As Pearce had suggested to Singh, it appeared that Sam Pope now had a time limit.
Singh had agreed, and Pearce found himself thinking of the young DI. She had made quite the impression the first time she’d barged into his office, making wild demands and treating him with the same lack of respect as her peers. But, as the scope of her task became clear, she’d humbly asked for his help and as far as Pearce could tell, had begun a friendship with him.
As far as he was concerned, if anyone could stop Pope, it was probably her.
What concerned him more, was he wasn’t sure if he wanted her to.
Pearce ordered his double-shot latte and waited to the side of the counter, wondering what bizarre way they would try to spell his name on the cup. He enjoyed a Starbucks coffee, but their nonsensical way of marking up orders always baffled him. Pearce stood still, his eyes closed, taking in the hustle and bustle around him, the hum of the machines, and the gossip of the young women behind him.
The rich smell of coffee filled his nose.
Pearce felt, for a moment, at peace.
‘Aidan?’ The barista called out, her impatient eyes scanning the room. Pearce, realising their mistake smiled warmly and took the cup, the piping hot coffee instantly warming his hand. He strode to the small unit that held the sugar sachets and as he selected two small packs of brown sugar, he felt the presence behind him.
A recognisable voice quickly invaded his ears.
‘I never pegged you as a sugar man.’
Pearce’s entire body tightened. His spine stiffened as if an ice cube had just been slid down the back of his crisply ironed shirt. His hand tightened around the Styrofoam cup, threatening to crush it entirely and spray the coffee shop in its own juices. It wasn’t the voice itself that had caused the shock. In some ways, he had been expecting it for a while now.
It was because it was in the coffee shop opposite the busiest police building in London. The same building that was the headquarters for the task force set up in the man’s honour. Pearce took a moment, gathered his thoughts, and recomposed. Then, with a wry smile across his face, he turned and faced Sam Pope.
Pearce couldn’t help but offer a warm smile.
‘Why? Am I sweet enough?’
Sam nodded and his lips quivered, threatening to break into a smile of their own. Pearce admired how casually Sam stood, a stone’s throw away from the building that he once worked in.
That now offered him nothing but confinement.
Sam sipped from his own coffee, his leather bomber jacket still slick from rain and the hood of his under layer flapping over the collar. His hair was cut shorter than six months ago, but Pearce doubted that regular trips to a hair dresser were top of Sam’s to-do list.
The man was a soldier.
Fashion wasn’t a priority. Only the mission. Pearce quickly glanced around, looking for any colleagues. Sam noticed, leaning forward for a napkin.
‘Relax, I’m just a handsome man getting some coffee.’
Pearce smirked.
‘Same here.’ He turned to the stand, reaching for a stirrer and swirling it into his coffee. He scouted the place once more, refusing to look at the most wanted man in the City. ‘It’s good to see you, Sam.’
‘Likewise,’ Sam said, taking a sip. ‘I hear they didn’t promote you after you brought in the head of the snake.’
‘Well, not exactly,’ Pearce replied dryly. ‘I did get a new office.’
Sam nodded, his trained eyes flicking around the Starbucks, taking in every detail for the umpteenth time. There were seventeen customers seated around the premises, three of which could potentially be police officers based on their disposition. There were eight steps to the front door, a further fifteen to the back. Four members of staff on shift and a cleaner currently in the disabled toilets.
It would be an easy escape if he needed to.
But he needed something else. Sam took another sip, waited for Pearce to stop stirring his coffee and give him his attention.
‘I need your help.’
Pearce took his own sip, deliberately swashing the coffee in his mouth.
‘Last time you asked for my help, you ended up thumping me in the face and diving into that river over there.’ Pearce nodded through the rain-soaked window to the restless Thames beyond. ‘I’m in.’
‘Good.’
‘But…’ Pearce turned to Sam, locking onto him with his dark eyes. ‘You need to tell me what the hell is going on.’
‘I don’t have time, I need…’
‘Make time,’ Pearce demanded. ‘You went from delivering criminals on a silver platter to sticking them in the goddamn morgue. They have an entire task force up there, dedicated to bringing you in. Hell, they have even given you a nickname. Do you know what that is? It’s the Watchdog!’
Sam scoffed, mulling it over.
‘I like it.’
‘Yeah, well you won’t like the woman in charge. DI Singh. She’s a storm in a tea cup and she’s got a real hard on for you. If she knew I was talking to you, she’d throw us both in a hole for the rest of our lives. So if you want me to go further down this rabbit hole with you, then I deserve the goddamn truth.’
Sam knew he was right. He sighed, turning so he and Pearce both leant against the stand, both of them facing the large counter, where two Japanese tourists were ordering their lunch.
‘Just before I took down Elmore Riggs, a man was brought in at gunpoint. He had no business being in that room with those men. Turns out, he’s a dad whose daughter went missing and that was her last known location.’
‘Jesus.’ Pearce was already stroking his beard in frustration.
‘The guys who took her, they snatch teenage girls off of our streets, dump them in a truck, and get paid five fucking thousand pounds.’ Sam gritted his teeth in anger, his fists clenching. ‘The name
