Free Hard Landing by Stephen Leather

whys and wherefores?’
    ‘Pretty much.’
    ‘You couldn’t have a better guide. He’s been a guest at half a dozen establishments like this. Take it easy, yeah?’
    Harris left, and the prison officer locked the door.
    ‘What’s his story?’ asked Macdonald.
    Lee finished his cornflakes and washed his plastic bowl in the small stainless-steel sink by the toilet. ‘Murder, suspicion of,’ he said. ‘His trial’s in a couple of months. Topped his missus.’
    ‘And he’s offering advice to me?’
    ‘He’s a thief. A good one. Did a three-stretch in the Scrubs and when he came out his wife said she was gonna leave him and take the kids. He snapped. Picked up a bread-knife and damn near severed her head. Provocation, if you ask me. I mean, wives are supposed to stand by their men, right?’
    Macdonald lay down on his bunk. ‘That’s what they say, Jason.’ He sighed. He read the information sheet that Harris had given him. ‘“You can talk to a Listener about anything in complete confidence, just as you would a Samaritan,”’ he read aloud. ‘“Everything you say is treated with confidentiality.”’ He looked over at Lee. ‘Is that right?’
    ‘Supposed to be,’ said Lee.
    Macdonald stared up at the ceiling. There was only one person he could trust, and that was himself. Everyone else was a potential threat, and that included his cellmate.
    It had been light outside for a couple of hours when the cell door was unlocked again. Lee was standing at the ready, jiggling from foot to foot. As soon as it opened he rushed out and hared along the landing. Macdonald heard the pounding of feet as other prisoners rushed to the showers. He felt dirty but without a towel and clean clothes to change into, he didn’t see the point of showering.
    He climbed down from the top bunk and stared at his reflection in the mirror tiles above the sink. There were dark patches under his eyes and his hair was lank and greasy. He bared his teeth. He looked as if he’d been sleeping rough for a week.
    He took the shaving soap and brush, lathered his face, then shaved with the small plastic razor. He cleaned his teeth with the foul-tasting toothpaste. Plastic bristles came off the brush and he spat them out.
    As he was rinsing his mouth, the cell door opened. It was Harris, carrying a dark blue towel and a plum-coloured prison-issue tracksuit. ‘Lloyd-Davies isn’t here until this afternoon but I scrounged these for you,’ said Harris. ‘Bit worn but they’re clean.’
    Macdonald thanked him, tossed the clothes on to his bunk and wiped his face with the towel.
    ‘You know you can have clothes sent in from the outside?’ asked Harris.
    ‘There’s no one I can call,’ said Macdonald.
    ‘You can get a change of clothes here once a week, but it’ll be the same as you’ve got there,’ said Harris. ‘I couldn’t get you underwear or socks but I’m on the case. I had a word with the screws and you can use the showers this morning.’ He grinned. ‘Told them Jason was complaining about the smell.’
    He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and handed Macdonald two printed sheets of paper. ‘I got you a canteen list, too,’ he said.
    Macdonald studied the printed pages. It was like a shopping list, starting with half a dozen brands of cigarettes, tobacco and cigarette papers. The bare essentials of prison life, but Macdonald had never smoked. Next on the list were seven different types of battery, stationery, postage stamps, sweets and chocolate, toiletries and groceries.
    ‘You tick off what you want and it’ll be delivered tomorrow,’ said Harris. ‘Providing there’s enough money in your account you can spend up to five quid a week as a basic prisoner. If you toe the line they make you an enhanced prisoner and you can spend thirty. Standard is fifteen quid.’ He looked pained. ‘The bad news is that withholding your details puts you straight on the basic list. That fiver’s all you’ll have for extra