Hard Evidence

Sally had got up to about 1903, talking about when the prison was solely designated for the housing of female offenders, when Delaney thankfully pulled up to the imposing-looking modern building and parked the car.

As they got out once more into the glaring heat of the sun, Delaney looked up at the blank-faced walls. It was a far cry from the gothic beauty of the original building. This could have been anywhere, Los Angeles, Sydney, Bradford. But behind the modern facade there still lingered a sense of its past. It wasn't hard to imagine ghosts walking at night, and the screams sounding in the darkness, he was sure, would be real enough.

Sally looked down at the plaque that had been laid in the original Holloway prison in 1852. It read: 'May God preserve the city of London and make this place a terror to evil doers.' Delaney followed her gaze. 'Sometimes the terror in here is better than what waits for them outside.'

The doors were opened and closed behind them. Nothing much had changed with that over the years. The doors might not be thick studded oak any more, and there might not have been electronic seals and cameras following their movements from every angle in years gone by, but the principle was the same. Once you were inside the prison you only got out when those inside said so. If it was an hour later, or sixteen years later, once the doors had closed behind you, you had no control over the matter.

Delaney and Sally waited at the reception area until a uniformed guard came to take them to the governor's office. He had kept them waiting for over fifteen minutes but Delaney didn't let it anger him. He knew the governor's job was all about keeping control. Exerting authority and keeping control. They may well have worked in associated jobs, but once that first gate had closed behind them they were in the governor's world now, and if he wanted to make a point then Delaney wasn't bothered. Besides, it was far, far, cooler inside the prison than in the blistering heat outside.

It was certainly cool in the governor's office. Air-conditioning saw to that, and it was as far removed from its Edwardian counterpart as a century of thinking allowed. The glass in the windows might have been toughened to withstand serious assault but the light they threw into the room was warm and pleasant. The whole room was pleasant, in fact: bright colours in prints and original paintings, a comfortable rug on the floor, modern books lining the shelves that made up one wall of the office.

Delaney swept his eyes around the furnishings as he sat in the comfortably cushioned chair that the governor had gestured him towards. Alan Bannister was a thin man of six foot four, with receding grey hair and rimless spectacles. Delaney put him in his mid-fifties and figured that he'd struggle to stay upright in a stiff breeze.

'Are you sure I can't order you some coffee? It really is no trouble.'

His voice was soft, educated. Delaney couldn't imagine him coping too well if an inmate got violent, but he guessed that was what his staff were for. And some of the lady officers he had seen on the way up here could have scared most of the inmates at Parkhurst.

'We don't want to take up too much of your time, Mr Bannister.'

'What can I do for you specifically, Inspector?'

'Anything you can tell us about Candy Morgan will be useful. What state of mind was she in?'

'State of mind?' He shrugged. 'She was glad to be leaving. That's for sure.'

'After eight years, I imagine she would be.'

'It's not always the case. A lot of our inmates don't want to be released, even if they won't admit as such to themselves.'

'Institutionalised?'

'Partly.'

Sally nodded. 'And partly the friendships, relationships they have built? It's like a family for some of them in here.'

Alan Bannister shrugged. 'Sometimes it's that. Or it's just because what waits for them outside is a lot worse than the life they have in here.'

'Sounds like you think it's a good thing for them to be incarcerated?'

Bannister shook his head, the passion ringing in his voice. 'I don't think that. The fact that they are here, however, is an indication that society has failed them, and by releasing them back to that society we are more often than not sending them into a vicious cycle of abuse and neglect.'

Delaney held up his hand dismissively. 'Yeah, all the women here are Girl Guides and society has let them down. Which brings us back to the biggest cookie-baker of them all. Candy Morgan.'

'So you said on the phone.'

'Was she one of those likely to reoffend? Insti-tutionalised? She was here a long time.'

'Like I said earlier, the women in here all have issues,' said the governor. 'But Candy Morgan was a particularly troubled soul.'

'I'd say that was an understatement.'

'But I had the sense she was hopeful about her future.'

'Hopeful?'

'Like she was looking forward to it. Not just because she would be getting out of prison, but because she had a sense of purpose. That's not often the case.'

'What kind of purpose?'

'Nothing specific. Nothing she spoke to me or my staff about anyway. But there was a new sense of excitement about what lay ahead for her in her closing days here. That much was clear. She wasn't looking backwards literally or figuratively when she walked out the door.'

'Did she ever mention her niece?'

'Not to me.'

Delaney was disappointed, but it was not entirely unexpected. 'I understand she had counselling?'

'It was part of her parole conditions. She served her full, original sentence, but she would have been here a lot longer had she refused it.'

'Because of the attack on the prison officer?'

'As you can well understand, we take that kind of thing very seriously.'

'What provoked the assault?'

'According to Ella Stafford, the officer involved, there was no provocation at all.'

'Can we speak to Ella Stafford?'

'I fail to see how that can help you find the missing girl.'

'I don't know either, if I'm honest. That's what police work is.' Delaney shrugged. 'Turning over stones. You turn over enough…'

'And soon enough something unpleasant will come crawling forth.'

'About the size of it. So can we speak to her?'

'She retired shortly after the incident and moved to New Zealand.'

'Can you get me her contact details there?'

'I'm sure we'll have a record. For her pension if nothing else.'

'We'd be grateful. What about Candy Morgan's counsellor?'

'What about her?'

'Can we speak to her? I presume she still works here.'

'She does, but she won't be able to tell you anything. The women who speak to counsellors have to know that whatever they say is entirely confidential. You can understand that?'

Delaney let a little anger slip into his voice. 'I understand that a little girl is missing from her family, is in the care of a very dangerous and disturbed woman and we all have very serious fears for her safety.'

The governor considered for a moment and then nodded, conceding. 'I'll see what I can do.'

'Thank you.'

Sally flipped the page on her notebook. 'Can you tell us who she shared cells with whilst she was here?'

'Of course.' He picked up the phone and pushed a button. 'Louise, could you dig up Candy Morgan's file again for me? Thanks.'

'We appreciate the help.'

Alan Bannister looked at Delaney thoughtfully. 'I know it sometimes doesn't look that way, but I hope we're both on the same side.'

'I hope so too.'

A short while later the governor's PA had returned with the name of Candy Morgan's cellmates written on a piece of paper. Delaney read quickly through the list, stood up and thanked the governor, gesturing to Sally that it was time to leave.