2

Melody stepped out of the air-conditioned black cab into the dripping air of South-East London. The morning rain had given way to a sticky, early-Spring afternoon. As the taxi drove away, she fought the urge to yell after him to come back, take her home.

   What the hell am I doing here?

   But Melody no longer had a home. Just a place of bricks and mortar where she merely existed. And she knew exactly what she was doing there.

   Across the wide boulevard, the imposing building complex loomed up. Thirty yards away lived the country’s most dangerous men. Category A-holes. Murderers. Serial killers. Rapists. Terrorists. Gang leaders. Violent thugs. The very type of evil men she had the misfortune to meet nearly four years ago. It was her second visit.

   She closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath, crossed the road. The large sign on the fifty-foot-tall wall confirmed she was in the right place:

Her Majesty’s Prison RINGLAND, (Category A), Eastern Way, Thamesside, London SE30 6LB.

   The instructions to book a visit and enter Britain’s most secure jail were handily posted on-line. To get this far, Melody had been security cleared in advance with her birth certificate, drivers’ licence and passport. It would have been easier to meet the Queen.

   The intimidating guard scanned Melody’s right hand on the flat-bed scanner. The device recorded a 3-D image to be stored on a bar-code, which was then printed next to an image of her face on her visitor’s pass.

   After her personal possessions were stored in an allocated visitor’s locker, came the multiple searches. A female guard didn’t merely pat her down, but seemed rather to rub her down. A metal detector wand was swept all over her body. Melody was glad she wore jeans, even as they stuck to her in the humid heat. Another guard led in a black Labrador drug search dog who proceeded to sniff all around Melody.

   Forty-five minutes after she walked through the main gate, Melody was escorted by a guard down a harshly lit corridor. She had googled the prison’s layout; and knew it was a variation on the classic central hub with a radiating spokes design. Each spoke was another hub, with its own shorter spokes. The concept was designed to Balkanize the large scale prison; cutting down prisoner interactions, preventing dangerous alliances forming.

   The guard led her into the Visitors’ Centre. It looked surprisingly cheerful with its high skylights offering plenty of natural light. There were about twenty tables, half of which seated one man dressed in dark blue, boiler-suit like apparel. Each prisoner had at least one visitor chatting animatedly. Except for the man in a far corner reading a large book.

   He sat alone, ramrod straight, sitting to attention. Short cropped salt and pepper hair. A man of some consequence in Ringland. That much was obvious.

   The guard tapped on Melody’s shoulder. ‘Remember Ms. Fox, the room is constantly monitored by C.C.T.V. cameras. You are free to interact with your subject. You will be reminded over the tannoy when you have five minutes remaining to complete your visit. Off you go then. Don’t keep Mister Fuchs waiting.’

   The guard indicated in the direction of the man in the corner. Off she went. Mister Fuchs wasn’t really reading the book. He had been slyly eyeing Melody, prison style, at all times. He rose from his seat as she approached.

   ‘Alright girl. Here again.’

   Melody held his gaze, determined not to show the slightest emotion. Not the slightest weakness. Stoic.

   ‘Perceptive.’

   ‘So—you in or you out? What the fuck’s it gonna be then, love?’

Next Chapter: Need To Die