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“If you’re a copper’s nark,” said Nash, “I’ll kill you myself for nothing.”
“I’m a businessman,” said Mellor. Although his heart was still beating overtime, he no longer felt afraid. “And I need the services of a pro.”
Nash turned to face him. “Depends what particular service you’re lookin’ for. Like any well-run business, our prices are competitive,” he added, with a thin smile that revealed three teeth. “If you just want to put the frighteners on someone, broken arm, broken leg, it’ll cost you a grand. A couple of grand if they’re well connected, and a whole lot more if they’ve got protection.”
“He doesn’t have any worthwhile connections, or protection.”
“That makes things easier. So what are you lookin’ for?”
“I want you to break someone’s neck,” said Mellor quietly. Nash looked interested for the first time. “But it must never be traced back to me.”
“What do you take me for, a fucking amateur?”
“If you’re that good,” said Mellor, taking his life in his hands, “how did you end up in here?” Always bully a bully, his old man had taught him, and now he was about to find out if it was good advice.
“All right, all right,” said Nash. “But it won’t come cheap. The screws never take their fuckin’ eyes off me. They read my letters before I see them and listen in on my calls,” he growled, “though I’ve found a way around that. So my only chance is to set something up during a prison visit. Even then the surveillance cameras are on me the whole time, and now they’ve got a fuckin’ lip-reading expert following my every word.”
“Are you saying it’s impossible?”
“No. Expensive. And it’s not going to happen tomorrow morning.”
“And the price?”
“Ten grand up front, another ten on the day of the funeral.”
Mellor was surprised how little a man’s life was worth, although he didn’t care to think about the consequences if he failed to make the second payment.
“Get movin’,” said Nash firmly, “or the screws will get suspicious. If you do up your laces before you leave the yard, I’ll know you’re serious. Otherwise, don’t bother me again.”
Mellor quickened his pace and joined a pickpocket who could remove your watch without you ever realizing it. A party trick inside, a profession outside. Sharp Johnny could make a hundred grand a year tax-free, and rarely ended up with a sentence of more than six months.
The siren sounded to warn the prisoners that it was time to return to their cells. Mellor dropped on one knee and retied a shoelace.
* * *
Lady Virginia never enjoyed visiting Belmarsh high security prison. So different from the more relaxed atmosphere of Ford Open, where they had tea and biscuits on a Saturday afternoon. But since Mellor had been charged with a second, more serious offense, he’d been moved from the garden of England back to Hellmarsh, as it was known by the recidivists.
She particularly disliked being searched for drugs by a butch female officer, in places that would never have crossed her mind, and waiting while barred gates were locked and unlocked before being allowed to progress a few more yards. And the noise was incessant, as if half a dozen rock bands had been penned in together. When she was finally escorted into a large, white, windowless room, she looked up to see a number of officers peering down at the visitors from a circular balcony above them, while the surveillance cameras never stopped moving. But worst of all, she had to rub shoulders not only with the working classes, but with the criminal fraternity.
However, the possibility of earning some extra cash certainly helped to ease the humiliation, although even Mellor wouldn’t be able to help with her latest problem.
That morning, Virginia had received a letter, a carefully worded letter, from the senior partner of Goodman Derrick. He had courteously but firmly requested the return, within thirty days, of some two million pounds obtained by false pretenses, otherwise he would be left with no choice but to issue a writ on behalf of his client.
Virginia didn’t have two thousand pounds, let alone two million. She immediately called her solicitor and asked him to make an appointment for her to see Sir Edward Makepeace QC in the hope that he might come up with a solution. She wasn’t optimistic. The time may have come to finally accept an invitation from a distant cousin to visit his ranch in Argentina. He regularly reminded her of his offer during his annual visit to Cowdray Park, accompanied by a string of polo ponies and a bevy of handsome young men. Both changed with every visit. She could only think of one thing worse than having to spend a few years on a ranch in Argentina: having to spend a few years in a place like this.
Virginia parked her Morris Minor between a Rolls-Royce and an Austin A40 before making her way to reception.
* * *
Mellor sat alone in the visitors’ room, the precious minutes slipping away as he waited for Virginia to appear. She was never on time, but as he didn’t have any other visitors, he was in no position to complain.
He looked around the room, his eyes settling on Nash, who was sitting opposite a peroxide blonde wearing thick red lipstick, a white T-shirt with no bra, and a black leather miniskirt. It was a sign of just how desperate Mellor was that he fancied her.
He watched them carefully, as did several officers from the balcony above. They didn’t appear to be speaking to each other, but then he realized that just because their lips weren’t moving, it didn’t mean they weren’t having a conversation. Most people would have assumed they were man and wife, but as Nash was gay, this had to be strictly business. And Mellor knew whose business they were discussing.
He looked up as Virginia appeared at his table holding a cup of tea and a bar of chocolate. He remembered that Sebastian Clifton had bought him two bars.
“Any further news on your trial date?” Virginia asked, taking the seat opposite him.
