Many inmates needed help with the questions, often due to low levels of literacy, but this one was clearly smart and well-educated.

After a short while, she finished and pushed the completed tests back across the table to him.

She started to stand up.

‘We’re not done just yet.’

‘There’s more?’

‘I have some homework for you.’

‘Homework?’

‘I’d like you to keep a daily diary of your thoughts. Positive, negative, however you’re feeling at any given point of the day.’

‘Sure,’ she shrugged. ‘Whatever you say, Doctor.’

He had a feeling she wasn’t going to bother.

Chapter 39

As Bailey made her way back to her cell, she reflected on her meeting with Doctor Bodie. She’d encountered his type on numerous occasions during the course of her police work – forensic psychologists often worked with the police on investigations to conduct criminal profiling. He came across as a bit of a do-gooder and she had found it mildly entertaining to toy with him, earnest as he was, but she was also wary of revealing too much of herself. After all, it was his job to be perceptive and she couldn’t afford to let him suspect that she wasn’t who she claimed to be. A couple of times he had got quite close to the mark and she was conscious of the need to stay on her toes the next time she saw him, that is, if she was still in here by the time her next appointment was due.

Once back in her cell, alone, she decided to examine her tattoo. Pulling her jogging bottoms down slightly to expose it at the base of her spine, she stood in front of the small plastic mirror, awkwardly twisting her head around so she could get a proper glimpse of it.

She touched it gingerly with her fingertips. Although it had scabbed over, it still felt tender and raw. But it looked fresh and sharp and there was no denying Poppy’s skill as a tattoo artist. This wasn’t some crude prison scrawl. It was an elegant and striking design, and it wasn’t even finished yet.

Poppy had completed the outlines of the three fanned-out playing cards and had drawn in the letters ‘ABC’, but she had yet to start on the skeleton clutching the ace of spades dagger.

The lines were clean and well-defined and the shading had been expertly executed with a finely stippled effect. It was amazing to think that she’d been able to accomplish this with such a basic tool as the home-made tattoo gun and ink.

When Bailey had woken up that morning, she had found that ink had drained out of the tattoo onto her bed linen. She had pulled back the covers to see, imprinted on the white sheets, an exact impression of the lines etched into her back. She wondered what they would think in the laundry.

Later on, when she’d taken a shower, more ink had run out of her, and bits of coloured skin had fallen off and washed down the plughole with the soapy water. It was kind of disgusting, but she guessed that her body was ejecting the excess ink. What remained there beneath the lower subcutaneous layers of skin would be there forever unless she had it removed, although she was now thinking twice about having it lasered off, so impressed was she with the quality of Poppy’s handiwork.