Satisfied the kitchen was clear, he moved to the bathroom, opening the toilet cover to make sure no drugs were stashed in the cistern. In one of the bathroom cabinets, in a plastic container, he found hundreds of empty capsules, a pair of scales, a measuring scoop and a garlic crusher. He paused, listening for any new sounds before making his way to the bedroom. He slid his hands beneath the mattress and under the bed but found nothing, then opened the wardrobe and bent down to examine the rows of boots and shoes, before patting down all the garments on the hangers. He then focused on the dressing table. There were three drawers on each side containing underwear and sweaters, and a small leather box containing jewellery. The last one was locked. It only took a few seconds to prize it open.
Inside were stacks of envelopes with New Zealand stamps, all addressed to Janet. Another stack of bank statements was tied with an elastic band, and Janet’s passport and tickets for her trip to New Zealand were in an envelope.
Taking out all the items and laying them on top of the dressing table, he felt into the back of the drawer and withdrew stacks of twenty-and ten-pound notes along with a thick wad of fifties. He reckoned there was at least twenty thousand, but more interesting was the thick red notebook wrapped with a green elastic band. By this time, the pain in his leg was getting bad, so he had to sit on the edge of the bed. Opening the book, he saw pages and pages of initials and numbers. Some initials, which he presumed were names, were crossed out. Some pages had scribbled dates, beginning with when Janet worked in Holloway.
He next went through her bank accounts. There were substantial transfers over the years to the same bank in New Zealand, with amounts varying from ten to thirty thousand. However, there was only four thousand pounds in her own account. Frustrated, he went laboriously through every item, including her wage slips, even reading the copies of letters from her previous Governor extolling her professionalism and years of exemplary work with the incarcerated women. There was even a note from the prison doctor who praised Janet’s work as a nurse and her assistance in many procedures.
He began to put all the documents back into the drawer, apart from her passport, the tickets and the cash. The drawer stuck as he tried to close it. He pushed harder, certain he had replaced everything as he had found it. He pulled out the drawer, reached inside and felt something stuck at the back with duct tape. He carefully pulled off the tape and drew out the dark maroon ledger, with ‘Medical Prescriptions’ on the cover in gold letters.
Inside were details of the drug supplies required for the prison hospital, and Josh instantly realised he’d hit paydirt: this was how Janet was bringing drugs into the prison in plain sight. When she found a prisoner to sell drugs to, she would get Dr Zardari to pre-scribe them with something that came in a capsule. Anything. It didn’t matter. Because she then emptied the capsule and refilled it with their drug of choice.
‘Gotcha,’ he whispered.
Chapter 9
Jack parked up a street away from the old school, waiting to see if the Mercedes drove out. After fifteen minutes it passed him. He couldn’t get a clear view of the driver, a man wearing dark glasses, but he used his mobile to take a picture of the licence plate.
Driving back to the school, the barrier pole was up, so he was able to drive straight into the empty forecourt, parking beneath the lean-to shelter by the jeep. He looked around for the exit he had used previously, then began walking further around the building and paused by a broken-down bicycle shelter. He moved cautiously around until he could see Adam Border, wearing torn jeans and a T-shirt, hurling broken wooden frames onto a fire.
‘Bit early for Bonfire Night, isn’t it?’ Jack said, moving closer.
Adam turned towards him, showing no surprise at his appearance.
‘I was going to collect some of the stuff I’d bought in the market,’ Jack lied, then shrugged, smiling. ‘They were closed, so it was a wasted journey. Then I remembered you hanging out here.’
Adam nodded and continued stoking the fire. Jack moved closer, watching as wooden frame after frame was set alight.
‘Why are you burning all the frames?’
‘Not good enough for my use. I only want the authentic period frames. You can give me a hand if you want but mind you don’t get splinters.’
Jack picked up some of the broken frames and tossed them onto the fire. Adam was sweating, his blond hair clinging to his face, and Jack removed his jacket as the fire burnt more fiercely. Adam used an old dirty rag to wipe his face and hands then kicked down the corrugated iron roof to lie on top of the dying fire, placing a large jam jar on the top.
‘I’ll need some of the ashes when they’ve cooled down.’
‘What do you do with them?’
‘Grind them into the canvases to age them. Fancy a cold beer?’
Jack picked up his jacket. ‘Sounds good.’ He followed Adam to the rear entrance and along the corridor, until he opened one of the double doors onto the drill hall. Jack glanced towards the boarded-up window he’d been looking through when he overheard the argument. He stared around the hall.
‘Are they pulling this place down because of that old cement that’s been on the news?’
Adam nodded. ‘That, along with the asbestos, will see the whole place flattened. Two school rooms have collapsed ceilings, and I don’t know how long the drill hall will be safe, to be honest.’
‘Built in the fifties, was it?’
Adam turned and looked at him. ‘What’s with all the questions? Who gives a shit when it was built.’
‘Just making conversation.’
Adam walked into the little office room he used beside the kitchen area as Jack stood looking around the large drill hall. He saw the painting Adam had been stamping on earlier and realised it was his own work.
Adam returned with two ice-cold bottles of beer and handed one to Jack. Jack turned to look over the long trestle table, gesturing to a white cardboard box that had a large stone inside cushioned in tissue paper.
‘What do you do with that?’
‘Lapis Lazuli. Very valuable. In the 13th and 14th centuries it was used to make ultramarine, an intense blue pigment. Titian was famous for using it to show off his wealth, since it was so expensive.’ Beside the box was a big stack of used fifty-pound notes, held together with elastic bands. A mobile rang with a strange musical ringtone. Adam casually tossed a rag over the money as he searched for his phone. Eventually he found it hidden buy a stack of old books, snatched it up and took it into the kitchen.
Moments later, Jack heard him laugh. ‘Great. That’s terrific news.’ He came back out, smiling, and gestured to three framed canvases draped with a white sheet.
‘I have to get them ready to be shipped out as soon as possible. We’ve got buyers in China and the U.S. Do you want to see them?’
Jack nodded. ‘What’s your ringtone, Adam? It sorts of sticks in your head.’
‘Ah yes, it’s the Harry Lime theme from The Third Man. Orson Welles’ brilliant movie set in Vienna. Now stand back while I line these up for you.’
Jack watched as Adam carefully removed the old sheet and stood the three paintings against the wall.
‘These are Modiglianis. Most of his portraits are kind of flat, very simple in style, making him a favourite among forgers.’
Jack stood in front of the three seemingly identical paintings depicting a woman with slanting eyes.
‘What do you think?’
‘They all look the same.’