The Sins of the Father (The Clifton Chronicles, #2)(9)

Harry studied the embroidered sampler: I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills. He gave silent thanks to Miss Eleanor E. Monday, and the hours he’d spent at her choir practices. ‘From whence cometh my help, sayeth the Lord. Psalm one hundred and twenty-one.’

The warden smiled. ‘Tell me, Bradshaw, who are your favourite authors?’

‘Shakespeare, Dickens, Austen, Trollope and Thomas Hardy.’

‘None of our own countrymen good enough?’

Harry wanted to curse out loud, having made such an obvious blunder. He glanced across at the warden’s half-filled bookshelf. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I consider F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway and O. Henry to be anyone’s equal, and I believe Steinbeck is America’s finest modern writer.’ He hoped he’d pronounced the name correctly. He’d make sure he had read Of Mice and Men before he came across the warden again.

The smile returned to Swanson’s lips. ‘What job has Mr Hessler allocated to you?’ he asked.

‘Wing cleaner, although I’d like to work in the library, sir.’

‘Would you indeed?’ said the warden. ‘Then I’ll have to see if there’s a vacancy.’ He made a note on the pad in front of him.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘If there is, you’ll be informed later today,’ said the warden as he closed the file.

‘Thank you, sir,’ repeated Harry. He left quickly, aware that he’d taken longer than his allotted five minutes.

Once he was out in the corridor, the duty officer escorted him back to the wing. Harry was thankful that Hessler was nowhere to be seen, and that the cleaners had moved on to the second floor by the time he rejoined them.

Long before the siren sounded for lunch, Harry was exhausted. He joined the line for the hotplate, and found Quinn already ensconced behind the counter, serving his fellow inmates. Large portions of potato and over-cooked meat were dropped on to Harry’s plate. He sat alone at the long table and picked at his food. He feared that if Hessler were to reappear that afternoon, he would be dispatched back to the latrines, and so would his lunch.

Hessler was not on duty when Harry reported back to work, and a different officer put another first-timer on the latrines. Harry spent the afternoon sweeping corridors and emptying trash cans. His only thought was whether the warden had given an order to reallocate him to the library. If he hadn’t, Harry would have to hope for a job in the kitchen.

When Quinn returned to their cell after dinner, the expression on his face left Harry in no doubt that he wouldn’t be joining his friend.

‘There was one place available for a washer-up.’

‘I’ll take it,’ said Harry.

‘But when Mr Siddell put your name forward, Hessler vetoed it. Said you’d have to do at least three months as a wing cleaner before he’d consider a transfer to kitchen duty.’

‘What is it with that man?’ asked Harry desperately.

‘Rumour has it he signed up to be a naval officer, but failed the board exam and had to settle for the prison service. So Lieutenant Bradshaw has to suffer the consequences.’





4

HARRY SPENT the next twenty-nine days cleaning the latrines on A block, and it wasn’t until another first-timer appeared on the wing that Hessler finally released him from his duties and began to make someone else’s life hell.

‘Damn man’s a psycho,’ said Quinn. ‘Siddell’s still willing to offer you a job in the kitchen, but Hessler’s vetoed it.’ Harry didn’t comment. ‘But the news isn’t all bad,’ Quinn suggested, ‘because I’ve just heard that Andy Savatori, the deputy librarian, has been granted parole. He’s due to be released next month and, even better, no one else seems to want his job.’

‘Deakins would,’ said Harry under his breath. ‘So what do I have to do, to make sure I get it?’

‘Nothing. In fact, try to give the impression you’re not that interested, and keep out of Hessler’s way, because we know the warden’s on your side.’

The next month dragged on, each day seeming longer than the one before. Harry visited the library every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday between six and seven, but Max Lloyd, the senior librarian, gave him no reason to believe he was being considered for the post. Savatori, his deputy, remained tight-lipped, although he clearly knew something.

‘I don’t think Lloyd wants me to be his deputy,’ said Harry after lights out one evening.

‘Lloyd won’t have a say about it,’ said Quinn. ‘That’s the warden’s decision.’

But Harry wasn’t convinced. ‘I suspect Hessler and Lloyd are working together to make sure I don’t get the job.’

‘You’re becoming para— what’s the word?’ said Quinn.

‘Paranoid.’

‘Yeah, that’s what you’re becoming, not that I’m sure what it means.’

‘Suffering from unfounded suspicions,’ said Harry.

‘Couldn’t have put it better myself!’

Harry wasn’t convinced that his suspicions were unfounded and, a week later, Savatori took him to one side and confirmed his worst fears.

‘Hessler’s put up three cons for the warden’s consideration, and your name isn’t on the list.’