‘Eleven years. I thought you were . . . er . . . well, you know. Now I’ve got you back, you ain’t going outta my sight.’ He ruffled Ricky’s floppy, wayward hair and stared into his childlike grey eyes that were laced with thick black lashes.
Their conversation was halted when Officer Patton came noisily marching towards them.
‘Fuck, I’ve only been ’ere three weeks. Surely, I ain’t getting put on report already,’ mumbled Mike, under his breath.
Patton, a slim man in his late thirties, stopped the other side of the pool table, where he looked up at Mike. ‘Regan, you have a visit.’
Mike frowned and looked at his watch. ‘Er . . . Gov, I haven’t booked a visit and it’s only ten o’clock. Are you sure you got that right?’
Patton nodded, and his eyes shot a sideways glance at Ricky. ‘They’re police officials. They want to ask you a few questions.’
Mike sighed and ran his hands through his hair. ‘Oh, fuck me. What’s going on now?’
Patton edged himself around the table and leaned closer to Mike. ‘I don’t think it’s about having you arrested. I could be wrong, but I think they just want to have a conversation with you.’
Mike screwed his face up. ‘Since when do the Filth just want a conversation? Look, d’ya think I need my lawyer?’
Patton shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t get the impression it was that sort of meeting . . . Listen, I wouldn’t normally tell you this, but a word in your shell-like.’ He edged even closer, so no one could hear. ‘It’s the Police Commissioner accompanied by a detective, and neither are dressed in uniform. You didn’t hear that from me, okay?’
With a deep frown etched on his face, Mike chewed the inside of his mouth. ‘All right. Are they here now?’
Patton smiled. ‘Yeah. Follow me.’
‘Hang on . . . My son. I don’t want to leave him on his own.’
Patton knew the score. Ricky came to the prison under the name of Richard Menaces. But when Mike arrived from Wormwood Scrubs, Ricky soon found the massive monster of a man was his father. Mike had believed his archenemy had killed Ricky, but the truth was his wife had run off with his son and pretended to Ricky that Mike was dead.
‘Ritz’s in the gym. You can join him, Ricky.’
A broad smile that showed Ricky’s dimples adorned his face. He loved Willie Ritz, who was one of his father’s best mates, and was happy enough to do a few workouts with him on the punchbag. He wanted to build up his skinny frame and be more like his father, who was probably the most prominent man in the prison.
Patton escorted Mike along the corridors and through reception before heading to a room at the back. It was similar to a police interview room. As Patton opened the door and stepped aside, Mike walked in. There, behind a long table, were two men, who quickly rose to their feet. Right away, Mike knew he wasn’t there to be arrested. No police official would have stood up in respect if that had been the case.
‘Please take a seat, Mr Regan,’ said the bigger of the two men. ‘I am Detective Simon Lowry, and this is Police Commissioner Conrad Stoneham.’
Mike politely nodded while sussing each man out in turn.
Lowry was dark-haired with pale skin and sores in the dip of his chin. His large hands also had very dry skin. Mike assumed the thickset man suffered from eczema. His other distinguishing features were his hooded eyes and the round belly that was prominent in the tight blue suit, which had seen better days. The collar on his pale-blue shirt was at least two sizes too small and was pinched by a navy-blue tie that appeared to strangle him. Mike guessed the detective was in his late fifties. The Commissioner, however, was much smarter-looking altogether. Dressed in a beige jacket, white shirt, and dark trousers, he could just as easily have stepped off a yacht. His silver hair didn’t match his dark eyebrows and wide-open green eyes. It was hard to assess his age, but he was probably in his late forties.
Lowry looked at Stoneham to start the conversation, but his boss was still eyeing over Mike and hoping he’d made the correct decision in coming to see him.
Mike was huge and unusually very self-controlled. His grey eyes were intense, and they revealed a lot about him. He was a no-nonsense, straight-up kind of person. There was no point in beating about the bush with Mike.
‘Mr Regan, I have a proposition for you. You have a parole hearing in a year’s time, and it is possible that you may be out in eighteen months, but your prison records suggest you may not get parole. The amount of time spent in solitary confinement doesn’t look good for you.’
He paused and waited for Mike to respond, but he was left feeling uncomfortable by Mike’s cold stare and tight-lipped expression.
‘So, would I be right in thinking you would like to see the back of this place sooner rather than later?’
Mike remained silent, much to the annoyance of Lowry, who felt he needed to jump in. ‘Well?’
‘Well what? You’re assuming a lot, gentlemen, and I’m still none the wiser as to your visit.’
Stoneham clasped his hands together and leaned forward. ‘This conversation is highly confidential, so whatever you decide to do after our discussion has to stay strictly between the three of us.’
Mike smirked. ‘Oh, come on. Seriously? I am in prison, so I owe you guys nothing. Therefore, don’t ask anything of me, unless I’m going to benefit from it myself!’
His words were firm and left Lowry with a positive view that Mike was the man for the job.
Stoneham nodded. ‘South-East London’s knife crime rate has hit an all-time high. We have a serious problem on our hands, and the fact of the matter is . . . ’ he sighed, ‘the gangs are growing bigger by the day. Harsher punishments to make examples of these characters aren’t a deterrent. The truth is, these kids, if you can call them that, are out of control.’
Mike’s face remained impassive. ‘So, what’s all of this got to do with me? Unless, of course, you think I can make a great therapist, in which case I charge by the hour. I just don’t get why you’re ’ere.’
Stoneham gave a short, uncertain laugh. It was a trait of his when he was at a loss what to say. It was quite clear Regan wasn’t going to make things easy for him, and he certainly wasn’t buying what he’d come to tell him.
‘Let me answer that. I know you see me as the enemy—’
‘I never said that,’ Mike interjected. ‘Don’t tell me what I think, feel, or believe. You, Mr Stoneham, can only tell me what you factually know. Please don’t assume you know anything about me.’
Stoneham had done extensive research on Regan. He’d read every statement, every file, and he knew right this minute that all the previous quashed convictions were because this man was smart and premeditated. Even the rise of his eyebrow was done with thought. He also guessed that Regan would coldly torture information out of his enemies without even flinching. What he needed to be sure of was that Regan had a moral compass and an appreciation of the rules to keep the streets safe to walk on.
‘No, quite right. It’s probably a habit of mine, being
