Amber observed him cynically. She and the rest of them knew very well that what the Governor was really concerned about was looking bad in front of his superiors in the Home Office.

He scoured the room. ‘So I don’t want any of you talking to any journalists,’ he said. ‘And I don’t want you discussing any of the details of these murders with the inmates; the less they know the better. Understood?’

Chapter 21

It was visiting time and the cries and laughter of children rang through the air. Bailey stood in the doorway of the visit hall and scanned the crowded room. Apparently a good third of the inmates in here had children. There was a mother and baby unit in D-Wing for inmates who were admitted when pregnant, but for most of them this was the only opportunity they got to see their kids.

Bailey herself had never felt the maternal urge. At least not yet, and she figured that if it was going to happen, she probably would have done something about it by now, going by what her friends and contemporaries from school and college were up to. Most of them were now married and in the process of starting families, and she’d grown sick of going round their houses to coo over yet another new baby. That was probably why she had got on so well with Alice. They had shared much the same attitude towards relationships and kids. Birds of a feather…

She spotted Frank sitting over in the far corner of the visit hall, as far removed from the other visitors as he could manage in the busy room. She navigated her way through the tables and sat down opposite him. He smiled at her, his watery eyes cool and emotionless as usual. He was wearing casual clothes – a black leather jacket and faded jeans – and she was relieved that he didn’t look too much like a policeman. She wasn’t too worried about anyone in here recognising him from his undercover days as those were long behind him and he was now mainly office-based.

She glanced at the table next to them, concerned that they might be in earshot. It was occupied by a young couple who were barely in their twenties. On his knee the man was balancing a vacant-looking toddler that had strings of drool coming out of its mouth. Both parents were talking intently to each other, stroking hands, gazes locked, clearly still in love and very much oblivious to anything going on around them.

‘So how’s Dad?’ said Bailey in a slightly louder voice than she needed to. ‘Is his back still playing up?’

‘Yes, now and then,’ said Frank, a completely fake smile frozen onto the lower half of his face. ‘He misses you, you know.’

She nodded to herself, satisfied that the young couple weren’t paying them the slightest bit of interest. She fixed her attention on Frank and lowered her voice.

‘I’ve only been in here a week and someone’s been murdered already. A junkie by the name of Poodle.’