prick you were earlier.’
The threat chilled him, but he kept composure. He glanced around. People were looking at them. Concrete and steel construction, the acoustics were shocking: no spat went un-eavesdropped.He mustered calm: ‘Give it a try. See how he responds to “old Lloydy”.’
Blake laughed. ‘Yeah. Up yours, Devereaux.’ He leaned and hit the first lock release: a short snapping impact, a grudging concession.
Devereaux stepped across and opened the first cell block door. A buzzer sounded until it was closed again behind him. A moment of imprisonment, and then the second door was freed and he entered the corridor. The constable from the phone stepped through from the office and beckoned him to follow. Hollers and the rattling smash of fists on doors tracked their motion. That standard lock-up symphony. Ford had a cell near the back of the block. Devereaux cupped the spy-grille and glanced in. Ford had a suite to himself. He was on his back on the bed, crook of his arm shielding his face. One leg pulled double, knee cocked.
‘You want to go in?’ the kid said.
Devereaux nodded, smothered a cough. The place stank: a potent urine/booze cocktail. The kid picked a master key out of a fat clinking bunch. He freed the lock and pulled the gate wide. Devereaux stepped inside. The constable’s farewell was a door slam and a ‘knock if you need me’.
Devereaux waited until the sound of footfalls died. ‘Remember me, Howard?’
Ford removed his arm and turned to face him. One eye was swollen, both nostrils were ringed crimson. A heavy nosebleed had given him a red median strip. He was a tall man in his mid-twenties. His jaw was bearded, his hair ponytailed.
‘Sean Devereaux. Oh, help. They hurt me.’ He whimpered and the arm went back in place. He smeared tears. ‘Please let me out. I don’t know what they want. I don’t know what they want, man.’
He pulled the other leg up and wrapped his arms around his knees and rolled over to face the wall. Devereaux stepped across the room and dropped to his haunches beside the bed. The Howard Ford back story made for sad reading. He’d been in and out of correctional facilities for the better part of fifteen years, intellectual disability and lack of support keeping him off the straight and narrow.
‘What happened, Howard? What did they do to you?’
‘I, I … I was just out having a drink, you know? I took a leak, and next thing I know these two cops are chasing me, so I tried to run away. But they caught me and took me here.’
‘Where were you taking a leak?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Try to think.’
‘Just outside this bar.’
‘Where was the bar?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t really know what streets are called.’
‘But you were outside.’
‘Yeah. And they got me and took me back here. I had to wait in here, and then they took me out and put me somewhere else. They kept asking me questions, Sean. They kept asking, October eight, October eight, October eight.’ He snivelled. ‘What’s October eight? I don’t know anything about October eight.’
‘Okay. Who hurt your nose, Howard?’
A protracted whimper. ‘The man at the desk.’
‘Which man? There are two men at the desk.’
‘It was the big man.’
‘Blake.’
‘Yes. He hit me. They put me in a room away from this one, and they kept saying, “October eight, October eight, tell us about October eight”. And I said I didn’t know anything aboutOctober eight, and that man just bent right in my face and he was shaking a can, and he was like “do you want to get sprayed, do you want to get sprayed?” and I was telling him no, and I pushed him away and that’s when he hit me.’
‘How many times did he hit you?’
‘One time. It hurt.’
‘Okay. Who else was there when it happened?’
‘Two men wearing suits. I didn’t know them.’
‘Did they hurt you as well?’
‘No. One of them was asking me the questions. When I said I didn’t know the answers,
The threat chilled him, but he kept composure. He glanced around. People were looking at them. Concrete and steel construction, the acoustics were shocking: no spat went un-eavesdropped.He mustered calm: ‘Give it a try. See how he responds to “old Lloydy”.’
Blake laughed. ‘Yeah. Up yours, Devereaux.’ He leaned and hit the first lock release: a short snapping impact, a grudging concession.
Devereaux stepped across and opened the first cell block door. A buzzer sounded until it was closed again behind him. A moment of imprisonment, and then the second door was freed and he entered the corridor. The constable from the phone stepped through from the office and beckoned him to follow. Hollers and the rattling smash of fists on doors tracked their motion. That standard lock-up symphony. Ford had a cell near the back of the block. Devereaux cupped the spy-grille and glanced in. Ford had a suite to himself. He was on his back on the bed, crook of his arm shielding his face. One leg pulled double, knee cocked.
‘You want to go in?’ the kid said.
Devereaux nodded, smothered a cough. The place stank: a potent urine/booze cocktail. The kid picked a master key out of a fat clinking bunch. He freed the lock and pulled the gate wide. Devereaux stepped inside. The constable’s farewell was a door slam and a ‘knock if you need me’.
Devereaux waited until the sound of footfalls died. ‘Remember me, Howard?’
Ford removed his arm and turned to face him. One eye was swollen, both nostrils were ringed crimson. A heavy nosebleed had given him a red median strip. He was a tall man in his mid-twenties. His jaw was bearded, his hair ponytailed.
‘Sean Devereaux. Oh, help. They hurt me.’ He whimpered and the arm went back in place. He smeared tears. ‘Please let me out. I don’t know what they want. I don’t know what they want, man.’
He pulled the other leg up and wrapped his arms around his knees and rolled over to face the wall. Devereaux stepped across the room and dropped to his haunches beside the bed. The Howard Ford back story made for sad reading. He’d been in and out of correctional facilities for the better part of fifteen years, intellectual disability and lack of support keeping him off the straight and narrow.
‘What happened, Howard? What did they do to you?’
‘I, I … I was just out having a drink, you know? I took a leak, and next thing I know these two cops are chasing me, so I tried to run away. But they caught me and took me here.’
‘Where were you taking a leak?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Try to think.’
‘Just outside this bar.’
‘Where was the bar?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t really know what streets are called.’
‘But you were outside.’
‘Yeah. And they got me and took me back here. I had to wait in here, and then they took me out and put me somewhere else. They kept asking me questions, Sean. They kept asking, October eight, October eight, October eight.’ He snivelled. ‘What’s October eight? I don’t know anything about October eight.’
‘Okay. Who hurt your nose, Howard?’
A protracted whimper. ‘The man at the desk.’
‘Which man? There are two men at the desk.’
‘It was the big man.’
‘Blake.’
‘Yes. He hit me. They put me in a room away from this one, and they kept saying, “October eight, October eight, tell us about October eight”. And I said I didn’t know anything aboutOctober eight, and that man just bent right in my face and he was shaking a can, and he was like “do you want to get sprayed, do you want to get sprayed?” and I was telling him no, and I pushed him away and that’s when he hit me.’
‘How many times did he hit you?’
‘One time. It hurt.’
‘Okay. Who else was there when it happened?’
‘Two men wearing suits. I didn’t know them.’
‘Did they hurt you as well?’
‘No. One of them was asking me the questions. When I said I didn’t know the answers,
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