“Will you talk to the police?” River asked.
Harry swallowed hard. “Why?”
“Because my…” River took a deep breath, then exhaled. “My boyfriend is the one who shot Barney.”
Harry sat down again. “What the fuck? You’re bi too?”
River nodded. Too complicated to tell the whole story and he didn’t know Harry well enough. “Like you. Not openly. But the police need to know what Barney was like with you. How obsessed he was.”
“I’ll talk to them.”
“Thank you.”
Harry nodded and left the room.
Twenty
Newt shared a cell on remand. The person with him spent most of the night pacing and talking to himself. Newt curled up on his bunk and stayed awake. The agitated guy was no older than him and…not right. Maybe coming down off drugs. He kept asking Newt if he had anything. Newt said, “No,” time after time.
It might be a different prison to the one he’d been in, but it was the same in most respects. Same concrete box with hard beds and little privacy. Same grey jogging bottoms and top, along with standard trainers.The irony when no one’s jogging anywhere. Same smell of unwashed bodies and disinfectant and stuff he didn’t want to identify. Same sounds—crying, moaning, yelling, farting. It sent his spirits on a freefall to despair. Not that they had far to fall.
Yesterday, Newt had been so traumatised he’d not asked for legal representation. It should have been the first thing he’d done when he’d been taken to the police station. But his head had been too full of River and Phelan.
After they were let out of their cell in the morning, Newt approached a prison officer.
“Excuse me. I came in last night. I need to speak to a solicitor. I’ve not spoken to one yet.”
“Do you have one you can call?”
“No. I don’t know anyone. I wanted to make other calls too but I don’t have any money.”
“Get a friend or family member to add money to your prison phone account once it’s set up. Who’s your designated officer?”
“Officer West.”
“I’ll speak to him. He can get you a phone PIN and add credit. You can’t ring anyone without the number having been checked. You can call your lawyer for free.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Newt knew how slowly things could work inside. But he was legally entitled to a phone call within twenty-four hours of arrival so hopefully, he wouldn’t have to wait too long for that.
It was after lunch, that he tried and failed to eat, before he was given the phone PIN and the approved number to call a duty solicitor called Dominique Samson. He had to wait in line to use a phone.
“Can I speak to Ms Samson, please. This is Newt Jones calling from HMP Belmond.” His heart thumped as he waited.
“Mr Jones? This is Dominique Samson.”
Newt quickly explained what had happened. Then asked the question he really wanted answering. “Can you please find out what happened to River? I can’t call anyone to ask. I don’t know the numbers and I have no money.”
“I’ll do what I can. I’ll come and see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
Newt wanted to believe he wouldn’t stay locked up for long, but he had to accept he might be facing another seven years—the rest of his sentence—and maybe more for killing Barney. It was the worst-case scenario. If he could face that, then…
He borrowed a fantasy book from the library and curled up on his bed, but he couldn’t get beyond the first page. He kept reading the same line over and over, his thoughts jumping between Phelan and River. He’d told Phelan he’d go to his funeral and he might not be able to. But his biggest concern was River. If the news about him was bad…How can I bear it?
When he was taken from his cell the next morning to meet his lawyer, he was relieved he wasn’t going to have to wait all day to hear about River. But when he was led into the room, a man stood up and offered his hand. “I’m Tim Bailey. I’m a solicitor.”
