‘With that in mind,’ continued Atkins, ‘I sentence Lieutenant Thomas Bradshaw to six years in jail.’ He banged his gavel and said, ‘Next case,’ before Harry had a chance to protest.
‘You told me—’ began Harry, but Jelks had already turned his back on his former client and was walking away. Harry was about to chase after him, when the two guards grabbed him by the arms, thrust them behind his back and quickly handcuffed the convicted criminal, before marching him across the courtroom towards a door Harry hadn’t noticed before.
He looked back to see Sefton Jelks shaking hands with a middle-aged man who was clearly congratulating him on a job well done. Where had Harry seen that face before? And then he realized – it had to be Tom Bradshaw’s father.
2
HARRY WAS MARCHED unceremoniously down a long, dimly lit corridor and out of an unmarked door into a barren courtyard.
In the middle of the yard stood a yellow bus that displayed neither number nor any hint of its destination. A muscle-bound conductor clutching a rifle stood by the door, and nodded to indicate that Harry should climb on board. His guards gave him a helping hand, just in case he was having second thoughts.
Harry took a seat and stared sullenly out of the window as a trickle of convicted prisoners were led up to the bus, some with their heads bowed, while others, who had clearly trodden this path before, adopted a jaunty swagger. He assumed it wouldn’t be long before the bus set off for its destination, wherever that might be, but he was about to learn his first painful lesson as a prisoner: once you’ve been convicted, no one is in any hurry.
Harry thought about asking one of the guards where they were going, but neither of them looked like helpful tour guides. He turned anxiously when a body slumped into the seat next to him. He didn’t want to stare at his new companion, but as the man introduced himself immediately, Harry took a closer look at him.
‘My name’s Pat Quinn,’ he announced with a slight Irish accent.
‘Tom Bradshaw,’ said Harry, who would have shaken hands with his new companion if they hadn’t both been handcuffed.
Quinn didn’t look like a criminal. His feet barely touched the ground, so he couldn’t have been an inch over five feet, and whereas most of the other prisoners on the bus were either muscle-bound or simply overweight, Quinn looked as if a gust of wind would blow him away. His thinning red hair was beginning to grey, although he couldn’t have been a day over forty.
‘You’re a first-timer?’ said Quinn confidently.
‘Is it that obvious?’ asked Harry.
‘It’s written all over your face.’
‘What’s written all over my face?’
‘You haven’t got a clue what’s going to happen next.’
‘So you’re obviously not a first-timer?’
‘This is the eleventh time I’ve been on this bus, or it could be the twelfth.’
Harry laughed for the first time in days.
‘What are you in for?’ Quinn asked him.
‘Desertion,’ Harry replied, without elaboration.
‘Never heard of that one before,’ said Quinn. ‘I’ve deserted three wives, but they never put me in the slammer for it.’
‘I didn’t desert a wife,’ said Harry, thinking about Emma. ‘I deserted the Royal Navy— I mean the navy.’
‘How long did you get for that?’
‘Six years.’
Quinn whistled through his two remaining teeth. ‘Sounds a bit rough. Who was the judge?’
‘Atkins,’ said Harry with feeling.
‘Arnie Atkins? You got the wrong judge. If you’re ever on trial again, make sure you pick the right judge.’
‘I didn’t know you could pick your judge.’
‘You can’t,’ said Quinn, ‘but there are ways of avoiding the worst ones.’ Harry looked more closely at his companion, but didn’t interrupt. ‘There are seven judges who work the circuit, and you need to avoid two of them at all costs. One is Arnie Atkins. He’s short on humour and long on sentencing.’
‘But how could I have avoided him?’ asked Harry.
‘Atkins has presided over court four for the past eleven years, so if I’m heading in that direction, I have an epileptic fit and the guards take me off to see the court doctor.’
‘You’re an epileptic?’
‘No,’ said Quinn, ‘you’re not paying attention.’ He sounded exasperated, and Harry fell silent. ‘By the time I’ve staged a recovery, they will have allocated my case to another court.’
Harry laughed for the second time. ‘And you get away with it?’
‘No, not always, but if I end up with a couple of rookie guards, I’m in with a chance, though it’s getting more difficult to pull the same stunt again and again. I didn’t need to bother this time because I was taken straight to court two, which is Judge Regan’s territory. He’s Irish – like me, just in case you hadn’t noticed – so he’s more likely to give a fellow countryman a minimum sentence.’