The guard’s eyes started watering slightly, and Tommy suddenly complained of feeling dizzy and asked to sit down, but the guard ignored him and walked him towards the exit, and almost threw him out of the door. Once out into the open air, Tommy staggered and leaned against the wall as he tried to fill his lungs with clean air, while tossing his cigarette butt aside on the pavement. Feeling sick and disorientated, he looked towards the car park for his car. Feeling pain in his chest and finding it hard to breathe, he was tempted to bang on the door of the prison again to seek help from the guards. It felt like he was having a heart attack. Unable to think straight, he swayed back and forth as he walked towards his car. His head spun and he felt woozy and his instinct was to try and get to the hospital. Through his clouded brain, he knew he was having a heart attack or possibly a stroke, possibly brought on by the stress of seeing Paul. Paul’s anger had frightened him, and he knew what he was capable of, even though he was inside prison. With his mind in turmoil, he considered he might even be having a panic attack, but the pain was too severe for that. He needed to get help, but his mind was a blur, his eyes felt heavy and he almost fell inside the car as he opened it, his head falling backwards onto the headrest as he let out a laboured breath. Blinking hard to stay awake, he started up the car, gripped his chest and breathed heavily.
Turning towards the passenger seat, he noticed his packet of cigarettes that he had left in the car. His mind wandered back to his meeting with Paul. Suddenly, as clear as day, he thought about the cigarette he had been given by the prison warder. It was rumoured that Paul used cyanide and often boasted about it to his friends and family and joked about not eating anything he’d cooked. Through his haze, Tommy realised what was happening to him. Since when did prison warders hand out cigarettes? Stupidly, he cursed himself for accepting it. Tommy knew he was dying; he didn’t have long. Sweat poured down his face and behind the blur of confusion, he knew he had to get to a nearby hospital. As he put his foot on the accelerator, the last thing Tommy heard was the sound of a crash as he hit another car and his head fell forward against the steering wheel. His lifeless body was slumped forward, with blood running down his head and face.
Paul was in the prison corridor where the telephones were situated. Making a call, he looked at his watch and then spoke. ‘Tommy came today. He won’t be coming back. He implied my brother was a rapist. I leave this urgent matter in your hands now.’ With that, Paul ended the call. Turning towards the prison guard, he held out his hand. ‘Nice work Mr Barrow, you learn fast.’
The guard handed him the packet of cigarettes containing cyanide. Paul liked cyanide, it couldn’t be easily detected, and it worked swiftly. It had become a code between himself and this warder. Paul always carried his own cigarettes, but when he asked Barrow to fetch them for him, they both knew it was his ‘special packet’ for his enemies. Paul looked at Barrow with distaste, but he came in handy. He was greedy, like all other men he had known. Still, Paul thought to himself, at least his wine and his own food was smuggled in by this man, so he served his purpose. Maybe one day he would be sharing one of his special cigarettes. After all, he didn’t want this warder finding a conscience and loosening his tongue to the authorities.
Paul smiled. ‘Check your account, I’ve made sure you’ve got your money.’
The guard looked at him and nodded. ‘I have to see you back to your cell now Mr Pereira, is that okay?’
‘Sure thing, let’s go. Did my red wine get delivered today?’
Nervously, the guard answered. ‘Yes Mr Pereira, everything is waiting for you in your room.’
Satisfied, Paul followed him back to his cell. Anyone could be bought, Paul thought to himself. No one was above the law and sooner or later, someone would tell him where to find Alex Silva. He picked up a glass of red wine that had already been poured for him and rose it in a toast. ‘Rest in peace Tommy.’ Then he took a huge gulp.
‘Barrow. The governor wants to see you.’ The young prison guard stood before his senior. Frowning, Barrow looked at him quizzically. ‘Did he say why?’
‘No sir, he just sent word that he would like to see you in his office.’ Once the young guard had delivered his message, he walked away, and Barrow’s mind swam with all kinds of thoughts. He knew some of the other senior warders knew that he paid special attention to the needs of Mr Pereira. Most guards had their favourites, and Mr Pereira was a very generous man. Barrow just hoped that this hadn’t come to the governor’s attention.
Barrow walked along the landing until he eventually stood outside of the governor’s office. Straightening his tie and rubbing imaginary fluff from his jacket, he stood upright and knocked on the door. His mouth felt dry as he swallowed hard, not knowing what to expect.
The governor was sat at his desk with two policemen stood at either side of him. ‘You wanted me, sir?’ Barrow was doing his best to keep his voice calm and steady.
‘Indeed, Mr Barrow. It seems there has been an accident outside the prison in the car park. A man is dead. He was visiting prisoner Pereira, a despicable man.’ The governor scoffed. ‘I believe you were there during his visit. Did you notice that he didn’t feel well or anything? Apparently, it looks like he’s had a heart attack in his car and then crashed it. I wondered if you could shed any light on it?’
Looking at the policemen, Barrow felt on safer ground. ‘Well, sir, he did visit prisoner Pereira.’ He looked around the room as though deep in thought. ‘And he did say he felt a little warm, but he didn’t want any water or anything and then he left. There was no heated conversation or anything, if that’s what you mean. All seemed well.’ His mouth felt dry, and he licked his lips, waiting for the next line of investigation.
‘There you have it, gentlemen. We know nothing, apart from the fact that he visited a prisoner and left in one piece.’ The governor looked towards each of the police officers.
‘The problem is, Mr Barrow, it seems there were a few passports in his glove compartment under different names. We’ve checked which name he signed the register with and the visiting order that was sent out to him, but have you ever seen this man before?’
‘No, sir.’
The police officer nodded. ‘Mr Barrow, would you make a statement about the visit? How the man looked and what they talked about? I presume you were in earshot of their conversation?’ The policeman stared at him suspiciously. Barrow looked like a scared cat, desperate to get out of the office.
‘Of course I will sir, but, as I say, there is nothing to tell. The man in question visited prisoner Pereira. All seemed well and then he left. I know nothing about passports or anything else.’
The governor nodded. ‘You can go now, Mr Barrow. If I need to speak to you again, I will send for you.’ As an afterthought, the governor looked towards the policemen. ‘That is, unless, you want Mr Barrow to go with you now to the police station to make a statement?’
‘That won’t be necessary at the moment, but, if we need to, we will be in touch. Although, maybe we could speak to Mr Pereira. He knew the man who died. Perhaps he can tell us who he really was and why someone would have so many different passports in different names. I would say Pereira knew him very well. He was probably one of his men.’
‘Do you want him brought up now to speak to him? Mr Barrow could fetch him for you.’
One police officer shook his head. ‘No, that won’t be necessary yet. We need to look into this first. I am sure this man’s fingerprints are on our system somewhere, whoever he is.’
Taking his leave, Barrow turned and left the office. He was glad to be out of there and he rubbed his finger along his shirt collar which seemed tighter than normal. His hands felt sweaty, but he knew his first port of call would be Mr Pereira to inform him about the police investigation.
The last thing he wanted was for all of this to blow up in his face and for him to end up in prison himself, sharing yard space with some of the people that hated him the most. He’d heard stories of how prisoners had treated coppers and other guards in prison and they’d made his blood run cold.
Inwardly he cursed himself; how quickly he had been drawn into Pereira’s scams. Especially the cigarettes. Paul had told him about his lethal cigarettes, and should he ever ask for them, Barrow was to bring the cyanide tipped cigarettes and offer one to whoever Paul instructed. Again, he cursed himself. Paul had never handed one of his lethal cigarettes out himself, it had always been Barrow. He had murdered them, not Paul. His hands felt sticky, and he flexed them as he hastily walked up the stairs and along the landing towards Paul’s cell.
Barrow’s mind was in turmoil when he realised how stupid he had been without even realising it. There was no turning back now; he knew that he was in way too deep. And now there was this investigation into the man’s death. He could only hope that it would blow over quickly.
Hopefully Paul might have the answers to his concerns. He seemed to have an answer for everything. Standing outside of Paul’s cell, he found himself knocking and coughing before he entered. His heart was pounding, but he needed reassurance.
Paul was lounging on his bed with his arms behind his head, watching television. Although he looked up, he said nothing, not even turning the television down.
‘Mr Pereira, I’ve just come back from the governor’s office. It seems your visitor is dead and the police are making enquiries about him.’ Pausing, he waited for Paul to make a comment, but none came. ‘It seems the police found a lot of different passports in his car.’ Giving a nervous laugh, Barrow looked at Paul who was still ignoring him and continued staring at the television. ‘It seems he had a lot of pseudonyms and he died in our car park. It’s a shame it wasn’t somewhere else.’ Again, he laughed nervously, and shifted from one foot to the other.
For the first time, Paul looked up. Nonchalantly he plumped his pillow. ‘Why are you telling me this Barrow?’
‘Well, he was your visitor. They will be asking you questions. And they’ll be asking me.’ Looking at Paul’s face questioningly, he waited. There was a silent, nervous tension in the room. ‘What should I say?’ Swallowing hard, Barrow felt the sweat on his brow and took off his cap to wipe it.
‘You have had enough money out of me Barrow to come up with something – that’s your job. Of course, if you feel your world is crashing around your feet, you can always take a break and have a cigarette.’ The smug smile that crossed Paul’s face sickened Barrow. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I want to watch the end of my series.’ Picking up the remote control, Paul turned the volume up a little louder. Accepting his dismissal, Barrow walked out.
Walking along the landing aimlessly, he realised Paul wasn’t going to help him. As far as he was concerned, he’d been paid his money and whatever happened to him was his problem. Barrow knew he was doomed if the police dug a little deeper and found he had been taking money from Paul and doing him favours. It all seemed such a mess now.
‘Are you okay Mr Barrow?’
He looked up. Seeing the young guard before him, he tried to sound more casual than he felt. ‘I’m good, lad, I like it up here on the top landing. It gives you a better overview.’ Nonchalantly, he rested his elbows on the metal rail of the balcony and looked over. ‘Come here.’ He beckoned the young guard over. ‘Look at all these men; every day is the same for them. No sooner will they leave than they will be caught doing something again and be right back inside. Some of these men find life on the inside easier. They have been institutionalised for so long they don’t know how to survive on the outside. Three meals a day, no rent, no council tax and they don’t have to apply for benefits. They do education courses to pass the time, but they will never get a job on the outside once employers find out they have been in prison. Would you let one of these prisoners be the manager of your bank?’ Laughing slightly to make light of the situation, he slapped the young guard on the back. ‘They talk a lot about equal rights and this diversity business son, but does it really exist, or do people just agree to what people want to hear?’
The young warder looked at Mr Barrow who seemed to be rambling. His face was ashen and he didn’t look well. ‘I’d like to think everyone deserves a second chance sir.’
‘That’s because you’re young and starting out. When you have been in this game as long as me you will feel the same. Go about your business sonny, everything is fine.’
