There was no way to talk to Moulson with the driver only a few feet away from them, so Devlin didn’t try.
He wasn’t sure what he’d say now, in any case. He’d been hoping he could still sort out this shit, get the drugs back and keep the lid on it all, but there was no lid. Not any more. Moulson’s confession had thrown the lid up into the air and blasted it to pieces with a shotgun.
He didn’t even know where she was going back to. The infirmary? G block? A padded cell in Dietrich? She’d just had her appeal upheld and then gone ahead and owned up to a murder. He didn’t envy the governor, because whatever call he made, it was bound to be the wrong one.
So Devlin sat and brooded, and wished with all his heart it had gone the other way. If Carol Loomis had bashed Moulson’s brains out, the world would be a much sunnier place. Next after that, he wished he hadn’t let Moulson see him in Grace’s cell. This could all have been Grace’s problem, but he’d let her make it his.
Where the hell was the way out of this? The Leeds detectives would still be onsite, hoovering Loomis’s corpse for DNA. A quick stroll over to admin and they’d have their sweaty hands on Moulson as soon as she touched the ground. They’d probably want to take her out of Fellside altogether and bang her up in one of their own remand cells, out of reach of anything he or Grace could do. That would put the last nail in a whole long row of coffins, with his own at the head of the parade.
He had to stop Moulson talking. So he had to give her some kind of incentive for keeping her mouth shut. He had no idea what that could be.
But once they were through the gates of Fellside, pulling into the vehicle yard, he snapped out of his daze. It was time to take charge and maybe salvage something out of this mess. “I’ll sign her through,” he said to Ratner. “You go grab a coffee or something.”
Ratner looked surprised, but she could see from his face that it was a bad moment to argue the toss. She muttered a quick thanks and was gone. As they went in through the first checkpoint, Devlin slowed his steps and put a hand on Moulson’s arm to force her to keep pace with him.
“You’ve really got a death wish, haven’t you?” he said in an undertone. “Listen, what happened to the package?”
“I flushed it down the toilet,” Moulson told him, not bothering to keep her voice down.
Five or six thousand quid’s worth of sweets. Jesus shitting Christ! Devlin nodded, taking it on the chin and trying to look on the bright side. “Well, then, there’s no evidence,” he said. “Anything you say about me or about Grace, you won’t be able to prove it. And you’ve seen what she can do. If you grass on her, you won’t last a week. She’s got friends out in the world as well as in here. You just keep your mouth shut and we’ll call a truce. We won’t try to use you again.”
He had to stop talking when they got to the duty desk. He scribbled his name in the day book, distracted and clumsy. He did it one-handed, keeping a grip on Moulson’s arm with the other, as though he still had a sporting chance of defending his claim to her.
But he really didn’t. The whole scampering pack came around the corner at a dead run before he was even done signing in. Governor Scratchwell, the pretty boys from the Leeds constabulary and a team of lawyers from N-fold head office, who exuded an air of quiet, deadly proficiency. They swept down the corridor, seizing hold of Moulson in passing and carrying her away with them. They barely acknowledged Devlin’s existence.
So now the fat was in the fire and there was no doubt in the Devil’s mind what his next stop had to be. He pushed the day book back across the desk to the secretary, Marcela Robbins, who had watched this little command performance with big, hungry eyes. “Is Moulson mixed up in this too?” she asked him.
“I only know what I’m told,” Devlin said, shutting her down with a cold stare. Then he registered what she’d said. “Mixed up in what?”
“They’re saying Goodall’s going to riot. It’s been crazy over there all day. Everybody’s being pulled in for overtime.”
“A riot?” Devlin felt an atavistic chill at the word, as any screw would. But he was also bemused. “About what?”
“There’s a rumour it might have been a warder who killed Carol Loomis.”
“Is that what they’re saying?” It was so wide of the mark, he almost laughed.
Robbins nodded. “In Goodall they are, yeah. They’re running around like headless chickens. Standing out on the walkways and shouting at the guards. Saying they want police brought in from Leeds to guard the block. Save-Me was going to cancel free association, but he was scared that might just spark them off.”
Might as well get the counter-rumour going, Devlin thought. It wasn’t going to be a secret for long. “Moulson killed Carol Loomis, Marcela. She just stood up in court and copped to it.”
Robbins’ eyes and mouth became three perfect circles. “Moulson? But there’s nothing to her! How did she…?”
“Must be ninja skills,” Devlin grunted. “Anyway, you heard it here first.”
He went to Goodall block. That was where he’d been going anyway, to check in with Grace, but now he had to see for himself. Robbins hadn’t exaggerated. He could practically taste it as soon as he pushed open the doors and walked out into the ballroom. Suspicion and fear tainting the air. The cons all clustered together in little heaving knots, the guards circling aimlessly, like sheepdogs without a cause.
Corcoran was the first screw he saw. As acting supervisor, she was right where she needed to be, standing by the main console that controlled all the cell block doors. A lockdown was unlikely, but it was a real possibility.
Corcoran was exhausted, wired and utterly pissed off. “They’re crawling up the walls,” she told Devlin. “We’re all on double supply and Scratchwell is pissing himself. You picked the right day to run escort, Dennis, I’ll tell you that much.”
Devlin shook his head and sighed. “I leave you alone for a few hours…” Corcoran laughed. She offered him the keys, but he wasn’t ready yet to take back the senior role. It suited him to be free to come and go until he had some idea what he was going to do. “Finish the shift,” he told her. “You might as well get the extra pay.”
Corcoran put the keys back on her belt. “I’d just as soon be shot of it,” she said. “They were barking like bitches when we unlocked and they’ve been barking like bitches ever since. Moulson’s in the mix but don’t ask me how. Either she killed Carol Loomis, or a warder killed her and Moulson saw it. They want the cops to come back in. They say they’re not going into their cells until someone’s been charged.”
“Who starts these things?” Devlin asked, straight-faced.
“It’s sweating out of the bloody walls, Dennis.”
And she was right, it was. Devlin ascended to Grace’s cell, feeling it everywhere around him. The air was bloated with some massy, heaving emotion. He knew right then that there was going to be trouble of a big, out-of-control kind. This much badness needed to be earthed in something.
Jilly Fish and a steroidal heavyweight with the unlikely name of Ashley had replaced Liz and Carol on the walkway outside Grace’s cell. They made a point of not noticing Devlin as he walked in, which right then was exactly the response he wanted to inspire.
“What kept you?” Grace asked. She was lounging on her bunk with an account book and a pencil in her hands, looking like she was above the fray and not worried about anything. But the music that leaked out of the speakers was “Für Elise”. Something of a giveaway.
“I just got back.” Devlin heard the conciliatory bleat in his own voice. Fuck that, for once. “We’ve got trouble,” he said in a louder, harder voice. “I mean, besides the obvious.”