Daisy in Chains(91)

She doesn’t hear the answer. She has dropped her phone at the sight of Wolfe’s boot-clad feet sliding along the floor. The door is opening and she can see a bent knee behind it, straining forward.

With a sudden change of tack, Wolfe leaps from the door and it crashes open. She darts from her corner and stands behind him.

‘Who’ve you got in here, Hamish?’ The voice is South London, a white man, she thinks, somewhere in his thirties or forties. Not old, not young.

‘Somebody in here smells a f*ck of a lot nicer than you do, Wolfe.’ Midlands accent. Older.

Someone hawks and spits. She can see the bloody gob of spittle on the tiled floor. Three pairs of feet.

‘Turn around, gentlemen. Walk away.’ Wolfe does not sound terrified, but he wouldn’t, would he? He is one of them. She is the prey.

On either side of Wolfe, the jackals come into view.

‘Hello, Bluey.’ The Londoner grins at her with the sunken jaw of a mouth that has few remaining teeth. He is smaller, thinner, older than Wolfe and alone might not be a threat. The other two, leering at her from the other side, are younger and bigger.

‘Out you go, Hamish. We’ll look after your visitor for you.’

‘Not happening, guys.’

The smell of them is stronger and their voices louder. It is as though they are leaning in towards her. One of them keeps sucking in air, noisily, as though he is feeding on the smell of her.

‘I spoke to the police before you broke in.’ Years of practice keeps her voice steady in difficult situations. ‘They know what’s going on here. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already in the building.’

‘Oh, I think we’ve got a bit of time.’ The man is actually unfastening the top button of his jeans.

‘Hang on.’ This from one of the others. ‘Who says you go first?’

‘Nobody’s going first,’ says Wolfe. ‘The man who touches my lawyer, who puts my appeal at risk, I will come for with a razor. I will slice open his abdomen and I will pull out his intestinal tract. I will do this at night, so that no one finds him till morning, after he has spent several hours dying in agony. I will do this to each and every one who jeopardizes my chance of getting out of here. Now, does anyone think I’m bluffing?’

No answer, but she has a sense of the pack being less sure of itself. Hamish thrusts out his hand.

‘Keys.’ He steps forward, taking the fight to them. ‘Who’s got them?’

‘Come on, Wolfe, ten minutes?’ The man from the Midlands is wheedling now, like a kid trying to negotiate a bedtime reprieve. ‘We’ll let you go first.’

‘Give me the keys and f*ck off out of here.’

There is an unspoken signal between them, then the leader mutters something. They turn. One of them has left. Two are out of the door. They are going, they are actually going. Maggie stares at the doorway, willing it to be empty. The third leaves, with one last obscene gesture, a thrusting of the hips in her direction and a wiggling of a fur-covered tongue.

Elsewhere in the prison, the fighting is still going on. Overhead, along the corridor she can hear yelling, swearing.

‘Hold up, you’re not going anywhere.’ She has been making for the door, Hamish is holding her back. ‘Listen to me. Maggie, are you listening?’

‘I have to get out.’ She twists round, grasps his arms. ‘Listen, they’re everywhere. That lot could come back. They’ll tell others. I’m not safe here.’

‘This is the only place you’re safe. I’m going to lock you in.’

‘No!’ She can see no logic in this. Lock her in here with these animals? She will fight him if she has to. She tries to pull away, he holds her fast.

‘Maggie, until this calms down, you need to be where no one can get at you. I’ll lock you in and nobody will get the key from me, I promise you.’

She is shaking her head.

‘I swear you’ll be safe.’ He is pulling away from her now. He leaves her in the centre of the room and makes for the door.

‘Hamish, don’t leave me.’ Maggie has never imagined anything so pathetic could come out of her mouth.

He turns, one hand on the door. ‘I can’t lock the door from the inside. We’re sitting ducks here. I can’t fight them off for ever.’

‘I know. I still don’t want you to go.’

She sees him unsure of himself, doubtful. Then he seems to step forward. Except he hasn’t moved, she is the one who crossed the distance between them.

‘Thank you,’ she says.

Doors are slamming. Something hard and heavy is being banged against metal. People are coming.

She feels his face reaching down towards hers. She tells herself that he is taking advantage, as all male prisoners would, of a few minutes alone with a woman and that she is allowing it because she might just owe him her life. She tells herself this, as his arms wrap around her, and every muscle in his body seems to tense, and all the while she knows she is a fraud, that she is the one who will kiss him.

She stands on tiptoe as their lips meet.

Her arms cup themselves around his shoulders and she loves the hard play of muscle she can feel under the cotton fabric. Her fingers play with the rough cotton, clutching it into fists, stretching it out like elastic and she knows she is grasping at his clothing because she doesn’t quite dare to do it to his flesh.