Part Eighty Four
Warning bells were ringing loudly in the back of Fenner's mind as he sat alone in the loud smoke filled social club. He stared down into the opaque froth on the top of his pint of beer that he held in his hand, full to the brim of his normal brew.
In the same way that jangling bells at Larkhall warned every prison officer to rush to an unseen danger in some cell, along some dark corridor, the same feeling that his own feeling of security was under threat caused him to sweat and his pulse to pound faster. His personality had that paranoid quality about him that, though scheming and manoeuvring came second nature to him, he felt insecure and affronted if anyone else did the like to him. That mysterious doppleganger was stalking his every move to take away his privileges, to block his chances of ever becoming a suit, of threatening to dig the dirt on him, of getting in the way of some of his little enterprises on the side which helped pay the bills, to threaten his very existence.
The more obviously dangerous enemies sneered openly at him and rejected everything that he was. They were obviously out to get him and he made no effort to smooch them up and get them to see things his way but at least everything was out in the open.The ones at their most subtle played mind games with him, being all sugary sympathetic and suggesting that he needs someone to look after him. That was the most dangerous of all as he isn't going to give up a shred of control over himself. Worst of all was their worried expression, suggesting that he needs therapy. He wasn't going to have some trick cyclist poking about with his mind, He liked his mind very much the way it is, even if he had got to use a lot more effort to keep going sometimes when he had a rough patch at work or at home. No one else was allowed to peer into his mind if he could help it, himself included. He was a man and men weren't brought up with all this feelings, all this 'I want is a hug, female rubbish and I'll look after you.'
Sometimes, these shadows plotted in secret. Other times, they were there in the flesh, all female, all far too cunning for his own good, all defiant, all laughing at him, trying to blackmail him, all trying to bring him down. So he had to get in there first and drive them out, to try to get into their minds and seize hold of the slightest weakness that they betrayed, and if need be to destroy them. Sometimes there was more than one enemy and it took ice cold nerve to try to weave around them the train of thought that would divide one from the other and split the opposition.
"Stay calm, stay calm." His blue and slow hypnotic eyes tried to control their very thoughts. Fleeting memories popped to the surface many years ago to that young girl who topped herself called Rachel. He jumped forward in time to when he was stuck on top of the roof talking to that other girl called Zandra who was holding that baby up in the air and finally a freeze frame image of that mad bitch Tessa Spall who was holding a hypodermic syringe to Betts's face…….. Was it to him that he was talking to reassure himself?
A wave of molten anger poured over him like a lava flow , blotting out his memories. It was dangerous of him to think, thoughts were dangerous, untrustworthy and slippery. It wasn't easy being Jim Fenner, he could tell anyone who listened.
Right at the end of this stream of red hot fury came the memories of the way that that snooty barrister invaded his space, the prison which he was the rightful Wing Governor if it weren't that interfering Betts woman who was sitting in his chair. That was bad enough to put up with but at least Betts is one of the Prison Officers, not a nosy parker coming to snoop on him………….
Hold it, just why is Betts so pally with a barrister? What are they playing at? Could it be anything to do with that court case when, after all, he put a bit of pressure on Betts to play ball and to stick together so that they don't get verbally sliced to pieces like that posh bitch of an opposing barrister did inside and outside court. Much thanks he got from the witches coven who were assembled. It was Atkins. She was the most dangerous of all that sodding sisterhood as she was actually capable of doing something really dangerous.
At that point, he reached for his pint and drained it in one gulp and he felt the ice cold liquid settle on his stomach and, as he enjoyed the taste of the brew that separated the men from the women, a feeling of reassuring warmth flowed round his veins. You're getting jumpy and overdoing it, sunshine, he told himself. Atkins is out of your life, she might as well be in another world. She's got that precious daughter to look after and she won't risk another spell banged up. She's smart, after all, knows all the risks.
The social club went softly out of focus as he let his thoughts wander about aimlessly. He had got them back under control again.
"Can I join you for a swift half before we go back?" Ken asked.
"Yeah, go on," Fenner laughed. "but I'm back on duty in ten minutes."
As he chatted away, assuming his Jack the Lad persona to Ken, a layer of his mind detached itself away to laugh at his worries and to tell himself that you think too much, son. He did make a mental note to pop in and ask Grayling if he knew of any barristers landing themselves on his doorstep. He knew that Grayling wouldn't like it any more than he does and for similar reasons.
"Come on, Ken. Chop chop. Let's get back on the job," He called out and reeled slightly as he opened the door of the club on the way out.
"Care to knock in future, Jim?" Grayling snapped pettishly at Fenner out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes were fixated on the laptop computer whose management internet sites held him fascinated to look into a cyberworld which could be administered and shaped to his whim. He felt that it only took a small step to translate all this into the real untidy world. He clicked out of the site and snapped shut the lid which concealed a part of his world and turned to face his one time favourite.
"I'm sorry, Neil for bursting in like this, but I wanted to let you know of something on the wing you might not be aware of," said Fenner, skilfully dangling a dainty morsel of information. He had rearranged his features into his inscrutable subordinate officer version which defied anyone to know what he was really thinking.
"Know what? What's been going on?"
"Only just that we have had a female barrister on the wing. I know we get the usual briefs but this was the barrister who got Atkins and Merriman sent down. I assumed she was seeing you for some reason but I thought I'd check to be on the safe side."
"This hasn't been cleared with me, Jim. If she isn't seeing me or you, who else could she be seeing?" Grayling glared back.
"Karen Betts, Neil. She was as thick as thieves with her. Are you going to ask her what she is up to?"
"Let me handle this my way." Grayling's response firmly blocked off any hints as to what he was going to do. He was eager to sponge up on the latest gossip but gave back little or nothing in return except the faintest suggestion that the informant would be in his good books. In reality, his mind was firmly made up.
"Ian, it's Neil Grayling." Grayling spoke in his beast hearty fashion as one member of the Old boy's network spoke to another. "I wondered if I might pick your brains on something you may be able to help me out on."
"Ask away," came Sir Ian's slightly hesitant voice down the phone. The conversation that he had had with Deed in his office jumped straight into his mind and he knew just what was coming up. This was going to be a tricky one.
"If you recall the Atkins Pilkinton trial at which I had the privilege of giving evidence," Grayling led off in his self important way, which made Sir Ian smile slightly at the memory of how inept he was, "then you will remember the female barrister who prosecuted them."
"Go on," Sir Ian said very guardedly.
"Then you will be as surprised as I was to discover that she turned up on my doorstep to see Karen Betts, one of my Wing Governors."
"On your doorstep…..you mean at your house…and Karen Betts was there as well?" Sir Ian replied, deciding in a flash that a bit of assumed obtuseness would be a good opening ploy.
"At Larkhall Prison, Ian. I can tell you I was livid," Neil fumed, partly at Sir Ian who seemed to have turned positively senile. "Karen is a good Wing Governor but hardly my type to socialise with out of hours."
"I bet not," Sir Ian smirked, having heard the rumours about him and the vicar at his last prison. He had been tipped off by a friend in the Home Office that they were desperately looking to get him transferred out of his previous prison until the miraculous news broke that some acting Governing Governor had unexpectedly resigned at short notice.
"Anyway, I was wondering if anything might have come to your ears about the freelance actions of one of your barristers. I know that you get to hear of most things that go on."
With a great effort, Sir Ian resisted Grayling's blandishments including the insinuated challenge to his vanity at knowing everything and everyone.
"I'm afraid that you overestimate me, Neil, old boy. When the Roman Catholic Church determined the doctrine of Papal Infallibility in 1870, it hardly included me as a mere functionary of the Lord Chancellor's Department." Sir Ian's most patronising tones fought off the challenge. However, in his attempt at relaxed aristocratic whimsicality, Sir Ian was gravely disturbed to find himself approximating the tones and dialogue of his most hated enemy John Deed. The fact that he did it without trying or even intending to was the most worrying aspect of it.
"So you are saying that you know nothing of this matter, Ian?" Came the less than cordial answer.
"I'm afraid that my memory has drawn a complete blank on this, Neil. I wish I could help you out but I can't. Unless of course, I get to hear of anything in which case you have my word that you'll be the first to hear."
Grayling was not deceived by Sir Ian's ringing tones of apparent enthusiastic sincerity. It was too close to one of his favourite tricks to be convincing.
"Naturally I'm disappointed that you can't help out. but you have a large empire to rule and I can't expect you to know every little detail," Came the stiff response.
"Have you asked Karen Betts about the matter yourself, Neil?" Sir Ian asked softly, knowing very well the answer.
"Not yet. I thought I would get a bit of background first. I will though," And Grayling brought the conversation to an unusually abrupt end. He was in a bad mood. This was the first time that one of his contacts up on high had failed to give him the information he so greatly desired and that disturbed him.
She watched him from an inconspicuous car as he drove home and let himself in through the front door. The pattern of the man was mapped out in her very organised mind by now. She had focussed in on every pattern of his life and, for a rootless single man, Fenner was unusually amenable to having his life mapped out. After all, he was a long serving Prison Officer and such a life governed by bolts and bars, of shiftwork and security imposed a tidy pattern on his life. If she had had to tail a second hand car salesman haring all over the country, the job would have been impossible. But he ran his routine in a very systematic way from prison to home in a regular pattern. Fortunately, his shiftwork was on a pretty stable level. As Senior Officer, she was helped by the fact that he was the top of the pile in all of the prison officers who worked at Larkhall while the next step up, the Wing Governor grade was free of all those unsocial hours unless there was the very rare emergency. Some of the junior officers had the unpleasant night shifts which he had done in his time. All in all, his position was comfortable and settled and he could look forward to carrying on in his career and to get his superannuation and the lump sum on retirement.
He liked to keep himself to himself in his own community, she was glad to see. He did not have neighbours forever landing themselves on his doorstep and when he went out, it was on his terms like everything else in his highly self centred lifestyle.
It was the one late night that he came home which seemed especially promising to her when the outside of his street was dark and all the curtains were tight drawn as every household did to shut out the night, any unwanted strangers and to sit in front of the TV watching the endless soaps that whiled away the time of far too many in these escapist times. But on reflection, she thought that a sunday afternoon might after all be better. Let's face it, she would need to be able to see to carry out her task. A neighbourhood which had no nosy neighbours was ideal for her purpose……
Warning bells were ringing loudly in the back of Fenner's mind as he sat alone in the loud smoke filled social club. He stared down into the opaque froth on the top of his pint of beer that he held in his hand, full to the brim of his normal brew.
In the same way that jangling bells at Larkhall warned every prison officer to rush to an unseen danger in some cell, along some dark corridor, the same feeling that his own feeling of security was under threat caused him to sweat and his pulse to pound faster. His personality had that paranoid quality about him that, though scheming and manoeuvring came second nature to him, he felt insecure and affronted if anyone else did the like to him. That mysterious doppleganger was stalking his every move to take away his privileges, to block his chances of ever becoming a suit, of threatening to dig the dirt on him, of getting in the way of some of his little enterprises on the side which helped pay the bills, to threaten his very existence.
The more obviously dangerous enemies sneered openly at him and rejected everything that he was. They were obviously out to get him and he made no effort to smooch them up and get them to see things his way but at least everything was out in the open.The ones at their most subtle played mind games with him, being all sugary sympathetic and suggesting that he needs someone to look after him. That was the most dangerous of all as he isn't going to give up a shred of control over himself. Worst of all was their worried expression, suggesting that he needs therapy. He wasn't going to have some trick cyclist poking about with his mind, He liked his mind very much the way it is, even if he had got to use a lot more effort to keep going sometimes when he had a rough patch at work or at home. No one else was allowed to peer into his mind if he could help it, himself included. He was a man and men weren't brought up with all this feelings, all this 'I want is a hug, female rubbish and I'll look after you.'
Sometimes, these shadows plotted in secret. Other times, they were there in the flesh, all female, all far too cunning for his own good, all defiant, all laughing at him, trying to blackmail him, all trying to bring him down. So he had to get in there first and drive them out, to try to get into their minds and seize hold of the slightest weakness that they betrayed, and if need be to destroy them. Sometimes there was more than one enemy and it took ice cold nerve to try to weave around them the train of thought that would divide one from the other and split the opposition.
"Stay calm, stay calm." His blue and slow hypnotic eyes tried to control their very thoughts. Fleeting memories popped to the surface many years ago to that young girl who topped herself called Rachel. He jumped forward in time to when he was stuck on top of the roof talking to that other girl called Zandra who was holding that baby up in the air and finally a freeze frame image of that mad bitch Tessa Spall who was holding a hypodermic syringe to Betts's face…….. Was it to him that he was talking to reassure himself?
A wave of molten anger poured over him like a lava flow , blotting out his memories. It was dangerous of him to think, thoughts were dangerous, untrustworthy and slippery. It wasn't easy being Jim Fenner, he could tell anyone who listened.
Right at the end of this stream of red hot fury came the memories of the way that that snooty barrister invaded his space, the prison which he was the rightful Wing Governor if it weren't that interfering Betts woman who was sitting in his chair. That was bad enough to put up with but at least Betts is one of the Prison Officers, not a nosy parker coming to snoop on him………….
Hold it, just why is Betts so pally with a barrister? What are they playing at? Could it be anything to do with that court case when, after all, he put a bit of pressure on Betts to play ball and to stick together so that they don't get verbally sliced to pieces like that posh bitch of an opposing barrister did inside and outside court. Much thanks he got from the witches coven who were assembled. It was Atkins. She was the most dangerous of all that sodding sisterhood as she was actually capable of doing something really dangerous.
At that point, he reached for his pint and drained it in one gulp and he felt the ice cold liquid settle on his stomach and, as he enjoyed the taste of the brew that separated the men from the women, a feeling of reassuring warmth flowed round his veins. You're getting jumpy and overdoing it, sunshine, he told himself. Atkins is out of your life, she might as well be in another world. She's got that precious daughter to look after and she won't risk another spell banged up. She's smart, after all, knows all the risks.
The social club went softly out of focus as he let his thoughts wander about aimlessly. He had got them back under control again.
"Can I join you for a swift half before we go back?" Ken asked.
"Yeah, go on," Fenner laughed. "but I'm back on duty in ten minutes."
As he chatted away, assuming his Jack the Lad persona to Ken, a layer of his mind detached itself away to laugh at his worries and to tell himself that you think too much, son. He did make a mental note to pop in and ask Grayling if he knew of any barristers landing themselves on his doorstep. He knew that Grayling wouldn't like it any more than he does and for similar reasons.
"Come on, Ken. Chop chop. Let's get back on the job," He called out and reeled slightly as he opened the door of the club on the way out.
"Care to knock in future, Jim?" Grayling snapped pettishly at Fenner out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes were fixated on the laptop computer whose management internet sites held him fascinated to look into a cyberworld which could be administered and shaped to his whim. He felt that it only took a small step to translate all this into the real untidy world. He clicked out of the site and snapped shut the lid which concealed a part of his world and turned to face his one time favourite.
"I'm sorry, Neil for bursting in like this, but I wanted to let you know of something on the wing you might not be aware of," said Fenner, skilfully dangling a dainty morsel of information. He had rearranged his features into his inscrutable subordinate officer version which defied anyone to know what he was really thinking.
"Know what? What's been going on?"
"Only just that we have had a female barrister on the wing. I know we get the usual briefs but this was the barrister who got Atkins and Merriman sent down. I assumed she was seeing you for some reason but I thought I'd check to be on the safe side."
"This hasn't been cleared with me, Jim. If she isn't seeing me or you, who else could she be seeing?" Grayling glared back.
"Karen Betts, Neil. She was as thick as thieves with her. Are you going to ask her what she is up to?"
"Let me handle this my way." Grayling's response firmly blocked off any hints as to what he was going to do. He was eager to sponge up on the latest gossip but gave back little or nothing in return except the faintest suggestion that the informant would be in his good books. In reality, his mind was firmly made up.
"Ian, it's Neil Grayling." Grayling spoke in his beast hearty fashion as one member of the Old boy's network spoke to another. "I wondered if I might pick your brains on something you may be able to help me out on."
"Ask away," came Sir Ian's slightly hesitant voice down the phone. The conversation that he had had with Deed in his office jumped straight into his mind and he knew just what was coming up. This was going to be a tricky one.
"If you recall the Atkins Pilkinton trial at which I had the privilege of giving evidence," Grayling led off in his self important way, which made Sir Ian smile slightly at the memory of how inept he was, "then you will remember the female barrister who prosecuted them."
"Go on," Sir Ian said very guardedly.
"Then you will be as surprised as I was to discover that she turned up on my doorstep to see Karen Betts, one of my Wing Governors."
"On your doorstep…..you mean at your house…and Karen Betts was there as well?" Sir Ian replied, deciding in a flash that a bit of assumed obtuseness would be a good opening ploy.
"At Larkhall Prison, Ian. I can tell you I was livid," Neil fumed, partly at Sir Ian who seemed to have turned positively senile. "Karen is a good Wing Governor but hardly my type to socialise with out of hours."
"I bet not," Sir Ian smirked, having heard the rumours about him and the vicar at his last prison. He had been tipped off by a friend in the Home Office that they were desperately looking to get him transferred out of his previous prison until the miraculous news broke that some acting Governing Governor had unexpectedly resigned at short notice.
"Anyway, I was wondering if anything might have come to your ears about the freelance actions of one of your barristers. I know that you get to hear of most things that go on."
With a great effort, Sir Ian resisted Grayling's blandishments including the insinuated challenge to his vanity at knowing everything and everyone.
"I'm afraid that you overestimate me, Neil, old boy. When the Roman Catholic Church determined the doctrine of Papal Infallibility in 1870, it hardly included me as a mere functionary of the Lord Chancellor's Department." Sir Ian's most patronising tones fought off the challenge. However, in his attempt at relaxed aristocratic whimsicality, Sir Ian was gravely disturbed to find himself approximating the tones and dialogue of his most hated enemy John Deed. The fact that he did it without trying or even intending to was the most worrying aspect of it.
"So you are saying that you know nothing of this matter, Ian?" Came the less than cordial answer.
"I'm afraid that my memory has drawn a complete blank on this, Neil. I wish I could help you out but I can't. Unless of course, I get to hear of anything in which case you have my word that you'll be the first to hear."
Grayling was not deceived by Sir Ian's ringing tones of apparent enthusiastic sincerity. It was too close to one of his favourite tricks to be convincing.
"Naturally I'm disappointed that you can't help out. but you have a large empire to rule and I can't expect you to know every little detail," Came the stiff response.
"Have you asked Karen Betts about the matter yourself, Neil?" Sir Ian asked softly, knowing very well the answer.
"Not yet. I thought I would get a bit of background first. I will though," And Grayling brought the conversation to an unusually abrupt end. He was in a bad mood. This was the first time that one of his contacts up on high had failed to give him the information he so greatly desired and that disturbed him.
She watched him from an inconspicuous car as he drove home and let himself in through the front door. The pattern of the man was mapped out in her very organised mind by now. She had focussed in on every pattern of his life and, for a rootless single man, Fenner was unusually amenable to having his life mapped out. After all, he was a long serving Prison Officer and such a life governed by bolts and bars, of shiftwork and security imposed a tidy pattern on his life. If she had had to tail a second hand car salesman haring all over the country, the job would have been impossible. But he ran his routine in a very systematic way from prison to home in a regular pattern. Fortunately, his shiftwork was on a pretty stable level. As Senior Officer, she was helped by the fact that he was the top of the pile in all of the prison officers who worked at Larkhall while the next step up, the Wing Governor grade was free of all those unsocial hours unless there was the very rare emergency. Some of the junior officers had the unpleasant night shifts which he had done in his time. All in all, his position was comfortable and settled and he could look forward to carrying on in his career and to get his superannuation and the lump sum on retirement.
He liked to keep himself to himself in his own community, she was glad to see. He did not have neighbours forever landing themselves on his doorstep and when he went out, it was on his terms like everything else in his highly self centred lifestyle.
It was the one late night that he came home which seemed especially promising to her when the outside of his street was dark and all the curtains were tight drawn as every household did to shut out the night, any unwanted strangers and to sit in front of the TV watching the endless soaps that whiled away the time of far too many in these escapist times. But on reflection, she thought that a sunday afternoon might after all be better. Let's face it, she would need to be able to see to carry out her task. A neighbourhood which had no nosy neighbours was ideal for her purpose……