Captives

FORTY-FIVE

'They're here, Mr Nicholson.'

The Governor of Whitely heard his secretary's voice over the intercom and glanced up at his wall clock. The delegation was punctual, if nothing else. It was exactly 10.00 A.M.

'Show them in, please,' he said, adjusting his tie and rising to his feet as the door was opened.

The first of the four visitors entered and Nicholson recognised him immediately as Bernard Clinton, the MP. He was followed by his companions. The Governor's secretary left them alone in the room, promising to return in a moment with tea and coffee.

Nicholson emerged from behind his desk slowly, almost reluctantly. He extended a hand and shook that offered by Clinton, who introduced himself then presented his colleagues.

'This is Mr Reginald Fairham,' Clinton said, motioning towards a mousy-looking man in an ill-fitting suit. He was tall and pale and when Nicholson shook his hand he found it was icy cold. 'Mr Fairham is the Chairman of the National Committee for Prison Reform,' Clinton explained.

Nicholson said how glad he was to meet him.

A second man, chubby and losing his hair, was presented by Clinton as Paul Merrick.

'Mr Merrick serves in my office in Parliament. He's been active with me in this issue for the last few years,' the MP announced.

Nicholson looked squarely into the chubby man's eyes, scarcely able to disguise the contempt he felt for such a soft, weak handshake. Merrick needed to lose a couple of stone. His hands felt smooth, like those of a woman or someone who's never done a hard day's work in their life. Nicholson gripped Merrick's hand hard and squeezed with unnecessary force, watching the flicker of pain cross the man's face.

The fourth member of the group was a woman, in her mid-thirties, Nicholson guessed. She was smartly dressed in a grey two-piece suit and posed elegantly on a pair of high heels. Her face was rather pinched, tapering to a pointed chin that gave her features a look of severity not mirrored in her voice.

'Good morning, Mr Nicholson,' she said as she shook hands.

'Miss Anne Hopper is a leading member of the Council for Civil Liberties,' Clinton said, smiling obsequiously.

Introductions over, Nicholson motioned for his guests to sit down.

'We appreciate the chance to come to Whitely, Mr Nicholson,' Clinton said. 'Thank you for your cooperation.'

'Why did you choose Whitely?' the Governor asked.

'It is one of the worst examples of overcrowding in any prison in Britain,' Fairham said. 'And it does have one of the worst disciplinary records, too.' He clasped his hands on his knees. 'My organisation has been monitoring it for some time now.'

'Monitoring?' said Nicholson. 'In what way?' He spoke slowly, his gaze never leaving Fairham, who found he could only hold that gaze for a couple of seconds at a time.

'As I said, it has a very bad disciplinary record,' he offered.

'When you have over sixteen hundred violent and dangerous men in one place twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, then the occasional problem does arise,' Nicholson said, leaning back in his seat and pressing his fingertips together.

'But the disciplinary record here is worse than at any other prison in the country. How can you explain that?' Fairham persisted.

'Because the class of prisoner is lower,' the Governor said scornfully. 'Perhaps your monitoring system didn't tell you that.'

'I think Mr Fairham means that we all share a concern over the incident that happened here not so long ago,' Clinton said.

'The death of the remand prisoner,' Fairham interjected, as if reminding Nicholson of something he might have forgotten.

'It was unfortunate, I agree,' the Governor said.

'It wouldn't have happened if the prison had been run more efficiently,' Fairham snapped.

'This prison is run more efficiently than most,' Nicholson rumbled, his eyes blazing. 'My staff are more highly trained than the majority of officers at other prisons in this country. But no matter how well-trained or well-organised warders are, they can't always anticipate the actions of these… men you represent. That killing would have happened in any gaol, not only Whitely. My men are trained to control prisoners, not to read their minds.'

Fairham swallowed hard and began drumming his fingers distractedly on his knees.

'I don't think anyone is casting aspersions on you or your officers, Mr Nicholson,' Clinton offered. 'What happened was unfortunate, we're all agreed on that.'

'It was also inevitable,' Nicholson said sharply. 'The men in here are unpredictable, violent and dangerous. To some, killing is a way of life, whether you want to face that fact or not. Mr Fairham obviously chooses to ignore it.'

'Do you feel that the killing would not have taken place had overcrowding been less intense?' asked Merrick, pulling a pair of spectacles from his top pocket. He began cleaning then with a handkerchief which, Nicholson noticed, bore his initials.

'The killing would have happened whatever the population of the prison. As I said to you, for some of the men in here it's all they understand.' Nicholson looked at Fairham. 'Most criminals are of low intelligence, as you're probably aware. The difference between right and wrong seems to escape them. Presumably you are aware of the dead man's background?'

'He'd been remanded to appear in court for a driving offence,' Fairham said.

'A driving offence which included being drunk in charge of a vehicle,' Nicholson said. 'A vehicle he lost control of, which ran into a bus queue, killing a six-year-old girl in the process. A little more serious than an expired tax disc, I think you'll agree.'

Fairham didn't speak.

'You sound as if you feel his killing was a kind of justice in itself,' said Anne Hopper.

'They say God pays back in other ways, Miss Hopper,' Nicholson said flatly.

A knock on the door broke the heavy silence and a moment later Nicholson's secretary entered with-a tray of tea and coffee, which she distributed before leaving once more.

'What attempts are there at segregation between remand prisoners and convicted men here?' Clinton finally asked.

Nicholson sipped his tea thoughtfully.

'Very little,' he said flatly. 'We simply don't have the facilities to cope with the number of remand prisoners sent here.'

'Does that bother you, Mr Nicholson?' Fairham wanted to know.

'They're all criminals,' the Governor said.

'No, they're not,' Fairham protested, putting down his cup. 'The men on remand are awaiting trial. Some may be acquitted. Yet you insist on placing them with men who have already been convicted of far worse crimes.'

'I don't insist on it,' snapped Nicholson. 'I have no choice. What would be your answer to overcrowding?' he said, challengingly.

'Build more prisons,' Fairham answered.

'If you empty a rubbish bin onto the ground, it doesn't mean the rubbish will disappear,' Nicholson said, smiling. 'All you do is re-distribute the rubbish over a wider area.'

'And what is that supposed to mean?' Fairham snorted indignantly.

'If you build more prisons you're doing the same thing,' the Governor said. 'You're not removing the problem, you're just re-distributing the rubbish.'

'I'm not sure I like your analogy,' Fairham said. 'We're speaking about men, not garbage.'

'You have your own view,' Nicholson said icily.

'Is that how you view the men in Whitely, Mr Nicholson? As garbage?' Anne Hopper wanted to know. She held his gaze as he looked at her.

'As I said, we all have our own views. Perhaps I'm the wrong one to ask about that.'

'I would have thought you were exactly the one to ask,' Fairham interrupted vehemently. 'You are, after all, in charge of over a thousand men. You are responsible for their welfare.'

'Perhaps you'd be better off asking the families of their victims how they feel,' hissed Nicholson, turning his full fury on Fairham. 'There's a man in here who kidnapped and murdered two babies. One of them was less than six months old. He beat them so badly there was hardly a bone left unbroken in either of their bodies. Why don't you speak to the mothers of those babies? Or perhaps Miss Hopper should speak to the women who've been raped by some of the men in here. Or to the husbands of those women. Speak to them.' He looked at the woman. 'Do you have any children?'

She shook her head.

'No,' he echoed. 'Then perhaps the prisoners in here who have sexually abused children won't seem quite so odious to you.'

'Clinton held up a hand to silence the Governor.

'All right, Mr Nicholson,' he said, smiling ingratiatingly. 'I think we understand your point.'

'Don't patronise me,' he snarled. 'This is my prison. Run my way. I understand the mentality of the men in here. I see them every day and familiarity doesn't breed contempt so much as disgust in me. When you've lived around men like that for as long as I have, when you've seen at first hand what they're capable of, then you can come here and tell me how to handle my affairs. But for now this is the way things will continue.'

'Mr Nicholson, we didn't come here for a battle,' said Clinton. 'And I'm sure no one doubts your knowledge and ability in this job. We came to see how the prison is run. Perhaps now might be a good time to do that.'

He got to his feet and looked first at his companions and then at Nicholson, who nodded, a slight smile creasing his lips.

'If Mr Fairham will allow me to say one more thing,' he offered, the tone of his voice even, 'we also find overcrowding a problem here but the answer isn't to build more gaols. Before you leave here today, I'll show you how overcrowding can be dealt with once and for all. Not just at Whitely, but at every prison in the country.'