If Dylan did turn out to be a viable suspect then she could completely dismiss the idea of the Hairdresser because there was quite clearly no connection between the two of them.

And given the lack of hard evidence to support the Hairdresser theory, she really only had one option to follow: Find out more about Dylan.

Chapter 81

Bailey lay face-down on the bunk, her chin resting on her forearms, enjoying the sensation of the tattoo needle puncturing the skin of her back. There was a strange kind of pleasure in the pain and she put it down to the endorphins that her brain was releasing as a response to it. She’d heard in the past how people got physiologically addicted to having tattoos. Now she was beginning to understand why.

The last session had ended awkwardly and she had been a little apprehensive about how this next one would turn out. But so far it seemed to be going fine, both of them acting like nothing had happened.

‘What do you think of Dylan?’ Bailey asked, breaking the silence.

Poppy lifted the needle momentarily. ‘The guard?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Hmm… I always got the impression he was the happy-go-lucky type until I saw him lose it once. He lost it big time. And it was over something really minor. A girl had her feet on a chair in the canteen, but he completely flipped out. He was shouting and screaming. He actually had to be restrained by the other screws. That can’t be right, can it?’

Interesting, thought Bailey. It certainly suggested that there was another side to him, one that she hadn’t seen yet.

‘Did you know he’s got a metal plate in his skull and a piece of shrapnel lodged in his brain?’

‘Guess that explains it,’ said Poppy. ‘Why are you so interested in Dylan all of a sudden?’

Bailey decided to change the subject. ‘You told me last time you had a plan for when you got out of here, but we never got to talk about it.’

Poppy didn’t respond immediately and Bailey wondered if she had upset her again. But it seemed she hadn’t, as Poppy started to speak, softly at first, then with a growing ardour in her voice.

‘Toni and the others… this place is their life. It’s all they have. But prison isn’t the be-all and end-all. You might be king in here, but what’s the point of being cock of the roost in what amounts to little more than a glorified brick box. Me… I want more. It started as a dream, but the more I’ve been thinking about it, the more I think I could make it a reality, ever since I met you actually…’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘When I get out of here, I want to open a tattoo shop. I’ve got it all worked out. I’m going to call it “Ink-ubus”.’

‘I like the sound of it,’ said Bailey, with a genuine sense of sincerity. ‘Not sure what it means though.’