The Sins of the Father (The Clifton Chronicles, #2)(6)
Quinn was already under the shower before Harry had unlaced his shoes. He turned on the tap and a trickle of water reluctantly dripped down on to his balding head. He then picked up a sliver of soap from the floor and began to wash. Harry stepped under the cold water of the only other shower, and a moment later Quinn passed him what was left of the soap.
‘Remind me to speak to the management about the facilities,’ said Quinn as he picked up a damp towel, not much bigger than a dishcloth, and attempted to dry himself.
Hessler’s lips remained pursed. ‘Get dressed and follow me,’ he said, before Harry had finished soaping himself.
Once again Hessler marched off down the corridor at a brisk pace, with a half-dressed, still wet Harry chasing after him. They didn’t stop until they came to a double door marked STORES. Hessler rapped firmly and a moment later it was pulled open to reveal a world-weary officer, elbows on the counter, smoking a rolled cigarette. The officer smiled when he saw Quinn.
‘I’m not sure we’ve got your last lot back from the laundry yet, Quinn,’ he said.
‘Then I’ll need a new set of everything, Mr Newbold,’ said Quinn, who bent down and removed something from inside his other sock, and once again it disappeared without trace. ‘My requirements are simple,’ he added. ‘One blanket, two cotton sheets, one pillow, one pillowcase . . .’ The officer selected each item from the shelves behind him, before placing them in a neat pile on the counter. ‘. . . Two shirts, three pairs of socks, six pairs of pants, two towels, one bowl, one plate, one knife, fork and spoon, one razor, one toothbrush and one tube of toothpaste – I prefer Colgate.’
Newbold made no comment as Quinn’s pile grew larger and larger. ‘Will there be anything else?’ he eventually asked, as if Quinn were a valued customer who was likely to return.
‘Yes, my friend Lieutenant Bradshaw will require the same order, and as he is an officer and a gentleman, be sure that he gets only the best.’
To Harry’s surprise, Newbold began to build another pile, seeming to take his time selecting each item, and all because of the prisoner who’d sat next to him on the bus.
‘Follow me,’ said Hessler when Newbold had completed his task. Harry and Pat grabbed their piles of clothes and charged off down the corridor. There were several stops on the way, as a duty officer had to unlock and lock barred gates as they came nearer to the cells. When they eventually stepped on to the wing, they were greeted by the noise of a thousand prisoners.
Quinn said, ‘I see we’re on the top floor, Mr Hessler, but I won’t be taking the elevator, as I need the exercise.’ The officer ignored him and continued past the shouting prisoners.
‘I thought you said this was the quiet wing,’ said Harry.
‘It’s clear Mr Hessler is not one of the more popular officers,’ whispered Quinn, just before the three of them reached cell 327. Hessler unlocked the heavy iron door and pulled it open to allow the new con and the old con to enter the home Harry had a lease on for the next six years.
Harry heard the door slam behind him. He looked around the cell, and noticed there was no handle on the inside of the door. Two bunks, one on top of the other, a steel wash basin attached to the wall, a wooden table, also attached to the wall, and a wooden chair. His eyes finally settled on a steel bowl under the lower bunk. He thought he was going to be sick.
‘You get the top bunk,’ said Quinn, interrupting his thoughts, ‘on account of you being a first-timer. If I get out before you, you’ll move down to the bottom one, and your new cellmate will get the top. Prison etiquette,’ he explained.
Harry stood on the bottom bunk and slowly made up his bed, then climbed up, lay down and placed his head on the thin, hard pillow, painfully aware that it might be some time before he managed a night’s sleep. ‘Can I ask you one more question?’ he said to Quinn.
‘Yes, but don’t speak again until lights on tomorrow morning.’ Harry recalled Fisher saying almost the same words on his first night at St Bede’s.
‘It’s obvious you’ve been able to smuggle in a considerable amount of cash, so why didn’t the guards confiscate it as soon as you got off the bus?’
‘Because if they did,’ said Quinn, ‘no con would ever bring in any money again, and the whole system would break down.’
3
HARRY LAY ON the top bunk and stared at the one-coated white ceiling that he could touch by reaching up with his fingers. The mattress was lumpy and the pillow so hard that he could only manage to sleep for a few minutes at a time.
His thoughts turned to Sefton Jelks and how easily he had been duped by the old advocate. Get my son off the murder charge, that’s all I care about, he could hear Tom Bradshaw’s father telling Jelks. Harry tried not to think about the next six years, which Mr Bradshaw didn’t care about. Had it been worth $10,000?
He dismissed his lawyer and thought about Emma. He missed her so much, and wanted to write and tell her he was still alive, but he knew he couldn’t. He wondered what she would be doing on an autumn day in Oxford. How was her work progressing as she began her freshman year? Was she being courted by another man?
And what of her brother, Giles, his closest friend? Now that Britain was at war, had Giles left Oxford and signed up to fight the Germans? If he had, Harry prayed that he was still alive. He thumped the side of the bunk with a clenched fist, angry that he was not being allowed to play his part. Quinn didn’t speak, assuming that Harry was suffering ‘first-night-itis’.