7. Prison Governor Clarence Wallace

THE ACCUSED Part 7

THE ACCUSED

7. Prison Governor Clarence Wallace

The Governor of Brumpton Prison was Clarence Wallace. This gaol was his domain, though he never had much to do with the female wing, which was the responsibility of a very capable second-in-command, Verity Glingmore

Everyone who met her liked Verity as did he. But for the moment she was off work ill and anyway he had a sensitive issue to deal with. He’s had a private meeting with the assistant to the borough pathologist, Adam Butler. Apparently there was a huge body of evidence that suggested that there was considerable doubt about the rights and wrongs of presence of D.I Rosie Baur in his prison. The assistant pathologist had even brought it to the attention of his own boss, who had agreed with his findings. The evidence against D.I Rosie Baur wasn’t any more than a misinterpretation of happenstance, and that was down to the Superintendent, possible in collusion with the Chief Constable..

But she was in his gaol on remand and he had to try to do something to alleviate a future problem if what the medical men said had any truth to it. He didn’t want her leaving and feeling in any way abused by an impossible situation.

So he called for the D.I to be escorted to his office and offered her a cup of tea or coffee and a cake, something he absolutely never did when he was faced with a prisoner. But he had decided that this was most certainly an exception, and ordered that the kettle be put on.

“Well, Mrs Baur,” he said when they were both settled, “I would like to show you something that may be relevant to your case.”

Rosie was surprised. This tete a tete had the feel of something way off the beaten track, so to speak.

“Thank you, sir,” she said with due respect.

“My given name was Clarence and I’ve always hated it,” he said with a smile, “so much so I feel I ought to defer to your experience and be unhappy to allow that kind of intimacy, I’d be happier if we stuck to sir.”

“Of course, sir,” she replied.

“Then let me tell you a few things about this building, the old part, that is, where most of the men are confined in very old cells. It was constructed with a view to ensuring that officers could hurry to any seat of trouble in double-quick time. The walls are thick, and running through them are one or two corridors. See this plan…”

He opened his drawer and removed a large sheet of paper which he unfolded on his desk. The document was obviously a photo copy, but the original age of its contents was obvious, from the style and general appearance of what was both written and drawn on it.

“This is my prison, and you will see one or two dashed lines, running here and there. They are passages actually within the walls, and they are very secret. Not even my predecessor had any knowledge of them! They were apparently constructed to facilitate the swift movement of staff to points of trouble. I should imagine this place was an even more violent place than it is today when it was built, what with all the modern facilities offered to our inmates.”

“I see,” murmured Rosie.

“But what was constructed for one purpose can be used for others, especially those of a devious turn of mind. I’ve explored those ancient passages and at least two of them give access to the outside world, albeit through an ancient and possibly immovable drain cover. As far as I know only one prisoner in my time managed to discover the whereabout of any tunnels: a name you will be familiar with, one Richard, or Dick as he was known, Griffin.”

“Ah,” sighed Rosie.

“And that wretched reprobate who we must remember was responsible for the death of a police officer discovered the whereabouts of one of the passages. In all honesty, it wouldn’t have been difficult if he tried to turn an extremely rusty doorknob situated, apparently, on the wall of the bath-house. But somehow he discovered it and made his way into a dusty, rather unpleasant, old passage. It dipped slightly down and wound across the prison where no normal corridor would go, and terminated rather swiftly at one of the drain covers I mentioned. That drain had once opened up in a dank yard belonging to a row of terraced houses, but now it’s a modern housing estate and I doubt anyone knows that it’s there.”

“This is like an episode of a nightmare!” said Rosie, and added “sir.”

“Anyway, he, Mr Griffin left a trail behind him: a well-hidden door in a hitherto unsuspected wall, a draft caused by goodness-knows-what and the smell of ages. So his attempted escape was soon discovered and a couple of officers went in pursuit. I did say that the passages were originally designed to facilitate the swift relocation of officers if required, so the route he followed was hardly a great distance, and it terminated at a drain cover. It was originally no more than an ordinary drain, the sort your might find down the gutters of any street, but a couple of centuries of weathering had made it impossible to see through the slats at what might lie outside. But no matter. Mr Griffin didn’t get that far. You see, besides helping officers to move more swiftly it was a conduit for rain water!

“He attempted the impossible. He attempted to open it and secure his escape, and he must have put so much effort into it that when my men got there he was dead. He died in my prison, and no Governor wants that in his records!”

“It’s very much the same with us,” Rosie told him.

“Exactly. Anyway, his body was returned to the hospital within the prison, but he was clearly very dead. The pathologist, a Dr. Greaves, performed a post mortem when the man was in his mortuary and he reported that he died of a massive and certainly fatal heart attack. Nobody within these walls was in any way to blame, thank goodness.”

“And that was the husband of the woman they’re accusing me of murdering,” sighed Rosie, “she was waiting in my caravan, which she’d forced open, knife in hand, for me to investigate why the door was swinging open. So the two of them might be best described as devious.”

“The corridor he discovered has been permanently sealed,” the Governor told her, “in the distant past I think it doubled as a conduit for overflowing rainwater, hence the drain grills. But systems for diverting water have vastly improved since those days.”

“It does help me when I consider the background to the man’s time here,” mused Rosie, “it shines some sort of light onto the way both he and maybe his late wife thought and planned. Reckless, to say the least. I’m truly grateful for the explanation.”

“I feel it might be something you should know,” murmured the Governor, “even if the true events of how Dick Griffin died might barely touch on your problem.”

“Thank you, sir,” smiled Rosie as an officer came to escort her back through part of the men’s prison to her own cell, accompanied as she went by a wide variety of wolf whistles.

© Peter Rogerson 20.04.21

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