Night Vision (6 page)

‘Neil Robinson have particular friends, did he?'

‘He was close to one Freddie Gains. Armed robbery – Gains was the driver – but he left us a month before Robinson died.'

‘Did he have many visitors?'

The officer shook his head. ‘His sister came when she could, but she's got a young family and lives in Wales, I think. Somewhere that way. She spoke to him on the phone once a week, and I think her husband had a job lined up for Robinson. The rest of the family had given up on him, but she still did her best.'

‘Think it would have worked? The job, I mean?'

The officer shrugged. ‘Maybe,' he said. ‘Robinson seemed excited about getting back to his family, I know that. Then about a week before he died he seemed . . . I don't know. Anxious. Jumpy.'

‘Anyone ask him why?'

Again, the shrug. ‘I think we thought he was just a bit overwhelmed. It can happen when the release date gets close.'

‘Anyone he might have confided in?'

‘After Gains had gone, no, I don't think so. Robinson got along with most people, in that he knew how and when to keep out of the way. He played pool most evenings.'

‘Any friction there?'

‘No, not that I'm aware. Your colleagues have already asked all this.'

‘I'm sure they have,' Alec said. ‘Thanks, then, I'll not take up any more of your time.' He watched as the officer joined two of his colleagues and the knot of prisoners waiting to leave for their work. All looked at him with varying degrees of hostility and curiosity as they left, but only one met his eyes. A young man, tall, freckled, sandy-haired, who contrived to bring up the rear and dropped something to the floor at Alec's feet.

Little seemed to have changed when Alec returned to Robinson's room. Parks was poking aimlessly at the few paperbacks on the shelf, and Travers now perched on the window sill, looking back into the room instead of out of the window. Other than that, the frosty silence remained.

Alec moved to take a closer look at the bookshelves. Tattered paperbacks, mostly of the variety written by ex special forces, interspersed with the odd crime novel and, more surprisingly, ten slim volumes that Alec discovered were classic westerns by the likes of Zane Grey and Louis L'Amour. Alec had gone through a phase of reading these when he'd been just a kid, and the books looked to be of around the same vintage. Curious, he picked a couple off the shelf and flipped them open. Inside the flyleaf of each the same name was neatly printed.

‘Eric Robinson?' he asked.

‘Neil's dad,' Parks told him. ‘The sister sent him the books,' he added.

Thoughtfully, Alec flicked through the pages. The old paperbacks were in excellent condition. Read, yes, but loved and cherished. He knew they would already have checked, but could not resist riffling the pages to ensure that nothing had been hidden, skimming the text for comments written in the margins or on the flyleaves. Nothing.

‘We already did that,' Parks said.

‘Force of habit,' Alec told him. He pulled out the drawers and rummaged through Robinson's meagre possessions, but there was little apart from spare clothes.

‘What did you think of him?' Parks asked.

‘Robinson?'

‘You interviewed him.'

‘Yes. At length. What did I think of him?' Alec frowned. ‘My main impression was that a man like Robinson could have taken any path he wanted, so I couldn't understand why he'd chosen the one he did. He was highly intelligent, personable, seemed to have a moral code, of sorts. I mean, he didn't pick on anyone who couldn't afford to lose.'

Parks laughed, mockingly. ‘So he was a better class of criminal because he didn't try and rip off little old ladies?'

Alec nodded. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘I suppose I did think that.' Truthfully, under different circumstances, Alec could have liked the man, but he didn't share that impression with Parks.

‘Alec's moral compass has always pointed northwest,' Travers growled.

Surprised, they both turned to look at him. ‘And what did you think of Robinson?' Parks asked.

‘That he had no excuse,' Travers said. ‘He had a good brain, came from a stable home. No one pushed him into it. Like Alec said, he could have done something with his life. Instead, he chose to rip people off. Robinson was a turd.'

Parks cocked an eyebrow and pursed the cherub lips. ‘So a slight difference of opinion there, folks,' he said, clearly amused.

Alec frowned, puzzled by this sudden animation from his boss and also by the comment. So far as Alec could recall, Travers had only met Robinson the once, when he had sat in on a final interview.

‘So we can tell them to pack his stuff up now?' he said, more for want of something to say than because it was relevant.

‘If you've finished looking,' Parks agreed. ‘The governor wants to see us all before we go, once Munroe's finished briefing her.'

‘Briefing her?' Alec asked. ‘What about?'

Parks shrugged and wandered out into the rec room. Alec watched him go and then turned on Travers. ‘What the hell is up with you?'

No response.

‘Oh, for Christ sake, Trav, stop behaving like a sulky toddler and talk to me.'

Travers opened his mouth, and for a moment Alec expected a reprimand: a reminder that Travers was senior officer here and Alec should watch his mouth. He would almost have welcomed that. At least it would have been a response of sorts. Instead, he shut his mouth and shook his head. ‘We'll talk later,' he said. ‘I'm sorry, Alec, you're right, I am behaving like a prize prat.'

The sudden climb-down caught Alec off guard, and he wondered if his boss was just placating him. If the
later
would actually happen. ‘We'd better,' he said angrily. ‘Trav, I don't have a clue what this is all about, but it's spilling over in ways I really don't like.'

Travers frowned. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean it's involving Naomi, and I won't have that.'

‘Naomi? How?' The sulky look was gone now, replaced by instant concern.

Alec glanced out into the rec room. Parks was chatting to one of the officers across on the far side of the room. Quickly, he filled Travers in on the events of the night before and the recorded phone call from Jamie Dale. Watching his boss's face, he saw the concern replaced by shock.

‘Is she OK? Alec, if you want to go home—'

‘She says she's all right and I'm to stay. I'll go along with that for now, but if you know more about this setup than you've said so far then you tell me. You owe me that.'

Travers hesitated, then nodded. ‘We'll talk later,' he reiterated. ‘Alec, I'm not—' He broke off as Parks wandered back into the room. Behind him stood a prison officer carrying a couple of cardboard boxes.

‘You all done here?' Parks asked. ‘I've told them if you have then they can pack Robinson's things away. His sister wants them back.'

‘We're done,' Travers said. And Alec concurred. There was nothing here – not now. Anything relevant was long gone. Apart, maybe, from the whatever it was that the prisoner had dropped at his feet before he left on the work detail. Alec felt in his pocket, trying to discern what it might be from the size and shape. A small slip of card with a fold in it. He had glanced swiftly at it before pocketing it, and, judging from the blue and white print, it had been torn, he guessed, from a cigarette pack. He knew he should say something – and now, while there was still a chance of speaking directly to the man – but instinct told him that would be a bad thing: certainly for the tall, cropped-haired prisoner who had dropped the slip of paper, and maybe for others too. Alec could not shake the sense of unease and wrongness about this whole setup, or the feeling that he should tell Munroe and company to stuff their investigation, and then go home.

SIX

T
hey were shown into Michelle Sanders' little office. Alec took in the scene: Munroe sitting opposite the prison governor, across a light wood desk that had certainly seen better days and on which a tray and coffee mugs had been set.

Munroe looked relaxed, leaning back in his chair and smiling as they entered. The governor, small and, Alec guessed, in her late forties, stood up and reached across to shake hands. She looked annoyed, Alec thought. Irritated, and trying to hide it; she wasn't doing a very good job. Munroe, he observed, seemed to have that effect on people.

He studied the prison governor with interest. Michelle Sanders had short fair hair with touches of grey showing at the temples and creases round her eyes seeming to indicate that she smiled often. No wedding ring, but an expensive watch. Alec liked watches and identified a Patek Philippe. She was dressed almost casually in black trousers and a lilac shirt, untucked. Closer analysis told him that both items were tailored, fitted and in good quality fabrics that required little embellishment. She indicated that they should sit down, the plastic chairs the same as Alec had seen throughout the prison and which had obviously been hastily assembled. Close packed in the small room, it made for an intimate experience. Travers, last in, chose to stand by the door.

‘I'm not sure what more I can tell you,' Michelle Sanders said as she directed them to help themselves to coffee. ‘Neil Robinson's death was a tragedy. He was a success story, someone who might have had a future, and the Lord knows we see few enough of those go out through the gates.'

‘You sound as though you are taking his death personally,' Alec said.

‘And why shouldn't I? Every success here is hard won.'

‘And it must irk you to know the poison that killed him was probably prepared here. In the prison.'

‘What do you mean?' Michelle demanded.

Yes, what
do
you mean, Alec wondered, looking at Munroe; this was news to him too.

‘The tox report came through an hour ago. I had it sent to my phone. He died of nicotine poisoning, administered via a syringe. It only takes half a pack of smokes to get enough to kill.'

She stared at him. ‘Then there will be an investigation.'

‘The team will arrive later today,' Munroe confirmed.

‘I meant an internal investigation.'

‘And I remind you that this is a murder enquiry.'

‘And I'm sure Michelle will be cooperative,' Eddison said.

There was a brief pause. Stand-off.

Alec broke it. ‘I know you've already talked to my colleagues,' he said, ‘but if you wouldn't mind me asking a few questions?'

She sighed. ‘Go ahead.'

‘Visitors. I understand he didn't have any?'

‘His sister came three times; his brother-in-law came alone, once. Apparently, he had a business trip that brought him this way, and Robinson's sister had sent some books over. He came, dropped the books off and saw Robinson briefly. She called him once a week, and I believe he only ever used his phone privileges to call her.'

‘So his contact with the reporter, Jamie Dale—'

‘Was made via the sister, I believe. He certainly didn't call her from here; the calls are all logged.'

‘Recorded?'

A withering look from the governor. ‘This is an open prison. The last stop before freedom. Some measure of privacy has to be permitted.'

‘Of course,' Alec said. ‘Did he have close friends here? Enemies? Did he cross anyone?'

She leaned back in her chair. ‘You lot obviously don't talk to one another,' she observed. ‘The only person he seemed to get close to was Frederick Gains. They came here at the same time, but Gains left a month ago. He sent Robinson postcards, and I assume they planned to meet up when Robinson got out.'

‘Postcards?'

‘Which seem to have walked,' Munroe said heavily.

‘When?'

‘It seems no one can tell us that.' Munroe again. Across the desk, Michelle Sanders glared at him.

‘What was Gains in for?' Alec asked. Parks had told him, but, perversely perhaps, he wanted to hear it from the governor.

‘He was the getaway driver in an armed robbery. Had a record of petty theft and burglary as long as your arm. Driving was a step up the career ladder for Gains.'

‘Short ladder,' Munroe said.

‘Quite.' The governor's tone was icy.

‘And has he been in touch since? He must have seen Robinson's death reported.'

‘So far as we know, not. He wasn't close to any of the other inmates. Gains was an oddball; Robinson looked out for him.'

‘Oddball?'

The governor shrugged. ‘Bright, though you'd never know it to look at him.'

‘Does any of this matter?' Munroe said. ‘It's all in the files, Alec. You can have access as soon as we leave here.' He stood. ‘Now, if there's nothing else, we can leave these good people to get on with their work.'

Michelle Sanders stood too, obviously glad to be seeing them off the premises.

Alec did not move. There was an uncomfortable silence as they all stared at him. ‘Enemies,' Alec asked again, as though there had been no interruption. ‘Did Robinson cross anyone while he was here?'

The governor's hands rested on the top of her desk. They clenched now, curling into fists. ‘He kept a low profile,' she said stiffly. ‘The other inmates in Accommodation Block Three were also close to release; none had a particular history of violence. It isn't the place you usually get trouble.'

‘Usually?' Alec asked casually.

Michelle Sanders sighed in exasperation. ‘Look,' she said. ‘Robinson was an educated man. Something of a snob at times. He rubbed a few people up the wrong way, but nothing came of it beyond the odd bad-tempered spat and a bit of conflict over a game of pool. Gains was a hustler, played like a pro; it could cause a bit of friction.'

‘So you've told me what the flashpoints were regarding Freddie Gains,' Alec observed. ‘What was Robinson's tipping point? Or rather, what was the tipping point regarding Robinson and the rest?'