Free Trespass (P.I. Johnson Carmichael Series - Book 2) by Stephen Edger Page B

complain, he had been guilty of the three crimes he had been convicted of and more besides. His only regret was that he hadn’t cleaned the bathroom adequately enough after Patricia Tropaz had collapsed. He hadn’t meant to kill her but during the act he had placed his hands around her throat to increase the sensation; he had got lost in the moment and she had inadvertently asphyxiated. He had spent an hour wiping all the surfaces that he might have come into contact with but had failed to consider the taps where he had washed his hands before leaving. His barrister had seemed confident of getting that particular piece of evidence dismissed as unsound due to the opportunity somebody would have had to plant it when the police had failed to adequately secure the crime scene. His barrister later claimed that the judge was the only one who could have ruled it as inadmissible but had been hell bent on allowing the evidence to stand. Charleston had offered to appeal the case on Green’s behalf but he had decided against it after the original trial had wiped out his few savings.
    There was a rumour circulating that an imminent cell search was to be carried out, so, reaching around the bottom of the cell’s drainage pipe, he removed the small shiv he had crafted from a plastic comb. He knew the weapon wasn’t up to the standards of other inmates but if he was jumped on, he would be able to take at least one with him. He ran his finger along the pointed tip and was disappointed that it failed to draw any blood; it was about as useful as a biro in terms of a weapon, but it would have to do. He never knew when it might come in useful. He slipped the item into his trouser pocket and began to brush his teeth.
    He had already served twenty years of his two life sentences and on the whole, he had made the most of his incarceration, studying for and obtaining a degree in art history, a subject that had always interested him. He had also behaved well enough to earn additional privileges, including a small patch of garden in the prison’s allotments. There he was able to grow a small selection of perennials, and he found the process of planting and nurturing quite cathartic. It was this that had helped keep his other desires firmly in check. He had determined quite early that the best way to complete his time was to behave well; after all parole boards rarely looked favourably on trouble makers. He was also conscious of how rapists were viewed by the prison officers who looked after the wing and knew that they wouldn’t hesitate to turn a blind eye to rough treatment if it was inflicted on a trouble maker. He wanted to stay on the right side of his captors, and that meant doing as he was told, and going out of his way to curry favour. There were a couple of guards that he had provided some gardening advice to, and he knew they would keep an eye on him when he was out and about. It didn’t provide much security, but it was better than nothing.
    The cell door slammed open and the prison officer offered a cursory nod towards Green to indicate he was free to head down to the dining area for breakfast.
    ‘Hey Rosco,’ he said to the grunting corpse on the lower bunk. ‘Grubs up.’
    Ivan ‘Rosco’ Rostovic was a warm and gentle man. He was considerably overweight, and in Green’s opinion, if he were to ever die in that bed, it would probably take four guards just to lift the body. They had shared living quarters for nearly two months now and generally kept out of each other’s way. While Green enjoyed spending his time at the allotments, Rosco preferred the confines of the prison library, where he would while away the hours reading books on the mating patterns of tropical birds. Although they had never formally spoken prior to becoming cell mates, it was a union that Green had welcomed.
    Life inside for a convicted sexual offender was not a pleasant one. There were different types of inmates on this wing. There were the gang-types who