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THE STALKING HORSE : Extract
It was after he had been transferred
to Gartree that he had come to a decision. If he was
going to be a prisoner, then he was going to get bloody
good at it. He wasn't going to spend years and years
of his life running from the bully-boys on either side
of the bars. He would get hard and strong and fast. And
they would jump when he said jump, because he had a brain
to back up his brawn, unlike most of them. And only once
did his wit desert him long enough to get caught. It
had cost him solitary, and it had left him with a scar
on his upper arm, but it had been worth it.
His first two requests for parole were refused, but now, third time lucky,
he was out. But no coming-out party for him. He'd lost his wife, his friends,
and his youth. But he was back now. And on his thirtieth birthday he had become
a shareholder in Greystone. Grandfather Stone had had the good sense to die
the Christmas before it all happened, or he might even have been cheated out
of that.
He had had sixteen years to think about this moment, plan for it, look forward
to it. It had kept him going during prison officers' industrial disputes, when
he had been shut up for twenty-three hours of the twenty-four, and through
the winter nights, when it seemed that the sun would never shine again. It
had taken the place of sexual fantasy, of dreams, of hope. One thing had kept
him sane, one thing had lent him a little warmth and colour. His plan.
Methodically, carefully, he was going to find out who had murdered Alison and
that detective. And when he did, he was going to kill whoever it was.
It was as simple, and as beautiful, as that.
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