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He folded up his prison gear and placed it on the end of Nick's bed. He still thought of it as Nick's bed. Then he packed the rest of the clothes neatly in the suitcase before retrieving Nick's diary from under the bed, along with a file of correspondence marked "Fraser Munro"-twentyeight letters that Da
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He reached inside his shirt and touched the small key that was hanging from the chain around his neck. He was no nearer to discovering what it unlocked-it unlocked the prison gate. He had searched through the diaries for the slightest clue, over a thousand pages, but had come up with nothing. If Nick had known, he had taken the secret to his grave.
Now a very different key was turning in the lock of his cell door. It opened to reveal Pascoe standing alone. Da
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They continued down the blue corridor. He'd forgotten how many sets of double-barred gates there were between B block and reception, where Jenkins was seated behind his desk waiting for him.
"Good morning, Moncrieff," he a
Jenkins handed him a rail warrant to Dunbroath in Scotland, but not before Da
"Mr. Pascoe will accompany you to the gate," said Jenkins once he'd checked the signature. "I'll say goodbye, as I have a feeling we'll never meet again, which sadly I'm not able to say all that often."
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Together they walked slowly across a bleak concrete square, which acted as a car park for the prison vans and private vehicles that made their legal entrance and exit every day. In the gatehouse sat an officer Da
"Name?" he demanded without looking up from the list of discharges on his clipboard.
"Moncrieff," Da
"Number?"
"CK4802," said Da
The officer ran a finger slowly down his list. A puzzled look appeared on his face.
"CK1079," whispered Pascoe.
"CK1079," repeated Da
"Ah, yes," said the officer, his finger coming to rest on Moncrieff. "Sign here."
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"Don't hang around, Moncrieff," said Pascoe firmly. "Some of us have got a day's work to do, haven't we, Mr. Tomkins?"
"Yes, Mr. Pascoe," replied the gate officer, and quickly pressed the red button beneath his desk. The first of the massive electric gates slowly began to open.
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Once the first gate had slipped into the gap in the wall, Pascoe finally offered, "Good luck, lad, you'll need it."
Da
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BOOK THREE. Freedom
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
AS NICK MONCRIEFF crossed the road, one or two passersby glanced at him in mild surprise. It wasn't that they were unaccustomed to seeing prisoners coming out of that gate, but not someone carrying a leather suitcase and dressed like a country gentleman.
Da
At Ca
At King's Cross, Nick disembarked, lugging his heavy suitcase. He passed a policeman who didn't even glance at him. He checked the departures board. The next train to Edinburgh was scheduled to leave at eleven, arriving at Waverley station at 3:20 that afternoon. He still had time for breakfast. He grabbed a copy of The Times from a stand outside W.H. Smith. He'd walked a few paces before he realized he hadn't paid for the paper. Sweating profusely, Da
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