Jeffrey Archer - A Prisoner Of Birth

"But why-"

"Don't worry about why, Danny boy," Big Al said firmly. "The screws and the sister ran off, so I was left on ma own fur a few minutes. Then another screw turns up and marches mi back here." Danny was now listening intently. "He told me it wis you who'd committed suicide."

"But they'll find out it wasn't me as soon as-"

"No, they won't," said Big Al, "because I hud enough time tae switch the names on yer two files."

"You did what?" said Danny in disbelief.

"You heard me."

"But I thought you told me the files are always locked up?"

"They are, but no during surgery, in case sister needs tae check on someone's medication. And she left in a hurry." Big Al stopped talking when he heard someone in the corridor outside. "Keep writing," he said, and stood up, returned to his bed and lay down. An eye peered through the spyhole then moved on to the next cell.

"But why did you do that?" Danny asked.

"Wance they check his fingerprints and his blood group, they're gonnae go on thinkin' it's you who topped himself because ye couldnae face another twenty years in this shite-hole."

"But Nick had no reason to hang himself."

"I know," said Big Al. "But as long as they think it wis you on the end ay that rope, there's no gonnae be an inquiry."

"But that doesn't explain why you switched…" began Danny. He went silent for some time, before adding, "So I can walk out of here a free man in six weeks' time."

"Ye catch on fast, Danny boy."

The blood drained from Danny's face as the consequences of Big Al's impetuous action began to sink in. He stared at the photo of Beth. He still wouldn't be able to see her, even if he did manage to escape. He'd have to spend the rest of his life pretending to be Nick Moncrieff. "You didn't think of asking me first?" he said.

"If I hud, it would 've been too late. Don't forget, there are only aboot half a dozen people in this place who cin tell ye apart, and wance they've checked the files, even they're gonnae be programmed tae thinking yur died."

"But what if we're caught?"

"Ye'll carry on serving a life sentence, an I'll lose ma job in the hospital and go back tae being a wing cleaner. Big deal."

Danny was silent again for some time. Eventually he said, "I'm not sure I can pull it off, but if, and I mean if-"

"Nae time for ifs, Danny boy. Ye've probably got twenty-four hours before that cell door opens again, by which time ye'll huv tae decide if yer Danny Cartwright, serving another twenty years for a crime ye didnae commit, or Sir Nicholas Moncrieff, due for release in six weeks' time. And let's face it, ye'll huv a far better chance of clearing yer name wance you're on the ootside-not tae mention getting those bastards who murdered yer mate."

"I need time to think," said Danny as he began to climb up onto the top bunk.

"No fur too long," said Big Al. "Remember Nick always slept on the bottom bunk."

"NICK WAS FIVE months older than me," said Danny, "and half an inch shorter."

"How dae ye know that?" asked Big Al nervously.

"It's all in his diaries," replied Danny. "I've just reached the point where I turn up in this cell and you two have to decide what story you're going to tell me." Big Al frowned. "I've been blind for the past two years, when all the time it was staring me in the face." Big Al still didn't speak. "You were the staff sergeant who shot those two Kosovan Albanians when Nick's platoon was ordered to guard a group of Serbian prisoners."

"Wurse," said Big Al. "It wis ifter Captain Moncrieff hud given a clear order no tae fire till he'd issued a warnin' in both English and Serbo-Croat."

"And you chose to ignore that order."

"There's nae point issuing warnings tae someone who's already firing at ye."

"But two UN observers told the court martial that the Albanians were only firing their weapons into the air."

"An observation made fae the safety of their hotel suite on the other side of the square."

"And Nick ended up carrying the can."

"Aye," said Big Al. "Despite the fact that I told the provost marshal exactly whit happened, they chose tae take Nick's word over mine."

"Which resulted in you being charged with manslaughter."

"An only being sentenced tae ten years rather than twenty-two for murder with nae hope of remission."

"Nick writes a lot about your courage, and how you saved half the platoon, including himself, while you were serving in Iraq."

"He exaggerated."

"Not his style," said Danny, "although it does explain why he was willing to shoulder the blame, even though you had disobeyed his orders."

"I told the court martial the truth," repeated Big Al, "but they still stripped Nick of his commission and sentenced him tae eight years fur being reckless and negligent in the course of his duty. Do you imagine a day goes by when I don't think aboot the sacrifice he made fur me? But I'm certain of wan thing-he wouldae wanted ye tae take his place."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Read on, Danny boy, read on."

"Something doesn't ring quite true about this whole episode," said Ray Pascoe.

"What are you getting at?" asked the governor. "You know as well as I do that it's not uncommon for a lifer to commit suicide within days of his appeal being turned down."

"But not Cartwright. He had too much to live for."

"We can't begin to know what was going on in his mind," said the governor. "Don't forget that he tore his cell apart and ended up in segregation. He also refused to see his fiancée or his child whenever they turned up for a visit-wouldn't even open her letters."

"True. But is it just a coincidence that this happens within days of Leach threatening to get even with him?"

"You wrote in your latest report that there's been no contact between the two of them since the library-book incident."

"That's what worries me," said Pascoe. "If you intended to kill someone, the last thing you'd do is be seen anywhere near them."

"The doctor has confirmed that Cartwright died of a broken neck."

"Leach is quite capable of breaking someone's neck."

"Because he didn't return a library book?"

"And ended up in segregation for a month," said Pascoe.

"What about that tape you've been banging on about?"

Pascoe shook his head. "I'm none the wiser on that subject," he admitted. "It's still just a gut feeling…"

"You'd better have a little more to go on than a gut feeling, Ray, if you expect me to open a full inquiry."

"A few minutes before the body was found, Leach bumped into me quite purposely."

"So what?" said the governor.

"He was wearing a brand new pair of trainers."

"Is this leading somewhere?"

"I noticed that he was wearing his blue prison gym shoes when the match started, so how come he was wearing brand-new Adidas trainers when it ended? It doesn't add up."

"Much as I admire your powers of observation, Ray, that's hardly enough proof to convince me that we need to open an inquiry."

"His hair was wet."

"Ray," said the governor, "we've got two choices. Either we accept the doctor's report and confirm to our masters at the Home Office that it was suicide, or we call in the police and ask them to mount a full investigation. If it's the latter, I'll need a little more to go on than wet hair and a new pair of trainers."

"But if Leach-"

"The first question we'd be asked is why, if we knew about Leach's threat to Cartwright, we didn't recommend that he was transferred to another prison the same day."

There was a gentle tap on the door.

"Come in," said the governor.

"Sorry to disturb you," said his secretary, "but I thought you'd want to see this immediately." She handed him a sheet of lined prison paper.