Page 94 of The Dead Ex
‘Hope that’s a compliment,’ I said, half-joking.
She’d touched my arm briefly in a chummy fashion. ‘It is. By the way, we’ve started an all-girls squash ladder in the new gym block. Fancy joining us?’
Great. It was just whatI needed. There’s nothing like physical exercise to block out the stuff we have to deal with. Afterwards we sometimes had a coffee together. My new friend was conscientious like me but also fun. And she could stand up for herself. ‘Clear off,’ she’d say to some of the male married officers who made passes at her. ‘Or I’ll tell your wives at the next social.’
Privately, I sometimes wondered whyshe hadn’t found someone. Jackie – or ‘blondie’ as some of the guards called her – was one of those women who looked good even when she wore her hair pulled back off her forehead for work. As a friend, she was a breath of fresh air. Bright. Intelligent. And with a wicked sense of humour. One day Jackie confided that she’d broken off her engagement to an officer in a previous prison. He insistedshe kept the ring so she sold it to go on a solo break-up holiday to Thailand.
‘Good of him, wasn’t it? He was generous like that. It did make me wonder briefly if I’d done the right thing butthen I had a really intense weekend with this Australian bloke in Bangkok who completely wiped the ex out of my head.’ She shrugged, and for the first time I detected a flash of vulnerability. ‘I expectedto meet someone else by now. But I haven’t. The opportunities are few and far between in this place. None of the single blokes here do it for me.’
Privately I considered her attitude to be short-sighted and rather silly. I was still focused on my career and thought the right man would just fall into my lap at some point. It certainly wasn’t a priority right now. But I comforted her and even wentto a few singles dating nights with her. It felt great finally to be making some friends. I was doing a job I loved and had found a group of people who understood me.
Then, about three months later, the phone rang in the middle of the night. There was a ‘situation’. No details were given, but my presence was ‘needed’.
My house – which came with the promotion – was in the staff estate block,a short walk away. Just as well my uniform was ready to put on for the next day.
The Main Gate (as we call the inside area where staff and visitors sign in and out) was quiet; not good, considering how many people were there. Three officers. A medic. Chairman of the IMB. My heart sank. The latter would only have been called at this time of night if something very bad had happened which neededan independent witness. An ambulance had slid up outside too. No siren.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Samantha Taylor,’ said one of the officers, stepping forward.
It took a second for the name to register. Then I got it. Samantha with the bluebird tattoo and little Jimmie.
Numbly, I followed him. Why weren’t they going to the mother-and-baby unit? Of course. The boy would have gone for fostering oradoption now. Sam would have been moved to an ordinary cell.
The knocks behind the doors on the landing were persistent. Furious. Demanding. ‘What’s going on?’ shouted one woman.
‘Tell us,’ screamed another.
One cell door was open. A visibly distraught prison officer was standing outside. ‘I found her. She’d been upset ever since she got here. But then tonight she went quiet. Thought I’d checkeverything was all right but when I went in, I found her …’
The officer stopped. No need for him to say any more. There was the chair. And there was the body on the ground, still with the blue cord round her neck.
‘I cut her down. But she was gone.’
The man’s eyes were red. ‘Same age as my daughter. Couldn’t cope without her kid, she couldn’t. Do you know how she did it?’
I shook my head numbly.
‘She’d hidden the kid’s reins. Just learned to walk, he had, before they were parted.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘Makes you wonder why we do this, doesn’t it?’
34
Helen
1 December 2017
When I wake in the morning, David has gone. His side of the bed is almost uncreased, as though he was never in it. The kitchen area is immaculate. Gone is his wine glass. In fact, there is no evidence of last night at all. If I wasn’t physically in the apartment, I might think I’d dreamed the whole thing.
My mouth is parched, so I help myself to orange juice from a fridgewhich takes up half the wall. It has an ice cube dispenser on the outside. I spend a few minutes trying it out just for the hell of it.
Then I see the note on the massive island in the middle of the kitchen. Funny: I’ve never seen David’s handwriting before apart from his signature. This is entirely in capitals; almost childlike as though the author has never learned to do joined-up.
YOU’RE A REMARKABLE GIRL WITH A BIG CAREER IN FRONT OF YOU. I’M SURE YOU UNDERSTAND THE NEED FOR DISCRETION. JUST SHUT THE DOOR BEHIND YOU. THE SECURITY SYSTEM WILL KICK IN.
Naturally he wants to be careful. But he can’t forget last night. I won’t let him. My mind goes back to the angrywoman with red hair on the other side of the restaurant window. I wonder if she had a similar letter once.
Halfan hour later, I head towards his office. Inside, there are raised voices. ‘Just bloody find them.’ David’s deep voice is unmistakable. ‘They want to see them. It will look suspicious if we can’t produce the paperwork.’
