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CHAPTER TWENTY
"TWO LETTERS FOR you, Cartwright," Mr. Pascoe, the wing officer, said as he passed a couple of envelopes across to Da
The heavy door slammed shut.
"They've opened my letters," said Da
"They always do," said Big Al. "They also listen in on your phone conversations."
"Why?" asked Da
"Hoping to catch anyone involved in a drugs drop. And last week they caught some stupid bastard pla
Da
"Nick, can you read my letters to me?" he asked quietly.
"I can and I will," replied Nick.
Da
"Dear Da
Nick glanced up to see Da
"No."
Nick unfolded the second letter. "It's from Alex Redmayne," he said. "Most unusual."
"What do you mean?" asked Da
"Barristers don't usually write direct to their clients. They leave it to the instructing solicitors. It's marked private and confidential. Are you sure you want me to know the contents of this letter?"
"Read it," said Da
"Dear Da
Nick put the two letters back in their envelopes and returned them to Da
"No," said Da
Spencer Craig was begi
Lawrence Davenport had made some lame excuse for not attending, claiming he had to be at an awards ceremony because he'd been nominated for best actor in a soap.
Craig wasn't surprised that Toby Mortimer hadn't shown up-he was probably lying in a gutter somewhere with a needle sticking out of his arm.
At least Gerald Payne made an appearance, even if he had turned up late. If there had been an agenda for this meeting, disbanding the Musketeers would probably have been item number one.
Craig emptied the remainder of the first bottle of Chablis into Payne's glass and ordered another one. "Cheers," he said, raising his glass. Payne nodded, less than enthusiastically. Neither spoke for some time.
"Do you have any idea when Cartwright's appeal is coming up?" said Payne eventually.
"No," replied Craig. "I keep an eye on the lists, but I can't risk calling the Criminal Appeal Office, for obvious reasons. The moment I hear anything, you'll be the first to know."
"Are you worried about Toby?" asked Payne.
"No, he's the least of our problems. Whenever the appeal does come up, you can be sure he'll be in no state to give evidence. Our only problem is Larry. He gets flakier by the day. But the prospect of a spell in jail should keep him in line."
"But what about his sister?" said Payne.
"Sarah?" said Craig. "What's she got to do with it?"
"Nothing, but if she ever found out what actually happened that night, she might try to persuade Larry that it was his duty to give evidence at the appeal telling them what really took place. She is a solicitor, after all." Payne took a sip of his wine. "Didn't you two have a fling at Cambridge?"
"I wouldn't call it a fling," said Craig. "She's not really my type-too uptight."
"That's not what I heard," said Payne, trying to make light of it.
"What did you hear?" asked Craig defensively.
"That she gave you up because you had some rather strange habits in the bedroom."
Craig didn't comment as he emptied what remained of the second bottle. "Another bottle, barman," he said.
"The 'ninety-five, Mr. Craig?"
"Of course," said Craig. "Nothing but the best for my friend."
"No need to waste your money on me, old fellow," said Payne.
Craig didn't bother to tell him that it hardly mattered what was on the label, because the barman had already decided how much he was going to charge for "keeping shtum," as he put it.
Big Al was snoring, which Nick had once described in his diary as sounding like a cross between an elephant drinking and a ship's foghorn. Nick somehow managed to sleep through any amount of rap music emanating from the nearby cells, but he still hadn't come to terms with Big Al's snoring.
He lay awake and thought about Da
Da
"Are you awake?" asked Da