The Sculptress Part 29

"I don't know any more about him and I don't know anything at all about her."

"Would you recognise him from a photograph?"

"Probably. Do you know him then?"

Roz drummed her fingers on the steering-wheel.

"It doesn't make any sense but it sounds exactly like her father."

ELEVEN.

The officer on the gate checked Roz's name against his list the following Monday, then picked up the telephone.

"The Governor wants to see you," he said, dialling a number.

"What for?"

"I wouldn't know, miss." He spoke into the telephone.

"Miss Leigh's here for Martin. There's a note that she's to see the Governor first. Yes. Will do." He pointed with his pencil.

"Straight through the first set of gates and you'll be met the other side."

It was horribly reminiscent of being hauled before the headmistress at school, thought Roz, waiting nervously in the secretary's office. She was trying to remember if she'd broken any rule. Bring nothing in and take nothing out. Don't pa.s.s messages. But she had done that, of course, when she spoke to Crew about the will. The slimy little toad must have ratted on her!

"You can go in now," the secretary told her.

The Governor gestured towards a chair.

"Sit down, Miss Leigh."

Roz lowered herself into the easy chair, hoping she looked less guilty than she felt.

"I wasn't expecting to see you."

"No." She studied Roz for a moment or two, then seemed to reach a decision.

"There's no point beating about the bush.

Olive has had her privileges suspended and we think you may be the indirect cause of the suspension. According to the logbook you didn't come in last week, and I'm told Olive was very upset about it. Three days later she destroyed her cell and had to be sedated." She saw Roz's surprise.

"She's been very volatile ever since and, under the circ.u.mstances, I am not happy about letting you back in. I think it's something I need to discuss with the Home Office."

G.o.d! Poor old Olive! Why on earth didn't I have the sense to phone?

Roz folded her hands in her lap and collected her thoughts rapidly.

"If it was three days before she did anything, what makes you think it was because of my not turning up? Did she say it was?"

"No, but we're stumped for any other explanation and I'm not prepared to risk your safety."

Roz mulled this over for a moment or two.

"Let's a.s.sume for a moment you're right though I should emphasise that I don't think you are then if I don't show up again won't that distress her even more?" She leaned forward.

"Either way it would be more sensible to let me talk to her. If it was to do with my nonappearance then I can rea.s.sure her and calm her down; if it wasn't, then I see no reason why I should be punished with Home Office delays and wasted journeys when I haven't contributed to Olive's disturbance."

The Governor gave a slight smile.

"You're very confident."

"I've no reason not to be."

It was the Governor's turn to reflect. She studied Roz in silence for some time.

"Let's be clear," she said finally, *about what sort of woman Olive really is." She tapped her pencil on the desk.

"I told you when you first came here that there was no psychiatric evidence of psychopathy. That was true. It means that when Olive butchered her mother and sister she was completely sane. She knew exactly what she was doing, she understood the consequences of her act, and she was prepared to go ahead with it, despite those consequences.

It also means and this is peculiarly relevant to you that she cannot be cured because there is nothing to cure. Under similar circ.u.mstances unhappiness, low self-image, betrayal, in other words whatever triggers her anger she would do the same thing again with the same disregard for the consequences because, in simple terms, having weighed them up, she would consider the consequences worth the action.

I would add, and again this is peculiarly relevant to you, that the consequences are far less daunting to her now than they would have been six years ago. On the whole Olive enjoys being in prison. She has security, she has respect, and she has people to talk to. Outside, she would have none of them. And she knows it."

It was like being up before her old headmistress. The confident voice of authority.

"So what you're saying is that she would have no qualms about taking a swipe at me because an additional sentence would only mean a longer stay here? And she would welcome that?"

"In effect, yes."

"You're wrong," said Roz bluntly.

"Not about her sanity. I agree with you, she's as sane as you or I.

But you're wrong about her being a danger to me. I'm writing a book about her and she wants that book written. If it is me she's angry with, and I stress again that I don't think it is, then her interpretation of my nonappearance last week may be that I've lost interest, and it would be very poor psychology to let her go on thinking it." She composed her arguments.

"You have a notice at the gate, presumably all prisons do. It's a dedaration of policy. If I remember right, it includes something about helping prison inmates to lead law-abiding lives both inside prison and outside. If that has any meaning at all, and isn't simply a piece of decorative wallpaper to appease the reformers, then how can you justify provoking further punishable outbursts from Olive by denying her visits which the Home Office has already approved?" She fell silent, worried about saying too much.

However reasonable the woman might be, she could not afford to have her authority challenged. Few people could.

"Why does Olive want this book written?" asked the Governor mildly.

"She hasn't sought public notoriety before and you're not the first author to show an interest in her. We had several applications in the early days. She refused them all."

"I don't know," said Roz honestly.

"Perhaps it has something to do with her father's death. She claimed that one of her reasons for pleading guilty was to avoid putting him through the mill of a trial." She shrugged.

"Presumably she felt a book would have been just as devastating to him, so waited till he died."

The Governor was more cynical.

"Alternatively, while he was alive, her father was in a position to contest what she said; dead, he cannot. However, that is no concern of mine. My concern is with the ordered running of my prison." She tapped her fingers impatiently on her desk. She had no desire at all to be drawn into a three-cornered dispute between herself, the Home Office, and Roz, but time-consuming correspondence with civil servants would pale into insignificance beside the murder of a civilian inside her prison. She had hoped to persuade Roz to abort the visit herself. She was surprised and, if the truth be told, rather intrigued by her own failure. What was Rosalind Leigh getting right in her relationship with Olive that the rest of them were getting wrong?

"You may talk to her for half an hour," she said abruptly, *in the Legal Visits room, which is larger than the one you are used to. There will be two male officers present throughout the interview. Should either you or Olive breach any regulation of this prison, your visits will cease immediately and I will personally ensure that they will never resume. Is that understood, Miss Leigh?"

"Yes."

The other nodded.

"I'm curious, you know. Are you raising her expectations by telling her your book will get her released?"

"No. Apart from anything else, she won't talk to me about the murders." Roz reached for her briefcase.

"Then why are you so confident you're safe with her?"

"Because as far as I can make out I'm the only outsider she's met who's not frightened of her."

Privately, she retracted that statement as Olive was ushered into the Legal Visits room by two large male officers who then retreated to the door behind Olive's back and stationed themselves on either side of it.

The woman's look of dislike was chilling, and Roz recalled Hal saying to her that she might think differently about Olive if she ever saw her in a rage.

"Hi." She held Olive's gaze.

"The Governor has allowed me to see you, but we're on trial, both of us. If we misbehave today my visits will be stopped. Do you understand?"

b.i.t.c.h, Olive mouthed, unseen by the officers. f.u.c.kING b.i.t.c.h. But was she referring to Roz or the Governor? Roz couldn't tell.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it last Monday." She touched her lip where the ugly scab still showed.

"I got thrashed by my miserable husband." She forced a smile.

"I couldn't go out for a week, Olive, not even for you. I do have some pride, you know."

Olive examined her stolidly for a second or two then dropped her eyes to the cigarette packet on the table. She plucked greedily at a cigarette and popped it between her fat lips.

"I've been on the block," she said, flaring a match to the tip.

"The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds wouldn't let me smoke. And they've been starving me."

She threw a baleful glance behind her.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! Did you kill him?"

Roz followed her gaze. Every word she and Olive said would be reported back.

"Of course not."

Olive smoothed the limp, greasy hair from her forehead with the hand that held the cigarette. A streak of nicotine staining along her parting showed she had done it many times before.

"I didn't think you would," she said contemptuously.

"It's not as easy as it looks on the telly. You've heard what I did?"

"Yes."

"So why have they let you see me?"

"Because I told the Governor that whatever you had done was nothing to do with me. Which it wasn't, was it?" She pressed one of Olive's feet with hers under the table.

"Presumably somebody else upset you?"

"b.l.o.o.d.y Chaplain," said Olive morosely. A bald eyelid drooped in a wink.

"Told me that G.o.d would do the rock' n'roll in heaven if I got down on my knees and said: "Alleluiah, I repent." Stupid sod. He's always trying to make religion relevant to modern criminals with low IQs. We can't cope with "There will be much rejoicing in heaven over one sinner that repenteth", so we get G.o.d will do the f.u.c.king rock'n'roll instead." She listened with some satisfaction to the snorts of amus.e.m.e.nt behind her, then her eyes narrowed. I TRUSTED YOU, she mouthed at Roz.

Roz nodded.

"I a.s.sumed it was something like that." She watched Olive's meaty fingers play with the tiny cigarette.

"But it was rude of me not to phone the prison and ask them to pa.s.s on a message. I had the mother and father of all headaches most of last week. You'll have to put it down to that."

"I know you did."

Roz frowned.

"How?"

With a ifick of her fingers Olive squeezed the glowing head from the cigarette and dropped it into an ashtray on the table.

"Elementary, my dear Watson. Your ex gave you two black eyes if all that yellow round them isn't some weird sort of make-up.

And headaches usually accompany black eyes." But she was bored with the subject and fished an envelope abruptly from her pocket. She held it above her head.

"Mr. Allenby, sir. Are you going to let me show this to the lady?"

"What is it?" asked one of the men, stepping forward.

"Letter from my solicitor."

He took it from her raised hand, ignoring the two-fingered salute she gave him, and skimmed through it.