Hell by Jeffrey Archer Read Free Book Online Page B

Chaplain. ‘Not the first
book, the second book, where you’ll find a king who was a murderer. King David.
    He killed Uriah
the Hittite, because he fancied his wife Bathsheba. He had Uriah placed in the
front line of the next battle to make sure he was killed so he could end up
marrying Bathsheba. However, God also saw what he was up to, and punished him
accordingly.
    Because God
witnesses every murder, and will punish anyone who breaks his commandments.’
    ‘Alleluia,’
shout several of the congregation in the front three rows.
    I later learnt
from the Deputy Governor that at least half the congregation
were murderers, so the Chaplain was well aware of the audience he was
playing to.
    After the
sermon is over the Gospel singers sing a quiet reprise while the Chaplain asks
if all those who are willing to put their trust in God might like to come
forward and sign the pledge. A queue begins to form in front of David, and he
blesses them one by one. Once they are back in their seats, we sing the last
hymn before receiving the Chaplain’s final blessing. As we file out, I thank
the Reverend before being searched – but what could possibly change hands
during the service, when they’ve already searched us before we came in? I find
out a week later. We are then escorted back to our cells and locked up once
again.
    12 noon At midday we’re let out for Sunday lunch.
    There are four
different dishes on offer – turkey, beef, ham and stew. As I am unable to tell which
is which, I settle for some grated cheese and two slices of un- margarined bread, before returning to my cell to sit at my
little table and slowly nibble my cheese sandwich.
    Once I’ve
finished lunch, which takes all of five minutes, I start writing again. I
continue uninterrupted for a couple of hours until Kevin returns clutching a
plastic bag of goodies – two Weetabix, a carton of milk, two small green
apples, a bar of soap and – his biggest triumph to date – two packets of Cup a
Soup, minestrone and mushroom. I don’t leave him in any doubt how grateful I am
before settling down to a plastic bowl of Weetabix soaked in milk. The same
bowl I’d used to shave in earlier this morning.
4.20 pm
    It’s not until
after four has struck that I am allowed to leave the cell again and join the
other prisoners for forty-five minutes in the exercise yard. I quickly learn
that you take any and every opportunity – from religion to work to exercise –
to make sure you get out of your cell. Once again, we’re searched before being
allowed to go into the yard.
    Most of the
inmates don’t bother to walk, but simply congregate in groups and sunbathe
while lounging up against the fence.
    Just a few of
us stride purposefully round. I walk briskly because I’m already missing my
daily visit to the gym. I notice that several prisoners are wearing the latest
Nike or Reebok trainers. It’s the one fashion statement they are allowed to
make. One of the inmates joins me and shyly offers ten pages of a manuscript
and asks if I would be willing to read them. He tells me that he writes three
pages a day and hopes to finish the work by the time he’s released in December.
    I read the ten
pages as I walk. He is clearly quite well educated as the sentences are
grammatically correct and he has a good command of language. I congratulate him
on the piece, wish him well, and even admit that I am carrying out the same
exercise myself.
    One or two
others join me to discuss their legal problems, but as I have little knowledge
of the law, I am unable to answer any of their questions. I hear my name called
out on the tannoy , and return to the officer at the
gate.
    ‘ Mr Peel wants to see you,’ the officer says without
explanation, and this time doesn’t bother to search me as I am escorted to a
little office in the centre of the spur. Another form
needs to be filled in, as James had phoned asking if he can visit me on Friday.
    ‘Do you want to
see him?’ he asks.
    ‘Of course