Cat O'Nine Tales And Other Stories Part 15

"And by the way," he added, "his wife Ruth has kindly agreed to organize our annual ball."

The Alibi.

"He got away with murder, didn't he?" said Mick.

"How did he manage that?" I asked.

"Because if two screws say that's what happened, then that's what happened," said Mick, "and no con will be able to tell you any different. Understood?"

"No, I don't understand," I admitted.

"Then I'll have to explain it to you, won't I?" said Mick. "There's a golden rule among consnever have s.e.x with a mate's tart while he's banged up. It's all part of the code."

"That might be a bit rough on a young girl whose boyfriend has just been given a lengthy sentence because then you'd be sentencing her to the same number of years without s.e.x."

"That's not the point," said Mick, "because Pete made it clear to Karen that he'd wait for her."

"But he wasn't going anywhere for the next six years," I suggested.

"You're missing the point, Jeff. It's the code and, to be fair to the tart, by all accounts Karen was as good as gold for the first six months and then she came off the rails. Truth is," said Mick, "Pete's best mate Brian had already had s.e.x with Karen, but that was before she became Pete's girl, on account of the fact that they'd all been at secondary modern together. But that didn't count because Karen stopped whoring around once she'd moved in with Pete. Understood?"

"I think so," I said.

"Mind you, the rule doesn't apply to Pete on account of the fact that he's a man. It's only logic, isn't it, because men are different. We're lions, they're lambs."

Lionesses would have seemed more appropriate. However, I confess I didn't voice my opinion at the time. "Still,"

Mick continued, "the code is clear. You don't have s.e.x with a mate's tart while he's banged up."

I put my pen down and continued to listen to the Gospel according to St. Mickanother burglar who was in and out of prison as if the building had revolving doors. I decided to abandon any attempt to write my daily diary. It was clear Mick was on a roll and nothing was going to stop himcertainly not me. And as the door was locked and I couldn't escape, I decided to take down his words.

But first a little background.

Mick Boyle was my cell mate at Lincoln, and serving his ninth sentence during the past seventeen years, all for burglary. "I may be a tea-leaf," he proclaimed, "but I can't be doing with violence. Don't approve," he added, clearly attempting to capture the moral high ground. He told me that he had six children that he knew of, by five different women, but had had little or no contact with any of them since. I must have looked surprised, because he added, "Don't worry yourself, Jeff, they're all taken care of by the Social."

"If you want p.u.s.s.y," Mick continued, "there's quite enough going spare without having s.e.x with your best mate's tart; after all, most of us are in and out, in and out," he repeated, laughing at his own joke.

Mick's friend Pete Baileythe hero or the villain in this tale, according to your viewpointhad been charged with aggravated robbery, which covers a mult.i.tude of sins, especially if you ask the courtafter you've been found guiltyto take into consideration one hundred and twelve similar offenses.

"Result? Pete gets six years in the slammer." Mick paused to draw breath.

"Mind you, he still killed his best mate while he was inside and got away with it, didn't he?"

"Did he?" I asked, showing a little more interest.

"Yeah, he sure did. Mind you, he knew he'd only have to serve three years on account of the fact that he was always on his best behavior, whenever he was inside," said Mick. "Logic, isn't it? So after fifteen months in Wakefieldawful nickthey sent him off to Hollesley Bay open prison in Suffolk, didn't they, to finish off his sentence. b.l.o.o.d.y holiday camp. See, the theory is," continued Mick, "an open prison is meant to prepare you for returning to society. Some hope. All Pete did was spend his time in the prison library reading through back copies of Country Life, supplied by some do-gooder, so he could work out in advance which houses he was going to rob the moment he got out. Now another rule in an open prison," continued Mick, "is that you're ent.i.tled to a visit once a week, not like the once a month you get in closed conditions; that is as long as you're enhanced, and not been put on report for at least a month."

"Enhanced?" I ventured.

"That's when a con's been on good behavior for at least three months. When he's enhanced he gets all sorts of privileges, like more time out of his cell, better job, even more pay in some nicks."

"And how do you get put on report?"

"That's easy enough. Swear at a screw, turn up late for work, fail a drugs test. I was once put on report for nicking an orange from the kitchen. Diabolical liberty."

"So was your friend Pete ever put on report?" I asked.

"Never," Mick replied. "Good as gold, wasn't he, because he wanted a visit from his tart. Well, he does his three months, works in the stores, keeps his nose clean, and bob's your uncle, he's enhanced. Following Sat.u.r.day his tart turns up at the nick to pay him a visit.

"In open prisons, visits are held in the biggest room available, usually the gym or the canteen. And you have to remember, security isn't like a closed nick, with sniffer dogs and CCTV cameras following your every move, so you can behave natural when you're with your tart."

He paused. "Well, within limits. I mean you can't have s.e.x like they do in Swedish prisons. You knowwhat do they call it?"

"Conjugal visits?"

"Well, whatever, it's s.e.x, and we don't allow it. Mind you, a screw will turn a blind eyewhen a con puts his hand up a tart's skirt, but then I remember in one prison..."

"Pete," I reminded him.

"Oh, yeah, Pete. Well, Karen came to visit Pete the following Sat.u.r.day. All's going well until Pete asks about his best mate, Brian. Karen clams up, doesn't say a word does she, then turns bright red.

Pete susses straight away what she's been up to: tart, having it off with his best mate while he's inside. She lit his short fuse, didn't she? So Pete jumps up and puts one on her. Karen goes a.r.s.e over t.i.ts, and lands up flat on the floor. The alarm goes off and screws come running through every door. They had to pull him off Karen and drag him away to segregation. Ever been to segregation, Jeff?"

"No, can't say I have."

"Well, don't bother.

Diabolical liberty. Bare cell, mattress on the floor, steel basin screwed into the wall and a steel bog what don't flush. Next day Pete's put on report, and comes up in front of the governor, who, you have to remember, is G.o.d Almighty. He don't need no judge or jury to help him decide if you're guiltyHome Office regulations are quite enough."

"So what happened to Pete?"

"Sent back to closed conditions, wasn't he? s.h.i.+pped off to Lincoln prison the same day, with another three months added to his sentence. Some cons, when they're sent back to a closed nick, lose their rag, start breaking the place up, taking drugs, setting their cell on fire, so they never get out. I was banged up with a muppet in Liverpool once. Started off with a three-year sentence and he's still thereeleven years later. Last time he came up in front of the governor for..."

"Pete," I said, trying not to sound exasperated.

"Oh, yeah, Pete. Well, Pete goes the other way."

"The other way?"

"Good as gold all the time he's banged up at Lincoln. Three months later he's back enhanced, with all his privileges restored. Gets a job in the kitchen, works like a slave, six months later he puts in a request for a visit and it's granted, with the exception of one Karen Slater. But he never wanted to see that wh.o.r.e again anyway No, this time Pete applied for a visit from one of his old mates who was on the out at the time.

Now this mate confirms that Brian is not only having it off with Karen, but now that Pete's safely banged up in Lincoln she's moved in with him. What a diabolical liberty," said Mick. "Pete's mate even asked if he wanted Brian done over. 'No, don't go down that road,' Pete told him.

'I'll be taking care of him myself, all in good time.' He never went into no detail of what he had in mind, on account of the fact that in the end someone always opens their mouth. Must be the same in politics, Jeff."

"Pete."

"Well, Pete goes on being as good as gold. Cleanest pad, working all hours, never swearing at no screws, never on report. Result? Twelve months later he's back at Hollesley Bay open prison, with only nine months left to serve."

"And once he was back at Hollesley Bay, did he try to contact Karen?"

"No, didn't put in a request for a visit.

In fact, never even mentioned her name."

"So what was his game?" I asked, slipping into the prison jargon.

"He only had one game all along, Jeff: he wanted to get himself transferred to the enhancement block, on the other side of the prison, didn't he."

"I've lost you," I admitted.

"All part of his master plan, wasn't it?

When you first arrive at Hollesley Bay, which, don't forget, is an open nick, you're allocated a room in one of the two main blocks."

"Are you?"

"Yeah, north and south block. But if you get enhancedanother three more months of behaving like a saintthen they move you across to the enhancement block, which gives you even more privileges."

"Like what?"

"You can have a visit from a mate every Sat.u.r.day Pete wasn't interested.

You can go home once a month on a Sundayhe's still not interested. You can apply for a job outside of the prison during the weekstill no interest, even though it would of given him a chance to pick up an extra bob or two before he's released."

"Then why bother to earn all those privileges if you don't plan to take advantage of them?" I asked.

"Weren't part of Pete's master plan, was it? Trouble with you, Jeff, is that you don't think like a criminal."

"So why was Pete so keen to get himself transferred to the enhancement block?"

"Good question at last, Jeff, but for that you'll need a little background. Pete 'ad already worked out that over on the enhancement block they 'ad five screws on duty during the day, but only two at night, on account of the fact that if a prisoner reaches enhanced status he can be trusted, not to mention how short-staffed the prison service is. And don't forget that, in an open nick, there are no cells, no bars, no keys and no perimeter walls, so anyone can abscond."

"So why don't they?" I asked.

"Because not many cons who've made it to an open prison are that interested in escaping."

"Why not?"

"Logic, isn't it? They're coming to the end of their sentence, and if they're caught, and nine out of ten of the morons are, you're sent straight back to a closed nick, with extra time added to your sentence. So forget it, it's just not worth it. I remember a con called Dale. What a muppet he was. He only had three weeks left to serve, when he..."

"Pete," I tried again.

"You're such an impatient b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Jeff, and it's not as if you're going anywhere. So where was I?"

"Only two officers on duty in the enhancement block at night," I said, checking my notes.

"Oh, yeah. But even on the enhancement block you have to report to the front office at seven in the morning, and then again at nine each night. Now Pete, as I told you, 'ad a job in the prison stores, handing out clothes to the new cons, and supplying laundry once a week for the regulars, so the screws always knew where he was, which was also part of Pete's plan. But if he hadn't reported to the front office at seven in the morning and then again at nine at night, he would have been put on report, which would have meant he'd be sent back to north block with all his privileges removed. So Pete never once misses a roll call, his cell was always spick and span, and his light is always out long before eleven."

"All part of Pete's master plan?"

"You catch on fast," said Mick. "But then Pete came up against an obstaclethat the right word, Jeff?" I nodded, not wis.h.i.+ng to interrupt his flow. "During the night, one of the screws would walk round the block at one o'clock and then return again at four in the morning, to check that every con was in bed and asleep. All the screw has to do is pull back the curtain on the outside of the door, look through the gla.s.s panel and s.h.i.+ne his torch on the bed to make sure the con is snoring away. Have I ever told you about the con who was caught in his room, with a..."

"Pete," I said, not even looking up at Mick.

"Pete would lay awake at night until the first screw came round at one o'clock to make sure he was in his room. The screw lifts the curtain, s.h.i.+nes the torch on his bed and then disappears. Pete would then go back to sleep, but he always set his alarm for ten to four when he'd carry out the same routine. A different screw always turns up at four to check you're still in bed. It took Pete just over a month to work out that there were two screws, Mr. Chambers and Mr. Davis, who didn't bother to make the nightly rounds and check everyone was in bed.

Chambers used to fall asleep and Davis couldn't be dragged away from the TV.

After that, all Pete had to do was wait until the two of them were on duty the same night."

With only about six weeks to go before Pete was due to be released, he returned to the enhancement block after work to find that Chambers and Davis were the duty officers that night. When Pete signed the roll-call sheet at nine, Mr. Chambers was already watching a football match on TV, and Mr. Davis had his feet up on the table drinking a c.o.ke and reading the sports pages of the Sun.

Pete went up to his room, watched TV till just after ten, and then turned off his light. He got into bed and pulled the blanket over him, but kept on his tracksuit and trainers. He waited until a few minutes after one before he crept out into the corridor and checked to make sure no one was aroundnot a sign of Chambers or Davis. He then went to the end of the corridor, opened the fire-escape door, and disappeared down the back stairs, leaving a wedge of paper in the door, before he set off on an eight-mile run into Wood-bridge.

No one can be sure when Pete got back that night, but he reported into the office as usual at seven the next morning.

Mr. Chambers ticked off his name. When Pete glanced down at the screws clipboard, all four of his roll-call columnsnine, one, four and sevenhad a tick in every box. Pete had breakfast in the canteen before reporting to the stores for work.

"So he got away with it?"

"Not quite," said Mick. "Later that morning the cops turn up in numbers and begin crawling all over the place, but they're only looking for one man. They end up in the stores, arrest Pete and haul him off to Woodbridge nick for questioning. They interrogate him for hours about the deaths of Brian Powell and Karen Slater, both found strangled in their bed. Rumor has it that they were having it off at the time. Pete stuck to the same line: 'Can't have been me, guv. I was banged up in prison at the time. You only have to ask Mr. Chambers and Mr. Davis, the officers who were on duty that night.' The copper in charge of the case visited the enhancement block and checked the roll-call sheet. Brian and the tart were strangled sometime between three and five, according to the police doctor, so if Chambers saw Pete asleep in bed at four, he couldn't have been in Woodbridge at the same time, could he?

Logic, isn't it?

"An independent inquiry was set up by the Home Office. Chambers and Davis both confirmed that they'd checked every prisoner at one o'clock and then again at four, and on both occasions Pete had been asleep in his room. Several of the other cons were only too happy to appear in front of the inquiry and confirm they'd been woken by the flashlight, when Chambers and Davis did their rounds.

This only strengthened Pete's defense. So the inquiry concluded that Pete must have been in his bed at one o'clock and four o'clock on the night in question, so he couldn't have committed the murders."

"So he got away with it," I repeated.

"Depends on how you describe got away with it," said Mick, "because although the police never charged Pete, the copper in charge of the case later made a statement saying that they'd closed their inquiries, as there was no one else they wanted to interviewhint, hint. That wasn't what you call a good career move for Chambers and Davis, so they set about st.i.tching Pete up."

"But Pete only had six weeks to serve before he was due to be released," I reminded Mick, "and he was always as good as gold."

"True, but another screw, a mate of Davis's, reported Pete for stealing a pair of jeans from the stores just a few days before he was due for release. Pete was carted off to segregation and the governor had him transported back to Lincoln nick even before they'd served up tea that night, with another three months added to his sentence."