Authors: Ray Rigby
Williams moved as though to call him back then changed his mind and turned and looked at Roberts.
“You’re on your own now,” said Roberts.
Williams’s lips parted in a grin. “No, you’re still with me and this time ... ” Williams skidded his cap into the corner of the cell.
Bokumbo and McGrath ran into the cell. Williams jumped towards the gate but Bokumbo slammed it shut. Williams moved back and crouched against the wall and waited. Bokumbo pointed to Roberts. “Take a good look at what you did to Joe.” He advanced on Williams ignoring the blows that Williams threw to him.
*
Harris unlocked the gate and looked at Bokumbo, Roberts and McGrath seated on the floor with their backs against the wall then he looked at Williams and knelt down and examined him, then turned and looked at Roberts. “He’s dead.”
“I know,” said Roberts.
“Who did it?” Harris looked from McGrath to Bokumbo.
“Williams had a fatal attack of sun-stroke, Staff,” said Bokumbo. “Some people it affects and some people it don’t.”
“This is murder.” Harris glared at McGrath. “Do you hear me? Murder.”
McGrath stared at Harris. “The screws restrained Roberts. That’s why he looks like a bus accident and Williams had to be restrained from attacking Roberts. That’s why he’s dead.”
“You crazy bastards,” Harris walked to the cell door then paused and looked at Roberts. “You win.”
“I know,” said Roberts.
*
The Commandant flung open the door and glared at R.S.M. Wilson lying on his bed wearing only his underpants and clutching a glass against his bare chest.
“Sergeant-Major,” he shouted, “the prisoners in Cell 8 have murdered Staff Williams.”
The R.S.M. sat up in bed and poured himself another drink then leaned back again.
“Damn you,” shouted the Commandant. “Did you hear what I said?”
The R.S.M. took a long drink then held the glass against his chest again and stared at the far wall. “Never known a balls-up like this in all my twenty-five years’ service,” he said.
“Sergeant-Major, one of the Prison Officers has been murdered. What the hell’s the matter with you? Get off that bed.”
The R.S.M. looked at the Commandant. “Twenty-five years, and never blotted my copy book. Now one week Williams here, one week and nothing but one bloody disaster after another — Williams murdered you say?”
“Yes, murdered. While you lie on your stinking bed getting boozed up.”
“Twenty-five years.” The R.S.M. savagely threw his glass against the wall.
“Sergeant-Major, you’d damn well better tell me what’s been going on here.”
The R.S.M. slowly climbed off his bed and slopped water into the wash-hand bowl and dipped his face in it.
“Sergeant-Major,” shouted the Commandant, “I hold you responsible for Stevens’s death ... For Williams’s murder. I hold you responsible for everything that’s happened.”
The R.SM. turned to the Commandant, his face dripping water. “Nothing goes on here that I don’t know about. You.” He threw the Commandant a wolfish grin. “You — you just sign lots of paper, you’re bloody useless. I can take the can for everything that happens here. Me. It all comes back on me. I’ve done my duty to the best of my ability, but they’ll break me. The bloody Court will break me.”
He dried his face and put on a fresh vest and bush jacket then placed his cap on his head and picked up his cane. “Right, sir.” He glared at the Commandant. “Let’s try and get the bloody place ship-shape for the new Commandant and R.S.M.”
He marched out of the room.
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The Hill
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