by LSF Publications
by by Anthony Alba
"I'm not sure," Sandra Davidson muttered uncertainly as she weighed the options before her. "Shouldn't I have my solicitor here before I do any deals with you?"
"You're a convicted delinquent," Alison Cooper pointed out smoothly and with no small amount of satisfaction. "You are not entitled to legal advice. If you're not interested there are others I can speak to." To emphasise the point she deliberately closed her legal pad and started gathering her things as if to leave the interview room.
"No, wait," Sandra said quickly. "I just want a moment or two to think about it."
"I don't have all day," Alison told her.
In truth she did not mind a few more minutes to study the change that had come over Sandra. The last time they had seen each other, Sandra had looked every inch the successful up and coming accountant in her sharp business suit. Even in the dock she had possessed a certain dignity. Now the childish school uniform she wore stripped her of any inherent gravitas she might have once had and made her look like she was seventeen instead of her actual twenty-five years of age. And the way she had flinched when the guard escorting her in had casually patted her on the bottom had been very telling.
When Alison had first shown up Sandra had been naturally bitter and resentful towards her. Alison was part of the prosecution team that was responsible for sending her here. When she had been assigned the case Alison had been over the moon. Involvement on such a high profile case had the potential to be a real shot in the arm for her career.
And then just when she was flying high everything had threatened to come crashing down. Reviewing some documents Alison discovered evidence that suggested Sandra's role in the fraud had been a lot more minor that everyone thought. Such exculpatory evidence should have been handed over to the defence team, but Alison faced a dilemma.
The real movers and shakers were protected by the 'old boys' network'. They were never going to face serious prison time but the newspapers were demanding someone be held accountable. If she were the one to point out the evidence that saw Sandra get a slap on the wrist instead of a heftier sentence the Crown Prosecution Service would blame her for derailing their grand crusade against white collar crime.
Her ultimate boss, Sir Hugh Tanner, had summed it up nicely once. "I'm the sort to sometimes shoot the messenger. It sends a message."
In the end Alison had found it remarkably easy to put self-interest ahead of justice or the rules of prosecutorial ethics. The damning document went to the shredder and the defence were none the wiser.
Sandra had been convicted and like a fish on the hook Alison now wanted to reel her in. Her involvement might have been minor but she still knew names, dates and all sorts of juicy confidential damming information. Even if there were no prosecutions, that sort of leverage might be useful to an ambitious young prosecutor like Alison. And all she had to do was give some false hope and she was sure Sandra would be singing like a canary.
"And if I give you this information you will help me get out of this hell-hole?" Sandra asked carefully as she surveyed the grim surroundings of the reformatory.
Alison smiled at her pleasantly. She had offered to make a recommendation to the parole board and she did not consider it a lie. Was she to blame if Sandra had not asked what recommendation she would be making? She had no intention of rocking the boat and intervening for Sandra. This case had made her. Why would she jeopardise that? Her recommendation would be that Sandra should serve her full sentence - as a deterrent to others. That always went down well.
"You have my word," she told the woman standing before her. There was no chair for Sandra. She was forced to stand. From what she knew of the reformatory, Alison was willing to bet that Sandra would not have wanted to sit anyway. Which reminded her ... she made a quick note on her pad. The woman was supposed to address her now as 'ma'am'. She would have to remember to report that once she had the information she wanted. That was a strapping offence and if she was lucky she might even get to witness it.
"Okay," Sandra finally said. "But there is..."
Before she could continue a loud claxon went off, and within a few seconds a second alarm bell started to sound a bit further off. Moment's later a third more distant alarm joined the chorus.
Alarmed, Alison almost jumped out of her chair. Was the place on fire? She looked around the small interview room but there was no sight of any smoke. She opened the door into the corridor and stuck her head out. She jerked back as she saw a small crowd of delinquents racing down the corridor shouting at the top of their lungs. Dressed as delinquents they still had the air of a gang of hooligans about them.
"What... what's going on?"
Sandra looked equally confused for a moment as she stared into the corridor alongside Alison. Then a growing realisation began to dawn on her face. "It's a riot," she gasped. "Tensions have been brewing for weeks now," she explained. "The new governor's a real hard line nut job and some of the girls..."
"A riot." Alison felt the blood drain from her face. She looked up and down the corridor but there was no sign of any of the guards. The officer who had escorted Sandra here had said he would be waiting outside. Now he was nowhere to be seen.
Her first instinct was to reach for her phone but as her hand started to move towards her pocket, she winced. She had surrendered her phone and her purse and handbag at the security desk. She could not call for help. And from the looks of things the staff had either been overwhelmed or decided to withdrew until they were ready to reclaim control of the reformatory.
The guards are trained for this, she told herself. They have riot gear and tear gas and tasers. Only they might not be able to regain control of the facility for several hours - hours in which she would be trapped with a gang of vengeful delinquents. Hell, she thought. There is one in the room with me.
"I wouldn't let anyone see that," Sandra said smugly as she nodded to Alison's visitor's badge. Not only did it proclaim her visitor's status it actually marked her as a CPS Prosecutor. It did not take her long to work it out. That badge would be like a red rag to a bull if any of the rioters saw it. "I reckon they're at the records room," Sandra said calmly as she tilted her head to listen to the distant sounds. "Probably trying to destroy disciplinary records." Then a smile spread across her face as she regarded a sweating Alison. "If I were you I'd be trying to run. Sounds like they are coming this way and if they catch you..." She shook her head in mock sympathy but said nothing, leaving it to Alison's imagination to work out what the mob would do to her. "Of course with the place in lock down all the exits will be locked," Sandra went on as if discussing the weather and not a life or death situation. "It's not exactly a hotel you can just walk out of."
"You have to help me!" Alison cried as she pulled off her ID badge and tucked it away out of sight. That would not do much good as from her smart business suit they would know she was someone important.
"Do I?"
"Yes," Alison said as her mind worked frantically for a solution. Over the sound of the alarms she could hear shouting and it was getting closer. "If you keep me safe I..."
"Do what?" Sandra demanded. She did not look in the least bit worried about the riot. Then again, what reason did she have to fear from rampaging delinquents?
"I can get you a pardon," Alison lied. She did not have that sort of influence yet. But if a flat out lie was what was required to keep her safe she was more than willing to perjure herself on oath if needed. "You'd be free - a hero - if you can keep me safe."
For what seemed like an eternity Alison feared that Sandra was going to run out into the corridor and tell the mob who and where she was. She could feel sweat pouring out of every pore of her body. This was not an official visit. She had done it on her own initiative so the office would not even know she was caught up in the trouble.
"Okay, I'll keep you safe if you promise to get me a pardon."
Alison wasted no time in thrusting out her hand to the other woman. "I promise," she replied. Once she was safe and sound outside there would not be a lot that Sandra could do about broken promises. It would be her word against Alison's and who was going to believe a convicted delinquent? They were all liars anyway.
"We can't stay here," Sandra said firmly. She eyed the as yet empty corridor. "Follow me and leave that stuff," she added, nodding to the legal pad and file.
"What is this place?" Alison demanded as she eyed the room Sandra had taken her to. The walls were lined with shelves all laden down with what looked like spare uniforms. Past the desk she could see another door open. It seemed to lead onto some sort of gang shower.
"Admissions," Sandra replied shortly. From the undertone of bitterness in her voice Alison guessed whatever had happened to Sandra here had been traumatic.
"When you're brought in first you have to strip off. There." Sandra nodded to a point just in front of the desk. "Right in front of anyone and never mind who might be passing." She turned to glare at Alison. "Have you ever had to undress in front of complete strangers?" Her face twisted up as she remembered the humiliating experience. "They keep male guards nearby, for security they say, but they all like to cop a good gawk. Then they delouse you in the showers and it's only then that you're given your uniform." With a visible effort Sandra shook herself and nodded to the showers. "Get undressed and get in there."
"What?" Alison gasped in astonishment. Why would she want to take a shower in the middle of a riot? That made no sense.
"You want me to keep you safe?" Sandra did not wait for an answer. "The only way I can do that is to make you look like the rest of us." She gestured to Alison's dark pinstripe skirt suit. "If anyone sees you in that get-up, they will hit first and ask questions later. So while you're having a quick shower I'll pick out a uniform for you."
"You mean dress like a..." Alison could not bring herself to complete that sentence. Even thinking about it made her feel slightly sick. Delinquent's uniforms were deliberately humiliating. The short black skirt, the ankle socks, hair worn in childish braids - it was all designed to rob the wearer of any semblance of respectability.
"You want to take your chances as you are?" Sandra gestured to the way they had come in. "Good luck with that."
Torn, Alison slowly nodded. What Sandra was suggesting made sense. As long as she was dressed as she was, she was a target. "Okay, but why do I have to shower?"
"Because delinquents don't wear make-up or expensive perfume," Sandra explained as if to a slow learner. "Hurry, we don't have much time."
Seeing Alison slowly beginning to comply and start to undress she added quite casually. "And you might want to put on the shower cap. You don't want any of those chemicals getting in your hair."
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