the laminated, easy-to-clean floor. A strip light spluttered above him before returning to its customary cold glare. He counted out the red numbers on the white doors: One Hundred, One Hundred and One, One Hundred and Two… He stopped in front of One Hundred and Six. A flap was opened, the tray slid in, a priest was called and two hours later inmate 1984 was killed in front of his family, journalists and head penitentiary chef Jamie. But all Jamie saw was the same piece of meat his calf had become. The autopsy showed no food had been eaten in the last twenty four hours.
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