The Hawk Is Dead

60

Monday 27 November 2023

The large sign in big blue letters on a white background greeted visitors as if they were arriving for a jolly at a holiday camp.

The sign was planted on a narrow verge of lawn, partially covered with brown leaves, in front of a tall, handsome oak tree. Behind it rose a fortress-like steel wall, with wire mesh making it even taller, and topped with razor wire. It wasn’t there to keep people out.

As Glenn Branson pulled the car into a bay, Roy Grace checked his watch. It was 9 a.m. They’d arrived early for their 10 a.m. appointment because, Grace knew, it was always a faff getting into a prison. And anyway, they were both cops, and cops always arrived early — something Grace’s dad had taught him. It showed respect, Jack Grace had said. If you arrived late, your message, loud and clear was, My time is more important than yours.

No police officer ever felt comfortable entering a prison. You were always acutely aware that if for any reason you were unfortunate enough to be there when things kicked off, and it turned into a full-scale riot, the inmates would like nothing better than to give any coppers on the premises a good kicking. But at least, Grace consoled himself, this was a female prison — and most riots occurred in male prisons.

He signed in at the reception desk, sliding his warrant card under the Perspex shield, and clipped the pass he received in turn to his jacket. Then, hesitantly, after switching his phone off he placed it in the locker he’d been allocated and turned the key. Immediately, he felt very vulnerable. And he could see from Glenn’s expression that he did too. It felt like being separated from their umbilical cords. Whatever authority they had in the outside world, they had now surrendered to the prison’s governor.

Five minutes later they were led by a short but reassuringly confident female officer, with keys jangling from her belt, through a maze of double doors, unlocking one, entering, locking it behind them, then unlocking the one in front, until finally they were shown into a bare-walled interview room, with twin chairs — screwed to the floor — either side of a steel table, also fixed to the floor.

‘Think I’d prefer a room at a Premier Inn,’ Branson quipped. ‘Or maybe a Travelodge.’

Grace was about to reply when a rotund male officer led in a woman they both instantly recognized, a waif-like figure in a red velour jumpsuit and trainers. Her fair hair was cropped short, unevenly, as if she had done it herself. They’d arrested her a year ago, when she was twenty-four, and they’d last seen her about three months ago when they’d given evidence at her trial — and when Grace had addressed the judge in Chambers with an impassioned plea for a lenient sentence due to her cooperation with the police.

But her demeanour right now was anything but grateful. Anything but pleased to see them. Anything but wanting to be here, in this horrible room, with them.

Since they had last seen her, she had lost some weight and her skin was pale. Her elfin looks reminded him of a young Mia Farrow, Branson thought.

‘I’ll be just outside, gentlemen,’ the officer said in a tone that implied he’d be straight in to their rescue if this fragile, vulnerable creature suddenly became an existential threat to them.

As the door closed, Shannon Kendall stood glaring at the two detectives. At Roy Grace in particular. ‘Thanks,’ she said in her bald, classless accent. ‘Thanks a billion, Detective Superintendent Grace. Thanks a billion for nothing.’

‘Whoa!’ he said. He indicated for her to sit.

‘You lied to me, didn’t you?’ She narrowed her eyes in fury.

‘I never lied to you, Shannon. You agreed to give evidence against Rufus Rorke on my assurance that I would do all I could to get you the minimum sentence possible,’ he replied calmly. ‘I told you very clearly that I had no powers as a police officer to grant you immunity from prosecution — and that was how it works in this country. What I did tell you was that I would do all I could — within the law — to tell the judge how much you had helped our enquiry. I spoke to the judge privately in her Chambers. Do you understand?’

‘No,’ she said, defiantly, still on her feet.

‘Then let me explain. You were charged with serious offences to which you could have been sentenced to a long term in prison. What were you actually sentenced to?’

There was a long silence. Then Shannon said, weakly, ‘Three years.’

‘Are you aware how lenient a sentence that is?’

There was another long silence. Finally she sat down. Grace and Branson sat opposite her.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked.

Grace leaned a little towards her. ‘I’ve spoken to the relevant authorities to see if I could get special dispensation to grant you an early release on licence if you agree to cooperate with us.’

She sat back in her chair, her face tight. ‘Meaning?’

‘You have a lot of knowledge about the dark web, Shannon, right?’

‘So what if I do?’

‘We are currently running an investigation of national importance. We need someone on the team with extensive knowledge of the criminal wheeling and dealing on the dark web.’

‘I thought you have your own Digital Forensics people.’

‘We do,’ Grace said. ‘But they work with the police, looking in from the outside. We need someone who has been inside the labyrinth as a criminal, who’s prepared to work with us. I thought of you.’

‘And what would be in it for me?’

Grace looked at her levelly. ‘I’ve got agreement that you would be released tomorrow, subject to certain conditions.’

‘Which are?’ She looked suspiciously at each detective in turn. Branson attempted and failed a reassuring nod.

‘That you work from home for as long as we need you on this investigation — and for which you will be paid the going rate. Do you still own a property?’

‘I’ve got a small flat in Hove, in Westbourne Villas.’

‘You could stay there?’

‘Of course.’

‘Any reasonable expenses would be covered, and the only restriction is you would need to be visited by a probation officer monthly.’

She was silent for a while. She stared at Branson then again at Grace before speaking. ‘How can I trust you? How do I know I won’t get banged up in here again once I’ve served whatever purpose it is?’

‘There’ll be a legal document,’ Branson said. ‘Your release terms and your terms of temporary assignment to the Sussex Police. If you agree it’ll be drafted and signed by late afternoon. We’ll arrange someone to collect you from the prison entrance and take you straight to your flat to start work.’

She touched her mouth with a finger, and scraped between two teeth with the nail, her eyes darting wildly, almost like a hunted creature, Grace thought.

‘And what if I say no?’

Grace shrugged. ‘Why would you?’