Her throat burnt.
Her head pounded.
Her entire life had been turned upside down.
And for what?
‘Rough night, huh?’
Amy jumped slightly as she turned, only composing herself when she recognised the warm smile of Theo greeting her from the doorway. He held up an apologetic hand and then reached forward with his other, his fingers clutching a glass of cold water.
‘You could say that,’ Amy responded dryly, gratefully accepting the drink and sipping it, the liquid soothing the fire in her throat. She took another deep breath before tipping her head back till it tapped the tiling.
‘I’m going to check on Andy.’ Theo stepped across the landing and poked his head into the room.
Andy was still sleeping, the sheet beside him drenched in sweat.
Theo returned to the bathroom, where Amy sheepishly smiled. Her face was pale and she pulled down the shirt to cover her bare legs.
‘There are some tracksuit bottoms in the wardrobe in your room. Grab yourself some and come downstairs. I’m about to cook some breakfast. You must be starved.’
Amy hadn’t realised just how empty her stomach was until he mentioned food and it growled in acceptance. She shot him an embarrassed grin and he headed back to the stairs. She took his advice, and moments later she reached the bottom of the stairs, her hand clutching the banister for balance. In the sheer panic of the night before, she hadn’t noticed the cleanliness of the house. She imagined Theo was as regimented as Sam Pope struck her, taught in an army base to have the beds made and the shoes shiny.
A small oak table sat proudly in the hallway, with medals and photos adorning it—a shrine to a career that Theo was obviously proud of. As she scanned them, she found herself smiling at a photo of Theo and Sam stood together. A military helicopter loomed behind them, the dust of the sand sweeping around them. The photo must have been a decade old, but the friendship was genuine, the two of them with their bare arms around each other’s shoulders, their dog tags twinkling around their necks.
‘That was from our first tour.’ Again, Amy jumped as Theo silently entered the hallway. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘It’s okay. I’m just a little on edge, I guess.’
Theo responded with a smile and handed her a porcelain mug; the steam drifting from the top told her the coffee was freshly made.
‘Understandable,’ Theo mused. ‘I guess it’s not every day you see that kind of thing.’
Amy followed Theo back into the back room of the house, which was surprisingly big. The large, open-plan kitchen was a classy mixture of grey wood and black marble top. In the centre a breakfast counter stood, with plates of buttered toast waiting. The room opened onto a small dining room which had a weights bench and treadmill.
Regimented, Amy thought.
Theo turned to the stove. The smell of eggs and the familiar sound of crackling was most welcome to Amy as she took her seat. As Theo began to dish the eggs up onto the plate in front of her, she scanned the room, a look of worry on her face.
‘Sam’s fine.’ Theo read the signs. ‘He’s asleep in the front room.’
‘I don’t know how I will ever thank him. And you.’
‘You don’t have to.’ Theo wolfed down some eggs before continuing. ‘I spent my life saving lives and healing battle wounds. Usually it’s soldiers, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right?’
Amy cracked a smile and tasted the eggs. With her body craving food, they tasted sublime. She shovelled two more bites in before turning to Theo.
‘You’re not like Sam.’ She motioned with her fork. ‘You’re not as cold.’
‘Sam isn’t cold.’
‘Apologies,’ Amy corrected. ‘What I mean is, he is kind of a closed book. You’re welcoming, talkative and—‘
‘Normal?’ Theo interrupted.
‘Well, yeah.’
‘Believe me, we all bring stuff back with us. The things you have to do out there, the things you see, they change you. To your marrow. Those memories, you can box them away or talk them through, but sometimes when you’re alone, you have to confront them. I’ve done as much as I can to get through, but I still see the flashes of gunfire, the bullet-ridden bodies. Hell, I panicked so much when I came back, I built a safety bunker under this kitchen.’
‘Really?’ Amy raised her eyebrows.
‘Maybe,’ Theo playfully offered before the smile faded. ‘But Sam, he was beyond anything we had ever seen. The Taliban even named him ‘Silent Death’. Then he got the call, moved on up, went dark, and then came home two years later with bullet holes in his chest.’
‘Project Hailstorm?’ Amy asked cheekily, knowing the stern look she received put an end to that line of questioning. ‘He is in pain though, isn’t he?’
‘Look, like I said, we all have things we are dealing with. You’re his therapist, so you know his situation.’ Theo glanced to the doorway, ensuring they were alone before lowering his voice. ‘When we were out there, surrounded by desert and death, the only thing that got him through was coming back to Lucy and Jamie. So not seeing them every day, it’s broken him more than any war could.’
Theo finished off his coffee and pushed himself from his seat. Amy stared at her empty plate, impressed that her appetite hadn’t deserted her. Her mind, however, was analysing the sheer pain that Sam Pope must have been going through.
The one thing that got him through over ten years of service.
Gone.
Her finger instinctively rubbed her wedding ring and she felt more thankful than ever for Sam’s arrival the night before, saving her and her husband’s life.
The man may have been broken.
But he was a hero.
She turned to Theo. ‘Well, it’s my job to help him through it.’
Theo offered her a forced smile. ‘There are some people you can’t piece back together.’
As Theo turned the tap on, allowing water to wash over the dirty breakfast plates, Amy finished her coffee before warmly smiling at a man she had just met, but whom she trusted completely. She broke the silence.
‘You don’t really have a bunker under this kitchen do you?’
Theo turned, a smirk on his face, and stamped his foot once, the echo off the panel flooring giving little away.
Later that evening, the spring sky had cracked slightly, allowing a sprinkling of rain to accompany the bright moonlit sky. Pearce slowly pulled his Focus into the Metropolitan Police car park, slipping it between two panda cars. With a shake of the head, he turned to the backseat and locked eyes with Sam Pope.
‘Are you sure about this? Because if you are right, then walking into that building is a very bad idea.’
Sam offered a confident smile.
‘We need those files,’ Sam reiterated. ‘Unless you want to go looking for a needle in a haystack, this is our best shot.’
Through gritted teeth, Pearce agreed. He flashed a glance to the entrance to the building, the famous emblem slowly turning on its display pole. That badge stood for justice and enforcing the law. Pearce had spent his entire career living those morals, chasing down the officers who bent those laws to their own whim. The sheer thought that two of their own had been murdered filled him with rage and underlined the need to seek the truth.
‘A heads-up—as soon as they see that I have you, word will reach Mayer,’ Pearce warned. ‘And I don’t have any idea just how desperate this situation has gotten.’
Sam shrugged his shoulders. ‘Let’s go.’
Pearce pushed open the door and slid out before doing the same to the rear door. Sam stepped out, his muscular arms pinned to his sides, his hands fastened behind his back in a pair of metal cuffs. They had to make it look like an arrest, and Sam willingly shuffled in front of Pearce, who allowed himself a few rough shoves to keep up the façade. A few officers passed them on the steps on the way in, both of their faces filling with awe as the man they had been told to hunt was be
ing brought in by the detective most of them despised.
Sam instantly felt the severity of the situation. All eyes locked onto him as he was led through the office, into the interview room nearest the archive office. The expressions lurched from shock to confusion, and even a few glances held more sinister intentions. The volume of the office rose, everyone excitedly discussing Pearce’s arrest, whilst undoubtedly a few secretive phone calls were made to Mayer. For a man who was trained to scout and scope out the locations of his mission, Sam felt unprepared beyond getting into the archive room and going from there.
He had no clue as to how much time he had, or where the viable threats came from.
All he had was his work pass and his faith in Pearce who, less than a week previous, had been looking for a way to bring him down.
The chances that they were entering shit creek were increasing with every step into the building. And by the look on Pearce’s face, he knew they didn’t have a paddle.
Eventually, they stepped out of the office and into the brightly lit corridor, with Pearce, keeping up the illusion, shoving Sam in the direction of the door. Sam glanced over his shoulder, only for Pearce to flash a quick grin.
Despite the fact that Sam was sure Pearce wanted to see him behind bars, Sam was starting to like him. A man who had dedicated his life to ensuring the police did their job was worthy of his respect.
And at this moment, handcuffed and walking into the lion’s den, he was certainly worthy of his trust.
Sam saw the familiar sign for the archive office as they stopped out the front of the interview room. The sign said it was vacant, and just as Pearce reached for the handle, a burly officer stepped towards the door.
‘Evening, sir.’ The Officer was Darshan Khambay, a large Indian man with a portly stomach and thick beard. Younger than he looked, his dark eyes locked onto Sam. ‘Sarge is looking for this guy.’
‘I am aware.’ Pearce noticed a few other officers loitering behind Officer Khambay, like a high school gang. ‘I will let him know when I am done with him.’
Officer Khambay took another step forward, his eyes never leaving Sam. ‘Sarge has made it clear how important he is—’
‘And as his superior, I will let him know when he can have access to him. So remember your rank, Officer.’
Sam watched on, impressed, as Pearce took a step closer to Khambay, who held up his hands in apology.
‘Yes, sir,’ he spat. He trudged off, followed by the other officers, and Pearce stood, hands on hips, until they had disappeared back into the office.
‘Impressive.’ Sam smirked.
‘Yeah, well, like I said. We haven’t got long.’ Pearce pushed open the door and ushered Sam inside. He slammed it shut and turned the lock. ‘Apparently they have hired a temp to cover you in the office, so you shouldn’t have any problems. Now, hit me.’
‘Excuse me?’ Sam said, shocked.
The interview room was similar to the very one they had shared the previous week—except this time the tension was outside the room. Pearce leant forward and unlocked the cuffs. He then tipped over one of the chairs.
‘I need it to look like you overpowered me,’ Pearce said, shoving the table at an angle, knocking over the other chair in the process. ‘Trained soldier versus a man in his fifties. Piece of cake.’
‘I’m not hitting you,’ Sam stated, rubbing his wrists after their freedom.
‘We don’t have time to discuss this. Just hit—’
Sam swung a right, catching Pearce directly on the cheekbone. Although not his most powerful strike, he landed the punch cleanly and spun Pearce around, who splayed out onto the table. The shock and pain sent him dizzy, and Sam uttered an apology as he slipped out the door and into the corridor, not hearing the slew of curse words that Pearce sent his way.
Eager to not attract tension, Sam hurried back down the corridor, past the door to the office, and followed the sign towards the archive room. Luckily, the screen for the counter had been pulled closed and there were no agitated officers harrying a panicked temp. Knowing the police wouldn’t have had the foresight to shut down his access, Sam swiped his ID badge, the light pinged green, and he slipped inside. As he entered, he sent a quick glance to the admin office; the temp was shuffling around, oblivious to his intrusion. Sam quietly stepped into the rows of boxes and folders and set out to find Howell’s last case.
Little did he know that in the admin office, Brian Stack was watching him on the CCTV monitor. With a fiendish grin and an order to kill, ‘Phil Mitchell’ removed a knife from his coat pocket, switched off the security cameras, and set off into the labyrinth to find his target.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sergeant Mayer adjusted himself in the leather seat, taking deep, concentrated breaths. A bead of sweat began to dribble down the back of his neck. He knew he had taken a risk coming here, but now, as he sat opposite Frank Jackson on the top floor of one of his infamous High-Rises, he wished he hadn’t. When Mark Connor had arrived at the Costa coffee shop to meet him, he had felt the tension. The usual manners, which Frank was well known for, had been replaced with curt orders.
Mayer had lost control of the situation.
Sitting in front of one of the most notorious gangsters in London, he began to wonder if he had ever had it to begin with.
‘Relax, Colin,’ Frank demanded, sitting with one leg draped over the other, a glass of expensive scotch in his hand. ‘You look nervous.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You told me this was all under control.’ He took a slow, measured sip. ‘It is right?’
Mayer nodded, clearing his throat anxiously and feeling every bit the worm on the hook. His mind flashed back to the night he had spent in the High-Rise, his face covered in cocaine as the two women went to town on him.
It was pleasure beyond pleasure.
He had wanted more and he had promised it would all be taken care of. The original targets. Howell.
All wrapped in a bow.
Now, the very real scenario of everything caving in was getting ever closer. Earlier that morning, after a sleepless night, he had sent the whole of the Metropolitan Police on a manhunt.
Samuel Pope.
‘Tell me, Colin,’ Frank mused through a smile. ‘What do you plan to do, should your people find this Pope chap?’
‘My men are the best in the country, sir.’
‘Ah, yes. The thin blue line. It actually is very commendable and, believe it or not, I do believe in the law. I believe in the work you do, keeping the people safe.’ Frank placed his glass firmly on the oak desk between the two of them, his eyes resting on the TV screen mounted on the wall. ‘However, so far, your operation hasn’t filled me with confidence.’
Frank nodded to the screen, diverting Mayer’s attention. A news reel was running, the day’s events scrolling across the bottom as a heavily made-up women spoke. Though the volume was muted, Mayer knew what she was presenting.
Video footage of Amy’s flat was shown, with scene of crime officers patrolling the area. The headline read
“Double Murder in London”.
Frank tutted before clicking the screen off with the control.
‘I assure you, this will be fixed. We’ll find him, and when we do, we’ll bring him to you.’
‘Because you need me to handle it for you?’ Frank raised an eyebrow.
‘No, not at all,’ Mayer stammered. ‘I just thought, well, with all the problems he has caused, you would—‘
‘First off, he hasn’t caused any problems for me. Those problems are your problems—because you assured me that this would all be taken care of. That I would get what I wanted and have those people who stood in my way removed. Now that hasn’t happened, because of your problem. Which means you are becoming my problem. And I already have people who handle those for me.’ Frank leant forward, his forearms resting on the desk. ‘And secondly, if you ever interrupt me again I’ll take your tongue out of your mouth.’
Mayer a
pologised nervously before startling as the door swung open. The guard watching the room, a broad man in a black suit and a concealed firearm, went to stand, but refrained as Mark Connor marched in. The expensive lightbulbs reflected from his shiny bald head as he strode towards the two men.
‘Sir.’ He nodded to Frank, ignoring Mayer. ‘Grant Mitchell’s’ disdain for the police was well known. ‘Your guy came through. We have a name.’
Mayer searched Frank’s face with confusion. ‘Oh do we?’
‘Yep.’ He checked his phone. ‘Theo Walker. He works at Bethnal Green Community Centre with underprivileged kids.’
‘Well, he sounds like an upstanding gentleman.’ Frank smiled, sipping his scotch. Mayer was stunned by how much danger emanated from him.
‘He is. He also served his country as a medic. Guess who he was stationed with?’ Mark leant down toward Mayer with a smug look. ‘It’s amazing what you can do with a little detective work, eh?’
Mayer sat still, refusing to make eye contact and regretting every decision he had made to that point. Connor smirked again, pushing himself up and turning to his boss.
‘Go. See what he knows,’ Frank ordered. ‘Reasonable force if necessary.’
‘Of course.’ Mark threw a thumb in Mayer’s direction. ‘Should I take useless with me—show him how it’s done?’
Mayer turned back to Frank in a panic.
Frank sat back in his chair, patting a wrinkle from his immaculate waistcoat. The blazer hung from the door of the office, a designer suit that cost half of Mayer’s wage.
‘No. Leave him here.’ He stared him dead in the eye. ‘I want him here in case this doesn’t get sorted.’
‘Fair enough, guv.’
‘Guv?’ Frank asked in disgust.
‘Sorry, sir,’ Mark offered politely before turning and stomping back across the office and into the hallway.
Mayer finally relaxed, realising his entire body had been tensed. Mark and Brian had a reputation for their extreme brutality. Loyal as two guard dogs, but there were whispers of Frank having to step in when they got too out of hand.
The Night Shift: A high octane thriller that will have you gripped. (Sam Pope Series Book 1) Page 14
