Journey’s End

Taking off his glasses, he placed them on the desk and with both hands he wiped the sweat from his face. ‘I wish I knew what made the bastard tick. If I knew that, I’d be able to finish him once and for all.’

Replacing his spectacles, he resumed his paperwork. But the leering face as it went out of the door burned in his mind, until a few minutes later, he had to stop work, go to the cabinet and taking out a bottle, pour himself a much-needed drink. There were times when he wondered if he really needed this job after all.

That evening, when the lights were out and only the narrowest shaft of silver moonlight filtered through the window-bars, Edward Trent – for Carter was only an assumed name – lay in his bunk, his eyes closed and his mind full of thoughts about the woman he could not get out of his mind, and the child called Jamie, his one and only son, who was lying in a cold churchyard because of him.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a ciggie hid away somewhere, ’ave ye?’ The voice with the Scots accent belonged to the man in the lower bunk; young and bold, he feared no one, except maybe the man above him, who was renowned for his quick temper and cruel punishment of anyone who set against him.

The answer was instant and sharp. ‘If I had, what makes you think I’d give it to you?’

‘Well, for one thing, I thought you might appreciate the way I kept my mouth shut when questioned by the Governor this morning.’

‘You had a choice. I didn’t ask you to keep quiet about that weasel in the shower.’

There was a low peal of laughter. ‘What d’you take me for? What would have happened if I’d told them how I saw you go in, I heard him squeal, and then I heard the crunch of his bones? I also saw you come out and slink away. I knew what you’d done, all right. I could have shopped you if I’d wanted.’

‘Why don’t you then?’ Hanging his upper end over the bedrail, Trent hissed at the young man, ‘Go on! Call for the screw and tell him what you know, you Scottish nonce.’

‘Oh yeah? And have both my legs broken tomorrow? No thanks. I’ll settle for a ciggie.’

There was a pause while Trent stared down on the bold young man. Then he swung away, delved into the curve of the wall and a moment later threw down a hand-rolled cigarette. ‘Two draws and no more,’ he warned. ‘If they get a whiff of smoke they’ll be in here to search the place from top to bottom.’ He gave a devious grin. ‘It wouldn’t do for them buggers to poke about where they’re not wanted.’

The young man sat up. ‘I need a light.’

Another moment and the match was thrown into his lap. ‘Two draws and no more,’ he was reminded.

Having struck the match on his shoe, the young man lit the cigarette. He took a deep, satisfying draw. Then: ‘D’you mind if I ask you something?’

‘I don’t know till you ask me.’

‘Have you ever killed anybody?’ Taking a long smooth drag of the cigarette, the young fella looked up, startled when he was suddenly grasped round the neck and hoisted into the air. ‘Woah, woah! I didnae mean nuthin’.’

He was hoisted almost to the top bunk, shaken hard, then dropped to the ground where he lay for a moment, choking on the smoke he already had in his throat. ‘You’re a damned lunatic!’ he gasped. ‘Isn’t a man allowed to ask a question without the wind being knocked out of him?’

Above him the big man leered over the edge of his bunk. ‘Twice,’ he said softly. ‘I killed twice; one was a thieving bastard who thought he could get one over on me …’

‘Hmh!’ Clambering up, the young man brushed the dust from his prison nightwear. ‘He won’t be thieving from you again then, will he, eh?’

‘Too right he won’t.’ Lying back in his bunk, the big man was in a confiding mood, especially as he knew his cellmate was not the gabbing kind. ‘I’ve got this temper, y’see? When folks rile me up the wrong way, I lash out. I can’t help it.’

‘Is that right?’ No sooner had the young man taken another deep drag of the cigarette, than it was torn from his mouth. ‘Jesus! You’ve ripped the skin offa my lips!’

‘I said two draws. It’s mine now.’

‘Who was the other one?’

‘What other one?’

‘You said you’d killed twice.’

The answer was slow in coming. ‘A child … I killed a child, but it was an accident.’ Suddenly he was back there, the dark rage alive in him as it was then. ‘The bastards should never have chased me! If they’d stayed back like I asked, it never would have happened. I knew she wouldn’t come with me, so I took the kid, but she ran after me … the other man was coming upriver and I felt trapped. I didn’t mean for it to happen. It was as much their fault as mine. They should never have come after me!’ The last words were a howl.

‘Whose kid was it?’ The young man knew his cellmate was a bad lot, but a child! That was a terrible bad thing.

‘It was mine.’

‘Christ Almighty! You killed your own child?’

He might have said more but when two iron-like fists tightened round his head, he thought he too was about to die. ‘All right! All right! It was an accident – I understand. Let go, you crazy bugger, let go of me!’ In the second before the other man let go, the young Scotsman was sure his head would burst.

Trent went on, his voice thick with emotion: ‘His mammy was the best woman I ever had. I didn’t realise how much I loved her until I’d let her go, then she went off with some other man, and I couldn’t get her back. She turned me away, told me she wanted nothing to do with me ever again.’ Anger quivered in his voice. ‘Have you any idea how that makes a man feel?’

For a time he was silent, reliving that night. ‘I was crazy … out of my head. I grabbed the boy and carried him off, hoping she’d change her mind and come with me, but instead she went wild! She came after me and I panicked. She tried to snatch the boy and somehow it all went wrong. It was the river, y’see? The river took him away. It was Lucy’s fault. If she’d agreed to make her life with me, it never would have happened.’ His voice broke. ‘I don’t suppose Lucy will ever forgive me.’

‘What happened to her?’

‘I don’t know. I ran as far away as I could … went back to sea for many a long year. When war broke out I was over in Canada – went to work in a logging camp for the duration. Didn’t see why I should get a bullet in the arse from Hitler while I could avoid it.’

The other prisoner, who had been too young to fight, didn’t think much of this attitude, having lost an elder brother and an uncle, both soldiers, in the war. However, he wisely kept silent, although something of his feelings came over when he asked: ‘So, they didn’t put you away then?’

‘No.’

‘And you got away with it?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the other one?’

‘What other one?’

‘The one that stole from you.’

‘I was clever. After I’d killed him, I put him where he’d never be found. He was a nobody, a thief and vagabond; it was easy enough to take on his name. I made sure I stayed away long enough to build up my new identity.’ Arrogant as ever he went on, ‘Twenty year and more, I managed to stay out o’ the limelight, then one night on shore leave in Liverpool I got drunk and picked a fight which ended up nasty, and got me sent down.’

‘Is Edward Carter your real name?’

A moment, then: ‘More questions, eh, Scotty?’ Trent grew cautious. ‘Sounds to me like I’ve said more than enough.’

‘You’re a lucky man. By rights you should have been hung from the neck for what you did.’

With amazing agility that belied his age, the big man swung himself down from the bunk, caught the young fella by the shirt-collar and yanked him to his feet. ‘You should be honoured,’ Trent growled. ‘You’re the only person I’ve ever confided in. Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe you know too much for your own good.’

Tightening his grip, he drew the younger man closer still. ‘Have I made a big mistake? For all I know, you might be the sort who would like to make a few bob out of what I’ve told you. Are you? Are you the gabby sort?’

Eyes wide with fear, the young man assured him, ‘You know I’d never do a thing like that. I’d have to be some kind of a fool! I value my legs too much. I wouldn’t want to be left crippled or worse, just ’cause I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut.’

The big man hissed, ‘What do you know about me?’

‘Not a thing! Not a single thing!’