The Sins of the Father

He looked back to see Sefton Jelks shaking hands with a middle-aged man who was clearly congratulating him on a job well done. Where had Harry seen that face before? And then he realized  -  it had to be Tom Bradshaw's father.

2

HARRY WAS MARCHED unceremoniously down a long, dimly lit corridor and out of an unmarked door into a barren courtyard.

In the middle of the yard stood a yellow bus that displayed neither number nor any hint of its destination. A muscle-bound conductor clutching a rifle stood by the door, and nodded to indicate that Harry should climb on board. His guards gave him a helping hand, just in case he was having second thoughts.

Harry took a seat and stared sullenly out of the window as a trickle of convicted prisoners were led up to the bus, some with their heads bowed, while others, who had clearly trodden this path before, adopted a jaunty swagger. He assumed it wouldn't be long before the bus set off for its destination, wherever that might be, but he was about to learn his first painful lesson as a prisoner: once you've been convicted, no one is in any hurry.

Harry thought about asking one of the guards where they were going, but neither of them looked like helpful tour guides. He turned anxiously when a body slumped into the seat next to him. He didn't want to stare at his new companion, but as the man introduced himself immediately, Harry took a closer look at him.

'My name's Pat Quinn,' he announced with a slight Irish accent.

'Tom Bradshaw,' said Harry, who would have shaken hands with his new companion if they hadn't both been handcuffed.

Quinn didn't look like a criminal. His feet barely touched the ground, so he couldn't have been an inch over five feet, and whereas most of the other prisoners on the bus were either muscle-bound or simply overweight, Quinn looked as if a gust of wind would blow him away. His thinning red hair was beginning to grey, although he couldn't have been a day over forty.

'You're a first-timer?' said Quinn confidently.

'Is it that obvious?' asked Harry.

'It's written all over your face.'

'What's written all over my face?'

'You haven't got a clue what's going to happen next.'

'So you're obviously not a first-timer?'

'This is the eleventh time I've been on this bus, or it could be the twelfth.'

Harry laughed for the first time in days.

'What are you in for?' Quinn asked him.

'Desertion,' Harry replied, without elaboration.

'Never heard of that one before,' said Quinn. 'I've deserted three wives, but they never put me in the slammer for it.'

'I didn't desert a wife,' said Harry, thinking about Emma. 'I deserted the Royal Navy -  I mean the navy.'

'How long did you get for that?'

'Six years.'

Quinn whistled through his two remaining teeth. 'Sounds a bit rough. Who was the judge?'

'Atkins,' said Harry with feeling.

'Arnie Atkins? You got the wrong judge. If you're ever on trial again, make sure you pick the right judge.'

'I didn't know you could pick your judge.'

'You can't,' said Quinn, 'but there are ways of avoiding the worst ones.' Harry looked more closely at his companion, but didn't interrupt. 'There are seven judges who work the circuit, and you need to avoid two of them at all costs. One is Arnie Atkins. He's short on humour and long on sentencing.'

'But how could I have avoided him?' asked Harry.

'Atkins has presided over court four for the past eleven years, so if I'm heading in that direction, I have an epileptic fit and the guards take me off to see the court doctor.'

'You're an epileptic?'

'No,' said Quinn, 'you're not paying attention.' He sounded exasperated, and Harry fell silent. 'By the time I've staged a recovery, they will have allocated my case to another court.'

Harry laughed for the second time. 'And you get away with it?'

'No, not always, but if I end up with a couple of rookie guards, I'm in with a chance, though it's getting more difficult to pull the same stunt again and again. I didn't need to bother this time because I was taken straight to court two, which is Judge Regan's territory. He's Irish  -  like me, just in case you hadn't noticed  -  so he's more likely to give a fellow countryman a minimum sentence.'

'What was your offence?' asked Harry.

'I'm a pickpocket,' Quinn announced, as if he were an architect or a doctor. 'I specialize in race meetings in the summer and boxing halls in the winter. It's always easier if the marks are standing up,' he explained. 'But my luck's been running short recently because too many stewards recognize me, so I've had to work the subway and the bus depots, where the pickings are slim and you're more likely to be caught.'

Harry had so much he wanted to ask his new tutor and, like an enthusiastic student, he concentrated on the questions that would help him pass the entrance exam, rather pleased that Quinn hadn't questioned his accent.

'Do you know where we're going?' he asked.

'Lavenham or Pierpoint,' said Quinn. 'All depends on whether we come off the highway at exit twelve or fourteen.'

'Have you been to either of them before?'

'Both, several times,' said Quinn matter-of-factly. 'And before you ask, if there was a tourist guide to prisons, Lavenham would get one star and Pierpoint would be closed down.'

'Why don't we just ask the guard which one we're going to?' said Harry, who wanted to be put out of his misery.

'Because he'd tell us the wrong one, just to piss us off. If it's Lavenham, the only thing you need to worry about is which block they put you on. As you're a first-timer you'll probably end up on A block, where life is a lot easier. The old-timers, like me, are usually sent to D block, where there's no one under thirty and no one with a record for violence, so it's the ideal set-up if you just want to keep your head down and do your time. Try to avoid B and C block  -  they're both full of hopheads and psychos.'

'What do I have to do to make sure I end up on A block?'

'Tell the reception officer you're a devout Christian, don't smoke and don't drink.'

'I didn't know you were allowed to drink in prison,' said Harry.

'You aren't, you stupid fucker,' said Quinn, 'but if you can supply the greenbacks,' he added, rubbing a thumb against the tip of his index finger, 'the guards suddenly become barmen. Even prohibition didn't slow them down.'

'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.'