Drawing on a core of pure will, Ryan managed to suppress his personal feelings throughout their journey through the various levels of prison security. A couple of the prison guards recognised him and wondered, but none of them questioned his right to be there. Phillips risked another glance across at him.
“Does it bother you, knowing how close he is?”
They stood outside one of the many steel gates, waiting for the buzz and the metal clank which precipitated its opening.
“I prefer to keep my enemies close.”
Phillips tried to choose his words with care.
“There’s such a thing as being too close, mate. What does Anna think about it?”
“She understands.”
That wasn’t quite true, Ryan admitted. She had listened to his explanation of where Edwards had been incarcerated, had continued to listen as he detailed how it would not be a problem for him, in the future, staying at her home in Durham. But she hadn’t said that she understood, or that she thought it was a good idea, for him to be within such a short radius. The fact of Edwards’ presence was a constant reminder of what had happened.
“Look, Frank. I don’t need you chewing my ear off about this. Not now. Focus on why we’re here.”
Phillips drew his chin up, telling Ryan more clearly than words that he was offended. Well, that was tough luck. They had more important things to think about than hurt feelings.
The barrier creaked open and they stepped over the threshold, into the Westgate Unit of the prison, an area reserved for those prisoners requiring more secure detainment, or segregation. Ryan cast his eye around the foyer and his lip curled slightly at what he saw. This area was almost brand new and sparkling clean. He knew that there was a library, a faith room and access to TV, video games; all manner of hobbies, crafts and classes. The men here could enjoy an hour of Pilates, if the mood struck them and they needed to find their inner zen.
He concentrated on emptying his mind, slowing his breathing. Before the events of last year, he had maintained a balanced opinion of the criminal justice system. It was easy to do that, when you didn’t know any of the victims, or their families, personally. It was easy to talk about restorative justice and the value of rehabilitation when the damage and destruction had never hit too close to home. He had been an active proponent of giving prisoners useful occupations during their incarceration and was a staunch supporter of psychological programmes designed to alter negative behaviour in the hopes of reducing rates of recidivism.
That was before.
Lying there, injured, holding the body of his sister as the lifeblood emptied her and seeped onto his hands, through his clothes, something had broken inside him. He recognised that it had been the tiny core of idealism, which had survived the day job. Now, there was a hollow little space where it should have been, occupied every day with a mixture of cynicism and bitterness. That little space would have been swallowed whole by resentment and loathing, were it not for Anna’s calm, positive influence in his life.
“Boss?”
Phillips interrupted the introspection and Ryan turned his attention to the guard who motioned them towards a private conference room, equipped with cameras and an audio recording system. The table in the middle of the room was constructed from a heavy metal, drilled into place by strong bolts to the floor.
“I’ll fetch him,” the guard said.
The air felt thick and heavy as they paced around the small boxy space. Or, rather, as Ryan paced and Phillips sat with every sign of comfort and ease with himself in one of the newer plastic chairs. He took his time retrieving a note pad and file of relevant paperwork, licking the tip of his thumb every so often as he flicked through the pages.
Eventually, he gave up the pretence and sighed.
“You know what we need to cover?” Ryan asked.
Phillips held back another sigh. They had been through their planned line of questioning, several times during the car journey to the prison.
“Course I do.”
“Good. Good,” Ryan was gibbering and he knew it.
“You better head on back now,” Phillips said quietly. They had already agreed that Ryan would remain in the observation room only. There was a long panel of thick, two-way mirrored glass separating the two rooms, which had been modelled on the standard interview suite at any police station in the land.
He didn’t like it, Phillips thought, as he watched his SIO stalk out of the room, but it was for the best.
As the minutes ticked by, he could almost feel Ryan’s eyes boring through the glass and sweat beaded across his forehead under the glare of the overhead light. He reached for the inner pocket of his blazer to feel the emergency cigarette stashed there and then remembered that Ryan had smoked it earlier. He patted the material nonetheless and told himself that he could smoke an entire pack at the end of the day as a reward once this ordeal was over.