Pearce shuffled around his desk and sat on the edge of it, gently pushing a few files to the side. He regarded Singh carefully.
‘So, let me get this straight. You have walked in here, have almost accused me of aiding and abetting a criminal and now you want my help?’ Singh went to speak but Pearce held up an authoritative hand. ‘Let me offer you some advice, Detective. Don’t let your ambition cloud your application. I may be under my own cloud at this moment, but I’ve been doing this job a long time and I know how to play the game. I know where all this fire comes from, I do. You’re a female and you’re Indian. That’s two ticks against you and you have knocked it out of the park. But just remember, I’m a black man who did all of that through the seventies and eighties.’
‘No offence, sir. But I didn’t ask you for a character assessment.’
‘You keep saying no offence.’ Pearce shook his head once more. ‘Tell me, Singh. What do you want from me?’
‘I want you to help me catch Sam Pope,’ Singh said firmly. ‘Assistant Commissioner Ashton has assigned me to track him down and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Even our mayoral candidates are backing our campaign.’
‘Well, that must mean it’s a really dumb idea.’
Singh ignored him and continued.
‘Sam Pope is a dangerous man, highly trained in conflict and clearly has access to deadly weapons. No matter how well he served his country, he cannot take the law into his own hands. He has killed a number of people and will be held accountable for his crimes.’
‘Crimes?’ Pearce interrupted. ‘There are those, not just in this station but in the press, who think he is just cleaning up the streets.’
‘Are you one of those people, sir?’ Singh shot an accusing glare at him and Pearce found himself liking her even more.
‘People will believe what they want to believe, Singh.’ Pearce carefully sidestepped the question. ‘But a few years ago, there was a gentleman called Lucas Cole who took down one of the most notorious crime gangs in London. Killed all four of the siblings and left the head of the snake for the police.’
‘Then he was a criminal, just like them,’ Singh said, crossing her arms in frustration.
‘They raped and killed his pregnant wife and we did nothing,’ Pearce responded solemnly. ‘The Met stood back and tried to sweep it under the rug. Lucas Cole fought back. It may not have been legal, but I wouldn’t tarnish him with the same brush when all he sought was justice.’
Singh shifted on the spot uncomfortably.
‘What happened to him?’
‘He died.’ Pearce shook his head. ‘He gave his life to avenge hers. While that was a different story, I wanted to paint a picture for you, Singh. I understand that you have orders and you have your eyes on the headlines you will make if you succeed. But if you really want my help on this, all I can offer you is my advice.’
‘Which is?’ Singh asked, a hint of anger in her words at being rejected.
‘Sam Pope is a good man. You might not think it and this organisation has gone above and beyond to put him in everyone’s cross hairs. But that man has been through more than you know and I believe, as a man who has hunted down corrupt ‘good guys’ for a living, that Sam Pope is on the wrong side of the law for the right reasons. My advice is the same advice that Howell gave me. Advice he should have heeded then. When it comes to Sam Pope … leave that man alone.’
Pearce smiled warmly and slowly eased himself off the desk, his back creaking once more as a mocking reminder of his age. Singh burnt a hole through him with her stare and he shimmied back around his desk to his battered leather chair and lowered himself down, the muscles aching in his legs. Singh stepped forward, pressed her hands to the desk and leant forward, a whiff of her perfume snaring Pearce’s attention for a split second.
‘I’m going to take down Sam Pope. The man is a vigilante and belongs in a cell.’ She leant in further, doing her best to intimidate. ‘And if I find a shred of evidence that you have helped him in any way, I’ll make damn sure they throw you in one too.’
With that, Singh turned and wrenched open the door, the frame rattling against the file cabinet and echoing loudly around the measly office. She slid through the gap, slamming the door shut behind her as Pearce heard her boots stomp away and back to the real office. He sighed, annoyed that his likeness for her was outweighed by his disdain for her blinded ambition. Pearce may have rattled a number of cages over the years but he always did it with respect.
As he contemplated exactly how Singh’s attitude would eventually be her undoing, he leant back in his chair and thought of Sam Pope. Despite being shunted to the outskirts of the force, Pearce still had his ear to the ground and through hearsay and the reports in the press, he knew Pope was still fighting the good fight. Then, as a smile crept across his face, he wondered just how Singh would react if she ever did meet Pope.
Especially when she realised what he already knew. That she, nor anyone in the Metropolitan Police Service, have a hope in hell of catching him.
As she marched down the staircase, her boots echoing loudly in the bright corridor, Singh did her best to compose herself. She had heard stories about Pearce being a tough nut to crack, but she found her fists clenching in frustration. The man was one of the most highly regarded detectives in the Met, but he had pulled at too many threads and
