A Life for a Life (14 page)

16

In Fraser’s dream, Frances was in a whirlpool and he was reaching down, trying to take her outstretched hand, when a Welsh sergeant major shouted at him and pulled him back and he could only watch as she—

‘Wakey wakey rise and shine, my lovely boys.’

He opened his eyes as a fist banged against the door and there was a click as it was unlocked.

‘Feckin’ bastard,’ he shouted before he could stop himself and heard Petru chuckle.

The door slid open and a bulky prison officer stepped in. ‘Fucking bastard, is it? So who’s the comedian in here, then?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Fraser said. ‘I was dreaming.’

‘Well, I don’t like dreams like that.’ He pointed his baton, gave him a playful jab on the nose with it. ‘OK?’

‘OK,’ said Fraser. ‘Sorry.’

The officer left and Fraser looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock and he felt terrible.

They got up and went along to the shower room. Ilie ‘slopped out’, took the chemical bog and emptied its contents into a sluice. Then they dressed and went to breakfast. Some sense of irony in Fraser’s nature made him choose porridge.

At the table, Ilie said, ‘Fraser, you come class?’

‘What class?’

‘Eenglish.’

Might as well. ‘All right.’

The class was ‘English as a foreign language’, which was of no use whatsoever to Fraser, although, as the teacher explained to him, his presence might be a great deal of use to the others there.

How the hell do you teach English to a bunch of assorted foreigners (besides the four Romanians, there were a Dutchman, a Finn and two Spaniards) while having no knowledge of their various languages?

The teacher, an attractive woman in her forties, started with a picture, a treasure chest. She spelt the word chest, and from there went to church, chopper and so on. Fraser soon picked it up and found that he could really help, and for the first time since his arrival, actually forgot where he was for a moment.

After the English class came the exercise period and Fraser, assuming he’d be in the same group as the Romanians, tagged along with them.

‘Class – good?’ Ilie asked as they went up a wide flight of stairs, watched by an officer on the next landing.

Fraser nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘You come again?’

‘All right.’

‘Thank you.’ Ilie touched his shoulder, aware that the benefit was all one way.

As they went through the door at the top, daylight exploded around Fraser and he stopped dead, blinded and disorientated.
I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. Am I becoming institutionalised already?

The two other Romanians had started talking to his cell mates and he wandered over to the rail by himself, looking round as his eyes became accustomed to the brightness.

The upper deck forming the exercise yard was about fifty by a hundred feet and a fence beyond the rail ran all the way round the perimeter. This was constructed of what seemed to be a continuous sheet of metal with oval holes cut into it so that it consisted more of hole than metal. The effect was like a chain link fence; the difference being that if you were foolish enough to try and climb it, your fingers would be cut to pieces on the sharp metal edges. It extended up for about ten feet, where it inclined inwards and was coiled about with razor wire.

He looked round the yard. Prisoners wandered in groups, chatting, smoking, chewing gum. Two or three officers guarded them. They talked to the prisoners amicably enough when addressed, but watchfully, always watchful.

He peered through the fence and after a while it ceased to obstruct his vision. The sea twinkled and flashed with white horses and sunlight. Gulls bobbed in the swell and the air was heavy with salt. In the distance lay the multi-coloured tinsel of a town – Weymouth, he assumed. To the right, a soft, indistinct coastline and to the left, the causeway to the island.

Boats were scattered around: big, small, some moored to buoys, others to the wharf. Some were smart, some scruffy – as he watched, a herring gull that was perched on one of the latter defecated as it rose screaming into the air, leaving a new smear down the cabin window.

He filled his lungs with the salty, springy air and walked slowly round the perimeter. There were benches and a few tables, bare torsos, several languages and always the fence. Another seagull wheeled and wailed overhead and the sound made him stop and clench his eyes shut in misery…

After a moment, he opened them again and resumed walking. No one seemed to have noticed him. He still felt disorientated, utterly detached from what was going on around him.

From nowhere, the words
Physician heal thyself
flashed into his mind and he thought,
Institutionalised be buggered, I’m still in shock.
The realisation didn’t heal him, but the understanding helped.

The exercise period ended and Ilie came to find him.

‘You come – machine shop?’

Fraser smiled and shook his head. ‘I’ll see you back in the cell, Ilie.’

He wanted time to explore his new-found understanding.

*

Ian silently led Tom to Terry’s room, knocked on the door and opened it – a tangible sign of rank, Tom reflected; you might knock at an underling’s door, but you don’t wait for an invitation before going in.

‘Oh, hello, Dr Saunders.’ The man inside got to his feet.

‘Terry, this is Mr Jones from the Department of Health. He wants to interrogate you. I’ll leave you to it.’ He withdrew, obviously still smarting from his own interrogation.

‘Er – come in, Mr Jones.’ Tom took the proffered hand, which was rock hard. ‘Have a seat… Interrogate, I think Dr Saunders said?’

‘Just his sense of fun, I expect,’ Tom said as he sat down.

‘I see. Well, how can I help you?’

Tom began explaining about Fraser’s allegation, but Terry interrupted him: ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you there. Drug treatment is outside my area of competence.’

This didn’t altogether surprise Tom, bearing in mind Fraser’s description and his own observations – the rigidity of body and handshake, the I-know-my-place speech and accent.

‘I appreciate that,’ he said, ‘but you can probably help more than you think. For instance, I believe you overheard Dr Callan apparently threatening Dr Flint?’

‘Well, yes, I did, and there was no apparently about it.’

‘Would you like to tell me what happened?’

Of course he would… ‘Well, it was Saturday – I always come in of a Saturday to make sure everything’s all right…’

That figures.

‘I saw Dr Callan coming in and said hello, since I hadn’t seen him for three months. He was rather brusque and I remember thinking at the time he must have heard about Frances – she’s his fiancée.’

‘I know about Frances,’ said Tom.

‘Well, he was looking pale and angry and I saw him go into Dr Flint’s room. I needed to see her myself as it happened, nothing really urgent, but instinct made me go down after a few minutes and I heard the whole thing.’

He paused – for effect, Tom assumed. ‘What did you hear?’

‘They were arguing – he called her something… blinkered bitch, I think it was. Anyway, she told him to go, very calm like, and he said he’d hold her personally responsible if anything happened to Frances. Then she said, and I remember this exactly, “Are you threatening me, Fraser?” And he said, “Yes, I am threatening you…”’

‘Are you sure those are the exact words?’

‘Yes, I am sure.’ Terry’s mild eyes gazed back at him.

‘All right, go on.’

‘Well, she laughed at him, said, “What can you do to me?” Then she said, “You only know about violence, don’t you? Are you going to kill me?” And then—’

‘How exactly did she say that?’ Tom interrupted. ‘Was she still laughing at him?’

‘Oh yes, she didn’t take him seriously, see, more’s the pity. Anyway, he said, “If anything happens to Frances, I will kill you.” Then he realised I was there an’ looked round and I’m telling you, one look at his face made me take him seriously.’

This would be powerful stuff in a courtroom, Tom realised.

‘You don’t like Dr Callan much, do you?’

Again, the honest serving man’s look. ‘No, Mr Jones, I can’t say that I do.’

‘Why is that?’

Terry thought for a moment, then said, ‘Dr Flint was a lady. Dr Callan is a jumped-up nobody.’

When he was sure Terry wasn’t going to add anything, Tom said, ‘You and he had crossed swords before, hadn’t you?’

‘That depends on what you mean by crossed swords.’

‘Didn’t you have a disagreement with him about issuing lab results?’

‘Yes, I did. He’d been a lab worker himself once and thought that entitled him to tell me how to do my job.’

‘You can’t have enjoyed that very much,’ Tom said.

‘I didn’t. I don’t tell the doctors how to treat patients and I don’t expect them to tell me how to manage my staff.’

‘Fair enough, I’d have thought. What happened exactly?’

‘Well, I went to point out to Steve Lovell that he’d issued an unauthorised result – there’s no harm in the lad, he just needed putting right – and Dr Callan overruled me.’

‘What, there and then?’

‘Yes. I pointed out to him that it was against regulations and he just pooh-poohed me. None of the other doctors ever had.’

‘I see what you mean,’ said Tom.
Get off the subject…
‘You said just now that Dr Flint was a lady – would you say the same of Dr Saunders?’

‘Yes. Although in his case,’ he added with a chuckle, ‘I’d say gent.’

Tom chuckled too. ‘Sure. How about Dr Somersby?’

‘…Oh yes, he was a gent too.’ A fraction’s hesitation.

‘Were you aware that Dr Callan had recommended you be offered early retirement?’

Terry’s eyes flashed. ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ he said evenly.

‘Early retirement doesn’t appeal to you?’

‘I believe I still have some service left in me.’

‘Of course,’ said Tom. ‘Well, I think that’s all I need from you for now.’ He stood up. ‘Thanks very much.’

‘You’re very welcome.’

They shook hands again and Tom left.

Is he a fruitcase or what…?
He’d egged Terry on, then cut the interview short, hopefully before he could get any inkling of his interest.

But Terry was also, he realised as he climbed into his car, potential dynamite in court – for either side, depending on how he was handled.

He had a pub lunch, then drove up to the downs that overlooked the city and lit a cheroot. It was tempting to go and see Agnes and tell her about Terry now, but on reflection he decided to wait until he’d seen Leo the next day. He went back to the hotel and wrote up the two interviews.

*

Leo lived in a large detached house in a close on the edge the city; there was no doubt, Tom thought as he drew up beside it the next morning, that repping, Leo-style, had doctoring beat for money

The man himself came to the door and showed Tom into a living-room. One glance told Tom that Leo lived alone, and had done for some time – it was clean and tidy enough, but completely devoid of the touches a woman would have given it.

‘Coffee?’

‘Please.’

‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Milk but no sugar, thanks.’

The sofa that Tom sank into was of real leather. There was a large TV and a small bookcase with no fiction. Large reproductions of Picasso and other relatively modern artists graced the walls. Nothing wrong with that, Tom reflected, but it was as though Leo had marched into a shop and said, ‘I’ll take that one, that one and that one…’

Leo came back into the room with a tray. ‘There you go.’ He wore designer jeans, a cashmere sweater and loafers – very casual, and very expensive. He took a mug and sat down himself. ‘Fire away.’

The words somehow suggested to Tom that Leo considered himself fireproof, so he decided to mix his metaphors and shoot from the hip.

‘Dr Callan told us when he came to see us that he thought there was corruption involved in the taking on and trial of Alkovin.’

‘Well, he would say something like that, wouldn’t he?’ Not fazed in the least.

‘How d’you mean?’ Tom asked.

‘I mean that he isn’t really in a position to pontificate on anything at the moment, is he? Not when he’s banged up in prison charged with murder.’

And in no small part due to you,
Tom thought. ‘Nevertheless, such allegations have to be investigated.’

Leo leaned forward. ‘From the out, Fraser was obsessed with Alkovin’s
alleged
side-effects – so some idea of conspiracy or corruption would be the only explanation that could satisfy him.’

His accent, Tom thought, was a mixture of local and mid-Atlantic. ‘Are you saying he’s wrong about the side-effects?’