Behind Dead Eyes (DC Ian Bradshaw #2) - Howard Linskey Page 0,14

she managed.

‘Print and be damned,’ Graham repeated firmly.

Chapter Seven

‘Tom Carney?’ The prison officer called his name and Tom, having waited for what seemed like an eternity, was suddenly snapped out of his private thoughts. He got to his feet and followed a burly man in a blue jumper with epaulettes on his shoulders.

He had expected to be fobbed off. He figured there would at least be a number of bureaucratic hoops to be navigated before he was able to come to the prison. Instead it was almost as if they were expecting him and, to his genuine surprise, he was given an appointment that same day.

Tom was led into the visiting area. He had assumed he would be among the friends and families of dozens of inmates but instead of a crowded room full of wives and children at visiting time, he found himself alone in a room filled with empty chairs and small tables. Tom chose one and sat down. He didn’t have to wait long for Richard Bell to appear.

The heavy metal door at the opposite end of the room swung open and the murderer stepped inside. He smiled broadly at Tom and there was a disconcerting excitement in his eyes. Tom was glad of the presence of the barrel-chested prison guard who took up a position a little way from the table Tom had selected. No one else followed Bell through that door. It seemed they really would have the room to themselves.

Bell walked towards him. He was still a handsome man but those famous looks had been diminished by two years in prison. The effects of an inadequate diet and being locked up for most of the day were obvious. Richard Bell had traded a life of expensive restaurants and foreign holidays for one of extreme stress, poor nutrition and perpetual confinement and it showed. His face, starved of sunlight, was pale, his hair straggly and uncombed, but the most startling alteration to his appearance was the vivid scar on the side of his face. It wasn’t entirely new but fresh enough to provide a stark contrast to the rest of his skin, running in an almost horizontal dark red line across his right cheek. This was a mark Bell would be forced to carry for the rest of his life.

Tom stayed in his seat because it didn’t feel right to rise for a murderer. He felt decidedly on edge. Seeing Bell in the flesh prompted him to fully recall his crimes. They no longer had the distance created by bland words in a newspaper article. Tom checked Bell’s hands to ensure they were empty but Bell wasn’t carrying anything.

The killer stretched out an arm to shake his visitor by the hand. ‘Thanks for coming, Tom. I can’t tell you how much this means.’ Tom did not react. Bell’s smile dissolved into a slight frown but it was one of bemusement, not anger.

‘I don’t think we’ve reached that stage,’ Tom told him.

Bell seemed to ponder this for a moment before withdrawing his hand. ‘Fair enough. I appreciate you taking the time to visit me.’

‘You were very persistent.’

‘Three letters?’ recalled Bell. ‘I’d have written thirty-three if that’s what it would have taken to persuade you,’ he reflected. ‘You are just the man to help me.’

‘I didn’t say I was going to help you,’ Tom told him firmly. ‘I’m here to listen to you. I’ll hear you out but I’m promising nothing.’

‘Of course, you’ve not heard my side yet. I understand your caution. I’d have been disappointed if you’d promised me cooperation without hearing what I have to say. That would have meant you were more interested in making money out of me than clearing my name. I don’t want the kind of reporter who’s only interested in an-interview-with-a-killer.’ Bell said the last words ironically.

‘You are a killer,’ Tom reminded him.

‘I’m a convicted murderer,’ Bell admitted, ‘but I didn’t kill anyone, Tom. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you and if you’ll just keep an open mind …’

‘What happened?’ Tom interrupted and when Bell didn’t comprehend his meaning, he stroked a finger along his own cheek, mirroring the scar on Bell’s face.

‘Oh, that.’ Bell actually smiled then. ‘One of my fellow inmates fell in love with Rebecca during my trial.’

Like those doomed rock stars of the sixties and seventies, death had done little to quell Rebecca Holt’s popularity with the opposite sex. ‘Unfortunately for me, he happened to be a particularly vicious London gangster with a bit