Mortal Judgement by Wendy Cartmell

Author:Wendy Cartmell [Cartmell, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-01-08T22:00:00+00:00

Twenty Six

The wing briefing was over and the Whisperer couldn’t wait to get started. He’d found a new target. It seemed there was a lad who had been badly beaten up and taunted because he’d had sex with an under-age girl. He licked his lips in anticipation. It was still too early to do anything, but he kept his eye on the cell. There hadn’t been any sign of the lad throughout recreation, so it appeared he was feeling pretty bad. The Whisperer rubbed his hands together, relishing the thought of fresh pickings. The boy would be feeling a damn sight worse very soon indeed.

The call for lock-up went out and he grinned and traded insults with his fellow officers and some of the lads as he went up the wing closing and locking each door as he passed it. Once that was done, they all retired to the wing office.

“Thank Christ that’s over with. It must be time for a brew, everyone want one?” Various shouts and cheers met Tom Collin’s offer.

The Whisperer glanced at his watch. 8pm. It was still too early. He’d have to wait until at least 11pm and then some before he could go to work.

The evening dragged on as the Whisperer got on with the mountain of paperwork that accumulated in the wing office during the day. A bloody waste of trees was his opinion of the amount of paper the requests garnered, as he sifted through the various applications and forms the prisoners produced every day. There were so many apps and so few officers that he knew many of the requests would never see the light of day. Or if they did, it was normally too late for whatever action the prisoner had requested. He knew of several times when prisoners had requested a home visit for a funeral due to the death of a relative and the acceptance or rejection had been received by the prisoner a week after the event. He smiled to himself. Such was the lot of a prisoner, he thought as he picked up a particularly badly completed form, crumpled it up and dropped it in the waste paper bin by his feet. He knew that by the end of his shift, the bin would be full.

By 11pm the wing had settled down and the Whisperer volunteered for a walk about, using the fact that he was fed up with sorting paperwork and needed a bit of a break as an excuse. He walked along on his rubber soled shoes, which squeaked as he walked. He always fancied the sound was a bit menacing. His slow, steady footsteps squeaking as he approached each door. He lifted the observation hatch of some of the doors as he went, so that when he got to Sean’s cell, opening the hatch wouldn’t seem unusual.

Looking sideways through the open door hatch into Sean’s cell, he could see the lad turning this way and that in the bottom bunk. There was no

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