Free Someone To Save you by Paul Pilkington Page A

night.
    What sick individual was doing this?
    Sam slipped the article into his pocket and began searching through the jumble of multi-coloured scarves that made up most of the locker’s contents. And there, right at the bottom of the locker, wedged against a pair of trainers, was an envelope addressed to Sam. He looked at it for a moment, before tearing it open. It had to be from the man who had stolen Louisa’s phone. But it wasn’t; it was a typed note from Louisa.
    Dear Sam, I hope you will understand what I did. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. Love always, Lou xxx.
    Sam sat outside the consulting room for the next few minutes, waiting impatiently for Louisa to emerge. The caller, whoever he was, wasn’t just an anonymous sicko who had picked them at random. He knew Louisa, knew where she worked, knew where she kept her mobile, and knew about Cathy.
    And then there was the note. But that could wait.
    Finally, Louisa emerged, stealing a glance at Sam as she said goodbye to the young man. She waited until the client was out of hearing range. ‘Was it there?’
    ‘No,’ Sam said, getting to his feet. ‘Someone’s broken into your locker. The phone’s gone. And this was on the inside door,’ he added, handing her the newspaper cutting.
    ‘What the...’ she said, scrutinising the article. She looked up. ‘What the hell’s going on, Sam?’
    ‘You said you might know who this is,’ Sam said. ‘Tell me.’
    ‘I might be wrong.’
    ‘You might be right,’ Sam countered. ‘Whoever this guy is, he’s dangerous. He’s already gained access to your stuff, Louisa. If you have even the slightest suspicion of who this guy is, you need to say. Is it the client from the restaurant? The guy with the bright jacket?’
    Louisa paused, thinking. ‘CCTV,’ she said. ‘There’s that camera just at the top of the stairs, near the lift. Do you think they’d let us have a look at the film?’
    ‘You don’t want to contact the police?’
    ‘Not yet,’ Louisa replied. ‘I’d rather check this first.’
    He decided not to press her further just yet. Maybe the camera images would clear things up, and then they could go to the police. ‘Okay,’ Sam said. ‘CCTV is a good idea.’ You couldn’t get to the locker room without passing the camera, so it would surely have captured the person responsible. ‘You free now?’
    Louisa nodded. ‘My next consultation is in an hour.’
     
     
     
     
    10
     
     
     
    Charlie Foggerty, Head Guard at the high security prison HM Fairfield, heard the commotion and left his post, heading through the double doors towards the main cell block. He was met by Karen Armstrong, a new officer, just twenty three years old. She was distraught.
    ‘It’s Wayne Cartwright, he’s dead. Killed himself.’
    Charlie placed a hand on her shoulder as he moved past, heading for the cell. He would need to check on her later, make sure she was okay. A group of guards were milling outside. They straightened as he approached.
    ‘Let me in.’
    They parted and he entered the cell. Wayne Cartwright, aged twenty, was hanging from the light fitting in the centre of the room. Two guards were struggling to get him down, like trainee butcher boys trying to unhook a piece of meat.
    Charlie stepped closer, examining the situation, fighting his instinct to just turn around and go home. He’d seen suicides before, many of them hangings, in his thirty year career. It didn’t get any easier. Every act was a tragedy, and a failure of the prison service to protect these often vulnerable young men. Whatever they had done to arrive here, there was no way their departure should be in a box.
    He looked at the cord that wrapped itself tightly around Wayne’s neck, cutting into the skin. It was thick. Electrical wire possibly. How the hell had he smuggled that into the cell? The other end was tied around the light fitting. The body twisted around and Charlie looked at the boy’s face. His eyes were