Burrows had been the one who had strapped the rocket to Harris’s back and let him fly up the political ladder. Perhaps, Harris chuckled once more, he would let Burrows have the weekend off.
‘Drinking alone?’
A surprising voice snapped Harris back to reality and he turned, startled. Adrian Pearce stepped into the office, his coat soaked through and his hands stuffed deep into the pockets. Harris raised his eyebrows.
‘I was. Fancy one?’
‘Very kind.’ Pearce flashed his warm smile, sliding his arms out from his long jacket and letting the warmth of the room envelope him. The weather had taken a horrible turn, the lashing rain hitting like freezing daggers. He recalled being in the office a few days before, the politician demanding that Pearce help him bring in Sam Pope.
If Harris had been trying to get Pearce onside, he had pushed all the wrong buttons. He wasn’t anti-authority by default, but Pearce knew he had a problem with being told what to do. Especially when it didn’t follow the chain of command. Harris’s infiltration into an almost advisory role with the police was a testament to his gift of the gab and Pearce found it a little disconcerting that the higher ups were pandering to him so much.
It was clear why. The man was the Mayor elect.
It was a formality.
At least it had been.
Harris handed Pearce an identical tumbler and lifted his slightly. Pearce followed suit, gently clinking the glasses together before he took a large swig.
‘Whoa,’ Harris said smarmily. ‘Don’t rush it.’
‘Long day,’ Pearce offered, placing the empty glass back on the drinks shelf before striding back into the centre of the room. Harris frowned, following.
‘Is there a reason you’re here, detective?’ Harris asked rather curtly. ‘I’m assuming you didn’t pop in just to have a drink with me?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Pearce said, looking around the room. ‘Question, how long did you think it would take when you were in office, for the press to find out that you’re supporting the abduction of young girls?’
Harris spat his Scotch across his desk, the brown liquid splattering the laptop and loose papers.
‘Excuse me?’
Pearce turned on his heel, his dark eyes locking onto Harris like a heat-seeking missile and he saw fear in the politician’s eye. Pearce had interrogated more men than he cared to remember, and he knew that when he flicked the switch, his charm was swiftly replaced with a quiet fury.
‘Let me rephrase that. How long have you been paying money into this bank account?’
Pearce placed a piece of paper on the desk, spun it to face Harris, and pushed it across. Harris looked at it, his eyes wide with horror.
‘Burn Group Inc.?’ Harris stammered. ‘What the fuck is that?’
‘Come on, Mark. You’re a bright chap. That’s the bank account belonging to The Acid Gang. The ones who throw the acid at people. I think you gave a speech about it when you realised it could help your campaign.’
‘Fuck you,’ Harris spat, his hand shaking as he polished off his Scotch.
‘It’s also the bank account that receives five grand for every snatched girl, paid by Transcendence Holdings, which, if I’m not mistaken…’ Pearce pulled out another sheet of paper and confidently tossed it onto the laptop. ‘Is the campaign management company that has your name as the CEO.’
‘I don’t know anything about this…’ Harris began and slumped into his chair, running a nervous hand through his hair. Pearce stepped around the desk and stood before him, feeling the confidence draining from him with every tick of the grand clock on the wall.
‘I’ve connected these dots so you’re going to have to connect a few more, Mark. As this will either be handled behind closed doors or your name will be dragged through the mud, with your entire political career not far behind.’
Harris glared at Pearce with venom in his eyes.
‘I have nothing to do with this. Just because you’ve been shelved and your career is wasting away, you think it gives you the right to threaten me? After everything I’ve done for this city? Everything I’ve done to get the people to believe in your beloved Metropolitan Police?’
Harris stood, trying to assert his authority. With one, swift, open-palmed shove, Pearce knocked him back into his seat. Harris looked shocked, the fear at being physically restrained evident. Pearce leaned in close.
‘I don’t give a flying fuck about your career. Teenage girls are being taken off the streets. Do you understand me? They are being snatched from their lives and sold to whatever godforsaken hell hole and in to a life that would make Satan himself shit his pants. So if I have to rip you and your fucking career into a million pieces to find them and the people responsible, then you can bet every penny in your campaign fund I will. Do you understand me?’
Pearce stepped back, taking a deep breath. He knew his words had shaken the man who was so used to having his ego stroked. Pearce watched as Harris’s eyes darted back and forth, the man running every possible outcome to what he had just been told. Pearce watched as Harris broke.
Harris began to cry.
‘I don’t know anything about this,’ he said through sobs. ‘I swear. Ask Burrows, he knows how little I get involved with the business side of things. I don’t even fucking sign anything.’
Pearce frowned with confusion.
‘But this is your signature.’
‘It’s electronic. They paste it into documents to save time.’ Harris dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve. Pearce
