lost some of that toughness – her invincibility – which was required in order to work in the prison environment. She wasn’t the confident leader she had once been. This was no longer her territory, and it felt every bit as alien as she’d expected it would. That must be the reason she felt so out of her comfort zone. As she’d said countless times, there were good reasons why she’d left in the first place.
Coming back now was revisiting the past – the past she’d worked so hard to put behind her.
‘How are you getting on with those files? Got everything you need?’ Verity popped her head over the blue partition that divided the desks.
Yes, she must keep focussed. The quicker she read the files, the quicker she could get on with the job in hand.
‘Fine, I think everything’s here.’ Connie slid out the bottom of the three files given to her and flicked through it. ‘Actually, there doesn’t appear to be a list of pre-cons for a … Michael Finch.’ She looked up at Verity.
‘I’ll walk over to the offender manager unit, check his main file and photocopy it,’ Verity said, immediately rising from her seat. ‘I mostly only keep the psychology-related stuff in our filing room. The bulk is kept with the offender managers.’ She was out in the corridor, her coat half on before Connie could say another word. It was a shame Verity hadn’t been around when Connie worked here; having admin support would’ve really cut down her running-around time.
Connie returned her attention to the other files she had on the desk. The name Kyle Mann stared out at her. Connie leant back; what were the odds? It might be a conflict of interest to see him, compile his report now she was in a therapeutic relationship with his mother.
‘Jen?’ Connie stood, and then made her way over to Jen’s desk. ‘Not sure I can do this one.’ She handed Jen the file.
‘Oh, this is the guy you saw way back when he first came to Baymead. The silent one.’ Jen made quote marks with her fingers.
‘Yes, I remember that – those one-way conversations with him were so frustrating.’ Connie raised her eyebrows at the recollection.
Jen’s forehead wrinkled. ‘Why can’t you see him now?’
‘Ethically. His mum is a client of mine.’ The only reason she’d decided it wasn’t unethical seeing Alice Mann was the fact Kyle had never spoken a word during any of Connie’s previous encounters with him. It was ironic she was now concerned about seeing Kyle because of her sessions with his mum.
Jen sat up straighter, her mouth gaping. ‘Oh! Um … well, to be honest, Con, I don’t reckon it’ll matter much. He still hasn’t uttered a word to any of us. We need his report doing, but I’m not expecting any great things. It’ll be compiled on what we already have in his file, and info from the wing records, his personal officer and whatnot. I mean, I could swap him for another, but we’ve all started the assessments on the other guys …’
Connie pursed her lips. If Kyle had not spoken to any of the psychology or programmes team before, he was unlikely to now. Maybe it wouldn’t be unethical. She’d literally be going over old ground, things she’d already known before. She weighed it up in her mind. If he didn’t speak, then it wouldn’t take very much time to get his report done. That was a bonus – she could get out of the prison even more quickly than she’d hoped if she didn’t have to start from scratch with a new prisoner with lots to say.
‘His risk is going to remain high if he doesn’t comply, doesn’t commit to doing any offender behaviour work. He does know that, right?’
‘Con, he’s been informed many a time. There are a lot of refusers, he’s not the only one, and it would appear they don’t care whether it’s keeping them from progressing through the system.’
‘I bet he’s the only one who’s never spoken, though?’
‘Yes, that’s true. Four years of silence is some accomplishment. I just can’t understand why he won’t talk.’
Connie delved into her somewhat hazy memory of the case. ‘Wasn’t there a suspicion someone else was involved with the crime?’
‘There was something like that.’ Jen moved to her keyboard and opened the OASys database, which kept records and assessments of all the offenders in the establishment. She scanned through the various pages, searching for the details of the offence. ‘Of course, this didn’t come from Kyle Mann – it says here that police suggested due to the nature of the abduction and murder that it was improbable that a single individual was able to carry it out. The police pushed Kyle for details, but he went down the no comment line, and they didn’t have any substantial proof, so …’ Jen clicked on another page in OASys: ‘the only hard evidence they had was all stacked against Kyle and it was enough to safely convict him of the murder of Sean Taylor.’
‘He was only eighteen.’ Connie frowned. ‘Such a terrible crime for someone so young.’
‘Poor bloody victim, though. Jesus, have you read the file?’
‘I did originally, back when he first came to us, but haven’t refamiliarised myself yet. When I saw the name, I thought it best I should mention it.’
Jen tapped her pen against her bottom lip. ‘It’s not like your client is the victim’s mother – then I’d definitely say not to carry out his assessments and report. But I don’t see a conflict of interest here. As long as you don’t disclose anything of your work here to Kyle’s mother, and vice versa, then there’s nothing to worry about. And anyway, like I said, it’s not like we’re going to gain new information from him, is it?’ Jen held the file up.
Connie took it from her. ‘Okay. No problem, I’ll get to work.’
‘Deborah.’ I hear the voice, but somehow it sounds far away, like a distant echo, rather than directly behind me.
I carry on walking, entering the building.
‘Hey, Deb!’ It’s more insistent. She knows I hate being called Deb. I guess I can’t really ignore her now. It’ll be obvious I’ve heard that harsh yell.
My muscles are all tense. What does she want?
I slow and, reluctantly, turn to face Marcie. My boss.
Her face is flushed, but otherwise she’s the usual picture of perfection. She’s half my age, practically, and runs the marketing business with her brother.
‘Didn’t think you were going to stop,’ she says, her breathing rapid.
‘Miles away, sorry. Just keen to get to work, you know me,’ I say with a smile I know is disingenuous.
‘I wanted to catch you before we reached the office. Have a quick chat.’
My pulse dips. This can’t be good. This’ll be a ‘you’re not pulling your weight’ kind of chat. My mind has been preoccupied of late;
