“Get your arse upstairs, Friedman, and sharpish. Once they’ve checked your piss you can come back down and enjoy a well-earned rest. Now move it.”
Benny folded his copy of the Sun, lowered himself slowly off the bottom bunk, strolled out of his cell into the corridor, and made his way up to the medical wing. No officer ever bothered to accompany him while he was out of his cell, as he never caused any trouble. You can have a reputation, even in prison.
When Benny arrived at the medical wing, he was surprised to find that none of the usual reprobates was waiting in line to be checked for drugs. In fact, he seemed to be the only inmate in sight.
“This way, Friedman,” said an officer he didn’t recognize. Moments after he had entered the hospital, he heard a key being turned in the lock behind him. He looked round and saw his old friend Detective Inspector Matthews, who had arrested him many times in the past, sitting on the end of one of the beds.
“To what do I owe this honor, Mr. Matthews?” Benny asked without missing a beat.
“I need your help, Benny,” said the detective inspector, not suggesting that the old lag should sit down.
“That’s a relief, Mr. Matthews. For a minute I thought you were being tested for drugs.”
“Don’t get lippy with me, Benny,” said Matthews sharply. “Not when I’ve come to offer you a deal.”
“And what are you proposing this time, Mr. Matthews? A packet of fags in exchange for a serial killer?”
Matthews ignored the question. “You’re coming up for appeal in a few months’ time,” he said, lighting a cigarette but not offering Benny one. “I might be able to arrange for a couple of years to be knocked off your sentence.” He took a deep drag and blew out a cloud of smoke before adding, “Which would mean you could be out of this hellhole in six months’ time.”
“How very thoughtful of you, Mr. Matthews,” said Benny. “What are you expecting me to do in return for such munificence?”
“There’s a con on his way to Belmarsh from the Old Bailey. He should be checking in any moment now. His name’s Bryant, Kevin Bryant, and I’ve arranged for him to be your new cellmate.”
When the cell door was pulled open, Benny looked up from his copy of the Sun and watched as Bryant swaggered into the cell. The man didn’t say a word, just flung his kit bag on the top bunk. New prisoners always start off on the top bunk.
Benny went back to his paper while Bryant placed a thin bar of white soap, a green flannel, a rough green towel, and a Bic razor on the ledge above the washbasin. Benny put his paper down and studied the new arrival more closely. Bryant was every inch the armed robber. He was about five foot five, stockily built, with a shaved head. He unbuttoned his blue-and-white striped prison shirt to reveal a massive tattoo of a red devil. Not much doubt which football team Bryant supported. On the fingers of one hand were tattooed the letters HATE, and on the other, LOVE.
Bryant finally glanced across at Benny. “My name’s Kev.”
“Mine’s Benny. Welcome to Belmarsh.”
“It’s not my first time in the slammer,” said Bryant. “I’ve been here before.” He chuckled. “Several times, actually. And you?” he asked once he’d climbed up onto the top bunk and settled down.
“Fourth time,” said Benny. “But then, I don’t like to hang round for too long.”
Bryant laughed for the first time. “So what are you in for?” he asked.
Benny was surprised that Bryant had broken one of prison’s golden rules: never ask a fellow con what he’s in for. Wait for him to volunteer the information. “I’m a fence,” he replied.
“What do you fence?”
“Almost anything. But I draw the line at drugs, and that includes marijuana, and I won’t handle porn, hard or soft. You’ve got to have some standards.”
Bryant was silent for some time. Benny wondered if he’d fallen asleep, which would be unusual on your first day inside, even for a regular. “You haven’t asked me what I’m in for,” said Bryant eventually.
“No need to, is there?” said Benny. “Your mugshot’s been on the front page of the tabloids every day for the past week. Everyone at Belmarsh knows what you’re in for.”
Bryant didn’t speak again that night, but Benny was in no hurry. The one thing you’ve got plenty of in prison is time. As long as you’re patient, everything will eventually come out, however secretive an inmate imagines he is.
Benny didn’t much like being in jail, but most of all he dreaded the weekends, when you could be banged up for eighteen hours at a stretch, with only a short break to collect an oily meal of spam fritters and chips from the hotplate.
The screws allowed the prisoners out for a forty-five-minute break in the afternoon. Benny could choose between watching football on television or taking a stroll round the yard, whatever the weather. He had no interest in football, but as Bryant always went straight to the yard, he settled for watching television. He was grateful for any break he could get in this hastily arranged marriage, and if Bryant was ever going to say anything about where the diamonds were, it was more likely to be in the privacy of their cell than in the bustling, noisy, overcrowded yard where other prisoners could eavesdrop.
Benny was reading an article about how the Italian Prime Minister spent his weekends when Bryant broke into his thoughts. “Why don’t you ever ask me about the diamonds?”
“None of my business,” said Benny, not looking up from his paper.
“But you must be curious about what I’ve done with them?”
“According to the Sun’s crime correspondent,” said Benny, “you sold them to a middle man for half a million.”
“Half a million?” said Bryant. “Do I look that fuckin’ stupid?”
“So how much did you sell ’em for?”
“Nothin’.”
“Nothin’?” repeated Benny.
“Because I’ve still got ’em, haven’t I?”
“Have you?”
“Yeah. And I can tell you one thing. The fuzz ain’t never gonna find out where I stashed ’em, however hard they look.”
Benny pretended to go on reading his paper. He’d reached the sports pages by the time Bryant spoke again.
“It’s all part of my retirement plan, innit? Most of the muppets in this place will walk out with nothin’, while I’ve got myself a guaranteed income for life, haven’t I?”
Benny waited patiently, but Bryant didn’t utter another word before lights out, four hours later. Benny would have liked to ask Bryant just one more question, but he knew he couldn’t risk it.
“What do you think about this guy Berlusconi?” he asked finally.
“What’s he in for?” asked Bryant.
Benny always attended the Sunday morning service held in the prison chapel, not because he believed in God, but because it got him out of his cell for a whole hour. The long walk to the chapel on the other side of the prison, the body search for drugs—by a female officer if you got lucky—the chance for a gossip with some old lags, a sing-song, followed by a saunter back to your cell in time for lunch, were a welcome break from the endless hours of being banged up.
Benny settled down in his usual place in the third row, opened his hymn sheet, and, when the organ struck up, joined in lustily with “Fight the good fight.”
Once the prison chaplain had delivered his regular sermon on repentance and forgiveness, followed by the final blessing, the cons began to make their way slowly out of the chapel and back to their cells.
“Can you spare me a moment, Friedman?” asked the chaplain after Benny had handed in his hymn sheet.
“Of course, Father,” said Benny, feeling a moment of apprehension that the chaplain might ask him to sign up for his confirmation class. If he did, Benny would have to come clean and admit he was Jewish. The only reason he’d ticked the little box marked C of E was so he could escape from his cell for an hour every Sunday morning. If he’d admitted he was a Jew, a Rabbi would have visited him in his cell once a month,
because not enough Jews end up in prison to hold a service for them.
The chaplain asked Benny to join him in the vestry. “A friend has asked to see you, Benny. I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes.” He closed the vestry door and returned to those repenting souls who did want to sign up for his confirmation class.
“Good morning, Mr. Matthews,” said Benny, taking an unoffered seat opposite the detective inspector. “I had no idea you’d taken up holy orders.”
“Cut the crap, Friedman, or I may have to let your wing officer know that you’re really a Jew.”
“If you did, Inspector, I’d have to explain to him how I’d seen the light on the way to Belmarsh.”
“And you’ll see my boot up your backside if you waste any more of my time.”
“So, to what do I owe this pleasure?” asked Benny innocently.
“Has he sold the diamonds?” asked Matthews, not wasting another word.
“No, Inspector, he hasn’t. In fact, he claims they’re still in his possession. The story about selling them for half a million was just a smokescreen.”
“I knew it,” said Matthews. “He would never have sold them for so little. Not after all the trouble he went to.” Benny didn’t comment. “Have you managed to find out where he’s stashed them?”
“Not yet,” said Benny. “I’ve got a feeling that might take a little longer, unless you want me to—”
“Don’t press him,” interrupted Matthews. “It’ll only make him suspicious. Bide your time and wait for him to tell you himself.”
“And when I’ve elicited this vital piece of evidence, Inspector, I’ll get two years knocked off my sentence, as you promised?” Benny reminded him.
“Don’t push your luck, Friedman. I accept that you’ve earned a year off, but you won’t get the other year until you find out where those diamonds are. So get back to your cell, and keep your ears open and your mouth shut.”
It was on a Saturday morning that Bryant asked Benny, “Have you ever fenced any diamonds?”
Benny had waited weeks for Bryant to ask that question. “From time to time,” he said. “I’ve got a reliable dealer in Amsterdam, but I’d need to know a lot more before I’d be willing to contact him. What sort of numbers are we talkin’ about?”
“Is ten mil out of your league?” asked Bryant.
“No, I wouldn’t say that,” said Benny, trying not to rise, “but it might take a little longer than usual.”
“All I’ve got is time,” said Bryant, slipping back into one of his long, contemplative silences. Benny prayed that it wasn’t going to be another six weeks before he asked the next question.
“What percentage would you pay me if I let you fence the diamonds?” asked Bryant.
“My usual terms are twenty percent of the face value, strictly cash.”
“And how much do you sell them on for?”
“Usually round fifty percent of face value.”
“And how much will your contact make?”
“I’ve got no idea,” said Benny. “He doesn’t ask me where it comes from, and I don’t ask him how much he makes out of it. As long as we all make a profit, the less anyone knows the better.”
“Does it matter what kind of stones they are?”
“The smaller the better,” said Benny. “Always avoid the big stuff. If you brought me the Crown Jewels, I’d tell you to fuck off, because I’d never find a buyer. Small stones aren’t easy to trace, you can lose them on the open market.”
“So you’d cough up a couple of mil, if I deliver?”
“If they’re worth ten million, yes, but I’d need to see them first.”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” asked Bryant, looking Benny straight in the eye.
“Because figures reported in the press aren’t always reliable. Crime reporters like numbers with lots of noughts, and they only ever round them up.”
“But they were insured for ten million,” said Bryant, “and don’t forget the insurance company paid up in full.”
“I won’t make an offer until I’ve seen the goods,” said Benny.
Bryant fell silent again.
“So where are they?” asked Benny, trying to make the words sound unrehearsed.
“It doesn’t matter where they are,” said Bryant.
“It matters if you expect me to give you a valuation,” snapped Benny.
“What if I could show you half a dozen of them right now?”
“Stop pissing me about, Kev. If you’re serious about doin’ a deal, tell me where they are. If not, fuck off.” Not tactics Inspector Matthews would have approved of, but with his appeal coming up in a few days’ time, Benny couldn’t afford to wait another six weeks before Bryant spoke again.
“I’m serious,” said Bryant quietly. “So shut up and listen for a minute, unless you’re doing a bigger deal this week?” Benny thought about another year being knocked off his sentence and remained silent. “While I was banged up on remand, one of the cons was arrested for possession. Heroin, class A.”
“So what?” said Benny. “People get arrested for possession every day.”
“Not while they’re in prison, they don’t.”
“But how did he get the gear in?” asked Benny, suddenly taking an interest.
“This con picks up the stuff from a mate while he’s on trial at the Old Bailey. Durin’ one of the breaks he asks to go to the toilet, knowing that the guard has to stay outside while he’s in the cubicle. While he’s on the john, he stuffs the gear into a condom, ties a knot in it, and swallows it.”
“But if the condom split open in his stomach,” said Benny, “he’d be history.”
“Yeah, but if he gets it into prison, he can make a grand. Five times what he’d pick up on the out.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” said Benny.
“Once he’s banged up in here, he waits till the middle of the night, sits on the toilet, where the screws can’t see him through the spy hole, and—”
“Spare me the details.”
After another long pause, Bryant said, “On the day I was sentenced I did the same thing.”
“You swallowed two ounces of heroin?” asked Benny in disbelief.
“No, you stupid bugger, you’ve not been payin’ attention.” Benny remained silent while Bryant rolled a cigarette then kept him waiting until he’d lit it and inhaled several times. “I swallowed six of the diamonds, didn’t I?”
“Why in Gawd’s name would you do that?”
“Prison currency, in case I ever found myself dealin’ with a bent screw, or in need of a favor from an old lag.”
“So where are they now?” asked Benny, pushing his luck.
“They’ve been in this cell for the past three months, and you haven’t even set eyes on them.”
Benny said nothing as Bryant climbed down from the top bunk and took a plastic fork from the table. He slowly began to unstitch the center strip that ran down the side of his Adidas tracksuit bottoms. It was some time before he was able to extract one small diamond. Benny’s eyes lit up when he saw it sparkle under the naked light bulb.
“Six stripes means six diamonds,” Bryant said in triumph. “If any screw checked my tracksuit, he would have found more stashed in there than he earns in a year.”
Bryant handed the diamond over to Benny, who took it across to the tiny barred window and studied it closely while he tried to think.
“So, what do you think?” asked Bryant.
“Can’t be sure yet, but there’s one way to find out. Let me see your watch.”
“Why?” asked Bryant, holding out his arm.
Benny didn’t reply, but ran the edge of the stone across the glass, leaving a thin scratch on the surface.
“Hey, what’s your game?” said Bryant, pulling his arm away. “I paid good money for that watch.”
“And I won’t be wasting good money on this piece of shit,” said Benny, handing the stone back to Bryant before returning to the bottom bunk and p
retending to read his newspaper.
“Why the fuck not?” asked Bryant.
“Because it’s not a diamond,” said Benny. “If it was, it would have shattered the glass on your watch, not just left a scratch on the surface. You’ve been robbed, my friend,” said Benny, “and by a very clever man who’s palmed you off with paste.”
Bryant stared at his watch. It was some time before he stammered out, “But I saw Abbott fill the bag with diamonds from his safe.”
“I’ve no doubt you saw him fill the bag with something, Kevin, but whatever it was, it wasn’t diamonds.”
Bryant collapsed onto the only chair in the cell. Eventually he managed to ask, “So how much are they worth?”
“Depends how many you’ve got.”
“A sugar bag full. It weighed about two pounds.”
Benny wrote down some numbers on the back of his newspaper before offering his considered opinion. “Two grand perhaps, three at the most. I’m sorry to say, Kev, that Mr. Abbott saw you coming.”
Bryant began picking at the remaining stripes on his tracksuit bottoms with the plastic fork. Each time a new stone fell out, he rubbed it across his watch. The result was always the same: a faint scratch, but the glass remained firmly intact.
“Twelve years for a few fuckin’ grand,” Bryant shouted as he paced up and down the tiny cell like a caged animal. “If I ever get my hands on that bastard Abbott, I’ll tear him apart limb from limb.”
“Not for another twelve years you won’t,” said Benny helpfully.
Bryant began thumping the cell door with his bare fists, but he knew that no one could hear him except Benny.
Benny didn’t say another word until lights out at ten o’clock, by which time Bryant had calmed down a little, and had even stopped banging his head against the wall.
Benny had spent the time working out exactly what he was going to say next. But not before he was convinced that Bryant was at his most vulnerable, which was usually about an hour after lights out. “I think I know how you could get revenge on your friend Mr. Abbott,” whispered Benny, not sure if Bryant was still awake.