A Private and Convenient Place Read online

  McCabe almost scoffed.

  ‘That’s as may be. But I have a feeling in my water that he’s up to something. And he’s still got a fair stretch to do, even on full remission. There’s another thing, too. Doesn’t it strike you as decidedly odd that whoever did this stabbed him in the leg and left the weapon for us to find? Why in the leg? If he was taking a shower, it would have been easier to stab him in the back. And why didn’t he take the weapon with him? If Manning hadn’t thrown it into the shower gutter, we might have obtained some useful DNA from it.’

  The governor nodded.

  ‘That’s certainly worth thinking about. But if it were another prisoner, he’d have anticipated a search of his cell, wouldn’t he? So he would’ve had to have got rid of it somewhere or risk being found with it. And you found nothing. Perhaps that was the clever thing to do, to leave it in the shower block. As for the leg injury, whoever did it presumably knew nothing about the cardiovascular system. Probably watched too many cowboy films, you know, where people get shot in the leg but carry on as if nothing much has happened to them.’

  She half-laughed, but uneasily. McCabe considered the governor’s reasoning. He knew quite a lot about leg injuries. It was a bullet lodged in his left leg that had brought his military career to an end. But the governor’s analysis did make some sort of sense. It was true. He had organised a full search of every cell on the landing and turned over those on the other three landings, but nothing suspicious had been discovered. And, as he expected, no-one had said anything to assist. No-one had seen or heard a thing. But the injury being to the thigh still worried him. If this were not down to Doyle, it was obviously not an attempt to kill but an attempt to injure. A warning, a threat of more to come, perhaps? It fitted Doyle being an informer to a tee. ‘Yes, ma’am. That’s a possibility,’ he said, giving nothing away.

  ‘Any idea where the weapon came from?’

  ‘It was a sharpened screwdriver blade, pushed into a piece of wood which was adapted to form a sort of handle. There’s a detachable screwdriver blade missing from the workshop – and Doyle works in there on a regular basis.’

  ‘Along with over seventy-five other prisoners, of course.’ She adjusted her position on her desk and frowned.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. And we’ll get nowhere interviewing any of them, that’s a certainty.’ He considered his options and decided to bite the bullet. ‘I’ve always wondered about Doyle. What’s a career criminal like him doing here? He was ‘cat A’ until a few months ago. He should be in more secure conditions, surely?’

  He waited for the governor’s response. She looked down briefly as she considered her reply. She appreciated it was mainly down to McCabe that the reputation of Draycott stood so high. In a system where the statistical record counted for so much, her future would be determined by the continued smooth running of the prison. She also knew she was being considered for a move to headquarters in London and she had no intention of damaging her prospects of advancement. But McCabe was like a dog with a bone. He wasn’t going to give up on his theory without a struggle. But she had her orders. She would have to go along with his suspicions even if it might mean telling him a deliberate lie.

  ‘As you know, Brogan, we take whomever we’re sent. We have no control over it, but there may be something in what you say. I’ll check with HQ and see if they can shed any light on this.’ She paused. ‘I agree his rapid change of status is unusual. There must be some reason for it?’ She paused again. ‘Although he committed a serious offence, he had no previous convictions – nothing of significance anyway - and we’ve had some pretty serious offenders in here before.’

  Brogan McCabe nodded, but she could tell from the look on his face that he didn’t find that a convincing explanation. He shifted from one foot to the other as a recurrent twinge in his left leg made its presence felt.

  ‘That’s true, of course. But what’s to be done with him? I don’t want him becoming a catalyst for trouble. I have three officers off sick this week. We haven’t the staff to manage someone who might become a target.’

  The governor hesitated. McCabe had obviously worked out that Doyle was no ordinary prisoner and nothing she said would persuade him otherwise. Then he put it to her directly.

  ‘You don’t think he was sent here because he’s an informer, do you?’

  He looked her directly in the eye. Her expression did not change. McCabe persisted. ‘But surely, ma’am, if that were the case, we’d have been told about it?’

  She did her best to keep a straight face.

  ‘Unless he’s a supergrass, of course,’ she replied, drawing in her breath. ‘If he falls into the category, they wouldn’t even tell me!’ She thought from McCabe’s reaction she had just about got away with it. ‘You’ve looked at his file I suppose? He’s in here for armed robbery isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. He pleaded guilty - eventually - and received a pretty stiff sentence – fifteen years.’

  ‘So it doesn’t look like he dropped anyone else in it? If it had been a brown envelope job, presumably he’d have received a reduced sentence.’

  McCabe sighed. ‘I suppose he would. They only got one of the others – and he pleaded too – out of his league he was. Picked up a twelve stretch. He’s still at Nottingham, I’ve checked. There were at least two others involved but they’ve never been apprehended.’

  The governor smiled. Her little ruse seemed to be working. She had learnt long ago that hinting at the truth could frequently close down a discussion that might otherwise lead to an embarrassing standoff. She sought to put McCabe further off the scent.

  ‘So, there must be another explanation for his change of status? What about Manning? Should we be looking at it from his angle?’

  McCabe shook his head.

  ‘I doubt if he has an angle. He’s been granted parole and will be released the day after tomorrow. The deputy governor didn’t get anything out of him when he was questioned. And his parole had come through before this happened. I can’t see how he could have any advantage out of it. Mind you, he might have been offered something. Doyle is pretty well off from what I hear.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t risk putting his parole in jeopardy, surely?’

  ‘Probably not, but it would depend on what he was offered if he is involved. A struck-off dentist won’t have much to look forward to on the outside.’

  ‘They didn’t know each other before they came here?’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it. Doyle’s from Leicester and Manning practised in Leamington Spa. I’ve been over both of their files. No indication of an earlier connection. Manning’s quite a bit older than Doyle and has no criminal connections, as far as we know.’

  ‘He was questioned by my deputy, wasn’t he? There were no inconsistencies?’

  McCabe almost chuckled.

  ‘None! Manning’s account coincided in every respect with Doyle’s, which is suspicious in itself, of course.’

  ‘And he may have saved Doyle’s life? Didn’t he form a tourniquet from a towel and the cord from his own dressing gown to stem the bleeding?’

  McCabe shook his head.

  ‘That’s what he wants us to think. Right little hero he would have us believe. We know now that Doyle was never really in danger. Nothing vital was damaged. If it was a put-up job, Manning would have had to do what he did to make it look like the real thing.’

  ‘As I recall, he said he’d gone for a shower and found Doyle semi-conscious on the floor.’

  ‘That’s what he says. Strange thing is, no-one else seems to have been about. And the showers on Level Two are usually very busy after the inmates return from their work details.’

  ‘Perhaps the word had gone out?’ said the governor, knowingly.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Jane Robson decided to bring the meeting to a conclusion. She had achieved all she could. She walked slowl
y towards the door and opened it slowly.

  ‘I think we should proceed on the basis that you may well be right, Brogan. We can’t do anything about it now. Manning will be gone in a couple of days, which is probably a good thing. He’s become very close with Doyle and if Doyle does remain here it’s best that such a chummy relationship is ended. But keep an eye on him. If he is up to something – although I can’t think what it might be – I want to know about it. I’ll make my report to HQ. It’ll be up to them to decide whether he should be moved.’

  ‘Let’s hope he is. Whatever the truth of the matter, I don’t want him here any longer than necessary. If this really was an assault, it could happen again. Best to get him transferred.’

  She opened the door fully and held it as McCabe passed through.

  ‘Thanks, Brogan. I don’t know how I’d manage without you.’

  Much relieved, she sighed as he left the room, but she recognised that there was a risk that he had guessed why Doyle was at Draycott. At least she’d been spared telling him a direct lie. But if she were right and McCabe had rumbled her, it leant a degree of urgency to her next move. So, following procedure to the letter, she spoke again to her contact at the Home Office with a strong recommendation that Doyle should be transferred. It was up to them, of course, to decide his eventual destination.

  * * * *

  To the Governor’s surprise, the response was immediate. Robson was informed that Doyle was to be moved to a category D prison in Essex. She smiled to herself when she received the call. Doyle must have been something very special for the Home office to react so swiftly. He’d be safe there, she was told, mixing with fraudsters and minor sex offenders. But before he could be transferred there was a further incident. The day after his return from hospital, he was found, semi-conscious, at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Again, there were no witnesses and the CCTV camera recorded only the latter stages of his descent. Doyle claimed he had been pushed and there was no doubt that his left ankle had sustained a hairline fracture. The X- ray was clear. Jane Robson made a further urgent report to the Home Office. This time her concerns were expressed more forcefully. Even the cynical Brogan McCabe was re-assessing the position. He was now in two minds. He half-accepted that Doyle might be a target. He had discovered the link between Doyle and Julia Hamilton and had concluded he was going to give evidence either against her or in her favour – which, he couldn’t be certain. Obviously someone wanted him stopped. He had dutifully drawn his suspicions to the notice of the governor who had agreed to pass them on to London. She had no idea whether or not Doyle was going to give evidence at Hamilton’s trial, but she was pleased that McCabe had calculated that he was only a potential informer. Doyle was temporarily placed in solitary conditions for his own safety.

  The Home Secretary, with uncharacteristic speed, reached what he was later to describe as a ‘holding position.’ With the trial of Julia Hamilton on the horizon and the inevitable publicity that would generate, he was taking no chances. Like previous holders of the office, the present Secretary of State was keen to avoid a ‘death in custody’ in respect of a prisoner who had made such a major contribution to the arrest and conviction of serious criminals. If he were to be murdered whilst in prison, an inquest would be directed by the coroner and the full circumstances would be revealed. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. Any attempt to interfere would merely encourage the conspiracy theorists and the Press would have a field day. But the buck would stop with him. As one of the few who knew of Doyle’s disclosures, he would not escape responsibility and possible censure. So his course was clear. If Doyle could not be held safely in category D conditions in Essex – any further incidents would demonstrate that to be the case - his release from custody might have to be considered. The prerogative of mercy could be exercised or Doyle could be granted early parole and left to his own devices. The Home Secretary was convinced that information had leaked from somewhere and he was determined that neither he nor his department should carry the can. And if anything were to happen, far better it happened with him out of custody.

  Chapter Two

  Three months earlier

  Chief Inspector Henry Hood was not a happy man. He had examined for the third or fourth time the limited number of statements he and his team of officers had assembled for the forthcoming trial of Julia Hamilton. On a personal note, he was more than a little disappointed that his anticipated promotion had not come through and, what was worse, showed no signs of doing so. His wife had recently given birth to his third child, a healthy boy they called Nicholas, so the increase in salary were he to be promoted to superintendent would have come in very handy. He had been advanced to the temporary rank of Acting Superintendent during the investigation of the kidnapping and blackmail conspiracy but that had been quickly terminated after Chief Superintendent Craven recovered from shingles and returned to work. Hood had remained in charge when the aborted robbery of the security van near Retford had been halted as he and his team moved in following information received from Alex Stringer. He had thought, not without good reason, that his success in arresting the whole gang as they attacked the security vehicle would have received appropriate recognition, but it was not to be. At least, not yet. His mood did not improve when his application to take off more than the three days he had been granted as paternity leave was also summarily rejected. The chief constable was quite insistent. He required Hood’s presence and full attention in ensuring that the case against Hamilton was as strong as possible. He dropped a very big hint that promotion, despite his earlier assurances, would be dependent on her conviction.

  ‘Let’s finish the job, shall we? Then we’ll see about promotion.’

  The chief’s other prediction, in respect of himself, had seemingly proved more reliable. It was rumoured that he would be appointed CBE in the New Year’s Honours’ list, his reward for the capture, prosecution and imprisonment of the gang of kidnappers who had tried to blackmail Judge Campion by holding his wife and son hostage. Not that his personal contribution had been that significant. But he had persuaded himself - and others - that it was his overall direction of the inquiry that had produced results. He, along with Chief Superintendent Craven and Chief Inspector Hood had been invited to a reception at Downing Street at which the Prime Minister, no less, had praised his leadership skills in front of the Metropolitan Police Commissioner and several other invited dignitaries. He had quickly convinced himself that without his contribution nothing of consequence would have been achieved. Craven and Hood knew otherwise but they were hardly in a position to contradict their superior officer.

  In the locker rooms and police canteens throughout the East Midlands a different story was being told and the chief constable’s assumption of the leading role in the investigation was the subject of much mirth and insubordinate comment. It did little to improve his popularity but he was planning to retire in a few months’ time and he already had the offer of a directorship in a national security company safely under his belt. The word was that he must have received notification of his expected honour, probably at the Downing Street reception, in the form of a nod and a wink - nothing explicit of course. While it should have remained highly confidential, it was already being spoken of quite openly at police head quarters well before he made his annual trip to his holiday home in Florida. He was anticipating a very happy new year whatever the outcome of Hamilton’s trial.

  Hood appreciated, of course, that Julia Hamilton’s conviction was far from certain. She, alone, had pleaded not guilty and should have been tried the previous month, but events had determined otherwise. Following the birth of her son at the end of September, her health had deteriorated and she’d spent three weeks in hospital before being returned to HMP Holloway. The plan had been to take her to one of the London maternity units for her to give birth but the child arrived unexpectedly while she was walking to the secure vehicle that was to take her to the hospital. The circums
tances of the child’s delivery were far from ideal and although she received the best available attention, a serious haemorrhage developed which required specialist treatment that could not be provided by the prison medical service. She was in no condition to give instructions to her lawyers so the trial had been postponed. A further bail application, based primarily on the adverse effect her detention was having on both her and her child, was rejected. She and her son remained confined to the mother and baby unit in that uncomfortable and notorious prison.

  But the delay had, at least, given Hood additional time to try and uncover something that supported Derick Duffy’s account of events. He realised that the uncorroborated evidence of a professional criminal like Duffy was not the most secure basis for building a case against Julia Hamilton. To that end, every lead had been thoroughly investigated, but to no avail. The Crown’s case, apart from Duffy’s evidence, remained essentially circumstantial. Duffy had let slip when he was interviewed by Hood, that Joseph Hanlon had been at Grayling’s house when Julia Hamilton put her proposition to him, but he was not prepared to say as much in a written statement and he certainly wouldn’t repeat it on oath from the witness box. He had sense enough to realise that disclosing anything further about Hanlon would place him in even greater jeopardy. The fact that he had provided the evidence that had induced the pleas of guilty by Hanlon and the others was too well known and he was not prepared to put his life at risk by saying anything more about a man as dangerous and well connected as Joseph Hanlon. He had already been beaten up twice. He did not want to repeat the experience.

  Joseph Hanlon was the former IRA man who, with others, had held Judge Campion and his family at gunpoint and directed the enforced removal of Mrs Campion and her young son in order to blackmail the judge into dismissing the case against Michael Doyle and Charlie Benson. At least that was how it was supposed to appear. He had been recruited by Grayling with whom he had previously been involved in serious crime, but neither man had ever been convicted of anything. He had also been the leader of the armed gang that had attempted to rob the security vehicle on the Ollerton road two months later, the gang that Hood had arrested. Now Hanlon was in Whitemoor Prison serving a sentence of thirty-nine years and Grayling was dead. Hanlon’s prospects of regaining his freedom before he, too, died seemed negligible.