‘Did you know,’ said Sharon, reading from the magazine, ‘that in Cambodia they eat deep-fried tarantula as an aphrodisiac?’

Bailey shook her head. ‘No. I can’t say I knew that.’

‘There’s a whole list of weird aphrodisiacs here. I think I’ll just stick to asparagus though. Apparently that does the job just as well.’

‘Really? I heard it makes your wee smell bad.’

‘Yeah, but that doesn’t matter, does it? Not unless you’re into water sports of course.’ Sharon sniggered.

Bailey’s attention was captured by some sort of commotion in the yard. A group of prison officers had suddenly appeared and were standing there gesticulating to each other, engaged in some sort of heated debate.

‘Are you?’ said Sharon.

‘Am I what?’ murmured Bailey absently. She was no longer paying attention to Sharon.

‘Are you into water sports?’

Bailey craned her head to peer down into the yard, trying to work out what was going on. Then, from around the corner of B-Wing, a group of SOCOs – scene of crime officers – appeared, marching in a procession across the yard, dressed in paper suits, overshoes and masks, looking like astronauts, probably sweating in the warm weather. They were accompanied by uniformed police officers and detectives in suits, as well as a number of prison officers.

The police were here and the presence of SOCOs meant one thing.

A murder.

The SOCOs were supposed to ensure that the crime scene forensics remained as uncontaminated as possible. That’s why they wore those strange outfits.

Sharon looked up from her magazine, noticing that something had caught Bailey’s eye.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

‘Looks like trouble,’ Bailey replied. ‘That’s why we’ve been locked down. Police everywhere.’

Sharon tossed her magazine aside and jumped off her bunk to join Bailey next to the window.

‘Fucking pigs,’ she muttered. ‘Wonder if someone else has topped it.’

She stood there for a few moments, then yawned and went back and sat down on her bunk and picked up her magazine again. Bailey continued to stand by the window looking down at the yard.

Eventually her conjecture was confirmed when the SOCOs re-emerged from across the other side of the prison yard wheeling a metal trolley on which lay what was unmistakably a black body bag. Bailey wondered who indeed was zipped up beneath the black plastic.

It was frustrating not to be able to know more. She wished she could just go and ask the homicide detectives who were down there right now. But, obviously, in her undercover capacity she could do no such thing.

After another hour or so, the lockdown lifted and their cell was unlocked. Bailey noticed that it was Amber who unlocked the cell, the prison officer she had encountered in the canteen. She seemed like the approachable type.

‘It’s Amber, isn’t it?’ said Bailey.

‘That’s right,’ smiled Amber.

‘What happened?’

Amber hesitated a few moments, her face becoming serious. ‘Dead inmate. One of the building contractors found her in the Old Tread-Wheel House.’