chapter8

“Let's get this party started.”

Sarah Bradshaw's voice rang out clear and true as she buzzed the cell open. The bolts slid across and she yanked the heavy door toward her. Ignoring the mumbled complaints from within, she moved on, methodically unlocking each cell on the wing. She was making good progress and her charges were starting to emerge. Too groggy to argue, too strung out to resist, they shuffled out of their doorways, waiting for the order to go to breakfast. There was no aggravation, no attitude. Little wonder that roll call was Sarah's favorite part of the day.

“Get your game faces on, ladies. It's another day in paradise...”

Smiling to herself, Sarah opened the last cell door before crossing the central gantry to the east side. Instinctively, she shot a look back behind her—she was the only officer on duty this morning thanks to staff shortages and knew from experience never to turn her back on her charges. To her satisfaction, however, everyone was behaving themselves. Grace was first out as usual, and the others weren't far behind. The junkies, schizos and whack jobs who'd spit in your face as soon as look at you at the end of the day were quiet as church mice this morning. It was amazing what hunger could do.

Whistling tunelessly, Sarah continued on her way, swinging her keys as she went. Reaching the end of her round, she turned to survey her kingdom. And now for the first time, she noticed the gap in the line.

Everyone was present and correct, except for Leah Smith. She was housed between Helen Grace and Rosie Burke, an inveterate shoplifter and frequent visitor to Holloway. They were both out on the landing, waiting patiently for instructions, but there was no sign of Leah. She was not someone who usually challenged authority, so—best-case scenario—her absence from the line meant a sick or recalcitrant prisoner. Worst case, it was a code black—prison terminology for an attempted suicide.

“On the landing, Smith. Don't keep these nice ladies waiting...”

It was said confidently, but there was tension in Sarah's voice now. Suicides were messy and always set the other inmates off, as the inevitable lockdown ensued.

“Don't make me come in there and get you. Not if you want to eat today...”

Still no movement, so turning on her heel Sarah marched back to the western side of the wing. The other inmates were getting in on the act now, offering lurid suggestions for how Sarah might rouse Leah from her slumbers. Sarah ignored them, walking fast along the corridor past Baylis, past Cooke, and eventually past Grace too. Sarah had now arrived at Smith's cell, and, taking a breath, she heaved the door open and stepped inside.

To her relief, all was quiet. She'd been expecting torn bedsheets, blood on the floor or even a flooded cell. But, no, Smith was lying on her bed, covered from head to toe by her blanket.

“Get your arse up, Smith, or I will put you on report.”

Still Leah didn't move. Fear started to puncture Sarah Bradshaw's anger now. For some reason she couldn't put her finger on, she had the strong feeling that something was very wrong in this cell. It looked ordinary enough, neat and tidy... but the silence inside it was strangely suffocating.

Whatever it was, Sarah suddenly had to know. So, stepping forward, she took a firm hold of the corner of the blanket and, after a silent count of three, yanked it off the bed.