Stacey read some of the adverts aloud. ‘Boxing, Karate, Model Railway, Video Club, Gentle Exercise. Oh and for you, Kev, they have some bingo …’
‘Look at the activity for tonight, Stace.’
Her eyes found his finger on the board.
The sign said, Youth Club.
FIFTY
Kim parked outside the friends and family centre at Eastwood Park Prison, an hour after she had called. A six-car pile-up near Bristol had forced her off the motorway and onto the scenic route through the Malvern Hills.
Before Kim switched off the engine she lowered the window in the driver’s door a couple of inches to make sure Barney had enough air while she was inside. He seemed to know he wasn’t exiting the car and turned two full circles before settling on the back seat.
The facility had previously been a male juvenile detention centre and a young offender institution before settling as a closed female prison with around 360 inmates. Yet no matter how much effort had been put into blending the facility into its surroundings, the presence of barbed wire signalled that there was something to be afraid of.
To Kim’s mind, prison wasn’t supposed to look pretty. There was no place for flowers and shrubs to soften the edges. Build them high and build them solid, was her opinion. Prisons were meant to house people who had committed crimes and deter others from doing the same. Efforts to make it look like a community housing project were misguided and a serious case of false advertising.
She recalled a Ross Kemp programme she’d seen about a prison in South America stuffed full of the worst criminals imaginable. The government sent in food and provisions weekly and then guarded it from the outside, ensuring no one escaped. Far less expensive to run than the English process, yet Kim somehow felt that system wouldn’t fly in a more ‘civilised’ country.
Luckily, visiting orders were not required for remand prisons and her phone call to the governor ensured the twenty-four-hour notice period had been waived. Kim showed her ID at the gate and once she confirmed that she had nothing more than small change in her pocket was given a cursory pat-down. She dutifully stood still while the passive dogs did a quick ‘walk by’ and, declared contraband-free, she was led into the visiting room.
The first thing that hit her was the ‘chatter’. Although some pockets of people seemed to speak in hushed tones, a general throng of false animation assaulted her. It was a prison and yet still managed to exude the vibe of a market town coffee shop on a Saturday morning.
It seemed everyone was being cheerful for the sake of someone else. The inmates spoke with exaggerated cheer because they didn’t want friends and relatives to worry about their well-being, and visitors acted as though they were meeting for a picnic on the riverbank, like there was nowhere else they’d rather be at the weekend. Kim wondered how many Kleenex would be needed on both sides of the wall later.
She located Ruth sitting at a table halfway down on the left. Kim almost didn’t recognise the woman as she nodded at a passing officer.
A quick appraisal confirmed that Ruth had gained a little weight, removing the gaunt appearance from the last time Kim had seen her. Her hair was washed and, though not particularly well styled, hung loose and healthy just past her shoulders. Incarceration seemed to suit Ruth. She looked as though she’d returned from a weekend at a spa.
‘Detective Inspector,’ Ruth said, offering her hand.
Kim fixed a smile on her face, an expression that never felt comfortable, but she wanted to put the prisoner at ease.
‘No other visitors today?’
Ruth shook her head. ‘Mum and Dad came yesterday,’ she said, as though there was no one else.
‘How are they?’
Ruth shrugged. ‘Having a harder time of all this than I am.’ She looked around. ‘I can understand why some people ask their families to stay away. The look on my mum’s face says it all. Prison is for other people’s children. Visits are the hardest part of the week.’
‘Most people seem to be enjoying it.’
‘So you’d think. It’s for the visitors’ benefit but later it hurts like hell that you’ve done something to force the people you love to come here and spend their weekends doing this.’
‘Do you want a coffee?’
Ruth nodded. ‘Milk and two sugars, please.’
Kim headed away from the table, feeling that the situation was slightly surreal. Conversation was polite and sociable despite the fact that Kim had been the arresting officer in Ruth’s case. A smidge of animosity might have been appropriate, but Kim sensed none. In fact, her senses picked up nothing but acceptance.
As she waited for the drinks to brew inside the machine, Kim felt eyes upon her. She turned and saw an overweight woman currently being climbed over by three young children giving her the hard stare. She didn’t recognise the female but some seasoned criminals could pick out a copper from fifty metres.
Kim returned to the table and placed the drinks down.
‘So, how are you coping?’
Ruth shrugged. ‘Okay. It doesn’t take long to adapt to prison life. Everything is controlled: getting up, taking exercise, when to shower, when to eat, when to go to bed. Very little changes each day. You get used to the staff, the other inmates and the corner of the room that belongs to you. There’s very little to worry about, no decisions to make.’
Kim detected a note of relief in that last sentence.
Ruth looked around. ‘It could be worse. I’ve joined the early morning walking club, I’ve signed up for a couple of courses and there’s an occasional social evening.’
‘You seem to have adapted very well,’ Kim said, thinking that she was getting the ‘tourist’ version of the facility. Despite the things Ruth had mentioned as well as a decent mother and baby unit, the prison had the fourth highest suicide rate in the country.
Ruth smiled. ‘I’m going to be here for a very long time. My choices are limited. And if that’s why you’re here, I can confirm that I’ll be pleading guilty. To what charge is for the lawyers to sort out, but I won’t be fighting the punishment.’
The words were delivered as though she was discussing losing a game of chess, not years of her life.
Ruth laughed softly. ‘I’m sorry but I appear to have rendered you speechless.’
This was not the woman she had arrested. The person sat before her now appeared stable, resigned, almost content.
‘But you’re entitled to a trial.’ It was a justice system Kim trusted.
Ruth shook her head. ‘There won’t be a trial. I will not put my family and his mother through that. Don’t look so shocked. I’m not psychologically impaired. I did it and I’m prepared for the consequences of my actions. Taking a life is not something that can go unpunished. I have to pay the debt that society dictates and then start again.’
Kim had waited a long time to meet someone who echoed her own sentiments but she hadn’t expected it to be someone she’d arrested, and she certainly hadn’t anticipated the vague measure of discomfort it gave her. This woman was accepting her punishment a little too easily and Kim couldn’t help but feel she wasn’t the only person to blame.
‘I hope I’ve answered your question,’ Ruth said, moving her legs to stand.
Kim shook her head. ‘Please sit, that’s not why I’m here.’
The measured calmness appeared to falter for just a second as a frown cut across her forehead.
‘Can we talk about Doctor Thorne?’
Ruth’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
Kim knew she had to tread carefully. ‘It would be helpful if you could tell me a little about your sessions together.’
‘For what reason?’
Kim noted the sudden curtness in her tone.
‘It would help the CPS understand better.’
Ruth didn’t appear convinced and her arms crossed in front of her. ‘Well, we just talked, as you might expect. We discussed many things during our time together.’