Leverthal had appeared, too late to be of use.
‘What’s going on?’
The warder piped up. The chase had taken his breath, and his temper.
‘He locked himself in the lavatories. Tried to get out through the window.’
‘Why?’
The question was addressed to the warder, not to the child. A telling confusion. The warder, confounded, shrugged.
‘Why?’ Redman repeated the question to Lacey. The boy just stared, as though he’d never been asked a question before.
‘You the pig?’ he said suddenly, snot running from his nose.
‘Pig?’
‘He means policeman,’ said one of the boys. The noun was spoken with a mocking precision, as though he was addressing an imbecile.
‘I know what he means, lad,’ said Redman, still determined to out-stare Lacey, ‘I know very well what he means.’
‘Are you?’
‘Be quiet, Lacey,’ said Leverthal, ‘you’re in enough trouble as it is.’
‘Yes, son. I’m the pig.’
The war of looks went on, a private battle between boy and man.
‘You don’t know nothing,’ said Lacey. It wasn’t a snide remark, the boy was simply telling his version of the truth; his gaze didn’t flicker.
‘All right, Lacey, that’s enough.’ The warder was trying to haul him away; his belly stuck out between pyjama top and bottom, a smooth dome of milk skin.
‘Let him speak,’ said Redman. ‘What don’t I know?’
‘He can give his side of the story to the Governor,’ said Leverthal before Lacey could reply. ‘It’s not your concern.’
But it was very much his concern. The stare made it his concern; so cutting, so damned. The stare demanded that it become his concern.
‘Let him speak,’ said Redman, the authority in his voice overriding Leverthal. The warder loosened his hold just a little.
‘Why did you try and escape, Lacey?’
“Cause he came back.’
‘Who came back? A name, Lacey. Who are you talking about?’
For several seconds Redman sensed the boy fighting a pact with silence; then Lacey shook his head, breaking the electric exchange between them. He seemed to lose his way somewhere; a kind of puzzlement gagged him.
‘No harm’s going to come to you.’
Lacey stared at his feet, frowning. ‘I want to go back to bed now,’ he said. A virgin’s request.
‘No harm, Lacey. I promise.’
The promise seemed to have precious little effect; Lacey was struck dumb. But it was a promise nevertheless, and he hoped Lacey realised that. The kid looked exhausted by the effort of his failed escape, of the pursuit, of staring. His face was ashen. He let the warder turn him and take him back. Before he rounded the corner again, he seemed to change his mind; he struggled to loose himself, failed, but managed to twist himself round to face his interrogator.
‘Henessey,’ he said, meeting Redman’s eyes once more. That was all. He was shunted out of sight before he could say anything more.
‘Henessey?’ said Redman, feeling like a stranger suddenly.
‘Who’s Henessey?’
Leverthal was lighting a cigarette. Her hands were shaking ever so slightly as she did it. He hadn’t noticed that yesterday, but he wasn’t surprised. He’d yet to meet a head shrinker who didn’t have problems of their own.
‘The boy’s lying,’ she said, ‘Henessey’s no longer with us.’
A little pause. Redman didn’t prompt, it would only make her jumpy.
‘Lacey’s clever,’ she went on, putting the cigarette to her colourless lips. ‘He knows just the spot.’
‘Eh?’
‘You’re new here, and he wants to give you the impression that he’s got a mystery all of his own.’
‘It isn’t a mystery then?’
‘Henessey?’ she snorted. ‘Good God no. He escaped custody in early May. He and Lacey . . .‘ She hesitated, without wanting to. ‘He and Lacey had something between them. Drugs perhaps, we never found out. Glue-sniffing, mutual masturbation, God knows what.’
She really did find the whole subject unpleasant. Distaste was written over her face in a dozen tight places.
‘How did Henessey escape?’
‘We still don’t know,’ she said. ‘He just didn’t turn up for roll-call one morning. The place was searched from top to bottom. But he’d gone.’
‘Is it possible he’d come back?’
A genuine laugh.
‘Jesus no. He hated the place. Besides, how could he get in?’