The Sins of the Father (The Clifton Chronicles, #2)(5)

‘What’s the most important thing for me to watch out for on my first day?’

‘Make sure you get the right job.’

‘What’s the choice?’

‘Cleaning, kitchen, hospital, laundry, library, gardening and the chapel.’

‘What do I have to do to get in the library?’

‘Tell ’em you can read.’

‘What do you tell them?’ asked Harry.

‘That I trained as a chef.’

‘That must have been interesting.’

‘You still haven’t caught on, have you?’ said Quinn. ‘I never trained as a chef, but it means I’m always put in the kitchen, which is the best job in any prison.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘You’re let out of your cell before breakfast, and you don’t go back to it until after dinner. It’s warm, and you have the best choice of food. Ah, we’re going to Lavenham,’ said Quinn as the bus turned off the highway at exit 12. ‘That’s good, ’cause now I won’t have to answer any dumb questions about Pierpoint.’

‘Anything else I ought to know about Lavenham?’ asked Harry, unperturbed by Quinn’s sarcasm, as he suspected that the old-timer was enjoying delivering a master class to such a willing pupil.

‘Too much to tell you,’ he sighed. ‘Just remember to stick close by me once we’ve been registered.’

‘But won’t they automatically send you to D block?’

‘Not if Mr Mason’s on duty,’ Quinn said without explanation.

Harry managed several more questions before the bus finally drew up outside the prison. In fact, he felt he’d learnt more from Quinn in a couple of hours than he’d managed in a dozen tutorials at Oxford.

‘Stick with me,’ repeated Quinn as the massive gates swung open. The bus moved slowly forward and on to a desolate piece of scrubland that had never seen a gardener. It stopped in front of a vast brick building that displayed rows of small filthy windows, some with eyes staring out of them.

Harry watched as a dozen guards formed a corridor that led all the way to the entrance of the prison. Two armed with rifles had planted themselves on either side of the bus door.

‘Leave the bus in twos,’ one of them announced gruffly, ‘with a five-minute interval between each pair. No one moves an inch unless I say so.’

Harry and Quinn remained on the bus for another hour. When they were finally ushered off, Harry looked up at the high walls topped with barbed wire that surrounded the entire prison and thought even the world record holder for the pole vault wouldn’t have been able to escape from Lavenham.

Harry followed Quinn into the building, where they came to a halt in front of an officer who was seated behind a table and wearing a well-worn shiny blue uniform with buttons that didn’t shine. He looked as if he’d already served a life sentence as he studied the list of names on his clipboard. He smiled when he saw the next prisoner.

‘Welcome back, Quinn,’ he said. ‘You won’t find much has changed since you were last here.’

Quinn grinned. ‘It’s good to see you too, Mr Mason. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to ask one of the bell hops to take my luggage up to my usual room.’

‘Don’t push your luck, Quinn,’ said Mason, ‘otherwise I might be tempted to tell the new doc you’re not an epileptic.’

‘But, Mr Mason, I’ve got a medical certificate to prove it.’

‘From the same source as your chef’s certificate no doubt,’ said Mason, turning his attention to Harry. ‘And who are you?’

‘This is my buddy, Tom Bradshaw. He doesn’t smoke, drink, swear or spit,’ said Quinn before Harry had a chance to speak.

‘Welcome to Lavenham, Bradshaw,’ said Mason.

‘Captain Bradshaw actually,’ said Quinn.

‘It used to be Lieutenant,’ said Harry. ‘I was never a captain.’ Quinn looked disappointed with his protégé.

‘A first-timer?’ asked Mason, taking a closer look at Harry.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ll put you on A block. After you’ve showered and collected your prison clothes from the store, Mr Hessler will take you to cell number three-two-seven.’ Mason checked his clipboard before turning to a young officer who was standing behind him, a truncheon swinging from his right hand.

‘Any hope of joining my friend?’ asked Quinn once Harry had signed the register. ‘After all, Lieutenant Bradshaw might need a batman.’

‘You’re the last person he needs,’ said Mason. Harry was about to speak as the pickpocket bent down, removed a folded dollar bill from inside his sock and slipped it into Mason’s top pocket in the blink of an eye. ‘Quinn will also be in cell three-two-seven,’ said Mason to the junior officer. If Hessler had witnessed the exchange, he didn’t comment. ‘You two, follow me,’ was all he said.

Quinn chased after Harry before Mason could change his mind.

The two new prisoners were marched down a long green brick corridor until Hessler stopped outside a small shower room that had two narrow wooden benches fixed to the wall, littered with discarded towels.

‘Strip,’ said Hessler, ‘and take a shower.’

Harry slowly removed the tailored suit, smart cream shirt, stiff collar and striped tie that Mr Jelks had been so keen for him to wear in court to impress the judge. The trouble was, he’d picked the wrong judge.