The Sudden Dark

Sixteen

His name was Colin Lawson and I had the fortune of having known him from enough of a ways back—transfers, clerical work, and Christmas parties usually brought our paths together, a police detective and an assistant administrator at the Long Bay Correctional Facility. We'd always worked on a kindly rapport, which is what I was banking on as I parked at the prison and hung outside the front building before visiting times opened. I caught him on his way in, a coffee in his hand and polite surprise on his face.

'I heard you were on involuntary leave, Maxie,' he said, kindly but matter-of-factly, as he led me down the hall from the welcome desk and toward his office. 'I'll take it, then, that whatever you're here for isn't for an on-the-books investigation.'

'I'll take what I can get,' I replied simply. 'Right now all I need is a visitation with whoever was the cellmate of a prisoner you had. Name of Kit Markwell.'

Colin sighed, as he opened his door and went around to fall in his desk chair. 'It's tricky, Max...'

'That's why I was figuring it'd be a favour.'

Colin took a thought, a long one, in addition to sips of his coffee as he tried still to jump-start his morning—which my presence wasn't helping with. Finally, he shook his head, put his hands on his keyboard, and said, 'Markwell was the name?'

I waited an hour or so while Colin finagled a meeting; finally, he motioned me into the visiting room and I waited twenty minutes more.

A young man came into the room eventually, his hands not bound but a guard coming at his heels and staying by the door. The prisoner, sturdy and olive-skinned and with prison oranges hanging off his muscular frame, had the low crossed look of confusion until I raised my hand and he came uncertainly to sit across from me. 

'You a cop, or something?'

'Not exactly,' I said.

He went back in his chair. 'They said I had a visitor—I don't know you.' His voice was dark in mistrust.

'I'm on an investigation and was hoping you could help me out. What's your name?'

He held a hard eye on me and didn't break it. 'Sam,' he said. 'I don't know nothing. I've been in here, man.'

I repeated his name. 'Well, it's about a cellmate you had a couple of months ago.'

He chuckled a little. 'Kit? You gonna throw him back inside, is that it? He's a fucking kid.'

I leant forward, but slowly, unthreatening. 'I'm interested in his time in here, and thought you could shed some light on that. You two shared a cell the length of his sentence, is that right?'

'Yeah, sure.'

'Can you tell me what was he like?'

Sam almost snorted. 'What was he like? He was eighteen. He was fucking scared. Could barely keep up with all his bloody whimpering every night.'

'You don't look much older, Sam. You weren't scared when you first went away?'

'Mate, every kid is jelly the day they go away, that's not our fault. But, shit, you're a pig—you know how this whole thing works out. The whole reason places like this exist is to tear our bones out and replace them with steel. We go in scared, we defend ourselves, hook up with contacts, get in good with people, and come out as something else. That's correction, ain't it?'

I didn't answer him, but perked at something he said. 'You've gotten in with a gang, then, Sam?'

His arms were crossed, and he kept himself coolly steady. 'I'm half-Samoan, so I'm in with some of the islanders, if that's what you mean. It's what I said, man—you do it to survive.'

I was nodding. 'What about Kit, then? You know if he joined up with anyone?'

'He didn't confide in me or nothing like that. All we did was share a cell.'

'But you must've noticed something about him. When was it he stopped whimpering in your bunk?'

Sam looked somewhere else, and shook his head before leaning in a little. He still wasn't looking at me with full attention. 'Alright, I did notice that he started hanging around with this one guy. Older guy, pretty bloody tough; had been here for about ten years, I think. Think he went away on a busted heroin deal, or something like that I heard.'

'What gang was he with? Aryan?'

Sam shook his head. 'I don't think he was with a group—you ask me, I'd say he was an ex-bikie, but he wasn't really a part of the bikie shitheads in here. He was something else.'

'What's his name?'

'Everyone called him Rusty. Rusty Mclaughlin. He was one of those blokes that didn't need to be part of a group, if you know what I mean. Everyone knew the score with him. He was scary. I reckon he took Kit under his wing, and Kit took to it cause he had no one else.'

'Is Rusty still inside?'

Sam shook his head. 'He and Kit were released round the same time. I wouldn't be surprised if they stuck together, or Rusty brought him into whatever his outside business is. But I'll reckon that's why you're here asking about him, right?' He paused a moment, and something like sympathy came for a moment into his face. 'I just feel sorry for the bloody kid, I guess. Sorry he had to get involved with a scary bugger like Rusty just to feel safe. Sorry he had to get sent here in the first place.'

'Me too, Sam.'

I paid another visit to Colin's office once I'd left the visitation room. He only half-looked up from his computer. 'You get what you came for, then?'

'I think,' I said. 'I could use just a little something more. Rusty Mclaughlin.'

'Another prisoner? How many do you need from my goodwill, Max?'

'Just this one. Whatever you can tell me about him.'

Colin sighed, and went back to his computer. I came inside his office anyway and sat opposite him, even though he didn't tell me to.

After a minute or so, he leant back from his computer. 'Okay, Max. This is what you get: Ben Mclaughlin, served eleven years of a heroin distribution charge, released seven months ago.'

'Anything else? Associates of his?'

'None that were named in his charge, or that he gave up in court. Does say he had a wife listed when he was processed, name of Shirley.'

I nodded. 'That's something.'

'But I'm afraid that's the last thing I can give you, Max—as a citizen, and all.'

'Sure, Colin,' I said. 'But, as a citizen, if I were to stand up and walk around your desk to see Ben Mclaughlin's mugshot on your computer screen, there would be nothing official about it, right?'

Colin hardened his eyes at me, but leant back with a blow of exasperation and said, 'No, I guess not.'

He didn't say anything, I didn't say anything. I stood and slowly came around the desk without a word. I didn't have to lean down to see the screen; the picture was there, looking right at me just the same as he'd done a few days earlier at Frank Sumner's house. Only now he didn't have a gun.