The Sins of the Father Read online

  Quinn was already dressed by the time Harry climbed down from the top bunk.

  ‘What now?’ asked Harry, sounding like a new boy on his first day of term.

  ‘Breakfast,’ said Quinn. ‘Get dressed, grab your plate and mug, and make sure you’re ready when the screw unlocks the door. If you’re a few seconds late, some officers get a kick out of slamming the door in your face.’ Harry began to pull on his trousers. ‘And don’t talk on your way down to the canteen,’ added Quinn. ‘It draws attention to yourself, which annoys the old-timers. In fact, don’t talk to anyone you don’t know until your second year.’

  Harry would have laughed, but he wasn’t sure if Quinn was joking. He heard a key turning in the lock, and the cell door swung open. Quinn shot through like a greyhound out of the slips, with his cellmate only a stride behind. They joined a long line of silent prisoners who were making their way across the landing past the open doors of empty cells, before walking down a spiral staircase to the ground floor, where they would join their fellow inmates for breakfast.

  The line came to a halt long before they reached the canteen. Harry watched the servers in their short white coats, standing behind the hotplate. A guard carrying a truncheon and wearing a long white coat was keeping an eye on them, making sure no one got an extra portion.

  ‘How nice to see you again, Mr Siddell,’ Pat said quietly to the guard once they reached the front of the queue. The two men shook hands as if they were old friends. This time Harry couldn’t see any money changing hands, but a curt nod from Mr Siddell indicated that a deal had been struck.

  Quinn moved along the line as his tin plate was filled with a fried egg with a solid yolk, a pile of potatoes more black than white and the regulation two slices of stale bread. Harry caught up with him as he was having his mug half filled with coffee. The servers looked puzzled when Harry thanked them one by one, as if he were a guest at a vicarage tea party.

  ‘Damn,’ he said when the last server offered him coffee. ‘I left my mug in the cell.’

  The server filled Quinn’s mug to the brim. ‘Don’t forget next time,’ said Harry’s cellmate.

  ‘No talking in line!’ yelled Hessler, slamming his truncheon into a gloved hand. Quinn led Harry to the end of a long table and sat on the bench opposite him. Harry was so hungry he devoured every morsel on his plate, including the greasiest egg he’d ever tasted. He even considered licking his plate, and then he recalled his friend Giles, on another first day.

  When Harry and Pat had finished their five-minute breakfast, they were marched back up the spiral staircase to the top floor. Once their cell door had been slammed shut, Quinn washed his plate and mug, and placed them neatly under his bunk.

  ‘When you live in an eight by four for years on end, you make use of every inch of space,’ he explained. Harry followed his lead, and could only wonder how long it would be before he was able to teach Quinn something.

  ‘What next?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Work allocation,’ said Quinn. ‘I’ll be joining Siddell in the kitchen, but we’ve still got to make sure they put you in the library. And that’ll depend on which officer is on duty. Trouble is, I’m running out of cash.’ Quinn had hardly got the words out of his mouth before the door was pulled open again and Hessler was silhouetted in the doorway, the truncheon thumping into his gloved hand.

  ‘Quinn,’ he said, ‘report to the kitchen immediately. Bradshaw, go to station nine and join the other wing cleaners.’

  ‘I was hoping to work in the library, Mr—’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck what you were hoping, Bradshaw,’ said Hessler. ‘As wing officer, I make the rules around here. You can go to the library on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays between six and seven, like any other inmate. Is that clear enough for you?’ Harry nodded. ‘You’re not an officer any longer, Bradshaw, just a con, like everyone else in this place. And don’t waste your time thinking you can bribe me,’ he added, before marching off to the next cell.

  ‘Hessler’s one of the few officers you can’t bribe,’ whispered Quinn. ‘Your only hope now is Mr Swanson, the prison warden. Just remember that he considers himself a bit of an intellectual, which probably means he can manage joined-up writing. He’s also a Fundamental Baptist. Hallelujah!’

  ‘When will I get the chance to see him?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Could be any time. Just be sure to let him know you want to work in the library, because each new prisoner only gets five minutes of his time.’

  Harry slumped down on the wooden chair and placed his head in his hands. If it wasn’t for the $10,000 Jelks had promised to send to his mother, he’d use his five minutes to tell the warden the truth about how he’d ended up in Lavenham.

  ‘Meantime, I’ll do what I can to get you into the kitchen,’ added Quinn. ‘It may not be what you hoped for, but it’s sure better than being a wing cleaner.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Harry. Quinn scurried off to the kitchens, not needing directions. Harry took the stairs back down to the ground floor and went in search of station nine.

  Twelve men, all first-timers, stood in a huddle and waited for instructions. Initiative was frowned on in Lavenham – it smacked of rebellion, or the suggestion that a prisoner just might be cleverer than an officer.

  ‘Pick up a bucket, fill it with water, and get yourself a mop,’ said Hessler. He smiled at Harry as he ticked off his name on yet another clipboard. ‘As you were last down, Bradshaw, you’ll be working in the shit house for the next month.’

  ‘But I wasn’t the last down,’ protested Harry.

  ‘I think you were,’ said Hessler, the smile not leaving his face.

  Harry filled his bucket with cold water and grabbed a mop. He didn’t need to be told in which direction to go, he could smell the latrines from a dozen paces. He began retching before he’d even entered the large square room with thirty holes in the ground. He held his nose, but he had to continually leave the room to gasp for air. Hessler stood some way off, laughing.

  ‘You’ll get used to it, Bradshaw,’ he said, ‘in time.’

  Harry regretted having eaten such a large breakfast, which he brought up within minutes. It must have been about an hour later that he heard another officer bellowing his name. ‘Bradshaw!’

  Harry staggered out of the latrines, white as a sheet. ‘That’s me,’ he said.

  ‘The warden wants to see you, so let’s get movin’.’

  Harry was able to breathe more deeply with each step he took, and by the time he’d reached the warden’s office, he felt almost human.

  ‘Wait there until you’re called for,’ said the officer.

  Harry took a spare seat between two other prisoners, who quickly turned away. He couldn’t blame them. He tried to gather his thoughts as each new prisoner went in and out of the warden’s office. Quinn was right, the interviews lasted for about five minutes, some even less. Harry couldn’t afford to waste one second of his allotted time.

  ‘Bradshaw,’ said the officer, and opened the door. He stood aside as Harry entered the warden’s office. Harry decided not to get too close to Mr Swanson, and remained several paces from his large leather-topped desk. Although the warden was seated, Harry could see that he was unable to do up the middle button of his sports jacket. His hair had been dyed black in an attempt to make him look younger, but it only made him look slightly ridiculous. What did Brutus say of Caesar’s vanity? Offer him garlands, and praise him as if he were a god, and that will be his downfall.

  Swanson opened Bradshaw’s file and studied it for a few moments before looking up at Harry.

  ‘I see you were sentenced to six years for desertion. Haven’t come across that one before,’ he admitted.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Harry, not wanting to waste any of his precious time.

  ‘Don’t bother telling me you’re innocent,’ Swanson continued, ‘because only one in a thousand is, so the odds are stacked against you.’ Harry had to smile. ‘But if you keep your nose clean’ �€