Hard Landing (33 page)

‘We’ll get you together with Liam, you have my word on that. But hold fire on making a decision about the operation a while longer.’

‘You’re asking me to go back on the wing after what’s happened?’

‘If you leave with me now, you won’t be able to come back. Too many people will know. But if you let me arrange it, we can get you out of here for a few hours, then get you back in.’

‘A few hours isn’t going to cut it. Liam has lost his mother. I’ve lost . . .’ Shepherd couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

‘I know,’ said Hargrove.

‘I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this. Anyone else would have taken me straight to see my son.’ He paused. ‘I’ve never asked you, but have you got kids?’

‘Two. Girl and boy. Charlotte’s married with a daughter of her own and James is off to university next year.’

‘Liam is seven,’ said Shepherd.

‘I know.’

‘He needs his father.’

‘And you need time to grieve. I know that.’

‘It’s not about me. It’s about my son.’

‘It’s about both of you. You need each other. I know what I’m asking, Spider, and I wouldn’t if I didn’t think it was absolutely necessary.’

‘He’s one man. We put him behind bars and someone else will take his place. Just because Gerald Carpenter goes down it doesn’t mean the drugs business will grind to a halt.’

‘He’s a murderer.’

‘He’s not charged with murder, though, is he?’

‘If you stay undercover, he might be.’

Shepherd cursed.

‘I am sorry about your wife,’ said Hargrove.

Shepherd closed his eyes and more images of Sue flashed through his mind. Curled up on the sofa, watching
EastEnders
as if her life depended on it. Testing the heat of the iron by patting it with her fingers, then yelping when she burned herself. The expression in her eyes when she told him she wanted him to leave the Regiment because he was going to be a father and a father’s place was with his family, not fighting wars in distant lands. Her pride the first time she’d seen him in his constable’s uniform. And the despair when he’d told her that he was being seconded to the undercover unit. From a soldier’s wife to the wife of an undercover policeman. Out of the frying-pan into the fire, she’d said. That he’d never be happy until he’d been shot again. That he had a death wish. It wasn’t fair, he thought bitterly. He’d put his life on the line time and time again after joining Hargrove’s unit, taking risks he’d never told Sue about, but she was the one who’d died in a stupid, meaningless accident.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let me think about it.’ There was something he’d meant to tell Hargrove. Something about Carpenter. Then he remembered. ‘Carpenter’s pally with Ronnie Bain,’ he said. ‘Marijuana importer who got eight years a while back. They were pretty tight in the prison chapel. Bain’s in another block but he might be helping Carpenter get messages out.’ He felt disloyal to his wife. He’d just been told she was dead and now he was talking shop with Hargrove.

‘We’ll check him out, Spider. Thanks. And we got your message about Stafford.’ The superintendent hesitated, then stood up and came round the table to put a hand on Shepherd’s shoulder. ‘One more thing,’ he said. ‘I know this is shit timing but we’ve got the Walkman ready. Do you want me to send it in?’

Shepherd didn’t know what to say. All he could think about was that his wife was dead.

Hargrove stood up and pressed the button by the door. Hamilton opened it and stood to the side to let Hargrove out. The superintendent’s feet echoed on the tiled floor, then faded. Shepherd heard the rattle of keys and a door being opened, closed, and locked. Then silence.

‘Chop-chop, Macdonald,’ said Hamilton. ‘We haven’t got all day.’

Shepherd stood up slowly and walked out of the room. Hamilton sneered at him. ‘Bad news, I hope,’ he said.

Shepherd stopped and turned. He took a step towards the officer, his mouth a tight line, his hands tensing into claws. He was barely breathing as he stared at Hamilton. He knew of a dozen different ways he could kill him. The heel of his hand into the nose. A chop to the bobbing Adam’s apple. A finger-strike into the eyes. A back-fist to the throbbing vein in his temple. A foot-sweep to the floor followed by a stamp on the neck. Shepherd had been trained by experts, and had followed up his training with on-the-job experience that few men could match. He knew what it was like to kill and knew, too, that he could take the officer’s life without a moment’s regret or guilt. Hamilton swallowed and took a step back, his right hand clutching for his radio. Shepherd took a deep breath, his eyes still boring into the other man’s. All he had to do was make the decision. The second he decided that Hamilton should die, the training would take over and the man would be dead before he hit the ground.

There was panic in Hamilton’s eyes and his hands were shaking. The colour had drained from his face and his Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down as if it had a life of its own. He took a step back.

He wasn’t worth it, Shepherd decided. If he killed Hamilton he’d spend the rest of his life behind bars, undercover cop or not. No man was worth that. He turned away and headed back to the wing. By the time they reached the barred door to the main corridor, Hamilton had recovered some of his composure but he still kept a watchful eye on Shepherd as he unlocked and locked the doors on the way back to the remand block.

Hamilton took Shepherd along to his cell and unlocked the door. Lee was sitting at the table, writing a letter. ‘I heard they pulled you out of the gym,’ said Lee, as Shepherd lay down on his bunk.

Shepherd waited until Hamilton had locked the cell door. ‘My brief wants more money,’ he lied. ‘I’ve got to get it transferred from overseas.’

‘Leeches, all of them,’ said Lee. ‘How do you spell miscarriage?’

Shepherd told him, then rolled over and turned his back. Lee took the hint and wrote the rest of his letter in silence.

The prison officer threw the stick high into the air. The spaniel yelped and gave chase, its stub of a tail wagging furiously. The man loved being out in the open, breathing fresh air, grass under his feet, hearing the wind blow through the trees.

The mobile phone in his pocket warbled. He took it out and looked at the caller ID. It was Carpenter’s man. Not that the officer was surprised. The phone was a pay-as-you-go and only Carpenter’s man used it. The officer had insisted that the phone was the only way that Carpenter’s man contacted him. If the shit ever hit the fan he could dump the mobile and no one would be any the wiser.

‘Yeah?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Walking the dog.’ The officer had never met the caller and had often wondered what he looked like. The voice had a trace of West Country in it and a slight lisp. It was deep and resonant, which suggested he was a big man. Possibly in his forties.

‘When are you inside again?’

‘Tonight. Night staff.’

‘Can you get a message to the boss?’

‘Not until the morning.’

‘Fuck that.’

‘The cells are locked by the time I get there and they’re not opened until seven forty-five.’

‘You’ve got a fucking key, haven’t you?’

The spaniel came running back with the stick in its mouth. The officer pulled it from the excited dog and threw it as far as he could. ‘I can’t just go opening cell doors at night. I need a reason.’

‘Well, find one.’

‘If I open a door it’s got to go on the incident sheet.’

‘You’re going to have to do what you’ve got to do. I have to get a message to the boss – and soon.’

The officer cursed under his breath. ‘If you want me to get the message to him tonight, it’ll cost you a monkey.’

‘Fine,’ said the man. ‘Tell him he has to call me. Urgently.’

‘Okay. When do I get the money?’

‘Tomorrow. When he’s called me.’

The line went dead. The officer smiled to himself. Five hundred quid for passing on a message. Easy money.

Shepherd heard the cell door open. It was Lloyd-Davies. Lee was standing at the washbasin as jittery as a racehorse waiting for the off. ‘Association,’ she said. Lee slipped out of the door.

Lloyd-Davies entered the cell and stood looking at Shepherd. He lay on his back, his hands behind his neck. ‘What’s wrong, Macdonald?’ she asked.

‘I’m fine,’ said Shepherd.

‘Legal problems?’ she asked.

‘Everything’s fine.’ Hamilton must have told her how he’d reacted after the visit from Hargrove.

‘Do you want to talk to a Listener? I can send Ed Harris along.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘Really.’

‘Everyone has their ups and downs,’ said Lloyd-Davies. ‘The trick is not to bottle up the bad stuff. Talk it through with someone. No one expects you to open up to us, but the Listeners are on your side.’

‘Nobody’s on my side,’ said Shepherd, but he regretted the words as soon as they’d left his mouth. Far better to say nothing.

‘Do you want to see the doc?’

‘I’m fine, ma’am. I just want to be left alone.’

Lloyd-Davies stood at the end of his bunk for a few seconds more, then left the cell.

Shepherd closed his eyes. All he could think about was Sue. Memories whirled through his mind. Holidays they’d taken. Meals they’d eaten. Arguments they’d had. Films they’d watched. And alongside the memories was the aching certainty that they were in the past and that he’d never hold or talk to her again. They were constant reminders that everything to do with Sue was in the past. Finished. Over.

His future now lay with his son. So why was he still in a cell, surrounded by scum who didn’t care whether he lived or died? Why hadn’t he just walked out with Hargrove? Even now all he had to do was walk down to the phones and play his Get Out of Jail Free card. One call and he’d be out with his son, where he was needed. Where he belonged.

‘Shit, shit, shit.’ He clenched his fist and pounded the side of his right hand against the cell wall, relishing the pain. He deserved to be hurt. He’d failed Sue: he hadn’t been with her in the car. When they were together she always let him drive, and if he’d been at the wheel maybe the accident wouldn’t have happened. Maybe she’d still be alive. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

He sat up and swivelled round so that he was sitting with his back to the wall. Lee had stuck pictures from magazines on the wall opposite – landscapes, forests, desert scenes, a sailboat on an ocean, all the vistas that were denied him on the inside. They were denied to Shepherd, too, but he was keeping himself behind bars. He knew why he hadn’t bailed out, why he hadn’t told Hargrove that the operation was terminated. Because he wanted to beat Carpenter. It was war, and he was going to do whatever it took to win.

Shepherd heard an officer shouting that association was over, and a few minutes later Lee appeared at the open cell door. ‘You’re wanted at the bubble,’ he said.

‘For what?’ Shepherd asked.

‘Didn’t say. Stafford told me to get you down there now.’

‘Tell them to go and fuck themselves.’

‘What’s up with you today?’

‘I just want to be left alone.’

‘Yeah, well, telling Tony Stafford to go fuck himself is going to get you all the peace and quiet you want,’ said Lee. ‘They’ll send up the mufti squad and you’ll be dragged off to solitary. Cardboard furniture and no toilet seat and they put stuff in your food to keep you quiet.’

Shepherd sat up and took a deep breath. He had to get back into character. No matter what had happened on the outside, as far as the Shelton population was concerned he was Bob Macdonald, career criminal and hard man, and if he strayed outside that role he risked blowing the operation.

He walked slowly along the landing. Healey was standing by the door and opened it as Shepherd walked up. He gestured for him to step out of the spur. ‘What’s up?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Don’t you mean “What’s up, Mr Healey”?’ said the prison officer. Stafford was watching from the bubble.

‘Forget it,’ said Shepherd.

‘Any more of your lip and I’ll put you on report, Macdonald.’

Shepherd ignoredhim andwalkedover to the entrance of the control office. ‘Mr Stafford, Prison Officer Healey is refusing to tell me why I’m being taken from my cell.’

‘Just do as you’re told, Macdonald,’ said Stafford.

‘Prison rule six paragraph two,’ said Shepherd. ‘“In the control of prisoners, officers shall seek to influence them through their own example and leadership, and to enlist their willing co-operation.” Seems to me that as a way of enlisting my co-operation, I should be told where I’m being taken.’

Stafford sighed. ‘Governor wants to see you.’

‘Because?’

‘That’s for him to tell you.’ Stafford turned his back.

‘Come on, Macdonald,’ said Healey. ‘I don’t have all day.’

Shepherd figured that the governor wanted to talk to him about Sue’s death. It was the last thing he wantedto discuss, but he knew he had no choice. Lee was right: refusing to comply would mean he’d be thrown into solitary.

Healey escorted Shepherd along the secure corridor to the governor’s office, and waited outside while one of the secretaries took him in. The door had barely closed behind him before the governor was out of his seat, pointing an accusing finger at him. ‘Just what the hell are you playing at?’ asked the governor.

‘What?’ said Shepherd. He’d expected empty words of comfort, not a verbal attack.

‘I thought going undercover meant adopting a low profile. Blending in. Now I find you’ve put half the bloody spur in hospital.’

Realisation dawned. The governor was talking about Jurczak, Needles and Dreadlocks.

‘Nothing to do with me,’ said Shepherd. He had no choice but to lie. If he admitted he’d assaulted three prisoners the governor would have the perfect excuse to call an end to the operation. And even if he didn’t have the authority to have Shepherd taken out of Shelton, he could make his position untenable with just a word in the wrong ear.