‘I’ll be straight with you, son,’ Hennessey said. His voice was a cold, wheezy whisper, south London through and through. ‘I don’t have much time for wife-beaters. If you hadn’t done me a service in the yard, we’d be having a different chat right now.’
He lit the cigarette and inhaled.
Joe remembered Hunter’s words: ‘You think the screws are in charge here? That’s bullshit. Hennessey’s in charge…’
And as he had just acknowledged, Hennessey owed him one.
‘I have to get out,’ he said.
Hennessey finished his cigarette with a second long drag and dropped the butt to the floor. ‘Missing Hunter, are you?’
‘Not the Seg Wing. The prison.’
‘You and every other fucker in this place,’ Hennessey said dryly.
‘I mean it.’
A humourless smile played across Hennessey’s lips. ‘Well, let’s see now,’ he said. ‘How to break our new boy out of here? Double murder, is it? Usual procedure is to make a shiv and cut your wrists. That way they take you out in a box. Leaves a little mess for the screws to clean up, but you won’t have to worry about that.’ He waved one arm about the room. ‘My advice, lad, is get used to your new home, and make sure you stay in with the right people.’
‘Not good enough, Hennessey.’
‘Is that right, son? Ah well, we all have to live with these little disappointments.’
Hennessey wasn’t giving much away. What had Hunter said about him? A clever bastard. Joe sensed he was right. But what did he, Joe, have on Hennessey? What weapons were left in his arsenal?
‘Word is you’ve got half the screws in your pocket,’ he said. ‘How d’you do it? Blackmail? Threaten their families?’
‘Ways and means, son. Ways and means.’ He sounded – and looked – wary. ‘Let’s just say I call in a favour now and then, and leave it at that.’
‘Like the tart they smuggle in to service you every month? That’s quite a favour. Someone must really like you.’
‘What is it, son?’ Hennessey’s voice was very quiet now, but with an edge that hadn’t been there before. ‘On heat, are you? She’s coming in at five tonight, you know, but I’m afraid she’ll have her hands full. If you want someone to help you lose your load, I could always have a word with Hunter—’
‘Be a shame, wouldn’t it,’ Joe cut in, keeping his voice casual, ‘if word got round that the screws cut you slack in return for you grassing up the other inmates?’
A pause. Hennessey blinked at him, then suddenly gave a short, humourless bark of a laugh. ‘That a threat, son?’
‘More than that, Hennessey. I’m army, remember. I’ve got contacts. Trust me, there’s plenty of bent coppers in my little black book who’d deposit a few quid in one of your family’s bank accounts if I asked them. I guess some of the animals in this place might get funny ideas if they thought you were on a police payroll…’
Hennessey stared impassively at him, trying to judge if Joe was serious or not. ‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ he said finally, before giving Joe a contemptuous look, turning his back on him and hobbling towards the door.
The window of opportunity was closing. ‘You think you’re the big man, Hennessey?’ he called after him. ‘You think you scare me like you scare the other shitheads in this place? Trust me, son, I can fucking break you. The best way for you to stay king of the hill is to get me the hell out of here.’
Hennessey halted. For ten seconds he stood still, his back to Joe. When he finally turned, his expression was cold. He stumped back towards Joe, stopping when they were just a metre apart. ‘And how do you work that out?’ he barely whispered, derision dripping from his voice.
Joe moved quickly. He grabbed the food tray by the door – its contents went flying – then smashed the plastic over his knee so that it broke, with lethally jagged corners on each half. He swiped the crutch from under Hennessey’s arm. It didn’t appear to make the prisoner any less steady until Joe used it to push him violently up against the wall, before pressing a sharp corner of the shattered tray against his jugular. ‘Listen to me, you piece of shit. You think I don’t have friends who wouldn’t think twice about taking a smack at your whore if I asked them to? You think they wouldn’t break her legs just for fun?’ It wasn’t true, but Hennessey didn’t know that.
‘You think I care?’ Hennessey whispered. ‘She’s just a pair of lips to me…’
‘Of course you don’t care. But just think about it. Big bad Hennessey, stuck in the Seg Wing and not even able to stop his bit of skirt getting done over on the outside, even when he’s in the police’s pockets. Not to mention that, as long as I’m here, I’ll break a different bone in your fucking body every time I see you. You’ll need more than a wooden crutch.’
To emphasize his point he pressed the plastic harder into Hennessey’s throat – the guy broke into a sweat – before throwing it, along with the crutch, to the floor. He knew better than to turn his back on a man like this, so he stepped away while Hennessey caught his breath and bent down to pick up the crutch.
‘You’re a brave man, army boy,’ Hennessey said hoarsely, rubbing at his throat with one hand, ‘talking to me like that.’
Joe ignored him. ‘Course,’ he added, ‘pull some strings for me and it wouldn’t do your reputation much harm.’
‘What wouldn’t?’
‘You really are as stupid as you look. Think about it. The inmate who does Hennessey a favour gets out. They’ll know your name on every landing in the country after that. They’ll be falling over themselves to help you out.’
Hennessey fixed him with a dead-eyed stare. He made no attempt to hide his loathing of Joe, but he was clearly deciding what call to make.
Joe feigned indifference.
‘You’re in the Seg Wing of a Cat A prison,’ Hennessey said finally. ‘People don’t just walk out of this place.’
‘Except your bird.’
Hennessey’s eyes tightened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘How does she get in? I’m guessing she doesn’t just bang on the front gates.’
The inmate inclined his head, but didn’t answer.
Joe took a step towards him, and was pleased to notice Hennessey flinch. ‘You think I’m playing twenty fucking questions, Hennessey?’ he hissed. ‘You think I’m playing around? I’ll ask you one more time. How does she get in?’
He was watching Hennessey carefully. Examining his expression. He saw the way the eyes narrowed, just a millimetre. Hennessey had made a decision.
‘There’s a delivery of medical supplies. Once a month. The screws make a point of not checking too closely what’s in the back of the van when it arrives.’
‘And when it leaves?’
‘That too.’
Joe started pacing. ‘Where do you meet her?’ he demanded. ‘Does she come to you?’
‘No,’ Hennessey replied. The wariness had returned to his voice. It was as if they were tiptoeing around each other. ‘I go to her when they’ve finished unloading…’
‘How long for?’
Hennessey’s eyes narrowed.
‘How long for?’
‘Half an hour.’
‘Where does the van park?’
‘Delivery bay, behind the kitchens.’
‘Who takes you there?’
‘One of the screws,’ Hennessey said evasively. And then he added quickly – a bit too quickly? – ‘Hobson, ginger moustache…’
Joe remembered the screw he’d attacked the night he arrived. He’d hardly be queuing up to do Joe a favour. But that didn’t matter. Not if Joe worked it properly.
‘There’s a route from the back of the Seg Wing,’ Hennessey said. Joe noted that he was volunteering information without being pressed. ‘Winds round past the bins to the delivery bay. No cameras. That’s the way Hobson takes me.’