The cell became smaller by the hour. When the boys wouldn’t give Darren a moment’s peace or Jo made demands, he’d idly wonder what it would be like to be locked away from any distractions. Well, three days in, he knew how stupid those thoughts were. With just the monosyllabic Ivan for company and the incessant threats hurled by would-be assailants, he’d kill to have his family back.
At least his cellmate mostly ignored him, pumping out press-ups while Darren spent hours counting paint bubbles in the ceiling above his bunk. That was more than could be said for the few prisoners loitering on the landings when he was finally escorted to the shower and to collect his food. Most growled at him and one spat in his breakfast. Thank God for the trio of prison officers guarding him, even though they were only one peg up on the friendly scale.
On reflection, he thought it was odd that he didn’t get his meal shoved through the hatch as others did, but he was still finding his feet so shrugged it off.
He was about to drift off to sleep when he heard the cover to the 254spyhole scrape, then a shout, ‘Get back from the door.’ Darren swung his legs off the bed, almost kicking Ivan in the head as he sprung up. The cell door crashed open and three prison officers, two men and a woman who wore a stripe on her shoulder, burst in.
‘Cell spin,’ said the woman. ‘Routine plus. Stand over here while these officers search you.’
Darren had no idea what was going on, nor what a ‘cell spin’ or ‘routine plus’ were, but he soon gathered that not only would his pad be ripped apart but he’d be strip-searched too. His instinct was to argue but as the younger of the two warders padded him down like he was kneading bread, he thought compliance was the smart way to get this over and done with. After all, he had nothing to hide.
They say that the punishment was being in prison itself and nothing that happened inside should be for retribution or revenge but, even though he was unconvicted, these three took great delight in robbing inmates of their last shred of dignity.
He put his clothes back on and watched as the two male officers systematically searched every conceivable crack and crevice and upended the few so-called personal items they had.
He watched with mild interest at the two officers’ vigour, safe in the knowledge that anything they found would be Ivan’s.
‘Find.’ He looked up at his bunk and, to his horror, the young officer was holding up a black object no more than eight centimetres long by two wide and a small plastic packet containing white powder.
‘You’ve got some explaining to do Mr Howe,’ said the senior officer with a smirk.
Jo Howe rubbed her eyes in a futile attempt to erase the pounding headache that had been building all day. Since Spanners’ arrest that morning, she’d had to cope with Scotty’s outburst, fend off various custody officers demanding she arbitrate in their row with Bob Heaton over why only intelligence officers had interviewed the drug 255dealer, and her own nightmares about Darren.
She checked her watch: ten past eight. God, she was getting too old for this. She made a quick call to Darren’s mum to check on the boys, then yet another to Belmarsh Prison which, quelle surprise, rang until it cut off.
She walked the floors to see who might be around. The few detectives who had bothered to turn up for work were now long gone. She wandered back to her office and turned on her Airwave radio. The clipped chatter reassured her that there were still brave souls out there and not everyone had been scared to their sickbeds.
The radio provided the forlorn commentary to the ever-growing list of uncovered jobs. Fights, domestics, robberies. None would be answered even though the few PCs out there would have been split up to provide more cover. She could take a call herself but that would just tie her up for the whole night, and she needed to focus on whatever Spanners had come up with.
Suddenly, a desperate and familiar voice blasted from the radio, ‘Charlie Sierra Nine One, Code Zero urgent urgent, I’m being attacked … Arghh fuck off, Code Zero, Code Zero, I need urgent … Argh get off … Stephens Road urgent … urgent. Oh God.’
Jo leapt up. Scotty? What the hell was he doing in Hollingdean? As she flung on her stab vest and utility belt her mind raced. Stephens Road? Where had that come up recently? Then she remembered. ‘Oh shit, Scotty, what have you done?’ She clipped on her radio and shouted into the mouthpiece, ‘Chief Superintendent Howe, I’m making from the nick, any other unit to back up?’
She didn’t wait for a reply. Others would be there if they could. Some would abandon equally deserving victims to help one of their own.
She took the stairs three at a time, almost turning her ankle on the first landing. Footsteps pounded above her. She hoped they were also racing to the car park.
As she flashed past her, PC Wendy Relf said, ‘Jump in with me, boss.’
A surge of fear coursed through her, but she couldn’t lose face in front 256of Wendy. Nor could she abandon Scotty. She knew what to expect from Wendy’s in-your-face driving. If they didn’t get there in time – or at all – it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. She jumped into the front passenger seat of the marked patrol car, as Wendy flipped on the lights and sirens, slammed the door and squealed away, all in one movement.
Scotty’s screams were still blasting from his open mike straight into her earpiece.
‘Charlie Romeo Zero Two, tell him the chief super and I are on our way,’ said Wendy into her radio. ‘Any update?’
‘Control to Charlie Romeo Zero Two, nothing yet, we can only hear what you can. He’s not answering.’
‘Roger that. Any other units making?’
‘Just you at the moment. We are trying to get more units to you.’
Wendy powered down Carlton Hill, barely pausing at the T-junction as she turned right onto Grand Parade. The engine screamed for relief as she raced north, through the incessant red lights and onto Lewes Road. She took the traffic island at the bottom of Elm Grove on the wrong side then continued with that ferocity until she reached the Gyratory roundabout which, Jo knew, Wendy would navigate like a fairground ride.
She took over the radio duties.
‘Charlie Romeo Zero Two, our ETA is two minutes. Any update or description of offenders?’
‘Still nothing. Please update as soon as you arrive. We have units making from Lewes.’
‘Jesus,’ said Jo, ‘he’ll be dead by the time they get here.’
Wendy wrenched the wheel left into Hollingdean Road and Jo grabbed the fuck me handle to keep herself upright. Wendy struggled to keep control but the wheels managed to grab the wet road, just avoiding a collision with a parked car. She floored the accelerator and the tyres screamed as she took the right turn that fed them into the Hollingdean estate, then swung the car into a series of rights and lefts as it revved towards its destination. 257
As Stephens Road straightened up, Wendy stood on the brakes. A black sack blocked their path and she stopped the car only two yards from it. It took Jo just a second to realise what it was.
She leapt from the car, as did Wendy who stopped only to grab her medic kit. The engine and blue lights were still going, but they ran to where Scotty lay.
His face and head were unrecognisable. Jo was no doctor but with Scotty’s eye socket, nose and cheekbone looking like a Picasso painting and blood oozing from his ear she knew he was in a bad way.
As Wendy fished in the green bag, Jo touched his face. ‘Scotty. It’s Jo, Jo Howe. Can you hear me?’
Nothing, just the rasp of laboured breath.
‘Scotty?’
Nothing.
Wendy checked his airway and breathing then hit her radio transmit button. ‘Charlie Romeo Zero Two, urgent. Charlie Romeo Zero Two, urgent,’ she repeated.
Then, from the control room inspector, ‘All units except Charlie Romeo Zero Two stand by. Charlie Romeo Zero Two, go ahead.’
‘Charlie Romeo Zero Two, thank you. I need an ambulance here urgently. Sergeant Scott has severe, repeat, severe head injuries. He’s unconscious but breathing, just. Not known if he has other injuries. I want as many units as you can in the area.’
‘Roger that Charlie Romeo Zero Two, we have three units making towards you.’
Jo held his head still with one hand while Wendy tried to stem the bleeding.
‘How’s it looking?’ Jo asked.
‘Not good. Can you grab a blanket from the car?
‘Sure,’ said Jo.
She was back in seconds and tenderly laid it over Scotty, hoping that the desperate reassurances she was whispering into his ear were true. 258
Within seven minutes, the area was bathed in blue strobes. Two police cars, angled across the road, blocked any attempts to breach the cordon. Tape was flung between lamp posts and officers started to push the mobile-phone-wielding crowds back.
A single ‘whoop’ signalled the arrival of the paramedics. The PC by The Crossway dropped the blue and white ‘POLICE’ tape to let them through. As the ambulance glided to where Scotty lay, Jo prayed that they were here in time.
While they were still tending to him, Wendy told the medics the little she knew, while Jo watched as they took over.
‘How is he?’ she asked.
The older paramedic looked up. ‘It’s touch and go. I think he’s had a massive bleed to the brain. We tried to get a doctor here with us but no luck. We are going to stabilise him the best we can then scoop him, er … get him to hospital ASAP.’
Dread washed through Jo as she muttered a thanks. She stepped over to Wendy and choked when she saw her sobbing like she’d lost one of her own.
Jo knew Scotty was well liked but, until that moment, not how much.