Staying Alive Read online

  ‘My first degree is an honours in psychology and criminology, and I’ve a master’s degree in forensic psychology.’

  ‘Now there’s a clever girl. And your real role here?’

  ‘To get inside the head of ambiguous cases.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Some people are exceptionally dangerous.’

  I waited. She was going to outwait me but I needed information more than she did.

  ‘Am I exceptionally dangerous?’

  ‘We don’t know. It says here that you were in Parchman Farm, Mississippi and while there in Unit 32. I understand that’s solitary confinement.’

  ‘We?’ I’d ducked the implied question.

  ‘There’s a committee. The members of the committee review all people that come here. Some are obviously dangerous, some are obviously not and some are ambiguous.’

  ‘And I’m ambiguous?’

  ‘It seems so.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what. I’m likely to be here for a very long time so what I’d like is a straightforward briefing and after you’ve observed me for four or five years you can decide if I’m dangerous. How does that suit you? No, wait: I bet you’re one of those fast-track goodies, so in four years you’ll be a governor or you’ll have completed your doctoral thesis and be in some educational establishment and I’ll be a case study.’

  She completely ignored what I said. She was cutting her losses. It must have been that I was too near the mark. Interesting.

  ‘I’d like to ask you a question about Parchman Unit 32. Did you do solitary?’

  ‘Everybody in Unit 32 does solitary.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s the routine.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ She’d opened a spiral-bound American Quarto book with a shiny blue and white cover. I knew it was about Unit 32. I’d seen one before; well, I had one. I wondered how she had one.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘When did you go into solitary?’

  ‘First Monday at nine in the morning.’

  ‘Reason?’

  ‘Everybody in Unit 32 does a short spell in solitary just so they know what will happen if they play silly buggers.’

  ‘When did you come out?’

  ‘Saturday, five days later, in the same order that we went in.’

  ‘We?’ She’d just done to me what I’d done to her.

  ‘All the new entries to Unit 32.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Five’

  ‘So five of you went in on the Monday morning and five came out on Saturday morning?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did they tell you before they put you in?’

  ‘The Chief lined us up and told us there were five things to remember.’ I wasn’t making this easy for her. Why should I?

  ‘They were?’

  ‘The first one was silence is golden, so we could enjoy its riches. Prayer is good for the soul, so we should pray. He said we should eat well because it would give us strength to endure the pain of the remorse for what we’d done. Exercise to maintain flexibility of body and through that, maintain flexibility of the mind. And the last one was to masturbate as little as possible as it’s better to conserve our strength, dignity and self-respect. He said we would know not to return.’

  ‘What did they tell you when you came out?’

  ‘Same sort of stuff: learn from your experiences, good actions – no, positive actions – have positive consequences and disruptive actions have negative consequences or something like that, learn and behave yourself. It was like being in school again.’

  ‘What was it like when you came out?’

  ‘What was it like?’

  ‘Yes, how did you feel?’

  ‘Right, um, yes. Immediately I felt relief. After four days you’re scared they won’t let you out so when you come out you feel relief. Then you feel, or I felt, anger. What right did they have to do that to me?’

  ‘So what did you do?

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I might get solitary or a lethal injection.’

  ‘Okay, Jake Robinson, here is your number. Each number is unique and it’ll tie together everything that’s to do with you and is done to you.’ She droned on: the rules, health care, what I can take to my cell, cell cleaning, what is in the canteen and on and on until she said, ‘Anything I’ve missed?’ What a neat trick question. She was testing if I was a plant.

  ‘How the hell would I know?’

  ‘Oh, I just thought you’d know about prisons.’

  ‘I know this is very different from Mississippi State.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘They’re very careful in Mississippi. I was an oddity so they stuck me in Unit 32. You probably know from your notes there that Unit 32 is high security and most people in it are in solitary lock down, and some are just in close confinement as I was, so for the short period I was there I saw little and heard little. No cosy conversations like this. I was convicted of killing a federal officer, so by definition I was a dangerous prisoner and I was doubly dangerous as there were people trying to get me transferred out and what was even worse they weren’t Americans, so I must also be a terrorist, but as they’d lawyers and politicians looking over their shoulders they just kept me in close confinement.’

  ‘I see.’ She was again evaluating what I said.

  ‘Well, there’s something I’d like to know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Visiting.’

  ‘As a Category B prisoner serving a long sentence you’ll be allowed at least two visits lasting one hour or more every four weeks. If you behave yourself and stay out of trouble for the next six months then that may be increased.’

  ‘Wow, I’m going to be overwhelmed by the social round. When will the first visit be?’

  ‘In about two weeks. Just fill in a form and it will be authorised.’

  ‘Phone calls?’

  ‘We’ve a pin-number system here. You can make calls lasting a total of one hour each month so you can have one, one-hour call or sixty, one-minute calls. You have to be here two weeks before you get your pin number.’

  ‘Are they monitored?’

  ‘Most calls are recorded and may be monitored at any time except if they are made to a legal adviser or the Samaritans. Some numbers are blocked, such as chat-lines.’

  ‘My lawyer?’

  ‘You looking to find a legal way out?’

  ‘I want to see my lawyer.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Two things: The first is that I want to challenge my conviction and secondly, I want to challenge the regime in here on the basis of infringement of human rights.’

  ‘Who is your lawyer?’

  ‘You’ve read my file.’

  She opened the file and turned over some pages. ‘The criminal one is Sir Nicolas Ross QC. Sir Nicolas Ross, eh? That’s a bit high powered.’

  ‘You better believe it, lady.’

  ‘Does he know you then?’

  ‘You know he does. He got me back here from the States so that he could work on my case.’

  ‘He’d be very expensive.’

  Oh dear, Jake; you’ve just made your first cock-up.

  ‘Not really, Senior Officer James. I was a witness in a case before him and he took a shine to me. I was also in MI5 at the time of my arrest and they’ve recognised the cock-up that got me imprisoned, and Sir Nicolas, as you know, got me back here.’

  ‘It says you’ve a solicitor, Keith Todd.’

  ‘Yes, I want to start a challenge using human rights legislation. Keith Todd will find me the person I’ll need.’

  ‘What human rights abuse are you going to challenge?’

  ‘This thing.’ I held up the tracker on my wrist.

  ‘So you think that violates your human rights?’

  ‘I’m not a lawyer but let’s see Article 3: Prohibition of Torture. A person has the absolute right not to be tortured or subjected t
o treatment or punishment which is inhuman or degrading.’ I held up my wrist. ‘Article 4: A person has the absolute right not to be treated as a slave.’ I pointed to my wrist. ‘Article 5: The right not to be deprived of their liberty without a proper legal basis in law. The judge didn’t mention this thing. Article 11: Right to associate with other people. I reckon somewhere in this lot you are violating my human rights by putting this thing on me.’

  ‘I think you might be very dangerous, but in a different way to how we thought.’

  ‘You’d better believe it, lady.’ I thought I’d thrown enough sand in her eyes for them to leave me alone, at least in the short term. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Is it about telling me to fuck off.’

  I had to smile. ‘No, it’s about me being sent to Brixton and then here when I was told I would be coming here from the States.’

  ‘Now that is interesting; I was going to ask you about that. Why do you prefer to be here?’

  ‘Well, here you get a personal officer and Brixton is, to be polite, a disgusting shit hole.’

  ‘See, two very good reasons, Jake, but could it be that somebody doesn’t want you here?’

  ‘You know I thought that, but I couldn’t think why not.’

  ‘Yes, Jake Robinson, you can lay more false trails than a Red Indian.’

  ‘You’re not allowed to say that; it’s racist. You have to say Native American.’ I used a prissy voice. She smiled.

  ‘You’re good at avoiding answering me, Jake.’ She pulled out a pink form, ticked a number of boxes, put crosses in a couple and wrote a little note at the bottom.

  ‘So that’s the report?’ I asked

  ‘Yes. Despite what I’ve read about Unit 32 Parchman, you show no evident psychological maladjustment or psychotic disorganisation.’

  ‘Your conclusion?’

  ‘I haven’t reached one yet.’

  ‘Don’t believe all you read, lady.’

  She tipped her head to the left, looking at me; she was definitely unsure about me. ‘Well, you’ve a friend in here and you’ll be sharing a cell with him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Harry Mount.’

  ‘Harry Mount? I’m not sure I know him.’

  ‘He says you do and he says he knows you.’

  ‘Give me a clue.’

  ‘He’s about six foot three or four, weighs about eighteen stone of solid muscle, ex-Royal Marine Commando. Said you were a hero in Iraq. Pulled you out when you got injured in a riot.’

  ‘Christ, yes – a big, black sergeant.’

  She winced: probably the fact I mentioned his colour when she avoided mentioning it. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Took some drugs and killed five men over a period of seven weeks. He’s a Category A prisoner. You’ve nice friends, Captain.’

  ‘I never heard about this.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. He was a mercenary in Nigeria when he went on his killing spree. When the Nigerians caught up with him they were going to shoot him but the British Government did a deal and he came back here to Brixton as a Cat B, but he was a trifle disruptive and after only a week inside he made a break. That would be about two months ago and a policeman got seriously injured. He was upgraded to Cat A and transferred here. He’s been absolutely no trouble since. I’d say he’s a model prisoner. Strange that, don’t you think?’

  ‘Don’t I think what?’

  ‘That someone has a record of violence, was highly disruptive in one prison, comes to another and he’s just a pussy cat.’

  I decided to tackle this one straight on and say exactly what this very bright lady was thinking. ‘Perhaps he disliked Brixton or, I know, he’s a plant and it was a way to get him in here.’

  ‘I was thinking the same thing.’

  ‘Yes, I know; that’s why I said it.’

  ‘Why might he be planted in here?’

  ‘Well,’ I pretended to think, ‘he heard that in here is a very sexy red-headed senior prison officer named James who loves to shag six foot four, black, ex-Royal Marine sergeants.’

  Her whole being relaxed and she smiled. ‘It’s going to be great having you here, Jake. Let’s go and see him.’

  Complete with my roll of gear, I followed her to B-Wing and had my first glimpse of my new living quarters. It was similar to one of the modern American prisons I’d viewed: very open and light due to the sloping glass roof, with wings radiating from a central area. It smelled fresh, open and clean, the way all institutions should smell, but already it was suffering from what all British prisons suffer from – overcrowding. On the first landing the cells were built as singles and already, due to the lack of prison space, most were doubled up.

  13

  The walkways above the ground floor were cast and wrought iron and scanned by CCTV. This place was very secure, so why was it that I didn’t feel safe? I knew. It was the hidden calls that said things like, ‘You’re a dead man, copper.’ Prisoners were making gestures indicating that I wasn’t going to survive long. Perhaps my plan to be high profile was misplaced. Senior Officer James ignored this threatening atmosphere.

  As we walked onto the first landing she said, ‘Most of it’s just sounding off to look big and feel brave.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that.’

  ‘You’re in danger though.’

  ‘Now she tells me.’

  ‘Just keep yourself to yourself until they get used to you. Don’t be provoked and if you do end up in some form of fight, win. If you lose your life will be hell.’

  ‘That’s what I like: encouragement. Let me say this, lady, if any of these bozos pick a fight with me I’ll kill him if he doesn’t succeed in killing me first. There’s only one conclusion to fighting with me.’

  She looked at me and I could see her wondering whether this was bravado or I meant it. She made up her mind.

  ‘You can address me as ma’am or Senior Officer James.’

  I said, ‘Gee, right on, ma’am,’ in a Southern States accent.

  She smiled.

  Suddenly, in front of me, was a giant of a man. He was twice the size of his photo.

  ‘Hi, Jake, long time no see.’ He pulled me into a bear-like hug then pushed me out to arm’s length. ‘Still beating up bad boys?’

  ‘Only if they deserve it, Sergeant.’

  ‘God, it’s great to be called Sergeant again, Captain. Welcome to our humble abode. You can have the top bunk. Rank has its privileges. I’d hate to fall through those flimsy springs onto you.’

  I scanned my new abode. It was intended to be a single cell but was more than twice the size of the Brixton cell I had just left. It had everything that Brixton had except the toilet area was enclosed and the enclosure included the washbasin and an extractor fan. How about that for posh?

  Officer James was watching, but there was no indication what she was thinking, so I asked, ‘Are you Harry’s personal officer as well?’

  ‘Yes, as it happens, I am.’

  ‘So you only pick the good boys.’

  She laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s right. Good is of course relative. Tomorrow we’ll look at your work or training assignments; though, we were thinking you might want to teach some education courses. We’re not overburdened with people of your educational level.’

  ‘That would be brilliant.’

  ‘We’ll see, tomorrow then.’

  So I was in and over the first hurdle. Harry briefed me but he was concerned that I’d be targeted. The briefing I received was unlike any that another prisoner might have with his new cellmate. I got the informal organisation run by the cons, who would be dangerous to me, who was in the frame for killing Jase and where the order probably came from. I was surprised that he was concerned about two of the prison officers. Eric Moorby and J.J. Manson. They’d been on duty when Jase was killed.

  ‘What’s the problem there then, Harry?’

  ‘It seems to me that they’ve a relatio
nship with Mr Wharton.’

  ‘The boss man?’

  ‘That’s right. Well, sort of, but I’m not sure he really pulls the strings. As I was saying, everybody has to call him Mr Wharton and they do.’

  ‘Why, Harry?’

  ‘It’s just easier and safer to do it.’

  ‘This Mr Wharton character, you’re not sure he really is the top man?’

  ‘Right, but it’s just a feeling.’

  ‘Okay. What do the screws call him?’

  ‘Sam. Remember this prison has a first-name or nickname policy.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It seems some sociologist wrote a book about, well, sociology and it said in the book it would aid relationships or something like that.’

  ‘Okay. Can I just go back? You said that this Mr Wharton might not be the top man, Harry. Who do you think is?’

  ‘That’s a difficult one, Jake, but there’s a guy named Peter Jackson. He seems to have privileges and around him are a small group protecting him.’

  ‘Privileges?’

  ‘Difficult to put your finger on. He ends up with the best seats at a concert; he is in an area of the prison that seems to be better kept than the rest of the prison. It’s just lots of little things.’

  ‘So the governor would be responsible for that.’

  ‘That’s exactly the point, Jake. But he exerts no obvious power. Mr Wharton does all the controlling. I’ve just thought that “sergeant” and “captain” might just be a good pattern to cultivate, Captain.’

  ‘Okay, Sergeant.’ We both laughed. ‘They didn’t kill Jase, though.’

  ‘No, the rumour is that a little shit called Ratty did. Ratty – or Raymond Tidy, to give him his full name – runs errand for Mr Wharton. He got a step up in status from bum boy when Jase was killed.’

  ‘So, Mr Wharton is…?’

  ‘As bent as a corkscrew. Control is through rape.’

  ‘You must be joking.’