Finchby strolls in, still carrying the box. James is pushed into the cell behind him, his movements stiff. Close to, he’s no prettier. His eyes settle on the straining Jenny.
‘Mad as hell’ does not describe him. As he sees Jenny, his expression is apocalyptic. “You bastards!” he hisses. “You do this to a woman who’s innocent of any wrong to you? What possible justification do you have for…?”
Michael cuts him short. “She’s okay. It’s going normally.” Then to Finchby, “Suppose you let him take my place, then I can take a look at how she’s doing?”
Finchby looks to Baxter, who shrugs.
“Go on then,” sneers Finchby. “Go help the little girl.”
James’ voice is flat. “If I’m going to support her, you’ll have to free my hands.”
Finchby wavers then jerks his chin at Hickman. “Take his cuffs off
