Читать книгу A Song for the Dying - Stuart MacBride - Страница 12

‘Sadly, we continue to see a deplorable level of violence perpetrated by Mr Henderson.’ Dr Altringham rapped on the table with his knuckles, as if it was a coffin lid. He blew the floppy grey fringe out of his eyes. Adjusted his glasses. ‘I really can’t recommend release at this date. He represents a clear and continued danger to the general public.’

Twenty minutes of this and I still hadn’t climbed out of my seat, limped over to where he was sitting, and battered his brains out with my cane. Which was pretty good going, given how ‘dangerous’ I was. Perhaps it was Officer Barbara Crawford’s calming influence? She stood at my right shoulder, looming over me in my orange plastic chair, her thick knot of keys an inch from my ear.

Babs was built like a fridge freezer, tattoos sticking out from the sleeves of her shirt, wrapping around her wrists and onto the backs of her meaty hands. Barbed wire, flames. ‘FAITH’ on one set of knuckles, ‘HOPE’ on the other. Her short hair stood out from her head in tiny grey spikes, dyed blonde at the tips. Very trendy.

They’d done their usual and arranged the furniture so the big table faced a single chair in the middle of the room. Me and Babs on this side, everyone else on the other. Two psychiatrists; one threadbare social worker with big square glasses; and the Deputy Governor, dressed as if she was on her way to a funeral. All talking about me as if I wasn’t even there. Could’ve stayed in my cell and saved myself the aggro.

We all knew where this was going anyway: release denied.

I leaned forward in my chair, ribs creaking from yesterday’s beating. Every time, regular as clockwork. The only thing that changed was the cast and crew. O’Neil got himself shanked in the showers four months ago. Taylor got released after serving half his term. Then it was two different Neanderthal bastards ambushing me in the corridors and delivering Mrs Kerrigan’s ‘messages’. And two more after them.

Didn’t matter what I did, I always ended up back here, bruised and battered.

Release denied.

Even managed to track down the guy who replaced O’Neil. Caught him on his own in the prison laundry. Broke both his arms, left leg, dislocated every finger he had, and his jaw. Mrs Kerrigan just got someone else to take his place. And I got an extra, unscheduled, arse kicking.

The Deputy Governor and the psychologists could hold all the review meetings they liked, the only way I was getting out of this place was in a body-bag.

I closed my eyes. Let it burn.

Never getting out of here.

The walking cane was cold between my fingers.

Should’ve killed Mrs Kerrigan when I had the chance. Wrapped my hands around her throat and throttled the life right out of her. Eyes popping from the sockets, tongue swollen and black, hands scrabbling against mine while I squeezed and squeezed. Chest heaving on air that wasn’t there …

But no. Couldn’t do that, could I? Had to play the good guy. The bloody idiot.

And what did that get me? Stuck in here till she got bored and had someone slit my throat. Or stab me in the kidneys with a home-made chib, sharpened on a cell wall and smeared with shit for a nice infected wound. Assuming I survived the blood loss.

No more stupid review meetings, just a trip to the infirmary, then on to the mortuary.

At least I wouldn’t have to sit here, listening to Altringham’s lies. Telling everyone how violent and dangerous I was …

I ran my fingers up the cane till they got to the handle. Tightened my grip. Pulled my shoulders back.

Might as well live down to his expectations and remodel his smug lying face a bit. Could do some serious damage before they dragged me off. Had nothing to lose anyway. And at least I’d get the satisfaction of—

Babs’s hand landed on my shoulder, her voice barely loud enough to count as a whisper. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

Fair enough.

I let my shoulders slump again.

Dr Alice McDonald – psychiatrist number two – held up her hand. ‘Now hold on a minute: the murder charge was dismissed.’ Her curly brown hair made a loose ponytail at the back of her head, a few stray wisps breaking free to glow in the overhead lights. Pale-lilac shirt cuffs poked out of the sleeves of her pinstripe suit. ‘Mr Henderson didn’t kill his brother, the evidence against him was fabricated. It’s a matter of record. The appeal judge—’

‘I’m not talking about his brother’s murder. I’m talking about this.’ Altringham plucked a sheet of paper from the table in front of him and waved it. ‘In the last eighteen months, he’s assaulted and seriously injured seventeen other inmates. Every time he gets anywhere near being released, he attacks someone.’

‘We’ve been over this, it’s—’

‘Yesterday, he broke a man’s nose, and left another with a fractured cheek!’ Altringham knocked on the coffin again. ‘Does that sound like the actions of someone we should be unleashing on an unsuspecting public?’

Yeah, I got in a couple of good punches, till they forced me into a corner. Grinning and laughing. Letting me swing at them, so it’d look better when they made their formal complaints. But what was I supposed to do, stand there and take it?

Even after all this time …

Alice shook her head. ‘It’s hardly Mr Henderson’s fault that he keeps being attacked. If the prison did a better job of managing inmate interactions, maybe he wouldn’t have to defend himself the whole time.’

The Deputy Governor narrowed her eyes. ‘I resent any implication that this institution isn’t doing its duty where custodial safety is concerned.’

Altringham blew out a breath. ‘No one’s safe where Mr Henderson’s concerned. He’s pathologically incapable of—’

‘That’s not the case at all, there’s a clear pattern to the attacks against Mr Henderson that—’

‘Yes, and that pattern is his self-destructive personality! This is nothing more profound than a simple need to punish himself due to survivor’s guilt. It’s not a conspiracy, it’s simple psychology and if you were able to see past your personal bias on this case you’d know that.’

Alice poked Altringham in the shoulder. ‘I beg your pardon! Are you suggesting that I’m incapable of—’

The Deputy Governor slammed her folder down on the tabletop. ‘All right, that’s enough!’ She glared at Alice, then turned and did the same to Altringham. ‘We’re here to discuss Mr Henderson’s release, or continued incarceration, like professionals. Not bicker and quarrel like small children. So, moving on.’ The Deputy Governor held out a hand. ‘Dr McDonald, you have your report?’

Alice pulled the top sheet from the leather folio in front of her and passed it over.

The Deputy Governor frowned at it for a bit, then turned it over and did the same with the back. Then placed it on the table. ‘And Dr Altringham?’

He slid his along to her and she frowned at that for a while too.

Officer Babs leaned in, her voice still an almost-whisper. ‘How’s the arthritis?’

I flexed my right hand, the knuckles all swollen and bruised from breaking ex-DI Graham Lumley’s cheek. ‘Worth it.’

‘I keep telling you: lead with your elbows, or only punch the soft bits.’

‘Yeah, well …’

The Deputy Governor put Altringham’s report down on top of Alice’s, then sat up straight. ‘Mr Henderson, after careful consideration—’

‘Don’t bother.’ I slouched further down in my plastic seat. ‘We all know where this is going, so why don’t we just cut to the bit where you send me back to my cell?’

‘After careful consideration, Mr Henderson, and having reviewed all the evidence and expert analysis, it is my belief that your continuing use of violence necessitates your retention in this facility until a full investigation can be carried out into the events of yesterday.’

So, same as usual then.

Stuck in here until Mrs Kerrigan finally got bored and had me killed.