‘Is that right?’ Pearce said, maintaining his calm.
‘Yeah, it is. So instead of coming in here and scrutinising what we are doing, why don’t you try and help us? Either that or get the fuck out of my way.’
Pearce let the tension strain just a few seconds longer before holding up his hands in surrender and slowly stepping to the side. Mayer sent him a victorious sneer before stepping to the door. Pearce shot out his hand and placed it around Mayer’s solid bicep, stopping him. Pearce leant in.
‘The officer found at Bethnal Green Community Centre, Officer Alex Murphy, was off duty when the call came in. Yet he, and the blood of an unidentified man, were found out the front of the community centre.’ Pearce felt Mayer’s muscles tighten. ‘Do you think that that is worth investigating?’
Mayer turned, his eyes boring a hole through Pearce. ‘I think you need to let go of my arm, Pearce.’
Pearce leant in closer. ‘I think, until you are actually the inspector and not just playing dress-up, you should refer to me as ‘sir’.’
Mayer shrugged Pearce’s grip and pushed past him into the briefing room. All eyes were on their confrontation and Pearce was suddenly in the gaze of over forty people who either disliked or distrusted him.
But it was that nagging feeling once more.
That horrible, gnawing sensation at the bottom of his stomach.
Mistakes were being made; he just couldn’t see them yet. That was always how it happened. Someone thought they could get away with it, bend the law that they had vowed to uphold to their own needs but then forgot one minor detail. That was how he was looking at it. An officer was killed in an explosion that everyone was too quick to label as terrorism. Another officer, mandated to see a therapist, apparently committed suicide—and then a day later an attempt was made on the life of said therapist.
The wild card was Pope.
The fascinating man who Pearce had originally come to look into was now his most valuable lead. Pope was highly skilled and highly trained and had seemingly slipped under the radar. But not to him. Pearce was sure that Pope was the person exacting a vigilante justice on those that beat the system. He just couldn’t prove it yet. As much as he wanted to, he knew that what was happening was far bigger than an ex-soldier gone rogue.
Pope was the key.
The man had visited Mrs Devereux at just the right moment, and judging by the expertly executed men, he had saved her life. Had he stumbled upon something himself? The man’s past was littered with redacted files, with allusions to dangerous, off-the-books missions and a wayward family life.
He needed to find Pope, and was certain than when he did, he would start piecing things together. As he approached his office, the inner pocket of his blazer violently shook and he reached in and pulled out his mobile phone.
Unknown number.
Pearce sighed, closed the door, and clicked the green button.
‘Pearce,’ he stated bluntly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He instantly perked up.
‘Sir, it’s Sam Pope. We need to talk.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sam stood on the patio that separated Theo’s house from the neatly trimmed grass of his garden. The high fences, clean and well painted, lined a long rectangle garden that was lined with freshly dug flower beds. The spring season had encouraged a plethora of colour to burst from the soil, with neat arrangements of flowers standing proudly in their designated rows. Sam knew Theo had taken to gardening as a means to relax after he left the military, a way to keep his mind active and away from the harrowing memories.
Sam had his own harrowing memories.
Memories that had brought him to this moment.
As the call connected, his eyes scanned the morning sky—another clear sky as Britain threatened an unlikely heatwave. His eyes were heavy, the lack of sleep hanging from his eyelids like weights.
The ringing stopped, replaced by a gruff voice.
‘Pearce.’
‘Sir, it’s Sam Pope. We need to talk.’
Sam could feel the urgency in Pearce’s voice as he told him to hold on before the muffled noise of someone eagerly making their way to seclusion filtered through. Eventually he returned to the receiver.
‘Pope. What the hell is going on? Is Mrs Devereux okay?’
‘She is fine. So is her husband.’ Sam glanced back over his shoulder to the house. Andy had finally fallen asleep after Theo’s charitable painkilling concoction. Amy had allowed the worry to nurse her to sleep.
‘Where are you?’ Pearce spoke, his tone low but his words full of purpose.
‘I can’t tell you that. Not right now.’ Sam knew that Pearce would likely track his phone. ‘I need your help.’
‘Sam, do you know how much trouble you are in? There is a briefing going on right now, led by Mayer, where you are the main event. The line here is, is that you are an ex-soldier who finally reached the end of his rope and has assaulted and kidnapped your therapist and her family.’
Sam shook his head. ‘That’s a nice story.’ He smirked. ‘Did Mayer come up with it?’
‘Let me help you. Tell me what is going on?’
‘I don’t know. All I can tell you, Pearce, is that something is happening and it’s from your end. Mayer knew what those men were doing at Amy’s flat, and then moments after I told him where I was, an unmarked car turned up with one of our own and a guy with a gun.’ Sam shook his head, disgusted by it all. ‘So whatever the hell it is I’ve stumbled on, Mayer acted pretty quickly to try and cover it up.’
Sam waited patiently as he let the information play through Pearce’s head. The man may have been annoying and antagonistic when he had interviewed him, but Sam knew the man was smart. Eventually Pearce responded, and Sam could hear the strain in his voice.
‘That’s a hell of an accusation, Pope.’
‘It’s not an accusation, sir.’
Silence.
‘Before we take this any further, I need you to be completely honest with me.’ Pearce spoke with a sense of urgency. ‘What were you doing at Mrs Devereux’s flat? And what happened?’
Sam cast another glance back to the house, knowing the innocent couple were sleeping soundly. Had he not been there, they may well have been taking a permanent nap.
‘I saw the news regarding Officer Harding and I didn’t believe it. It felt too convenient that he was racked with guilt, especially as the guy didn’t have a grieving bone in his body. I saw him leaving a session with Amy, so I wanted to speak to her about it.’
‘But why? Pearce probed. ‘What does it matter to you?’
‘Look, sir. I know what you think of me and what you suspect me of doing. And you know what, when this is all said and done, we can have another discussion.’ Sam could feel his grip tightening on the phone. ‘But right now, I’m not what’s important here.’
Sam could picture Pearce on the other end of the phone, the world-weary eyes holding up a furrowed brow, the wrinkles that cracked at the edges.
‘Okay, Pope. You are not the focus. For now.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘So what happened at Mrs Devereux’s?’
‘I knocked on the door and had a gun shoved in my face. They led me in. Another man, who I assume was in charge, had a gun pointed to the back of Amy’s head. Her husband was on the floor, bleeding out. They were both terrified.’
‘And you weren’t?’ Pearce’s tone was almost accusing.
‘Sir, I have spent the last twenty years of my life in combat, so having some amateur point a gun at me is like a child with a water pistol. Eventually the guy in charge made a threat to Amy, so I acted.’
‘You killed them?’
‘I did what I had to do.’ Sam had never spoken with such conviction. As he said the words, knowing that he had ended another life, just another notch on his legendary tally of pinpoint deaths, he felt his heart ache.
He had broken his promise to his son.
He felt a tremor of guilt shud
der through him like a sudden chill. Reading the books, something Sam had never done, had been surprisingly enjoyable. He had promised Jamie he would read through the long list of classics. Some of them had been a hard slog, but he had made a promise to his son that he would read more.
The other promise, to never kill again, Sam was sure he would keep.
He had failed.
‘Sam?’
Pearce’s voice echoed in his ear and brought him back into focus.
‘Sorry.’
‘So why did you run? Why not go to a hospital?’
‘Sir, I am trained to disappear and to survive. If someone had broken into their house, with a motive based on confidential police information, I made a snap decision that putting them on show in a hospital may not be the smartest move. They are fine. Andy has had some treatment, but he needs to see a proper doctor. I need you to arrange that.’
‘Okay, I will see what I can do.’
‘Thank you.’ Sam waited a few moments, allowing the awkward tension to sit. ‘Sir, do you believe me?’
‘I don’t know. What you are saying is a hell of an accusation to make.’ Pearce sounded like he was struggling to process it all. ‘However, I think you may be onto something. I can feel it in my gut. Something isn’t right. I confronted Mayer before you called, about the unmarked car, and he brushed it off. He brushed everything about Harding and Howell off, swept it under the rug for everyone to forget about. You are the focus now.’
‘I’m touched.’ Sam smiled.
‘Well don’t be. I’d say in about five minutes’ time, you’re going to have a whole fucking division hunting for you.’
‘Wish them luck for me.’
‘This isn’t a game, son.’
‘No it’s not.’ Sam felt the cooling breeze slither around him. The fatigue of the night before was beckoning him. ‘Right now, all I know is that Mayer has gone through some extreme lengths to make it seem like Harding was grieving over Howell.’
‘But why?’ Pearce wondered out loud, and Pope could almost hear the cogs of his brain clicking over the phone. Suddenly, Sam’s revelation sliced through the intense silence.
‘Howell.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Think about it: whilst the world has been spun a story of another terrorist attack, where is the evidence that there even was one?’
‘That’s a bit of a stretch.’
‘Really? Who is in charge of the Counterterrorism Squad?’
‘Mayer.’ Pearce’s lightbulb pinged.
‘Mayer,’ Sam confirmed, nodding to himself. ‘Sir, I think Howell was targeted and I think Mayer is now covering this up. First he tried to show the city under attack and paint the boy out as a hero. Then stage Harding’s suicide to scare the country into fighting terrorism.’
‘Make everyone look left as you move right,’ Pearce agreed, his desperate sigh confirming his agreement. ‘But why? Howell was a good kid.’
‘Maybe to get at Inspector Howell?’ Sam offered, looking back to the house. Theo was stood by the kitchen window holding two mugs of tea. He lifted one to Sam, beckoning him inside, and Sam held up his hand in thanks. ‘He’s running things in his absence, right?’
‘But that wouldn’t be permanent. Inspector Howell is distraught with grief, but he will come back, all guns blazing, to find out what happened to his nephew.’
‘And he’ll be spun the same story as the rest of the world.’
‘Maybe Howell found out something he shouldn’t.’ Pearce said, a hint of excitement as he found a potential thread to pull. ‘Maybe he stumbled across something that Mayer needed kept quiet.’
‘Perhaps. We should pull the files of the last case he was working before Sunday. See what he was up to.’
Pearce cursed under his breath. ‘All the files were archived after his funeral. Apparently Inspector Howell wanted them frozen until he returned so he could honour his nephew by finishing his work for him. He treated that boy like a son.’ Pearce took a respectful moment. ‘Can you imagine what it would be like to lose someone that close to you?’
Sam took a deep breath, the agony of missing his son intensified by Howell’s loss. He wanted to pick up the phone, hit the speed dial, and hear Jamie’s voice.
Explain to him that he had broken his promise. But that he had to.
He wanted to tell him how much he missed him and how much he loved him and his mother.
But he couldn’t.
‘Pope?’
‘I’m here.’ He took another deep breath, putting his training into use. Sam had been trained to control his breathing and relax under heavy fire, or when a high-risk target was looking into his scope from over a mile away.
He knew how to stay calm. How to stay in control.
Pearce drew him back to their theory. ‘Whatever Howell was working on, I can’t access them. I don’t have clearance for the archive room.’
‘I do.’
Pearce laughed off the suggestion.
‘Wait, you’re serious?’
‘We need to see those case files.’
‘You’re insane. You’re currently prime suspect numero uno. You can’t just walk in here like another day at work.’
‘No. But you could.’
‘What?’ Pearce hushed his voice.
‘Walk me in as your prisoner. Slap the cuffs on, drag me to an interview room, and then let me loose. I’ll need five minutes, max.’
‘This is insane.’
‘No disrespect, sir, but we don’t really have much else.’
Pearce let out an exasperated sigh.
A few birds zipped across the sun-filled sky, the cool morning bringing to light the immaculate state of Theo’s garden. Sam stared at the spot that he had helped Theo re-lay.
‘I guess you’re right,’ Pearce reluctantly agreed. ‘But say I did bring you in and you did get out—what the hell are you going to do if Mayer finds out? You’ll have the world and its mother after you then’
Sam smiled. ‘I’ll do what I always do. Survive.’
Pearce gave Sam a time and a place to meet later that evening, warning him not to go home. Although Sam already knew Mayer would have had his flat turned inside out, he thanked Pearce for the heads-up, doing his best to try and gain his trust. Despite the fact that he wanted to expose Sam for his after work activities, Sam liked Pearce. The man was not only a great detective, but he actually had a moral compass. In a world where the justice system was treated like a game of chicken by two overpaid lawyers, it was a relief to see someone willing to fight the good fight.
Pearce was loathed by the majority of the police. Because the majority of them had something to hide.
Sam was under no illusion that he would be exposed by Pearce eventually, but for now, he was the only option for getting to bottom of just what the hell was going on.
The patio door slid open and Theo ambled up beside him, passing a now-lukewarm tea into his hand.
‘Morning.’
Sam smiled back, sipping his tea and looking over the garden. In the house behind the two ex-soldiers, innocence slept.
Innocence that Sam was breaking his promise for.
Theo finished his tea with a satisfied sigh and then motioned to the plot of land Sam had been looking at. ‘Need me to get my shovel?’
‘No. Not yet.’ Sam turned to his friend and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Hopefully not at all.’
He began to head back into the house, his body dragging him towards the sofa and the promise of a few hours of rest. Just as he reached the door, Theo called after him.
‘Just be careful, Sam. There are somethings you can’t come back from.’
Sam offered him a tired smile before heading inside. As he hit the sofa and felt himself begin to drift into unconsciousness, he realised that this time he was unlikely to come back at all.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The gun chamber pressed against the back of her head and Amy felt a sudden burst of heat, accompanie
d with a loud bang as everything went black.
Amy sat bolt upright in bed, sweat clinging to her body. She took sharp, quick breaths as the sheer terror of the nightmare resonated in the back of her mind like an echo.
She knew she was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, a common outcome of a particularly haunting experience. Many soldiers suffered from it on return to the ‘real world’, finding that the horrors always clung to the corners of their minds like a deep shadow.
She was treating Sam Pope for the very same thing—although his PTSD wasn’t a side effect of war.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she took a moment to collect her thoughts, the terror and panic of the night landing in different parts, like waves crashing on a beach.
She was in Theo Walker’s house, a medic who had served with Sam. The spare room was modest and painted in a basic white. The bed, of moderate comfort, was pressed against the wall, with a cheap wooden wardrobe opposite. Next to her, Andy’s breath calmly filtered from beneath the covers. With concern on her face, she lifted the covers to check the bandages that were strapped around his leg, the faintest hint of blood seeping through.
Theo had stopped the bleeding and saved Andy’s leg. For that, they would be eternally grateful.
But Sam Pope had saved both their lives.
A tear built in the corner of her eye and then gently glided down her cheek as she remembered how close she had been to death. The dream was a painful reminder. A gun was rested against her skull. She had been a finger-pull away from redecorating her flat with her brain. Then she recalled the brain matter that had splattered her walls as Sam had sent a bullet shooting through the forehead of her captor.
The blood. The brain. The bits of skull.
The death.
The contents of Amy’s stomach suddenly launched upwards and she shot out of bed, her bare feet hammering the wooden floor as she scarpered to the bathroom, dropped to her knees, and unloaded into the toilet. An entire night’s worth of fear and disgust shot from her body in an odorous waterfall of vomit. After a few moments she fell back onto her bottom and rested against the cold tiles behind her.
The Night Shift: A high octane thriller that will have you gripped. (Sam Pope Series Book 1) Page 13