Conrad leaned against a wall in the corridor, arms folded, biting his lip. As soon as Grace came out of the bathroom, he uncrossed his arms and moved towards her. She dodged him and headed for the lift.
‘I’m sorry,’ he began.
She placed her thumb on the scanner, keeping her head down.
‘I should have warned you.’ He was shorter than her, probably ten years older, but not a grey hair in sight. Her eyes cast down, she could see his expensive ugly leather shoes.
Should have bloody warned her? How dare he put her in such a position!
‘Grace, please… Come to my office and we’ll have a talk…’ He took a step closer to her, his manicured hands outstretched as if trying to placate a frightened animal.
She dabbed the scanner with her thumb again.
‘Have a coffee with me. At least let me explain…’ he urged.
She sighed heavily, feeling her resolve fading and lifted her head to look at him.
‘That was rough, Conrad.’
‘I’m sorry, Grace, there’s no way to prepare people for it.’ He took a step closer. ‘You look peaky. Let me get you a glass of water.’ He took her by the arm and she let herself be led along the bright white corridor, aware of the silhouettes moving darkly behind the white translucent windows of the offices either side.
The clinical white stopped at the threshold of Conrad’s office, replaced by vintage walnut wainscoting, the likes of which she’d seen only on a school trip to a stately home. Wood was so expensive these days. The European governments had been paying to maintain the forests in other parts of the world, mainly South America, for nearly twenty years now – bribery to protect the lungs of the planet, Dan had said in one of his reports. Wood import taxes were ridiculous. Maybe it was repurposed? She doubted it, suspecting that Conrad’s desire for status would eclipse his concern for the environment.
He nodded towards a chair next to the desk and she reluctantly sat down as he poured her a drink of water from a carafe and put it into her shaking hands. He moved to the other side of his desk, his large leather chair creaking under his weight, and steepled his fingers.
‘I know it’s not an easy thing to observe,’ he began. ‘The treatment.’
Treatment? Torture, more like it.
She put the glass to her lips and eyed the brass statue of a racing horse which stood on the desk, as ugly and brutish as the sport itself had been before its prohibition.
‘My grandparents had a stud farm in Kentucky,’ he explained when he registered her eyeline. ‘That’s where the money came from to start my research into the rehabilitation of offenders. You think the prison population over here was bad in the 2020s? You should have seen the figures in the US. Janus Justice was so successful back home that the good ol’ British government bought my services. We liked your National Health Service, you liked our prisoner rehab, it was a done deal. We built a number of state-of-the-art hospitals and clinics here in the UK and we rent them back to the local health authorities. It’s a nice little earner for us and we got to open up the Tier System here. There’s quite a bit of money involved.’ He chuckled to himself but stopped when Grace remained expressionless. ‘I keep it there as a reminder of where I’ve come from.’
Grace didn’t want reminders of where she’d come from.
Avoiding his gaze, she let her eyes travel around the room. A few bound books – rare these days, not just because of the price of paper – sat on the shelf next to an upright display shell showing a series of images of Conrad’s family. There was an identical one on the next shelf showing Conrad with various celebrities and government officials. Above his chair hung a painting of a man she recognised as the writer Dostoevsky. A quote underneath it read: ‘You can judge any society by how well it treats its prisoners.’
Grace wondered what the treatment she’d seen this morning said about their society.
Conrad swiped at his screen-desk and it immediately lit up. ‘Do you like your job in Tier Two?’ He looked at her expectantly.
‘Yes… yes, I do.’
‘You did a good job in Tier One. Promoted quickly. Too easy for you?’ He smiled and Grace felt herself blush.
‘It’s essential to get the basics fixed first,’ she said. ‘If people don’t have food, shelter, income, then crime becomes a necessity to survive. It felt good to be able to help.’
People suffering through unfair life circumstances. There but for the grace of God…
Conrad nodded as he looked at his screen. ‘You found accommodation at the home centres for fifty-nine families and ten squatters, employment for thirty-six thieves and shoplifters, you got twenty-four Tier One addicts into rehab… an impressive record for eighteen months on the job.’ He swiped at his desk again. ‘Moving on to Tier Two… Obviously this is where your education and training are better put to use. Your work developing new generations of medicine to help the traumatised…’ He focused his eyes on her, the brown so dark that his irises appeared part of his pupils, and beamed. ‘Outstanding.’
She felt uncomfortable at his litany. Wasn’t she supposed to have a week’s notice before a management performance evaluation?
Grace took another sip of water.
‘But your psychometric tests…’ He looked down at the screen again.
Grace didn’t mind taking the monthly tests. Everyone had done it ever since she could remember – in school, at university, at work – it was part and parcel of the preventative mindset of society, the ‘transparent’ society as it was often referred to in the press. Since the dawn of the internet, privacy had been gradually eroded until most people accepted that the benefits of the information age far outweighed any damage. Those who disagreed remained technologically unconnected, present-day Luddites.
She was grateful for these tests when it came to her clients – how often had she seen something in the answers which had given her a hint to something the offender couldn’t see themselves, couldn’t articulate? There were threads she’d pulled that had unravelled and eventually led her into labyrinths of criminogenic cause. Like a dog with a bone, Dan sometimes said.
But she’d taught herself to tailor her own responses. She knew what to say and what to hide, sometimes throwing in a dodgy answer so that her answers didn’t seem too perfect, as that in itself would cause alarm bells to ring. She’d learned the hard way, early on, raised eyebrows among teachers that had led to a few sessions with a psychologist. But it was only to be expected, considering her beginnings in life. Thankfully, those records were buried along with her old life, her old self.
‘But?’ she asked Conrad, turning her wedding ring on her finger.
‘I think there’s more to come. You have more potential.’
‘Why did you really call me up here today, Conrad? To test my potential?’
‘No, I told you, Myriam emailed in sick.’ He cleared his throat.
‘So, you threw me in at the deep end, see if I’d sink or swim?’
‘To be honest, Grace, yes. I needed to see if you could hack it in there and I was right about you. You did a good job. Corrina and her family are still in the viewing room with her lawyer and counsellor. I’m giving them a bit of time alone before we reconvene. You can come in with us if you like.’
She shook her head and watched him as he pondered her psychometrics. There was a moment of tension as his eyes flicked up to her and back to his screen again before breaking into a smile.
‘Don’t look so serious! You’ve had a great impact on Tier Two. I’m impressed with your professionalism, and obviously your contribution to designing and improving biopsychosocial drugs, especially the self-esteem ones, has been quite extraordinary. You’re exactly what we need up here in Tier Three. I want to offer you a promotion.’
Grace felt her mouth fall open.
Conrad sat back looking satisfied. ‘I know it was tricky today, but you’ll get used to it. Soon it will be second nature.’
Get used to it? She doubted that.
Intelligent, hard-working, maybe overly empathetic – she knew what her tests would say. They certainly didn’t suggest this line of work.
She exhaled before she spoke. ‘Conrad, I love my job. I’m grateful that I get a chance to help people, people who need it. But this…’ She stopped. ‘I think you have the wrong person. I’m not cool and calm like Abigail.’ How did Abigail shed the trauma she saw every day before returning home?
‘Grace, you’re exactly what we need. I know it was a baptism by fire, so to speak,’ he grimaced, ‘but this system is so effective, it’s a great opportunity for you. I have a close contact in the Department of Justice who’s very interested in what we’re doing and wants to support innovation. We’re in a very strong position, and with you on the team…’
‘I know. I’m not questioning the system.’
‘So, what’s the problem?’ He smiled again but she saw something else in his eyes.
If she gave him a flat-out no, could it affect her present position, or any other future promotions – ones that wouldn’t make her feel so out of her depth?
‘Look, you know I’m a big advocate of the Tier System, Tiers One and Two, I mean,’ she began. ‘I wouldn’t have chosen a career here if I didn’t believe in it. But Tier Three?’ Grace shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’m a good match for the job. I fully believe in Tier One. If a person or a family can’t manage, can’t provide for themselves, then I think it’s only right that we help them out, get them back on their feet. Any criminal behaviour that is due to citizens not being able to provide for themselves is a fundamental responsibility of the society in which they live…’
‘You’re quoting the Department of Justice manifesto to me?’
She felt herself blush.
‘And Tier Two?’ he asked, waving his hand in the air. ‘You agree with that because…?’
‘It makes me sad, angry, that people offend because they’ve suffered. Who wouldn’t want to help them?’
‘Not everyone.’ He breathed in and leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking in response. ‘But it’s certainly where your strengths lie…’
‘So then maybe that’s where I should stay.’
Conrad drummed his fingers on the glass for a few seconds, but then looked up.
‘I need your help, Grace, specifically you, with all that knowledge of psychiatry and biopsychosocial medicine, as well as experience of old school probation officers, someone who is curious about human nature, who wants to tidy up society. Obviously, it’s a little more complex than that, but you get the picture.’
‘Yes, but there’s a marked difference between helping people practically or emotionally and Aversion Therapy, Conrad.’
‘It’s effective. It’s necessary if we want to get on top of offending. It works.’
When she didn’t reply, Conrad repeated, ‘I need your help.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I’ll level with you. Myriam wasn’t sick today. She resigned. I don’t want this made public.’
Resigned?
‘But… why?’
He shrugged. ‘Moved on.’
There was clearly more to it that she could tell he wasn’t willing to divulge.
‘I could really do with you on the team, Grace. I thought you might be getting cabin fever again, might want to move up a Tier… work with Abigail. She’s a competent, experienced clinical manager. You’ll be her boss. You’re ideal for the job.’
Did he think that was a compliment?
‘I have zero interest in torturing offenders, Conrad. My contract stipulates quite clearly that I shouldn’t do anything that goes against my ethics.’
She wondered if she’d gone too far, but his expression didn’t change. He said quietly, ‘You can’t cure everyone with kindness, Grace. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. It’s just the way things are.’
They sat for a few moments in a tense silence.
‘The Department of Justice sanctions this treatment, Grace. It’s rough, but it works.’
She said nothing.
‘Okay, well,’ he said after a few moments, his voice light again. ‘We’ll chat tomorrow, see how you feel.’
She stood, uncertainly and wandered out of the office.
I need your help.
What the hell did that mean?
And how was she going to be able to say no?