“Good morning, Walter.”

The prisoner looked up from his bonsai. He tugged at his shirtcuffs, buttoned them, and felt for the spectacles perched high on his bald head. He peered out between the bars at his visitor, watery grey eyes grossly enlarged by thick lenses.

She stood there, broad-shouldered and blocking out the light, looking for all the world like a disgruntled wardrobe. “Name’s Barriere,” she said. “And I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“Have you indeed,” said the prisoner, and all his plants turned to hear it.