Page 56 of Claim

And it was mine.

The officer straightened. “He’s not available.”

Not available.

Which usually meant one of two things: he was hurt badly enough they didn’t want witnesses, or someone had decided this didn’t need to become a paper problem yet. Either way, it wasn’t about availability. It was about visibility.

I swallowed whatever tried to rise in my throat and opened my folder. “Then I’ll need your name.”

The officer frowned. “Why?”

“For my record.” I looked up at him as I slid my pen from my inside pocket and clicked it open. “Because if access is refused, I’ll be recording that refusal in writing and notifying the Governor immediately.”

Silence.

I lowered my gaze and put the pen to the page. “And I will inform the court that my client was denied access to legal advice following a violent incident sustained in custody.” I glanced back up. “An incident for which the state has a positive duty of care.”

That landed.

“Any continued obstruction,” I scribbled a note in the corner of my file, “will be placed before the judge as a material change in circumstances affecting the lawfulness of his continued remand.”

The officer’s jaw tightened.

“And just so we’re clear, if bail is granted on that basis, the refusal today will be traced. By name. Could mean a disciplinary for you.”

The officer exhaled sharply then reached for the radio clipped to his shoulder. “Control. Can I get a supervisor to legal visits?” He looked back at me. “Take a seat.”

“I’ll stand.”

He didn’t argue.

Minutes stretched. Ten. Fifteen. And I stood exactly where I was, folder tucked under my arm, gaze level. Every inch the inconvenience I’d been trained to be. Learnt from my father. Learnt because of him. I’d become a nuisance to him as much as I could be to everyone else.

Eventually, a senior officer appeared. “What’s the issue?”

“I’m here for a scheduled legal visit.” I addressed him directly. “My client is in segregation. I’m being denied access.”

The supervisor checked the screen. “He’s on basic regime.”

“Which is irrelevant. This is a legally privileged conference.”

Another pause. A calculation.

Then a nod.

“We’ll escort him up,” the supervisor said. “You’ll need to wait.”

I watched him clip the radio back onto its holder as the first officer turned away. Somewhere behind those walls, Razor was being moved again. And the certainty settled in, cold and unwelcome, that whatever they brought me would not be the man I’d last seen. But at least he would be seen.

I’d made sure of it.

They led me to the legal interview room. The same one as before. Same bolted table. Same scuffed chairs. Same reinforced window in the door. I sat, set my file down, and checked my phone long enough to send a brief message to Mercer: Client placed in segregation following violent incident. Access initially refused. He needed to know. Immediately.

Then I waited.

And waited.

And waited.