Purgatory: A Prison Diary Volume 2 (26 page)

It seems that one of the brothers had been moved from D to A
block recently, ostensibly because he had been bullied. It seems that when he
was out on a town visit to Norwich a couple of weeks ago, his mates gathered
together a large sum of money so that he could pick up an order of drugs. A
problem arose when he returned that night and didn’t have any of the gear with
him. His excuse was he didn’t think he’d get the skag past the guards. However,
he couldn’t come up with a convincing explanation for not being able to return
their cash. When he was found cowering in his cell with a cut below his eye and
a broken nose, the unit officer quickly moved him across to our block and, they
hoped, out of harm’s way. However, during exercise yesterday the brothers on D
block informed the brothers on
A
block how he’d
stitched them up, and passed the responsibility of exacting revenge on to them.

Back to the Sunday afternoon game of
dominoes, where a row broke out with the culprit.
One of the players
left the group, walked across to the snooker table, picked up a ball, turned
round and hurled it at him. Amazingly, he hit the right man in the back of the
head at thirty paces (there were eleven prisoners seated around the table at
the time). The ball must have been propelled at about seventy-miles an hour,
because it split the man’s head open. The pitcher ended up in segregation, while
the victim is on his way to the local hospital. Both will appear in front of
the governor later this week.

The usual punishment would be twenty-eight days added to
both men’s sentences, which the governor can mete out without recourse to the
courts and, in a case like this, an immediate transfer to different A- or B-cat
establishments.

I go into great detail to describe this incident simply
because those casually reading this diary might be left with an impression that
life at Wayland is almost bearable. It isn’t. You can never be sure from one
moment to the next if your life is in danger. On this block alone there are a
dozen murderers, countless thugs and drug addicts with whom I have to co-exist
every day.

I’m not unhappy to see my door slammed shut tonight.

My meeting with KPMG and that an announcement is likely to
be made in the next couple of days. He confirms that they have been ready to
move me for some time, and they are only waiting for a call from the police.

I return to my cell aware that when KPMG finally announce
their findings, and the police confirm that they have dropped their enquiries,
that the press coverage will be about a hundredth of that created by Ms
Nicholson the day after she had appeared on Newsnight

‘Burglars.’
This is the cry that
goes up from fellow inmates when officers appear on the spur to begin a ‘spin’
– cell search.

I didn’t get to pottery yesterday because of my legal visit,
and it looks as if I’m going to miss it again today. We’ve just been told to
stay in our cells, as a search is about to be conducted following the snooker
hall incident on Sunday. I fail to see how a prisoner throwing a snooker ball
at another inmate should result in the whole of
A
block being searched two days later. However, it’s Shane (GBH, gym orderly) who
tells me that when they ‘spun’ the assailant’s cell, they found a nine-inch
blade hidden under his mattress, and the governor has ordered a comprehensive
search of the whole block.

Searching 112 cells takes the duty officers a little over
two hours. Mr Shepperson and a colleague spend ten minutes in my cell only to
discover that I have two more towels than I’m entitled to and a T-shirt that
Sergio has given me because he’s leaving on Thursday. They don’t comment on
these indiscretions as they are obviously looking for more important items.

As I hang around in my cell, I am amused to see the grass
outside is littered with different objects that have been thrown out of the
windows since the shout of ‘Burglars’ went up. Apparently it’s mainly drugs and
other banned substances, but despite a further search amongst the rubbish, no
other knives or blades
are
discovered.

When the ‘spin’ is over, I’m told that Nigel, (GBH, race
relations rep, known as the Preacher – see plate section), has had a carpet
removed from his cell, and Darren, two pots of sea-green paint. An officer
confirms that no other knives were found on our spur which surprises Darren,
although he won’t tell me why.

The most common object removed from the cells turns out to
be TV remote controls. For some inexplicable reason, remote controls are
allowed only on D block (the drug-free block). Result? D blockers trade their
remotes for drugs.
Prison logic.

Exercise.
After half an hour of
power walking in the fresh air, Darren and I return to the block. As he strolls
back through the gate, his eyes light on his two pots of sea-green paint
standing in the hallway. I’m afraid I can’t resist it. I pick them both up and
deposit them back in his cell. He immediately hides them in the dustbin room at
the end of the corridor, explaining that should any officer discover they’re
missing, the first cell they would search would be his, and he could end up on
report. If he hears nothing for twenty-four hours he’ll feel it’s safe to
retrieve them. So much happens in prison every
day, that
it’s not unlike a national newspaper. Yesterday’s big story is quickly replaced
by some new incident demanding the staff’s immediate attention. Darren agrees
it’s the first time I’ve been able to do something for him.

I call Will to confirm that he’s still planning to visit me
on Friday. He tells me that DCS Perry is off sick and his deputy is unwilling
to make a decision while he’s away.
So much for justice.
I begin to think that I’ll be in Wayland for the rest of my life.

Pottery.
It’s Anne’s birthday.
She’s amused by my flowerpot (we’ve all agreed now that it is to be thought of as
a flowerpot) and says that it must be left to dry for two weeks before it can
be placed in the kiln.

Another of the tutors has brought in a box of crayons for
Shaun. When I leave the art room an hour later, I place the crayons in a
plastic bag which, to my surprise, the officers don’t bother to look inside. I
then walk out onto the exercise yard and, in front of several other officers,
stroll across to the window of Shaun’s cell on C block and pass the crayons
through the bars, dropping them on his bed. Only yesterday we were all searched
for a knife. Today… prison logic. I admit I’m only smuggling crayons, but you
would have thought someone might have just checked.

No gym because it’s rugby practice. Mr Harley has selected a
team of possibles v probables for the first match next week, which he asks me
to referee.

The standard turns out to be far higher than I had expected.
An Afro-Caribbean inmate picks up a ball that is passed to his toes at full
speed and carves his way through a bunch of thugs and murderers to score a
brilliant try under the posts.
It augers well for next week.

When we return to the changing room the young man tells me
that he’s never played the game before. How much talent is there in this
country that we just don’t find out about, let alone nurture?

Another prisoner standing next to me in the shower is six
foot nine, and was one of the second row forwards (surprise, surprise). He’s
more interested in talking about my trial, which he describes as a diabolical
liberty. As I never discuss my case with other inmates, I only listen.

‘I also got four years,’ he said, ‘for burglary – with five
hundred and two, yeah, five hundred and two,’ he repeats, ‘other offences to be
taken into consideration.’

Sergio will be leaving for Heathrow within the hour. We
agree that I will call him next Tuesday at 7 pm GMT, two o’clock in Bogota. He
tells me that there is at least £7 left on his BT phonecard, which ought to be
enough for him to let me know that he has arrived safely and put in my offer
for the Boteros. Could I really get The Card Players for $400,000?

Pottery.
Shaun spends two hours,
with two ten-minute breaks, drawing Jules’s body – in a crouching position, and
wearing his grey prison tracksuit. This is his best effort yet. He’ll add the
head next week. He now has only Steve (conspiracy to murder, library orderly)
and Jimmy (Ecstasy and captain of everything) left to draw. However, as Steve
rarely leaves the library, Jimmy is out all day working on the farm and Shaun
is due to be released in four weeks’ time, this may prove a close-run thing. I
will not see the final montage until Shaun has presented his portfolio to my
literary agent, Jonathan Lloyd.

Exercise.
As we circumnavigate the
yard, Darren tells me about a prisoner who was transferred to Littlehey early
this morning; the governor considered that his life might be in danger if he
remained at Wayland. He had already been shipped out of Blunderstone Prison
earlier this month when it was discovered that he was being beaten up on a
regular basis.

‘When he arrived here’ Darren continues, ‘he claimed that he
was in for punching a taxi driver, which few of us believed. It just didn’t add
up,’ he added without further explanation. By now we’ve completed two circuits
and I’m none the wiser as to what this is all about. But Darren is enjoying
keeping me in suspense.

The unnamed prisoner lasted on C block for only a few days
before they torched his cell, and set fire to all his belongings, so he was
quickly moved to
A
block. But he lasted only one night
before a delegation of prisoners paid a visit to the principal officer (Mr
Tinkler), telling him that if the man was still on the block after the
weekend,
they could not be responsible for his safety. ‘What
is he in for?’ I ask, unable to contain my curiosity. ‘Ah, I see I still have
your attention,’ comments Darren, ‘even if I haven’t learnt to curtail your
impatience.’ He pauses dramatically. ‘He has committed a crime for which his
fellow prisoners would show no mercy.’ Darren covers a few more yards before he
adds, ‘He kidnapped and raped a thirteen-year-old girl. So they’ve finally
moved him to a prison where he will be safe, because he’ll only be locked up with
other nonces.’

George W. Bush’s first act of war is to sign an order
freezing all accounts to which Osama bin Laden has access. It’s being reported
on the evening news that Clinton attempted to do the same thing when he was
president but couldn’t get Congress to back him.

Nothing worth watching on television, so I return to the
works of Shakespeare.
Tonight, King Lear.
If only the
Bard had experienced a few months in prison…

Gym.
It’s my weekly session with
the special needs group. I now have my own little class – Alex, Robbie, Les and
Paul. We begin on the rower before moving across to the running machine, and
this week I ask them all to try sit-ups.
A new challenge.
Alex and Robbie manage ten, while Les and Paul find it difficult to do more
than five. But at least they now have a weekly target.

Lunch looks disgusting, so I don’t bother. I have a visit
today so I can supplement my diet from the canteen.

Fortnightly visit.
This Friday, my
three visitors are my son Will and two of my dearest friends, Chris Beetles and
Godfrey Barker. I’ve decided to allocate the first half hour to
Will
, followed by twenty minutes with Chris, then another
twenty with Godfrey and then a final session with all three.

Will starts by telling me about a call he received during
the journey to Wayland telling him that the KPMG accountants had just come out
of a meeting with the police, and had left them in no doubt that I was never
involved with the collecting or distribution of any Simple Truth money donated
to the Red Cross. Will goes on to say that he can’t believe I’ll still be at
Wayland this time next week.

Will’s next piece of news is that he has a new girlfriend,
but as he’s returning to America on Thursday, he can’t be sure if it’s going
anywhere. I’m disappointed. I can’t wait to be a grandfather. The rest of
Will’s news is domestic, and after thirty minutes, he makes way for Chris.

Chris appears with a toasted cheese and tomato sandwich –
quite the finest delicacy I’ve eaten for the past seventy days. I’m still not
quite sure how he managed it.

I begin by briefing Chris on Shaun (forgery) and the
sketches he’s working on for this diary. As Shaun will be released in three
weeks’ time, I’ve asked him to visit Chris at the gallery and present his
portfolio. Chris explains that there’s a recognized fee for the reproduction of
an artist’s work, but if I want to purchase the originals, he will happily
negotiate a fair price.

We go on to discuss Botero. Chris feels that as the great
man has such an international following the chance of picking up a cheap
original, even if Sergio does know Botero’s mother, seems unlikely. I accept
his judgment, but still feel
it’s
possible Sergio
might surprise us. Chris shrugs his shoulders. When he changes the subject to
Tottenham Hotspur, I quickly replace him with Godfrey.

Godfrey brings me a second cheese and tomato sandwich, not
toasted this time.

Godfrey is a distinguished art critic, academic and a friend
of twenty years’ standing. We discuss an important matter concerning Mr Justice
Potts and a dinner Godfrey and his wife Ann attended a couple of years ago,
when the judge made remarks about me which, if true, I believe should have
disqualifed him from presiding over my case. Godfrey needs to check his diaries
before he can confirm the exact evening the supper took place, and the reasons
why Sir Humphrey made the remarks he did. Godfrey promises to keep Mary
informed. Ann Barker serves on the Parole Board, and another member of the Parole
Board was also present at the dinner. Thank God for friends who believe in
justice.