‘Do you ever think it will rain hard enough that it will wash the streets clean?’ Harris eventually offered, his eyes still transfixed on the streets surrounding the vast park, the trees clinging desperately to their final leaves.
‘I very much doubt it, sir,’ Burrows said without emotion. ‘It would take an unseemly amount of rain.’
‘Quite.’ Harris turned, smiling warmly at the stalwart of his political party. Burrows had been in the same position for years, serving as the assistant to the last mayor from Harris’s party. The man may have been a complete stick in the mud, but he knew his job and knew it well. Harris nodded to the files as he took his seat. ‘What are those?’
‘They are all the reports about last night’s, shall we say, incident?’ Burrows removed his glasses before wiping them with a small cloth. ‘Several different angles, but all similar details.’
‘Pope?’ Harris asked, picking up the first file and flicking it open.
‘Definitely.’
‘Hmm.’ Harris shook his head, his eyes flaring with anger as he read the red-top headline. ‘This isn’t great, especially with the election only a month away.’
‘You have nothing to worry about, sir,’ Burrows spoke, his words robotic. ‘We have already prepared you a statement to read to the gathering press outside. The usual.’
Harris tossed the folder back onto the desk in frustration. He massaged his temples before looking around the room. A sofa with a coffee table was pressed against the far wall, adjacent to a book case that stood proudly next to the door. Harris wasn’t one for reading, but Burrows had demanded its inclusion in the office. Apparently, it boosted Harris’s intellectual appeal.
‘The usual isn’t working,’ Harris eventually offered.
‘But today, you will not be alone.’
Before Harris could respond, Burrows leant forward and pressed his finger on the small, red button atop the phone. Instantly, the speaker produced a ring before Peggy, Harris’s secretary, wished them good morning. Burrows leant forward, his mouth near the speaker of the phone.
‘Send them in, please.’
The phone hung up as Burrows stood. Harris copied, confusion on his face as he slipped his arms into his blazer.
‘Them?’
Before Burrows could answer, the large, wooden door swung open and in walked Assistant Commissioner Ruth Ashton of the Metropolitan Police. A veteran of over twenty years, Ashton was the prototype for any senior police official. An immaculate record on the beat, with three commendations for bravery. Six years working within CID, heading up a task force that brought down an inner-city drug ring as well as spending three years on Project Yewtree. Since then, Ashton had taken a back seat, working the political ladder and progressing all the way up to the third highest rank in the entire police service. Juggling that with a marriage of over twenty-five years and two kids in further education, and Harris understood exactly why she commanded respect as she entered the room. With her hat tucked neatly under her arm, she marched to the table, extending her hand and firmly shaking Harris’s.
‘Assistant Commissioner, what a lovely surprise.’ Harris flashed his brilliant, white smile.
‘Mr Harris,’ Ashton spoke with well-honed gravitas.
‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Harris motioned to the seat which Burrows had respectfully vacated. ‘First off, would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?’
‘A tea would be lovely.’
‘Burrows.’
Without a word, Burrows nodded and vacated the room, as loyal and obedient as ever. Harris knew the man deserved more respect than that, but there were times when he caught himself testing to what lengths Burrows’ obedience stretched. As Burrows left, Harris took his seat, pressing his fingers together in front of his chest.
‘Mr Harris…’
‘Please, call me Mark.’
‘Mark.’ Ashton corrected herself. ‘As you know, there was another incident last night.’
‘Yes. I’m aware.’
‘Well, your confidant, Mr Burrows, invited me in this morning to discuss the plan of action. As you’re well aware, the Metropolitan Police has had some severe problems this year, especially within its own ranks.’
‘Yes. That whole mess with Inspector Howell.’
‘That was handled internally and as you can imagine, we’d like to keep a lid on that as much as possible.’
‘Quite.’ Harris offered his smile once more.
‘Since then, Sam Pope has been a strict priority. Again, you can see the sensationalism of the press with regard to an armed vigilante supposedly cleaning up the streets.’
‘Well, as you’re aware, Assistant Commissioner…’
‘Please, Ruth.’
Harris smiled politely before continuing.
‘Ruth. My entire campaign is all for the apprehending of this man and the reduction in gun crime within this great city. I’m due to speak to the press this morning in relation to yesterday’s incident and impact on my campaign. I’m sure I can play my part in extinguishing any flames of excitement.’
‘Thank you. Do you know that the press has given him a nickname now?’ Ashton asked rhetorically, shaking her head. ‘They are calling him The Watchdog.’
‘Pathetic,’ Harris chimed in, disappointed at the press for branding a man who was breaking the law. Burrows re-entered the room with two cups of tea. He placed them on the wooden coasters on the desk before taking his leave once more. Ashton took a satisfying sip, allowing the piping hot liquid to warm her on a bitterly cold and wet morning. ‘As I said, I was invited here.’
‘I can’t say I’m too sure why. You know Carl, he’s full of secrets.’
Both of them smiled politely at the lame joke and Harris sipped his tea, annoyed at his own intimidation at the powerful woman before him.
‘Well, in light of yesterdays incident, we have released extra funding to not only increase our search for Sam Pope, but to launch a task force dedicated to his apprehension.’
‘Well this is excellent news.’ Harris beamed.
‘Of course, this will be run through the Met, but as you know, many of our officers are fully behind your campaign and have suggested you would like to officially launch the task force today.’
Harris shook slightly
