Durrant knew he was being worked, but it was difficult to get angry. This new lawyer was young, still wet behind the ears, was probably not yet seasoned and world-weary enough to know that he was a hopeless case. But in a way that was also strangely gratifying. Most other lawyers wouldn’t have bothered to put in the time at this stage, would already have been signalling the guards to be let out. ‘ Okay, so you want to die. I’ll file accordingly: no clemency petition to be made.’ It was gratifying to know that someone still cared.
Durrant snorted derisively. ‘You just don’t understand. The first five years I was here, my wife and son didn’t come to see me once. Too annoyed, too angry with what I’d done, she explained when she finally even took the time to send me a letter. Then when the visits did finally start, they were just token look-sees, at most once or twice a year: my birthday and sometimes just before Christmas as well. NeverChristmas itself.’ Durrant snorted again. ‘She was always too busy with her otherlife and family outside.’
‘ Herfamily and relations?’ Jac pressed to clarify. ‘Because I didn’t notice anything on the file about a divorce. You’re still married?’
‘Yeah, if you could call it that. Francine met someone new eighteen months after I was inside, and they started a relationship. Planned to marry too, if he’d been able to get his divorce papers through cleanly and on time from his ex. But by the time they looked ready to come through three years later, their relationship was already cooling off. When they finally split was the first time Francine started visiting me here with Josh. Then just over two years ago, she meets a new guy, and after ten months with him, once again the visits stop. And again there’s wedding plans. Next June, if I remember right, six months after I’ve gone. Suitable mourning and breathing space. Just wouldn’t be right to mess up such plans with complications like, say, me stayin’ alive.’ This time the derisive smile became quickly lopsided and that cool stare was back again. ‘So you see, Mr McElroy, my family deserted me long before I ever thought of deserting them.’
Jac took a long breath. It was going to be harder than he had realized. The only way he was going to prise Durrant from his death-wish was with a crowbar.
‘So, you feel sorry for yourself because you think your family has deserted you. So now it’s payback time: deserting them in the most dramatic way possible. No way they’re ever going to forget that action — especially young Joshua.’
Durrant tensed as if he was about to get to his feet, but then his shoulders relaxed again. Deserted? Except, that is, for the regular e-mails of the past year — though now it had been almost two months since the last one. Had Francine found out and stopped Josh? Or maybe Frank, her new partner, had put his spoke in.
Durrant’s wry, lopsided smile resurfaced. ‘You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about them, it’s about me. Oh sure, they deserted me. But then that was no less than I deserved. And Francine, she’s a good woman — still attractive, too. She deserves a good and full life out there.’ Durrant shrugged. ‘Who am I to deny that — especially after all I put her through. So it all comes back down to what Iwant and expect. Me.’ Durrant tapped his chest. ‘And, as I said, Mr McElroy, I’m tired. Tired of the appeals and promises. Tired of the false hope. Because, let’s face it — you’re not going to be able to get Governor Candaret to set me free with a full pardon. That just ain’t going to happen. The best that you can hope for is a commute to life imprisonment — another twelve to fifteen years in here, maybe more. And so that makes my mind turn to what else I’m tired of. Tired of the heat and sweat of this hell-hole, tired of the guards clanking keys and stomping their boots along the walkways in the dead of night just to ensure we never get a full night’s sleep. Tired of the weeping of prisoners when they first come in, or sometimes much later, when they finally break and can’t stand it anymore. Tired of the brutality of the guards and prisoners, mental and physical, constantly watching out for a shiv aimed for mine or Roddy’s back. Tired of the corruption and drugs and stench of it all. And I don’t just mean the stench of near-on four thousand caged and sweaty men, or the smell of their urine, or the smell of bleach that never quite manages to smother the sweat and urine. I’m talking about a stench of loneliness, fear and sheer hopelessness that don’t just hit your nose and synapses — it reaches right down to grip your heart and soul like an icy claw. Leaves you completely empty. And hardly a day has passed over the past long years that I haven’t prayed for a light to shine through the gloom and shift that emptiness. But the light that finally reached me, kept me going, wasn’t for hope in thislifetime, Mr McElroy.’
Durrant fixed Jac with a steady gaze again, but this time the iciness had gone, his eyes little more than hollow orbs, weary and pitiful. ‘You see, when they finally execute me, they’re not really killing me. Because I died the day I came in here. When they finally do that deed, they’ll be releasing me. I’ll finally be going where I’ve wanted to be now for a long, long time. That’ll be my freedom. My Ascension Day.’
‘It all went well. Cleanly.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘No possible comeback. Just like the others.’
‘That’s good to hear, too,’ Roche said. ‘Except for the one that didn’t go so cleanly, started all this. We should never forget that.’
As if Roche was ever likely to allow him to, Nel-M thought, but said nothing. If he’d responded to every one of Roche’s jibes and put-downs over the years — his way of compensating for the fact that he was only five-two, podgy, balding, lizard-eyed, and had emphysema, being the second richest man in the State wasn’t enough — they’d have spent all their time arguing. But he was sure Roche kept him around not only for safeties sake — his darkest secrets held close under his wing — but so that he could keep reminding him of the main shadow that had hung over them the past long years. Meter out punishment like a slow-drip torture: a jibe or snide remark every three months, at most six months without one if he was lucky.
‘Got a bit more background too on that lawyer you mentioned,’ Nel-M deftly shifted the subject. ‘Jacques McElroy. Lives in an apartment in the Warehouse District, mom lives out in Hammond with his younger sister. All of them fresh over from France just three years ago, shortly after his father’s death — though they’re originally from Scotland. And you were right about him being a greenhorn. Although he’s thirty-two, he’s been doing criminal law less than a year. His bag before that was corporate law, and French corporate law at that. Beaton couldn’t have passed it lower down the rungs if he’d tried — which I think is an indication of what little weight the firm’s attaching to this. They don’t think he’s got a chance of convincing Candaret to commute.’
‘Pretty much what I heard initially. But it’s good to get the detail and the confirmation.’
‘But that’s not the best part,’ Nel-M continued. ‘Apparently this McElroy’s striking out before he’s even started. It seems that Durrant and some buddies were trying for a prison break — which is gonna make any possible clemency from Candaret highly unlikely.’
Roche eased a muted chuckle. ‘Always did have the knack of doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, our Mr Durrant.’ He took a laboured fresh breath. ‘Who was this from?’
‘My prison contact, Bateson.’ But with the mention of Bateson, Nel-M thought he'd better give Roche the full story. Unlikely that it would develop into anything; but if it did, Roche would question why he wasn’t told earlier. ‘The only small fly in the ointment is that this McElroy isn’t accepting the prison break account for what it is — he’s making out that Durrant was in fact trying to save the neck of a friend under attack.’