The Spook who flew over the cuckoos nest. (BOOK 2) Read online

  "Brezznov!....Ruark!" The 'screw' was demanding their attention. Completely ignoring his request, Brezznov made it clear that they needed to talk further.

  "Leave it with me, Alex, I'll get a further 'meet' sorted, this discussion isn't over yet. Trust me, you'll be hearing from Steadman very soon." Turning on his heel, he left Eastern to contemplate on a brief measure of success, albeit high-jacked alluding to bad timing.

  "Shit! Another few minutes and I would have had the arsole eating out of my hand. I can't believe that I got that close to cracking him." He fumed. Meanwhile, his present enigma, the 'screw', was busy concentrating on balling out Brezznov.

  You can forget the rest of your shift, I've been informed that you're on Governor's report list in ten minutes, and!" he added, "with a bit of luck, it could be to do with your ticket out of here, leaving us with one less scumbag to worry about." Apart from a brief contact to sanction a 'meet' with Brezznov in the recreational hall later, the rest of his shift proved to be a mundane affair. Made even more noticeable by the acute absence of Steadman in the canteen. Reflecting on the quality of the food, he quickly dismissed any concerns he may have held on the matter, and put it all down to personal taste. An hour later, Simmons acknowledged his presence and gestured toward a convenient corner table to establish a low profile. In no time at all, the two were soon engaged in diplomatic banter. Momentarily, Eastern left off to express a dormant opinion. "I've got to hand it to you, Benny, you've certainly put yourself about, considering the time that we've spent in here. " Clearing his throat he continued, "Seriously though, have you at any time considered giving the agency the elbow? You and me 'firmed up' could make a bleeden' good killing on the outside, wouldn't you say?" He should have known better to ask. Simmons held the rights to insidiousness and the exclusive smile linked to his face said it all.

  "It would never work, Mike. Your idea of a killing, as opposed to mine, is that my clients remain permanently stiff after I 'hit' them....right?"

  'In the same manner, that you probably already knew, that Commander Paxon, and Price, were of the same person no doubt,' he consciously reminded him. Shrugging his shoulders as a form of confirmation to the question, Simmons decided to come clean.

  "You're absolutely right of course, although the agency and the bureaucratic shit that it dictates, would argue the case. Having said all of that, Rogon himself wouldn't have it any other way. After all he is State-owned property, and as such holds the casting vote. But let's face it, I'm sure that you knew that anyhow through your own experience of late." Summing up Simmons reply, Eastern declined the offer, to agree not to agree, and pursued an alternative train of thought.

  "Tell you what, let's talk 'faces' (villains) for a minute."

  " Anybody in particular?"

  "Yeah, as it happens I'm thinking Steadman, for instance., apart from the bloody obvious. What do we really know about the creep?"

  "That's strange." A bemused Simmons questioned, "Of all the people you have picked on, you decided to settle for a 'nonce'. But then I'm a cynical bastard myself, which leads me to believe that you have an ulterior motive."

  "Uhm...possibly, so let me run this past you. We are here to primarily extract information with the prospect of bringing Brezznov down....right?"

  "And, given the time, I'm confident we will bring the assole down," affirmed Simmons.

  "That's what's bothering me, you need to check with Rogon regarding Brezznov's Parole status. The grapevine is telling me that he's up before the Board sometime next week."

  "Call me stupid, Mike, but I get the feeling I'm missing something here."

  "No, Steadman! Like I said."

  "You're still not making any sense, are you, suggesting that there's a link between the two?"

  "It's occurred to me that he's the one person that we should be targeting. To my mind the guy is a walking encyclopedia with likely connections to every 'con' in here...c'mon think about it?"

  "Yeah, suddenly it all begins to make sense. No wonder he's managed to survive as long as he has without any grief. When you stop to think about it, he's one clever bastard and I'm forced to agree with you. As you so rightly suggest, he must have the SP on every con in here. And there's me thinking the guy is a right tosser!"

  "Exactly" And that's my point. I'm willing to bet he knows what Brezznov's brain is up to on an hourly basis. And that's one hell of a lot I'd like to be a party to." With their meaningful conversation drawing to a close, Simmons suggested that it would pay to concentrate on attempting to set up a rapport with Steadman on a one-to-one basis. Hopefully earmarked for the following day. Detailed planning, as always, is perfectly acceptable. Unfortunately, reality is a factor that goes hand in hand with fate. Although nobody, apart from the perpetrators, would have recognized the significance it would have to bear as a result.

  As far as Eastern and Simmons were concerned, the very idea of taking action at that time, as opposed to the luxury of being wise after the event, technically became the difference between night and day. In Steadman's case, it would culminate in his ignominious ticket to freedom, consistent with a Government-issue plastic body bag. And thereafter placed in a private ambulance, en route to the City morgue. Having failed to 'slop out' that particular morning, following Eastern's intentions to approach him, the prison staff's suspicions were immediately aroused, resulting in an internal investigation being launched. In no time at all, his lifeless naked and heavily blood stained body, now resembling a misshapen torso of what was once a living body, lay strewn on his bunk. On further examination, a pillow could be found covering his face. Consequently, a verdict of death consistent with asphyxiation was then pre-recorded by the prison medical staff. ( this was ratified by the SOC Pathologist shortly after his arrival.) On close examination, it became apparent that the victim's testicles had been savagely removed from the lower body. Probably by a shard of glass recovered from a nearby broken shaving mirror.

  This also accounted for the many random lacerations to the torso, clearly visible at the time. The severed organs were found to have been forcibly stuffed inside the victims mouth after suffocation occurred, by person or person's unknown. As is the norm, a study taken of the coagulation, estimated that time of death was likely to have been some twelve hours earlier. This in turn, coincided approximately before 'lights out' the previous evening. Forty eight hours on, the severity of the murder still remained the main topic of conversation amongst the staff and inmates alike. With the overall consensus blackballing a Steadman sympathy vote.

  “As ‘banged up’ paedophiles go, the geezer was a dead man walking, somebody did the World a fucking favour.” One old ‘lag’ was heard to remark. And as opinions come and go, went some way into finally bringing about a seal on the whole macabre episode. Shortly after the victim's body had been removed, the MIU (murder Inquiry unit) were far from convinced that the motive for the crime had been played out to resemble a 'justice' killing. With little or no evidence to substantiate a claim, their enquiry ground to a halt. It was eventually abandoned per se a week later. At that time, nobody could have been more relieved than Eastern.

  "Bad enough that I'm 'banged up' anyway, let alone having to put up with the added grief of having been subjected to a ritual grilling process." he quibbled, "and then terminating into a full blown recreational ban." Fortunately, his time spent working in the kitchens had allowed him some respite from his cell. Regrettably, through circumstances, his time progressed from bad to worse. Due to an upgrade affecting internal security, personal contact of any kind remained stalled at a low premium. With no known antidote available for frustration, he found himself beginning to feel

  the pangs of an innocent man serving life! The realization that he was now fast becoming a lone and spent force became intolerable, due to the overriding absence of Simmons strange and sudden departure in the last seventy-two hours, noticeably consistent by the man's mysterious inclusion from his duties. And, even more defining, the use of the dining hall. C
onjecture, as a pastime, is for mugs, and he didn't envisage buying any shares on the subject. Gut instinct in Eastern's case was an inborn commodity and one that he's always carried a potential reserve of. With 'lights out' a few minutes hence, Eastern lay at full stretch on his bunk , jostling with his memory by playing out the scenario issuing from the last week. Starting out with Steadman's murder.

  The facts as I see it," he reminded himself, "just don't seem to add up. Apart from the obvious , the motive itself doesn't seem to fit the overall situation. Apart from the fact that he was a classified 'nonce', the man himself was a complete and utter nobody! Not only that, any personal gain at that level, and executed in an open prison, doesn't, to my mind, hold water. There's no future in it. No, as far as I'm concerned. The killing was too well-organized for my liking."

  Also prominent on his mind, led him to believe that his former suspicions surrounding the victim's activities, "in that Steadman had access to damning information via his role as prison 'gopher', now bore a margin of substance. His theory being, that prior to his murder Steadman was possibly on the verge of going public, by disclosing certain covert knowledge that he'd been privy to. "Yeah, on that basis, it's all too bloody convenient as murders go," he assured himself, "and that just about sums up the whole damned rotten mess, although," he concluded, "the question still remains. What person, or persons, stands to gain the most from his timely death?"

  CHAPTER 5...An 'out' & out result.

  Slowly, and when it suited the system, the blanket of harsh regime existing in Foredown had now at last begun to lift slowly. As a result, the process now succeeded in making life more tolerable, to a degree, for Eastern, including the rest of the inmates. One 'con' in particular had plenty to crow about. Having survived the rigours of a visiting Parole Board, Victor Brezznov was finally given a release date. His good fortune, in turn, now created a knock-on effect in reverse by leaving Eastern out in the cold. Simply to chase shadows riddled with doubt.

  The relationship between the two, right from day one, had never been anything less than strained but, at worst, a trickle of common ground had at least been established. Unluckily, either by design or prevailing circumstances, there it had remained, leaving an aloof Brezznov pulling the strings and allowing Eastern to rue a strategic 'meet'. That, due to misplaced fate, was now never going to take place. Indeed, time now was beginning to run out rapidly for any form of a breakthrough. In forty eight hours time, Brezznov could well be relishing the freedom of a civilian under licence.

  A seriously pissed off Eastern, now found himself holding a non negotiable complaint, only made worse, when you've nobody to complain too, "And where in the hell is blasted Simmons? Now that I need him," he exploded yet again in anger. "I'm beginning to think that I'm the only person on trial here. For all I know, the mission, as a whole, could well have been aborted!" In some cases, negative thinking has a way of contradicting itself. Needless to say, in his case there remained more background activity going on then he could have ever envisaged.

  That same day, Brezznov, either by design or cordiality, made a complete and unexpected move on him in terms of mutuality. The consequence of which, gave rise to beneficial progress firmly placing him back in the frame as the running man. Caught unawares, as his nemesis approached him, Eastern nevertheless managed to remain calm and collected as the latter thrust a small piece of paper into his hand before speaking in a direct manner. "Memorise this number, Alex, and then dispose of it. Once you're out of this 'karzy' (toilet) and the time is right, you can use it to contact me," and finished by insinuating that, "rest assured, you can do yourself a bit of good my friend." And then he was gone before Eastern had a chance to challenge him. Not that he was about to give a damn, . In future, any prevailing negativism surrounding his own covert role, could now be listed as redundant. The mere idea that, by default, Brezznov had unwittingly given him the key, enabling him to open up 'Pandora's box'. handing him back the grief that went with it, was something to relish. Milking the moment only became an added bonus, leading him to sound off.

  "Don't worry, I've got your number in more ways than one you inglorious bastard! You might just as well hand me your dysfunctional head on a platter. Take it from me, this is only the start of you're worst nightmare!" Casting aside the fact that Simmons' untimely absence was still an ongoing problem, left him in no doubt as to his next move. "Rogon?...Rogon...shit! I need to contact him, and it won't wait. This latest development has opened up a whole new ball game....and", he stopped short to consider a more personal issue, "not only that! but the question, regarding my ticket out of here needs to be taken into account."

  That, and a few other unanswered questions were temporarily put on the back burner, as a further surprising move overlapped his predicament a short time later. At least, this latest hiatus allowed him a short-lived anonymity from his current problem. Trouble is, Warden Donavon had that effect on everybody he came into contact with. Just for once, his exclusive verbal charm at least became wasted on Eastern, as he sought to direct his usual inbred hostility toward him.

  "Get yourself straightened out, Ruark, you're looking a fucking mess. You've got an appointment with the Governor in fifteen minutes, so I'll be back in ten. Don't make me have to wait. My patience is wasted on shit like you as it is!"

  Stifling a "And you can go to Hell too," a slightly fazed Eastern then proceeded to make his way back to his cell. His brain could now be found working on overtime as he attempted to claw back some self discipline. "First of all, I've had Brezznov unloading onto me and now the Governor wants a part of me. I figure that any contact with Rogon is going to have to wait for the time being," he told himself. Preoccupied as he was, dealing with some paper-work on his desk, Governor Whiting didn't even bother to look up and acknowledge the two, as Donavon ushered Eastern into view.

  Killing time, Eastern quickly surveyed the space around him, randomly gathering his addled thoughts as he did so. Satisfied that Whiting appeared to be heavily engrossed in paper-work, gave Eastern the chance to snatch a glance around the room. Almost immediately the idea became redundant, as Donavon swiftly reprimanded him. "Face the front, Ruark. You're not here on a sight-seeing tour." Placing his pen to one side, Whiting glanced upward and eased himself back in his chair. The cryptic look that he was wearing gave no indication as to his present thoughts.

  "So, Ruark isn't it?" he enquired loosely. With Donavon hovering in the background Eastern elected to stick with protocol when replying.

  "Yes sir, prisoner number 306" Whiting promptly flapped his hand as a measure of disregard, cutting him short in the process.

  "That won't be necessary, Ruark." Breaking off, he rapidly switched his attention to another line of thought. "That will be all for the time being Mr Donavon. I'll ring if I need you and it's crucial that I'm not to be disturbed for the next hour, is that clear?" Nodding briskly, a deflated Donavon exited the office with more on his mind than when he first went in. For his part, Eastern's mind had taken up a position midway between intrigue and disarray.

  "I wish to fuck somebody would tell me what the hell is going down?" he confided in himself. At that point, Whiting indicated that he might have read his thoughts, by beckoning a bemused Eastern to sit down. Conversing as he did so.

  "You're obviously wondering, and quite rightly so, that there's more to this intrusion than meets the eye? In short, what I am permitted to say, without any justification, is that you will not be staying another night here as an inmate. Basically, you’re a free man...Mr Eastern!" A sustained silence ensued as Eastern's brain struggled to play catch-up, in response to Whiting's explicit disclosure and familiarity.

  "This has to be somebody's idea of a sick joke" he retorted at length. "Somebody needs to start giving me some straight answers before I get really pissed off!" On hindsight, he should have got up and walked away there and then. The offer on the table in anyone's language appeared to be beyond consideration. Unless your name just happens to be Mike Easte
rn of course. From the minute that he had entered the office, his razor-like perception had been working overtime. Events were moving far too quickly for his liking and in doing so, had removed any assumed conclusions he might have held, relegated into obscurity. Sensing the possibility of a situation arising, Whiting decided to break his own silence.

  "I apologise that I can't be more specific, Mr Eastern. Unfortunately, my hands are tied. What I can tell you for sure, is that plans are in motion, as we speak, to effect your immediate release. In fact, as far as this instillation is concerned, our records will show that you never existed."

  "Uhm, your beginning to sound like you have the same attitude as somebody else I know" came back the reply, and continued, "So explain this for me. How do you intend glossing over my connection with the resident inmates and my sudden departure.? Don't tell me that the last six weeks have been all for nothing?" demanded Eastern, "oh, and one other thing. Seeing as you're so familiar with my covert involvement, you do realize that by pulling the plug on me at this stage, you've jeopardised any strategic relationship that I managed to build up with Brezznov."

  Shrugging his shoulders in an untried sympathetic gesture, Whiting replied in the same vein. As I stated before, Mr Eastern, all the facts surrounding your current position will be conveyed to you in due course." From start to finish, their estranged conversation, so far, had only given him grounds, by increasing his inbuilt doubts as to their origin. "The cut-off point is too neat and tidy. And there's Simmons' of course. Why the hell isn't he here? He's up to his neck in this charade as much as I am," he reminded himself. His patience, it seems, had finally dissolved, and he was now looking elsewhere for some form of confirmation. In desperation, he turned on Whiting. "The phone...I need to use your phone!"