the sight of the governor’s blond hair, her impeccably applied makeup, her tailored clothes, maddened her. She pictured all the women prisoners, their night terrors and their private agonies and the mess of their lives, and she looked at Deborah Cole’s manicured hands and her shapely eyebrows and thought she might pick up the paperweight and hurl it at her.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said in a tight, scratchy voice. “But I do need a space where the electricity works and where I can watch CCTV footage. The judge was very insistent,” she added, “that I have everything I require. He made a point of it. I’m sure you don’t want to be seen to be impeding the course of justice.”
She felt ridiculous using such a phrase, but she saw something shift under the smooth surface of Deborah Cole’s face.
Thirty-Three
There was no warning. After the breakfast trays had been collected, Mary Guy appeared at the door.
“You’re going to see a film,” she said.
Tabitha wasn’t immediately sure whether this was a question or a statement. Then she realized. She picked up her notebook and a handful of pens. She followed the warden into the library. Mary Guy walked round the desk into the librarian’s office. They went through a door at the back, entering a room that was little more than a corridor with the toilet at the far end. A small TV screen had been placed on a narrow table. A DVD player was attached.
“Really?” Tabitha said. “You could have just put it on a memory stick.”
“No computer. It’s a security issue.”
“It would have saved a lot of trouble.”
“We’re not here to save you trouble.”
“So is it on disc?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you got it?”
“Yeah.”
There was a pause.
“All right,” said Tabitha. “I wasn’t just asking out of interest. Are you going to give it to me?”
“Them. There are a few of them.”
“Are you going to give them to me?”
“Hang on.”
“What for?”
“It needs to be checked over.”
“I know how to operate a DVD player.”
“I said hang on.”
Mary Guy’s tone had grown more menacing, so Tabitha stood and waited, faintly puzzled. Then the door opened and a familiar shaven-headed figure entered. One of the women from the fight, all those days ago. It took Tabitha a moment to remember her name.
“Jasmine,” she said. “Are you going to watch TV with me?”
Mary Guy took something from her pocket and handed it to Jasmine Cash. Tabitha couldn’t see what it was.
“Two minutes,” said the warden and left the room.
“What’s this?” said Tabitha. “I don’t need help to work a DVD player.”
Jasmine ignored her. She sat down and put the DVD player on her lap. Now Tabitha saw that the warden had given Jasmine a miniature screwdriver. With a few deft movements, she was using it to unfasten the screws on the back panel. She didn’t remove the panel but loosened it enough so that she could push her fingers inside. She pulled out a small white plastic bag and then Tabitha saw that the plastic wasn’t white. It was what was inside the bag.
“What the fuck is this?”
Jasmine ignored her. She put the bag on the table and then pushed her hand back inside the back of the DVD player. When she was done, there were four small bags in a line on the table. She put two in each pocket of her tracksuit bottoms. Then, with a frown of concentration, she refastened the panel. Then she looked round at Tabitha with a smile.
“We owe you one,” she said.
“If they found out—” Tabitha began.
“They won’t find out. They don’t want to find out.”
The door opened and Mary Guy came back in. Jasmine handed the screwdriver back.
“All working fine,” she said.
“Good,” said Mary Guy. “Then you’d better be on your way.”
When Jasmine had gone, Tabitha looked at the warden for some sign that she felt guilty or uneasy or acknowledged in any way what had just happened. She saw nothing, nothing at all.
“There are rules,” the warden said.
“Rules? What do you mean, rules?”
“I’m told that you’re entitled to watch this and you’re entitled to privacy. That means I’m outside the door at all times. Don’t get up to anything. Just watch your film.”
Mary Guy was holding an A4-sized padded envelope. She laid it on the table.
“The discs are in there,” she said and then she left the room.
The envelope was stapled shut and Tabitha pulled it open. There were two little stacks of discs, held together with rubber bands. She took the two piles out and examined them. Each one had a label affixed: one said “interior” and the other “exterior.” She started with the exterior pile. Each disc was in its own square envelope with a time scrawled on it in thick black marker. She saw “3–4 P.M.” on one, “10–11 A.M.” on another. She arranged them in chronological order. The first was “6–7 A.M.” Wouldn’t it be completely dark? The last was “7–8 P.M.,” well after the action was over. She opened the envelope of the third disc, “8–9 A.M.,” and inserted it into the DVD player. At first the screen was just a fizzing blur
