The Silent Ones (14 page)

Darren turned and saw a key stuck in the lock at the top right-hand corner of the filing cabinet.

He was across the room and pulling it out as he heard the door squeak behind him. He ran the cloth across the filing cabinet, pulling the key with it.

He turned slowly, dread filling him. Helen was no fool. She was standing just in the doorway, looking at his hand where he was holding the cloth. He had to do something fast.

‘Are you—’

‘Will you come out for a drink with me? I think you’re gorgeous.’

He took a step across the office, giving her his best lover-on-heat face.

She looked alarmed and took a step back. ‘Now hold your horses, for goodness’ sake.’ She frowned but it was chased away by a smile. ‘That’s sweet, but really, it’s not going to happen.’ She smoothed her hair and pushed out her breasts.

Darren blushed to the roots of his hair, the key feeling as big as a football in his hand. He shuffled out of the door, embarrassed. He couldn’t believe he’d actually done that, but it had felt good. Rejection wasn’t so bad – and he had the key.

‘I
think the press have largely gone now,’ the governor said, looking around at the group assembled in the conference room for the afternoon emergency meeting. ‘Andrew, they stayed beyond the perimeter that we established?’

Andrew Casey-Jones, the head of security, nodded emphatically. He was a Welsh former rugby player with ham hands and a neck thicker than his head.

‘And we’re still waiting to hear from the CPS regarding whether they are taking this matter with Linda Biggs any further – they move at a glacial pace, as we all know.’ Everyone nodded. The governor’s secretary took notes diligently.

‘But I understand Darren Smith is back at work and is using the counselling service?’ The governor looked at Helen.

‘He’s back, and I can confirm that he’s contacted the service.’

The governor nodded. ‘We had a lot of negative press over Linda’s death and we need to be sure all our systems are as robust as possible. So, Andrew, the security review?’

‘It’s going to be completed in four weeks and covers all aspects: interactions between patients and staff, outside agencies, vetting.’

‘Can I make a suggestion?’ Helen said. ‘I think we need new filing cabinets in the offices. Maybe a combination system would feel more secure.’

‘Data protection is obviously paramount,’ the governor said.

‘There’s a new budget allocation for data protection,’ the head of finance added. ‘The cabinets could come under that category.’

Helen nodded, pleased. Her lost filing cabinet key could be subsumed within this refit. She felt she was an organised, efficient person, but her divorce had frayed her normally precise workings like a thread unravelling in an otherwise perfect cashmere sweater. She’d put her spare on her keyring now.

‘We need to address Orin Bukowski,’ the PR said.

‘What’s he done now?’ the governor muttered, wiping a hand across his forehead.

‘He has filed a petition of a hundred thousand names to you –’ the PR dumped the large printout on the desk ‘– personally, asking for a permanent withdrawal of outside access for Olivia Duvall.’

Feet shuffled and bums moved on seats. ‘Has he never heard of the Court of Human Rights?’ Helen snapped.

‘He’s challenging their jurisdiction as we speak.’

‘We want to avoid getting into any conversation with him if at all possible,’ the governor replied. ‘We have the government on our side over this, they hate having their boats rocked too. We’ll ignore it for the moment, refer it to the Justice Secretary.’

‘And he wants to visit Olivia,’ the PR added.

‘He needs to get in line,’ the governor said.

‘It’s her right to refuse to see him,’ Helen added.

‘Don’t I know it.’ The governor paused. ‘Which brings me on to the next topic.’ He turned to Dr Vivek Chowdray. ‘Her hospital admission.’

Vivek nodded and cleared his throat. He picked up a sheet of paper and began to read. ‘Her conditions are heart arrhythmia and bradycardia, her symptoms are dizziness, chest pain and blackouts. She’s being treated with 200 milligrams of Bepridil Hydrochloride daily. She needs a pacemaker, or she could to go into cardiac arrest. The fitting of a pacemaker requires a minimum of one overnight stay in hospital.’

‘Over to you, Andrew,’ the governor said.

Andrew laced his thick fingers together. ‘She will be taken in an unmarked prison ambulance to St George’s, Tooting. Two guards go with her in the van. She is restrained in the ambulance. Post-operative recovery will take place in a secure suite where she will be handcuffed to the bed frame. The nurses will be security checked before they can go in. Two guards are stationed at all times outside the room, others at a wider perimeter.’

‘Which floor is the room on?’ asked the governor.

‘Second. Straight drop to the cement car park. A woman of her weight, age and fitness is eighty per cent likely to break a leg or back if they fall that distance onto concrete.’

‘She will be weak after the operation too,’ Vivek added.

‘There’s a media blackout, obviously,’ Andrew said.

There was a small pause as the group in the room digested this information. ‘Anyone have any questions, issues they want to raise?’ The governor looked around. They all shook their heads. ‘So, on Friday, assuming no post-operative complications, she’s back in the prison van, and back here. Full of heart.’

They gathered up their reports, assessments and evaluations and pushed their chairs back.

N
athan was manning the security checkpoint as Darren left the building at the end of his shift. ‘You coming for a drink tonight, Darren?’ he asked. ‘We’ll be at the Rose and Crown, it’s the first pub on the left as you leave, you can’t miss it.’ Darren shook his head. ‘Come on,’ Nathan said, flashing Darren his most sympathetic smile. ‘I’m clocking off in an hour, I’ll see you there. You need a drink after what happened the other day.’

Nathan was right. It was important to try to relax and put that awful episode with Linda behind him. He had spoken to no one for nearly four hours and the day was hot, the evening promising to be long and beautiful. A beer would go down well, he decided.

A little while later he pulled up by the pub on his bike and saw Sonny at a table outside in the sun. Sonny stood up and spread his arms wide, welcoming Darren in. ‘Let me buy you a drink. It’s good you came back, terrible what happened to you, real terrible.’

Darren felt the sweat beginning to pool on his back. Sonny was nice and he felt bad misleading them about who he was. He thought it would be better just to go home after all, but then he saw Chloe and a very large woman coming out from the bar with red drinks with parasols bobbing in them. Darren sat down, willing Chloe to sit next to him.

‘Hi Darren,’ Chloe said. She sat down beside him. ‘This is Berenice, she works in the kitchens too.’

‘Are you OK after what happened? You had only just started, I heard,’ Berenice said.

‘It’s not your fault what Duvall did,’ Chloe said. ‘You tried to help, that’s the main thing.’ Her lovely hand was on his arm.

‘I’ve been here seven years,’ Berenice said. ‘It can seem like a pretty gruesome place to work but it’s OK really.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve never heard of anything like that before.’ She paused. ‘Be careful.’ Darren felt a little spike of alarm. ‘You think this is just temporary, right? But you can end up here longer than you thought. Before you know it, you’ll be twenty-five.’

‘If we’re not all killed by the inmates before then,’ Chloe added, shuddering. ‘You’re lucky you’re not full-time, Berenice.’

Berenice squared her fleshy shoulders. ‘No one’s attacking me, for sure.’

‘Would be a terrible tragedy,’ Sonny said. ‘Imagine a world without Berenice’s cakes.’

Berenice turned to Darren to explain. ‘When I’m not working in the kitchens I make cakes at Borough Market and sell them, but it’s hard, you know. Margins are small.’

Darren was impressed. Borough was the biggest farmers’ market in London and snaked south from the river near Blackfriars and London Bridge stations.

‘Berenice does retro classics. Pineapple upside-down cake, Victoria sponge, Eccles cakes …’ Chloe sipped the red drink through a straw. ‘Thursdays and Fridays she’s out of this hellhole and baking away under the train lines.’

‘If you’re lucky you’ll get to taste them, I bring them in to work sometimes. Loss leaders, I think they’re called,’ Berenice said.

Sonny put his hand up and called out to Helen, who had just come out of the pub. She carried her glass of wine over. ‘Budge, Darren.’ Helen squeezed herself on at the end of the row. The table fell silent, cagey at a more senior member of staff arriving.

‘Don’t let me stop you,’ Helen said invitingly.

Chloe was the first to break. ‘We’re talking about what Olivia did and whether it means she’s about to harm us.’

There were nods and murmurs round the table.

Helen leaned back. ‘Well, I’m glad I came to see you guys. You’ll all be receiving a letter about a security review tomorrow. We’re sure all our procedures are safe, but a review is not a bad thing to have anyway. Olivia won’t be interacting with staff or patients until we’re sure she poses no threat to anyone’s safety.’

‘What’s a security review?’ Darren asked.

‘Just routine. A check that people are who they say they are, that security procedures for getting in and out of the building are robust, online issues, the whole thing really.’

Darren took a long glug of beer. He was running out of time to achieve anything before he’d have to leave.

‘Those poor families,’ Chloe said. ‘I wash her plate every day. I used to ladle for her when she was in the dining room. Eugh, she’s horrible.’

There were murmurs of disgust all round.

Darren seized on what Chloe had said. ‘Did she ever talk to you?’

‘She told me my green beans weren’t to her liking.’

Darren’s heart fell. He had been hoping for something more useful. ‘Weird.’

‘God she is so weird!’ Her teeth were lovely, bright and even in her pouty mouth.

‘This is when Helen spends the next two years analysing why Olivia doesn’t eat her green beans!’ said Sonny.

‘That’ll be a hundred and fifty quid a session, thank you very much!’ said Berenice.

‘When the real reason is that Chloe can’t cook them properly!’

‘They’re the most expensive and over-researched green beans in NHS history!’

Helen took their ribbing in good spirit.

‘Why don’t you torture the riddle of those girls’ whereabouts out of her?’ Berenice asked. ‘Like that guy Orin what’s-his-name keeps asking for. They waterboard terrorists, why’s this less important? Just saying.’

Helen scoffed. ‘Plenty would queue up to do that – that’s why justice is dispensed by the state, not the families for instance. Would you really want to work for a place that tortured people?’

‘My job seems like torture already!’ Berenice joked and they laughed.

‘Joking apart, Olivia is no threat to any of you. The security review is to ensure you – we – all stay safe.’

‘So she can never escape or anything?’

Helen smiled and looked at Chloe indulgently. ‘I can guarantee you that Olivia Duvall is never escaping from Roehampton.’

T
he next day was one of Darren’s free days and he cycled to the South Bank and Orin Bukowski’s office. Orin Bukowski was originally from Tennessee, had met and fallen in love with a woman from Brighton, had moved to England’s south coast, made a fortune in industrial packaging, sold his company after his wife died in a car smash and, now he no longer had to work, devoted his copious time and energy to making criminals pay. The man had hardly been off the TV or radio in the last seventy-two hours. His office was in a building on the south side of the Thames and as Darren came through into the reception area, he could see the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral bathed in sun and soaring skywards across the river.

‘Nice view,’ he said to the secretary, who smiled thinly.

‘I wanted to see Mr Bukowski.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’

Darren shook his head.

‘Mr Bukowski’s extremely busy,’ the secretary said, shaking her head at the impossibility of the task of squeezing Darren in. ‘He really doesn’t have a moment all day.’ She looked at something on her iPad. ‘Can you make Tuesday next week at 4.45? He has ten minutes then.’

‘I really need to see him now. It’s about the missing girls. I’m family of the Five.’

She didn’t react, just picked up the phone. ‘Your name?’

‘Darren Evans.’

She said the name into the phone, and listened. She put the phone down and pointed at a door across the reception area. ‘You may go in.’

Orin was a big, clean-shaven man in a checked shirt and chinos, with a red face and small, quick eyes. He came from behind a huge desk to shake Darren’s hand. He did it so vigorously Darren had to work hard not to wince.

‘Darren Evans, it’s good to meet you, have a seat.’

The office had the same view as the reception, but was bigger. A light-reflecting photographic umbrella was standing open in one corner and there was a video camera set up. The pale walls carried a series of large photos of stark rooms with a chair in the centre of each one. They looked like images from dentists’ waiting rooms. ‘How are your parents?’ Orin asked.

Darren stumbled on his words. ‘Not great, to be honest. Mum’s got breast cancer, she’s having treatment at the moment. She has to have an operation.’

He was nodding vigorously. ‘I heard she was sick. I’ll pray for her.’

Darren was taken aback. ‘I didn’t know that you knew—’

Orin snorted, causing Darren to falter. He held up his hand. ‘I won’t deny it, I heard that she went to see prisoner number 1072B.’

So it was true what his parents had said about him having insider information from Roehampton. ‘That hasn’t helped,’ Darren added.

Orin shook his head. ‘That a sick and grieving mother can be humiliated by a creature such as that is a national disgrace.’ Darren rubbed his hands down his trousers, unsure how to proceed. ‘That monster can’t take a shit without me knowing, not going to apologise for that.’