His paintings were raffled for charity and he was now getting himself a name in the art world. He was respected by all, an unassuming man who made people forget within five minutes of talking to him exactly what he was banged up for. His days of tearing people to pieces, either physically or verbally, were long gone.

So the offer of a cup of tea and a look at his latest masterpieces was too good to miss. Mr Borga was contemplating the amount he would get from the Sun or the Mirror for this information. Mr Borga always had his eye on the main chance, which was why he got on well with the prisoners.

They could respect that.

As Eric slowly made the tea, the two men enjoyed looking at the paintings, unaware of what was going on outside the cell door, on the landing.

Benjamin Dawes wanted something, and he had wanted it for years. He had finally seen a way to get it and that was why Eric Mates was keeping the two screws company.

There was an unwritten law in Parkhurst SSB Unit. If you could get something back to your cell without the screws seeing it, it was yours to keep.

What Benjamin wanted was beyond the imagination of any of the screws and a good number of the cons themselves. However, when word went round the Wing what was going down, laughter was heard everywhere.

Twenty minutes later, when Mr Borga and Mr Ellington emerged from Eric Mates’s cell, the laughter had died down, joints had been lit, the air was heavy with the scent of cannabis and everything seemed normal.

Except there was a bed out on the landing.

‘Whose bed’s this, then?’

Benjamin Dawes strolled out of his cell.

‘Mine. I don’t want it any more.’

Mr Borga laughed. ‘The old back giving you one up?’

Many of the cons slept on the floor of their cells on a mattress. A bed abandoned on a landing wasn’t really a big deal.

‘Okey doke, I’ll get the cleaning crew to dismantle it. Don’t you want the mattress then?’

Benjamin Dawes laughed. ‘Nah, that’s all right. It won’t fit in here now I’ve got a three-piece suite!’

Everyone laughed and Benjamin walked back into his cell and shut his door.

‘Three-piece fucking suite! He wishes, eh, lads?’ And Mr Borga creased up laughing and carried on with his work. The bed was gone within fifteen minutes and the Wing went quiet, everyone waiting eagerly for the count-up after lunch. The air was alive with excitement, the men’s spirits were buoyant. The screws put it down to the large amount of skunk on the Wing. No one was that bothered, if as a result the prisoners were relaxed, happy and cheerful.

It made their job that much easier.

‘I want to know where you were, Davey, and I want to know now!’