The mass of bodies rushing towards the door had shielded Jax from the worst of the blast. He was found unconscious in the corridor, with Bluey lying on top of him. The explosion had hurled him out of the cell and against the opposite wall. Marsh, Grub, Waz and Smack had been killed in the blast; Chunk and Deano had died during emergency surgery.

‘Are you well enough for a visit?’ Laura asked. ‘Your lawyer is here.’

‘Lawyer?’ Jax asked.

‘Yes. He’s waiting in the legal rooms. Do you want to see him or should I say you aren’t up to it yet?’

‘Nah, I’m sweet,’ Jax said, pushing away the blanket and swinging his legs to the floor.

‘Really?’ Laura asked as he gently pushed her hand aside. Jax smiled as he kicked away the wheelchair.

‘Won’t be needing that,’ he said.

JAX had been expecting a visit from the police – not his lawyer. He was surprised when he hadn’t found the cops beside his bed the moment he came to, firing off questions and threats. Offering him a deal. Each day he woke up expecting them to appear, start firing off questions and offering him a deal. But they never came. He figured Father Martin had been right. They’d assumed Jax had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. So what was his lawyer doing here now? Had they finally figured out what had happened that night at the base?

He decided he didn’t care. His life was already over. Nikki was safe.

Confused yet intrigued, Jax followed his escort into the legal centre. He’d expected this facility to be modern and open, like the visits building, but it was just an old sandstone cell block that he thought must have been part of the original eighteenth-century prison.

‘Gallows?’ Jax asked the guard as he pointed towards the old wooden stairs at the end of the small wing.

‘Yep,’ the guard said. ‘Would you believe they are historically listed? We can’t pull them down. It’s all original. Even the rope they used to hang ’em is still up there. Nothing has been touched since the last bloke was dropped in 1939.’

Jax had heard rumours about this block. ‘Ever heard the phantom sing?’ he asked, referring to the legend of the death-row singer.

‘Nah,’ the guard replied. ‘Not me. But all the old fellas have. More than singing too. Some real freaky shit. That’s why it’s a legal centre now. None of them would come in here after dark, so they had to shut it down. It was only reopened a few years ago, when they decided to put the kennel here.’