If only Doctor Bodie would get rid of that stupid ‘World’s Okayest Dad’ mug he insisted on using, Bailey thought, as she sat there in his office. In her eyes, it came across as a feeble and slightly condescending ploy to try and appear more approachable to the inmates. And it didn’t seem to be working, because from what she’d overheard, most of them thought he was a patronising middle-class wanker. Still, she couldn’t fault him for trying.
He scrutinised her earnestly through his wire-rimmed glasses.
‘If you remember, Bailey, you promised that the next time you came to visit me you would talk openly about yourself.’
‘Yes, Doctor. I remember. And I don’t break my promises. That’s why I’m here today. I think I am finally ready to tell you everything.’
He grinned and rubbed his hands in anticipation.
She felt slightly guilty as she did have an ulterior motive for coming here today. But she knew she couldn’t string him along for too much longer.
She put on a pained expression. ‘Just one thing first though.’
‘Is there something the matter?’ he asked, concerned.
‘I really need the toilet,’ she said.
He frowned. ‘You should have gone before you came here.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s all that coffee I drank for breakfast. I should cut down on it really. Can I use the toilet here?’
‘Technically I should call a prison officer to accompany you.’
She sighed. ‘To use the toilet? It’s just a few doors down the corridor, isn’t it? It’s hardly like I’m going to be able to escape.’
It was true. The administration block was situated well within the prison security perimeter.
He sighed. ‘Okay, better make it quick though.’
‘Thanks!’
She got up and left his office, closing the door behind her. But instead of turning left and going to the toilet, she turned to her right and went directly to the room next door, which was marked ‘Filing Office’ on the frosted glass.
On previous visits, she had noticed that there was a staff toilet situated at the end of the corridor, but that had just provided a convenient excuse for her to get out of Doctor Bodie’s office for the few minutes that she needed in order to do what she wanted to do.
The real reason for her visit today was to access the inmates’ files. As Doctor Bodie had mentioned in passing during her very first appointment with him, they were stored in the office right next door to his.
To get inside the administration block, a magnetic key swipe was required and that meant that inmates couldn’t just walk in. The only way for her to get in, to get to the filing office, had been to make an appointment with Doctor Bodie.
She looked both ways, up and down the corridor. There was no one around. But she had to act fast. She tried the door handle of the filing office. It was unlocked, as she expected it would be during office hours while people needed access to the files.
She took a deep breath and hoped that no one else was already in there.
She pushed the door open. The filing office was unoccupied.
It was a barren room with drab grey walls lined with row upon row of large green filing cabinets containing the prison records of all the inmates incarcerated at HMP Foxbrook. By the considerable size and number of cabinets, it looked like the records probably went back a while. Or at least that was what she was hoping.
She gently closed the door behind her.
She looked at her watch. She had no more than two or three minutes at most to try and find what she was looking for.
She prayed that no one would come in and catch her. It would result in serious disciplining, a long stretch in segregation for sure. And that would mess up things in a big way, especially in regard to the forthcoming murder.
She went to the first cabinet and gently eased the top drawer open. The files were arranged in alphabetical order. She was at the ‘A’s.
She closed the drawer and moved to the top drawer of the third cabinet along. The ‘H’s. She moved to two drawers below it. The ‘M’s. She moved up a drawer. The ‘L’s. Bingo! Kneeling down by the drawer she began to leaf through the files, going slower now.
She heard the sound of voices outside, two people getting closer, talking to each other. Male voices. It sounded like two prison officers. She froze, her mouth dry, her heart beating hard. There was no time to move, or to hide, not that there was anywhere to hide in here anyhow. All she could do was wait and hope. She watched as their outlines passed by on the other side of the frosted glass. The conversation faded into the distance as they continued up the corridor. She breathed a sigh of relief. But she knew she needed to act fast.
She turned her attention back to the files. She didn’t have much time. Maybe a minute or so left.
She leafed through them, one by one, going through the surnames.
Lane…
Lansbury…
Laughton…
Ledoux…
Lee
There were quite a few Lees.
Abigail…
Anna…
Barbara…
Denise…
Felicia.
There it was.
She slid the manila folder out of the drawer, her hands shaking with excitement.
She opened it quickly to check.
Her attention was immediately drawn to the photo that was stapled to the top inside corner of the file. It depicted a pale-skinned girl with dark eyes and a tangle of punky-looking black hair staring vacantly back at the camera.
So that’s what the infamous Felicia Lee looked like.
For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. Bailey felt an odd inexplicable shudder go through her. There was something about this girl. Bailey knew instinctively that she had hit the nail on the head.
She was sorely tempted to read through the file right now, but she didn’t have time. Instead she closed it and tucked it beneath her jogging top which she then zipped up tight.
She gently pushed the drawer closed and stood up. She figured it would be a long time, if ever, before anyone noticed that the file had gone missing. After all, why would anyone want to look at it? Felicia Lee was no longer here. It was a dormant file.
Bailey stepped up to the door and once again hoped that she didn’t bump into anyone in the corridor. She opened the door a crack and peeked out.
There was no one there.
She slipped out of the filing office and walked back into Doctor Bodie’s office. Sitting down, she was conscious of the large stiff cardboard file concealed beneath her clothing. Hopefully it wasn’t too obvious.
‘Feeling better?’ said Doctor Bodie, looking pointedly at his watch.
She nodded.
‘So where were we?’ she said.
‘You were about to tell me all about your traumatic experiences.’
‘Where shall I start?’
‘Let’s try the beginning.’
‘The beginning? Sure.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It all started with this guinea pig I owned when I was a little girl. His name was Squeaky. I used to adore that little guinea pig. But then one day my father came home drunk…’