The Killing Club Read Online Free Page A

him.
    Blackwell had been on when a guy on the block had hung himself up by a rope he’d made from shredding his blankets. Craig knew that Blackwell had watched the wretched bloke through the Judas hole, and that he’d not raised the alarm until it was all over. Well, he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, but he knew .
    Craig would be out the next day and he knew there would be plenty of Blackwells waiting for him. A howling mob would find him, or the papers would let on where he was. They’d hunt him down like a fox and tear him to bits.
    He should be glad to be getting out next day. But he’d been shut up so long the whole idea of it freaked him out. No one had been to visit him for years. He sometimes screwed up his eyes to try to see his mum in his head, imagine how she might look now. Blackwell had told him she’d gone crazy because Craig had murdered her bloke. He’d been a security guard, which was almost as hallowed as a policeman. Everyone would be out to get him, Blackwell said. He made it sound as though he was famous – him, Craig. He supposed that was something, at least, but not exactly a good thing.
    He heard footsteps coming back, stopping at his cell. Blackwell had always liked to watch him. He jumped back on to his bed, flung himself down and faced the wall. Don’t react, just wait. He’ll go away . He covered his ears, just to be on the safe side. Blackwell liked to trickle filthy words and thoughts through the hole. Titmus, Titmus, they’ll come and get you, murdering bastard . And then, in time, he went away, giving a final two raps on the door as he shuffled off to torment someone else. Craig waited until morning, his thoughts milling and stirring into a boiling stew of anxiety.
    Blackwell was off duty when it came to leaving. Dave Lofthouse came to escort him to the desk at the outside door where the guards would give him his stuff and get him to sign a paper. He didn’t mind Dave – he was new to the job, young and not yet broken in by the older screws.
    They walked in silence, past the cells where the inmates called out goodbye as he passed. A lump came into his throat and he could manage no more than a grunt to let them know he wouldn’t forget them. They went through corridors and doors which Dave unlocked and then locked again after they’d passed through. When they passed the kitchen he could smell the warm softness of cooking: mince and onions, sponge and floury custard.
    And then, as if he was in some kind of dream where things happened in no particular sequence, he’d been given a bag to carry and he’d reached the big grey metal outside door. As they waited for the guards at the outside desk to buzz it open, Dave put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Good luck, Craig. Don’t let’s be seeing you back here, eh?’
    And then he was out in the yard and there was blue sky above him and a bright sun. He screwed his eyes against the light, shying away from it. He looked around him; there was no one there, no one waiting to get him. No sign of any Blackwells. Not yet.
    The sense of aloneness scared him. He’d had years of being watched, told what to do, never having to make a decision for himself. He made himself move forward, because that was all he could do, just walk away. He didn’t know yet what he would be walking to. He remembered one of the guards saying he had to get a bus, get to the probation office. He’d been given some directions to put in his bag, along with enough money to keep him afloat for a week or so. They’d told him the probation officer would help him. But Blackwell said he’d be all on his own a like fox on the run, with a pack of hounds behind him, catching up, catching up.
    He tried to picture his life, running on ahead of him like an endless road. What would happen to fill all those minutes and hours and days until he got old? He didn’t know. He wanted a family to go to, but there was no one. His mum hadn’t ever been married and he had no brothers or