FORTY-ONE
One afternoon, reading through his case file once again in the prison library, a pile of law books beside him, David Jarrett had got into discussion with Ernie Wells, another convicted murderer.
‘You still looking for answers in there?’ Ernie asked, nodding at David’s opened file and taking another puff on his vape. Ernie was about fifty, of medium height, scrawny build, thin faced with grey hair cropped tight to his skull which only emphasised his prominent ears.
‘Yeah, I mean, what the f**k else is there to do in here? I’ve got to find a way out somehow, else I’ll go f*****g batshit,’ David answered and went to explain how the police investigation, his trial, and the appeal had been comprehensively mishandled.
‘Talk about exemplar total fuckedupness, that was it.’ David sai
