He was here tonight out of loyalty to Murat. Their shared experience as fugitives had forged a bond between them. He’d come to appreciate his big companion’s personal qualities, his openness, his trust, his simplicity in the best sense of the word, and his bravery. You can’t abandon a mate as staunch as that without warning him. All those months in the work party had taught him little about Murat or any of the others. The last few days had restored his trust in human nature. Here was one truly good, sweet guy who hadn’t been crushed into despair or cynicism.
“First thing tomorrow I’m leaving,” he said. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Why?” Murat said on a shocked, high-pitched note. “Just when we’re getting settled.”
“It’s not safe to be in Bath any longer, that’s why.”
“Has something happened?”
He sidestepped the question. “My mind is made up, that’s what’s happened.”
“Because of me?” Murat asked. “You think I’m too much of a risk after what I did today?”
“It’s not you. Get that out of your head, Murat. We disagreed, but that’s history now. I shouldn’t have ranted at you like I did. Like you say, your visit to the athletes’ village turned out all right. We’ve moved on from there. The truth is that I’m the problem here, not you.”
Murat shook his head.
“Really,” Spiro said. “I’m a marked man now and I’m getting the hell out of here and so must you. They’ll be onto you next. But this time we’re splitting and no argument. I’m going alone.”
13
Next morning in his office at Concorde House, Diamond put everything on hold while contacting the probation service about Pinto. As he expected, he was put on hold himself several times over while various jobsworths passed the buck. Sheer dogged persistence got him eventually to someone called Deirdre who knew about the case. And even she declined to say whether she was Pinto’s probation officer.
“He was given parole at the end of last year after serving twelve years of a fifteen-year sentence.”
“But is he safe to be at liberty?”
“Why are you asking?”
Too direct, it seemed. He was on the wrong foot already. Dealings between the probation service and the police can be a minefield. “I take an interest because I headed the investigation.”
“I see.” Spoken in a voice that was jamming on the brakes.
“Seems like yesterday to me,” he said, and meant it. “I was shocked to learn he’s out.”
“After twelve years?”
“For what he did? Doesn’t seem long to me.”
“Twelve years is a long time to be locked up, Superintendent.”
“And he’s judged to be no danger now?”
“Low risk. There were positive reports all round. He was visited regularly in prison. He’ll be on probation for at least six months and if he breaks the rules of his order he’ll be back inside.”
“But you can’t monitor him twenty-four seven.”
Her tone was as dry as the dust on his keyboard. “If there’s anything we should know, you’d better tell me. Has he come to your attention in some way, Superintendent?”
“Saw him out yesterday, and that’s the first I knew of it. A real blast from the past. He’s a reformed character, is he?”
“That’s a phrase I wouldn’t use about any offender. We can supervise and support up to a point, but there can never be certainty they won’t reoffend.”
“He was running a half marathon when I spotted him. Did you know about that?”
“I didn’t. It’s not a crime, is it?”
“I’m surprised a man so recently out of prison is ready to enter a long-distance race. He looked tanned, fit and well capable.”
“There’s nothing remarkable in that. He saw out his sentence in Berwyn.”
“Does it matter where he was?”
“In this case, yes. The so-called super-prison opened a couple of years ago.”
“I may have heard of it. Where?”
“Wrexham, in North Wales. Pinto was one of the first to be sent there.”
“Super in what sense?”
“There’s been a lot in the media. It’s huge and well equipped and the emphasis is firmly on rehabilitation.”
He resisted the impulse to say something sarcastic. “How do they achieve that?”
“By treating the inmates as human beings,” she said loftily, as if she was speaking to a Neanderthal. “They’re allowed laptops, TV and phones. Prison officers knock on the doors of cells before entering. That sort of thing.”
“Better than most of them get at home.”
“You’re right about that.”
“And are there sports facilities?”
“That’s what I was coming to. I haven’t visited yet, but I’m told they’re amazing — a gym with all the latest exercise machines, sports hall, football pitch and so on. If he’s any kind of runner, he’ll have used the treadmills for sure.”
“By choice?”
“I expect so.”
“Not the treadmills I’m thinking of, then.”
She mellowed enough to manage a faint laugh. “Definitely not.”
“Sounds like he worked on his tan while doing laps of the football pitch, or lounging out there.”
“It’s no holiday camp. I may have given the wrong impression. They’ve already experienced the problems endemic in the system.”
“Such as?”
“Drug use, fires, dirty protests, assaults on staff.”
“Some people never change. How many inmates are there?”
“The building is designed to take over two thousand.”
He whistled.
“But they’re not up to capacity yet.”
“Even so. Two thousand?”
“The biggest in Europe, I’m told. Two to a room, and that’s unpopular. They have to shower and use the toilets in full view of each other.”
“You said ‘room,’ I noticed.”
“They don’t call them cells, just as the wings are called houses.”
“What do they call the governor — headmaster?” She wasn’t in tune with his humour so he moved on quickly. “So Pinto had at least two years in this enlightened set-up?”
“He was coming to the end of his sentence and he behaved well at his previous prison.”
“Does that entitle him to an extra handout?”
“What do you mean?”
“How much did he get on release?”
“The usual. Forty-six pounds to tide him over until he qualifies for the job-seeker’s allowance — and that can take weeks, as you know.”
“The reason I ask is that he was expensively kitted out when I saw him. The trainers he was wearing will have cost at least ninety.”
“He may have private means. Who knows?”
“Shouldn’t his probation officer know?”
“Not if it’s legal.”
“Does he have a job yet?”
“There’s no record of one, and I’ve answered enough of your questions, Superintendent.”
“Do you have an address for him?”
“I’m not at liberty to reveal it.”
A red mist blocked his brain. Through it he heard a faint note of reason pleading with him to rise above his fury and stay in control. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s MAPPA.”
“Who’s she when she’s at home?”
“The multi-agency public protection arrangements.”
An acronym, for crying out loud. She was talking about an extra level of bureaucracy. “Aren’t you part of this?”
“We’re represented. And so are the police and other agencies. All the details of MAPPA offenders are held in a secure database called VISOR.”
He wasn’t going to ask what that stood for. He was picturing a committee of Home Office eggheads with no other job but thinking up sets of letters that resembled words.