getting with apparent awkwardness from the bed and setting out towards the lavatories, bent as if pulled over by stomach cramps. As he passed Charlie’s bed the man whispered, ‘Move as soon as I get the screw.’
Taylor was at the door of the office as Sampson approached, shaking his head sympathetically. ‘Poor bugger,’ he said, as Sampson reached him.
Sampson turned as if to enter the lavatory, hand outstretched against the door-jam for support. Taylor was actually going towards him, offering support, when Sampson attacked. He drove his knee up viciously into the groin of the completely unsuspecting officer, driving the breath from him in a contorted squeak of agony. Charlie started to move, as Sampson had told him, and as he ran forward saw Sampson bending over the man, kneeing and punching at him. By the time Charlie got to the office door Taylor was completely unconscious, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Sampson was still kicking at the man’s body and Charlie said ‘OK, for Christ’s sake. That’s enough. He’s out.’
‘And got to stay that way,’ gasped Sampson.
Charlie got the impression the man liked inflicting pain.
Miller was pressed back against the wall of the office, eyes pebbled in surprised fear. ‘What’s happening?’ he said, in a little-boy voice. ‘Dear God, what’s happening?’
Instead of replying, Sampson entered the room and with the same viciousness as before kicked bare-footed at the orderly, in the groin again, bringing the man down with another muted scream of bewilderment and pain. As Miller fell Sampson clubbed the man on the back of the head and then kneed him, just as he had kneed the prison officer, as the man lay on the ground. ‘Stop it!’ shouted Charlie again. ‘You’ll kill him.’
Sampson looked up from the prostrate figure and Charlie saw the man was smiling. ‘If he’s dead, he can’t do anything to stop us, can he?’
‘There’s nothing he can do now,’ said Charlie. ‘Fucking psychopath.’
‘Tie his hands and legs and gag him,’ ordered Sampson, gesturing to the unconscious officer.
Charlie bent, easing the man’s belt from his trousers and looping it around Taylor’s wrists. The man’s breath was snorting from him, an indication Charlie remembered from training as one of deep unconsciousness. He thought there was a danger of the man choking, from the inhalation of his own blood and used the act of securing his hands to turn him on his side, to prevent it happening. Charlie wondered how much damage he was doing if Taylor’s skull were fractured.
‘Hurry!’ urged Sampson, from behind.
Charlie used surgical bandage to secure the warder’s legs and hesitated at gagging the man, aware again of the breathing difficulty. If he didn’t do it then Sampson would, he realised. And less carefully. Charlie wrapped the bandage as gently as possible around the warder’s mouth, trying to arrange it so Sampson would think it sufficiently tight but in reality leaving it quite loose, to enable the man as much air as possible.
‘Get the keys,’ said Sampson.
They were at Taylor’s waist, locked into the securing chain. Charlie unfastened the whole affair from the prison officer’s waist and gave them to the impatient Sampson, who was standing by the door making irritated, beckoning gestures with his outstretched hand. Sampson studied the bunch briefly and failed to pick the correct key in his first attempt to unlock the hospital door. He succeeded on the second attempt. He re-locked it, leaving the key and the chain hanging, glanced briefly up at the clock, which still only showed ten twenty-five and said ‘OK. Let’s get dressed.’
At the door of the office Charlie paused, looking down regretfully at the two unconscious men, then hurried after Sampson. The man was a bastard, thought Charlie. A psychopath, like he’d said.
Sampson was ready before he was, whispering ‘come on! come on!’ from the doorway. He unlocked it a second
Taylor was at the door of the office as Sampson approached, shaking his head sympathetically. ‘Poor bugger,’ he said, as Sampson reached him.
Sampson turned as if to enter the lavatory, hand outstretched against the door-jam for support. Taylor was actually going towards him, offering support, when Sampson attacked. He drove his knee up viciously into the groin of the completely unsuspecting officer, driving the breath from him in a contorted squeak of agony. Charlie started to move, as Sampson had told him, and as he ran forward saw Sampson bending over the man, kneeing and punching at him. By the time Charlie got to the office door Taylor was completely unconscious, blood pouring from his nose and mouth. Sampson was still kicking at the man’s body and Charlie said ‘OK, for Christ’s sake. That’s enough. He’s out.’
‘And got to stay that way,’ gasped Sampson.
Charlie got the impression the man liked inflicting pain.
Miller was pressed back against the wall of the office, eyes pebbled in surprised fear. ‘What’s happening?’ he said, in a little-boy voice. ‘Dear God, what’s happening?’
Instead of replying, Sampson entered the room and with the same viciousness as before kicked bare-footed at the orderly, in the groin again, bringing the man down with another muted scream of bewilderment and pain. As Miller fell Sampson clubbed the man on the back of the head and then kneed him, just as he had kneed the prison officer, as the man lay on the ground. ‘Stop it!’ shouted Charlie again. ‘You’ll kill him.’
Sampson looked up from the prostrate figure and Charlie saw the man was smiling. ‘If he’s dead, he can’t do anything to stop us, can he?’
‘There’s nothing he can do now,’ said Charlie. ‘Fucking psychopath.’
‘Tie his hands and legs and gag him,’ ordered Sampson, gesturing to the unconscious officer.
Charlie bent, easing the man’s belt from his trousers and looping it around Taylor’s wrists. The man’s breath was snorting from him, an indication Charlie remembered from training as one of deep unconsciousness. He thought there was a danger of the man choking, from the inhalation of his own blood and used the act of securing his hands to turn him on his side, to prevent it happening. Charlie wondered how much damage he was doing if Taylor’s skull were fractured.
‘Hurry!’ urged Sampson, from behind.
Charlie used surgical bandage to secure the warder’s legs and hesitated at gagging the man, aware again of the breathing difficulty. If he didn’t do it then Sampson would, he realised. And less carefully. Charlie wrapped the bandage as gently as possible around the warder’s mouth, trying to arrange it so Sampson would think it sufficiently tight but in reality leaving it quite loose, to enable the man as much air as possible.
‘Get the keys,’ said Sampson.
They were at Taylor’s waist, locked into the securing chain. Charlie unfastened the whole affair from the prison officer’s waist and gave them to the impatient Sampson, who was standing by the door making irritated, beckoning gestures with his outstretched hand. Sampson studied the bunch briefly and failed to pick the correct key in his first attempt to unlock the hospital door. He succeeded on the second attempt. He re-locked it, leaving the key and the chain hanging, glanced briefly up at the clock, which still only showed ten twenty-five and said ‘OK. Let’s get dressed.’
At the door of the office Charlie paused, looking down regretfully at the two unconscious men, then hurried after Sampson. The man was a bastard, thought Charlie. A psychopath, like he’d said.
Sampson was ready before he was, whispering ‘come on! come on!’ from the doorway. He unlocked it a second
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