Jax didn’t have to ask what that meant. Even though no one would admit it, these rooms were frequently used by informants, or dogs. Inmates met detectives here, seeking a deal, or were summoned here by detectives who had something on them. Many a ‘best mate’ had been given up in these rooms. Even though every prisoner swore to remain staunch – ‘death to dogs’ and all that – plenty of inmates became informants of one sort or another. A reduced sentence was just too good to refuse.

The meeting rooms were in fact cells. Jax looked behind an open door as he passed and saw the rusted outline of a bunk bed still on the wall. It appeared the transformation had been simple, contractors replacing the bedding with an oversized table and a pair of bench seats, both stainless steel and bolted to the floor. D-hooks welded to the tabletops provided anchor points for handcuffs. The window was new, although the holes that once held iron bars had not been filled.

Most of the rooms were occupied when Jax arrived. The inmates with access to money – cash stashed in secret bank accounts or plastic-wrapped stacks buried in their backyard – met with their lawyers every other day. Jax had heard them brag about hiring the best and most expensive firms, about loopholes, grounds for appeal and new evidence. About how their money would get them out.

Even the inmates without money frequented this part of the prison. Often facing multiple yet-to-be-heard charges, they spent days and sometimes weeks locked away with their court-appointed lawyer, trying in vain to construct a defence.

Jax stopped as an inmate walked out of a cell in front of him.

‘Jax,’ Johnson said, looking surprised and suddenly turning white. ‘Shit. I thought you were dead. Was it you? Everyone is saying it was you?’

Jax shrugged and then looked towards the room Johnson had just left.

‘Another meeting with my fucking lawyers,’ Johnson said. He wished Jax a speedy recovery before a guard moved him on.

Jax looked through the open door that Johnson had exited and saw two men in cheap suits preparing to leave. One of them was putting a black notebook into his breast pocket. Few would have noticed the NSW Police insignia on the front of the notebook. Jax did. Johnson was lucky that it was only Jax. His dirty secret was safe.

The guard directed him to the only other room with an open door; the rest were shut and locked, a red light on the wall indicating they were occupied.

‘Inmate Riley Jax here for Tom Clarke,’ the guard announced.

Tom Clarke?

CHAPTER 26

Supermax, Goulburn Correctional Centre, Goulburn, NSW, Australia

Wensley had to hurry. He was running out of room.

Three down, two left to solve.

He feared he may never get to finish this problem, or the next one. It wouldn’t be long till the Serpent pushed him out.