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‘And if I’m successful, I get to keep it.’

‘That is correct. And how will you explain it to your parents?’

‘It belongs to a bloke I met inside. His name is Jerry and he organised for someone to drop it off. We were good mates in prison and Jerry wants me to get it serviced and drive it until he gets out in a couple of months. He’s going back home to Western Australia.’

‘And then?’

‘I have to find out how I can get work on the McLaren Mango Farm on the road to Jabiru. Either as a worker or as a tradesman of some sort. Even if it takes a couple of months.’

‘Good. Keep going.’ They had had this same conversation each day for the past three months.

‘And then I watch and wait until I get the perfect opportunity to kill the woman who owns the farm.’ He smiled and Russell knew why he had taken this young man under his wing. His eyes were cold and the smile on his face held anticipation. He reminded him a little of Mick, the best employee he’d ever had.

‘And how will you kill her?’

‘I watch what she drinks, get access to her fridge when she’s not there and add ethylene glycol.’ He beamed. ‘Anti-freeze. Although Russ, I’d still rather knife her.’

‘Don’t even be tempted, Dean. Slowly, slowly. This death is to appear to be from natural causes. Do not divert from our plan. She will be dead by the time the poison is identified and by then you will have a new identity and be on your way to Western Australia.’ He chuckled. ‘And then you can kill and rape to your heart’s content.’

Dean was unaware that as soon as he’d carried out his task someone on the outside had been lined up to take care of him. The poor young man would die in a fiery crash on the highway. Russell left no bases uncovered.

‘It’s gonna be fun. Thank you.’

‘The dose?’

‘I have the dose inked on my arm.’

‘And if anyone asks you what the number is?’

‘It’s my girlfriend’s birthday so I don’t forget. Ten zero six. Tenth of June, drop the six, and it means one hundred mls on the last day and six doses of ten mls whenever I can get to her drink.’

‘I’ve chosen well. Thank you, Dean.’

‘It’s great how you’ve looked out for me, Russ. I wouldn’t have made it in here if you hadn’t looked out for me. A man probably would have topped himself. And the things you’ve taught me.’ The ingenuous expression was back and Russell cringed at the affection in the young man’s voice. If the stupid fool only knew that it had been solely to get Dean indebted to him, he would be asking for much more than a work ute and a new identity. Although there had been a positive and unexpected offshoot of the relationship that Russell had fostered; teaching him to read good literature and scientific magazines, and listen to decent music had helped pass the long days a little more easily.

Three years to go.

The rage rose again. He wished he could be there to see her die. She would suffer before she went into a coma. The headache would come first with a lack of coordination, then the slurred speech and then nausea and vomiting, and most importantly, pain, excruciating pain as her kidneys disintegrated.

His only regret was that she wouldn’t know he was responsible. But he did, and that’s all that mattered.

When Ellie Porter was dead, he would focus on getting through the remaining length of his sentence. Maybe he’d let her bastard of a husband know when he was out. He’d certainly do everything he could to make his life miserable. Russell’s non-parole period had been set at ten years and he had already served seven of them. Seven soulless years. Mindless years with no luxuries. He had been a model prisoner, working in the library, running lessons on business management and, God forbid, helping in the prison gardens.

Ellie Porter deserved everything that was coming her way.

‘Drummond! Why are you still here?’ The loud voice ran through the dining room like a shotgun and Dean jumped to his feet.

‘I’m out tomorrow, sir.’

‘That’s not what I mean, you deadshit,’ the officer yelled. ‘I know you’re gone tomorrow and what a pleasure it will be not to have your ugly face in my sight. I mean, why aren’t you out in the kitchen? Your clean-up shift has started. No need to be slack because it’s your last day. I can soon change that.’

Dean hurried off to the kitchen without a backward glance and the officer winked at Russell. He leaned forward and whispered.

‘Ute’s been delivered and Jerry White’s papers are in the glove box, including some references from his “previous employers” on mango farms in North Queensland. Brought you the paper to read seeing as you’ve done your gardening shift for the day.’

‘Excellent,’ Russell murmured.

He hid a smile as Dave Whittaker, the officer on his payroll, put a firm hand on his shoulder and raised his voice. ‘That’s enough of the bloody smart chat from you, Fairweather. You might have been a toff once, but you’re not anymore.’