‘Have there been suicides here?’
‘In my time?’ She thought for a moment, pen poised. ‘Two attempts. Neither, I think, intended to succeed. Cries for help.’
‘Was Henessey one?’
She allowed herself a little sneer as she shook her head.
‘Henessey was unstable in a completely different direction. He thought he was going to live forever. That was his little dream: Henessey the Nietzchean Superman. He had something close to contempt for the common herd. As far as he was concerned, he was a breed apart. As far beyond the rest of us mere mortals as he was beyond that wretched —‘
He knew she was going to say pig, but she stopped just short of the word.
‘Those wretched animals on the farm,’ she said, looking back down at her report.
‘Henessey spent time at the farm?’
‘No more than any other boy,’ she lied. ‘None of them like farm duties, but it’s part of the work rota. Mucking out isn’t a very pleasant occupation. I can testify to that.’
The lie he knew she’d told made Redman keep back Lacey’s final detail: that Henessey’s death had taken place in the pig-sty.
He shrugged, and took an entirely different tack.
‘Is Lacey under any medication?’
‘Some sedatives.’
‘Are the boys always sedated when they’ve been in a fight?’
‘Only if they try to make escapes. We haven’t got enough staff to supervise the likes of Lacey. I don’t see why you’re so concerned.’
‘I want him to trust me. I promised him. I don’t want him let down.’
‘Frankly, all this sounds suspiciously like special pleading. The boy’s one of many. No unique problems, and no particular hope of redemption.’
‘Redemption?’ It was a strange word.
‘Rehabilitation, whatever you choose to call it. Look, Redman, I’ll be frank. There’s a general feeling that you’re not really playing ball here.’
‘Oh?’
‘We all feel, I think this includes the Governor, that you should let us go about our business the way we’re used to. Learn the ropes before you start —‘
‘Interfering.’
She nodded. ‘It’s as good a word as any. You’re making enemies.’
‘Thank you for the warning.’
‘This job’s difficult enough without enemies, believe me.’
She attempted a conciliatory look, which Redman ignored.
Enemies he could live with, liars he couldn’t.
The Governor’s room was locked, as it had been for a full week now. Explanations differed as to where he was. Meetings with funding bodies was a favourite reason touted amongst the staff, though the Secretary claimed she didn’t exactly know. There were Seminars at the University he was running, somebody said, to bring some research to bear on the problems of Remand Centres. Maybe the Governor was at one of those. If Mr Redman wanted, he could leave a message, the Governor would get it.
Back in the workshop, Lacey was waiting for him. It was almost seven-fifteen: classes were well over.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Waiting, sir.’
‘What for?’
‘You, sir. I wanted to give you a letter, sir. For me mam. Will you get it to her?’
‘You can send it through the usual channels, can’t you? Give it to the Secretary, she’ll forward it. You’re allowed two letters a week.’
Lacey’s face fell.
‘They read them, sir: in case you write something you shouldn’t. And if you do, they burn them.’
‘And you’ve written something you shouldn’t?’
He nodded.
‘What?’
‘About Kevin. I told her all about Kevin, about what happened to him.’
‘I’m not sure you’ve got your facts right about Henessey.’
The boy shrugged. ‘It’s true, sir,’ he said quietly,
apparently no longer caring if he convinced Redman or not ‘It’s true. He’s there, sir. In her.’
‘In who? What are you talking about?’
Maybe Lacey was speaking, as Leverthal had suggested, simply out of his fear. There had to be a limit to his patience with the boy, and this was just about it.
A knock on the door, and a spotty individual called Slape was staring at him through the wired glass.
‘Come in.’
‘Urgent telephone call for you, sir. In the Secretary’s Office.’
Redman hated the telephone. Unsavoury machine: it never brought good tidings.
‘Urgent. Who from?’
Slape shrugged and picked at his face.