19

The police arrived and there was a roster of people they wanted to see. I was right at the top of the list. I wasn’t surprised really. The whole prison was filled with a rumour that I’d done it and the rumour was fairly accurate: he’d annoyed me so I just twisted his head and broke his neck. I was in the segregation unit in a solitary confinement cell and Harry had had a word with Dad and Arthur, telling them to keep it shut. I just hoped that it had done the trick.

Nine o’clock on the dot I was in an interview room. On one side of the table were two men and over to one side of the room was a chair for Senior Officer James.

One of the police officers spoke. ‘Sit down there, Robinson.’ It was a discourteous order. He had a northern accent, a round, sweaty, red face and he was overweight. He looked scruffy. His jacket was creased, his shirt was grubby and his tie hung loosely around his neck.

I stood at ease and ignored him.

‘Sit down, Robinson,’ he commanded. This man did not recognise that he had absolutely no authority over me.

I turned to Senior Officer James. ‘Is this, um, this person speaking to me, ma’am?’

‘I’m afraid he is, Jake.’

‘Will you ask him to address me civilly and correctly then please, ma’am? Or I will leave.’

‘Look, you, sit down.’ His tone was aggressive. I didn’t move.

Senior Officer James spoke to the policemen. ‘Detective Inspector, if you address this prisoner as Mr Robinson, Captain Robinson or Jake Robinson or just Jake he may comply with your request. You could of course use prisoner and his number. Oh, and it may help to say please, like you would with any other innocent person or witness at your police station.’ The last sentence was said slowly and precisely, emphasising the words ‘innocent person or witness’.

The policeman was boiling. His colour had gone up at least two shades. ‘Mr Robinson, I’d be eternally grateful if you’d sit in that chair.’ His voice had a tone of sarcasm. He indicated the chair opposite him.

‘This one?’ I asked, pointing at the only chair not occupied. I was actually concerned that this less-than-fit police officer would have a heart attack considering the reaction my simple question had on him. I’d heard the phrase ‘through gritted teeth’; this was the first time I’d actually observed it.

‘Yes, that one, Mr Robinson.’ He paused. ‘Please,’ he ground out.

In the psychological battle, I was already way ahead on points.

‘What can you tell us about the death of Raymond Tidy?’

‘Who are you and why are you asking me questions?’ In his anger he’d forgotten the protocol necessary for an interview. Another point. Prisoners: lots of points; police: nil. I was actually enjoying this. Here was a police officer, probably a very good police officer, that had come into a situation with his head full of assumptions and had found them wrong. Perhaps not wrong but prejudiced.

He put his head in his hands with his elbows on the table. The silence went on for about thirty seconds. He looked up. I noticed his breathing was now under control and his colour had returned to its original shade of dull red.

‘I apologise, Mr Robinson. I’m Detective Inspector Elliot and my colleague is Detective Sergeant Ayres. The observer is Senior Officer James. We’re looking into the death of Mr Raymond Tidy. We’re hoping you can help us with our enquiries. We’d like to ask you some questions.’ His speech had been controlled and clear. You want war, Inspector; you’re going to get it.

‘I’d like a solicitor.’

‘This is only a preliminary investigation.’

‘I have been put into a segregation cell with absolutely no charges against me. I want my solicitor and I want him now. I think you will have to have me released or arrest me.’

His colour started to rise again.

‘Any particular solicitor?’

‘Yes. Mr Keith Todd.’

‘And where might we find Mr Todd?’

‘In London.’

‘Specifically?’

‘Oh no, I’ve never heard of a place called specifically. His offices are in Westminster.’

I could see out of the corner of my eye Senior Officer James looking at the ceiling and fighting to keep a straight face.

‘Would it be possible to question you with a local solicitor?’

‘Let me see.’ I pretended to think. ‘Um, no.’

‘Why the hell not?’ The irritation in his voice and his facial expression could have been collected in a black plastic bag.

‘The police screwed me in Mississippi so I ended up in prison for something I didn’t do by having their bent lawyer. It won’t happen to me again.’

‘Thank you, Mr Robinson. We’ll interview you at a later date.’

I didn’t move.

‘Come on, Jake. I expect these police officers want to interview somebody else,’ said Senior Officer James.

‘I want an assurance that I will not be segregated again.’

Elliot turned to Senior Officer James.

She responded, ‘Unless you have specific instructions, Detective Inspector, it might be wise to release this prisoner.’

‘No, I believe it is best to hold him in segregation.’

It was three days before they saw me again. Three days I’d spent in a cell. I understood they’d interviewed Dad and Arty. Dad had played the dementia card and Arty said he hadn’t seen anything and then just ‘no commented’ to every other question.

I was pleased to have Sarah Sands with me. She was good: newly qualified, but as sharp as a needle. We’d had a quick chat and the plan was to cooperate with zero information. Sarah, of course, had a strong suspicion that I’d perpetrated the dastardly crime but she certainly would never have dreamed of asking. It would be unethical and she, in her legal capacity, had to assume I was innocent (well, not guilty). I knew Keith would have briefed her.

At half past nine we went into the interview room. DI Elliot and DS Ayres were at the table as before and Senior Officer James was to the side of the room. As we walked in, Elliot said, ‘Who are you?’ staring at Sarah.

‘Sarah Sands, solicitor.’

‘But you’re a woman.’ He sounded mystified. Then I realised he’d expected Keith Todd.

Sarah put down her bag, looked down, placed her hands under her bust, lifted them and said, ‘Oh, I wondered what these were.’

DS Ayres smothered a laugh, as did Senior Officer James and I said, ‘Wow! You must be a detective, Inspector Elliot.’

‘I’m sorry,’ grouched Elliot. ‘I was expecting a man.’

So, it was the same as before except for the addition of Sarah. DI Elliot started with all the correct procedure, by the book, including the statement that they were interviewing me as a witness.

‘Now onto –’ he began, but got no further.

Sarah interrupted, ‘I am informing you now, Detective Inspector, that I will be making a formal complaint against your instruction to detain my client in segregation and also against the Governor.’

‘That is your prerogative Miss Sands.’

‘I’d like this recorded, Detective Inspector.’

‘Yes certainly, Miss Sands.’ Resignation seeped through his words. He was definitely on the back foot when it came to Sarah.

‘It’s Ms Sands.’

You could see the frustration building. His hands clenched into fists. A tape machine was brought in and set up. The inspector went through the routine again.

‘Jake, what do you know about the death of Raymond Tidy?’

‘Nothing. Can I go now?’

‘But you were in the passageway at that time.’

‘Was I?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do you know?’

‘We’ve got you on tape coming out of the passageway into the atrium.’ He showed me a still from the tape, complete with time. It was me.

‘That must have been before he was killed then. That should help you narrow down the search. It’s Wednesday.’

‘What is?’

‘Today.’

‘No, today is Thursday.’

‘Oh, you see, it’s so easy to get things wrong in here.’

He looked totally confused then got himself back in balance and focused on me with a hard glare. ‘Let me try again,’ he said. ‘Where were you on Tuesday the eighteenth of May at eleven thirty?’ His words were precise and deliberate.

‘In prison.’

I could see the exasperation. ‘Whereabouts were you in the prison?’ The teeth were gritted again.

‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’

‘But I just told you that you were coming out of the passageway into the atrium and showed you a photograph.’

‘That’s what you say, and that’s what’s on the photograph, but I don’t remember. So I can’t say I do remember when I don’t.’

‘There’s a rumour that you killed Raymond Tidy.’

Sarah began to intervene but I stopped her with a hand signal.

‘There’s a rumour that I’m shagging Sarah here but it’s not true, worse luck.’ I felt Sarah stiffen beside me and then relax and Senior Officer James shifted; she’d turned to the wall.

‘If you didn’t kill Raymond Tidy who do you think did?’

‘Don’t answer that.’ Sarah cut across me as I was about to answer.

‘Sarah, if the nice policeman wants speculation then perhaps he should be allowed to listen to unsubstantiated speculation.’

‘Okay, Jake, speculate,’ said Sarah then she addressed the police officers. ‘My client will answer your question. I point out that what he says is pure speculation and has no basis in evidence.’ She looked at me.

‘I think it was Moorby and/or Manson.’

‘Who are they?’ asked Elliot. The two policemen were looking down their notes. I said nothing. The sergeant pointed. ‘But they’re prison officers.’

‘Yes, they were on duty on B-Wing and they were also on duty when Jason Phillips was murdered. That’s what the rumour was and you lot didn’t find out who killed him.’

‘But they didn’t come out of the passageway into the central area.’

‘So they went up the stairs in the training area and onto one of the landings.’

‘There’s another way out of the training area?’ He turned to Senior Officer James.

‘Yes. There are the fire doors to the outside but they’re alarmed and there are the stairs to the area above the training rooms, but only staff can use those stairs.’

Sarah cut in. ‘So your assumption that the perpetrator of this crime came out into the central area is misguided, Detective Inspector.’

‘Hell.’ He turned and looked at his sergeant. Could it be that these two bozos hadn’t done their basic homework? He turned to Officer James. ‘Could a prisoner use that route?’

‘Only if he had a key,’ she answered

‘And could a prisoner get a key?’ This policeman was blinded by the fact that he was working in a prison. Why the hell should it be a prisoner that commits murder? I know it was but if you don’t consider all the possibilities then you’re going to miss something obvious. Thank God for half-blind policemen.

‘Detective Inspector, this is a prison full of highly experienced criminals. What do you think?’

I thought she was on my side. There was definitely more to Senior Officer James than met the eye. I decided to rub salt into the wound.

‘So, let me get this right, Detective Inspector Elliot. Without exploring the crime scene and checking routes in or out, you want to question me because I came out of a route that has surveillance; you also assume the killer was a prisoner.’

The sergeant pointed to a page in a file and said, ‘That route was checked and nobody used it around that time.’

‘Who told you that then?’ I asked. They were both looking at the file page and from the looks on their faces I realised I’d hit an unexpected bullseye. ‘It was Moorby or Manson wasn’t it. Oh dear, oh dear!’

Elliot’s colour deepened by a couple of shades again. ‘Interview closed at nine forty-two,’ he growled.

‘Can I go now please, gentlemen?’ If looks could kill I would be dead.

Senior Officer James said, ‘Return to your place of work please, Jake.’ I believed that the gentle approach of using first names and ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ was having a strong calming effect on me, and getting up the nose of the inspector. Sarah and I said goodbye and Senior Officer James took her away.