But then Sam Pope came into the picture.
While Sam’s actions had drawn Pearce’s attention, the man unearthed links between the police and the underworld that had given Pearce sleepless nights. As a DI who headed up the Department of Professional Standards, seeing those he reported into taking a cut off the top had made him sick.
That commitment soon wavered.
The last year had been a blur. One he’d never seen coming.
He’d made friends.
He’d lost them.
He had seen a broken man fight back against those who feed off the innocent who wasn’t afraid to rattle cages that were always left alone. But if you throw a stone into a lake, it creates ripples.
Sam’s actions had done just that.
Pearce had been pushed to the side, with Ashton and other senior figures doing their best to push him towards the door.
Amara Singh, a woman he’d grown fond of, had questioned his loyalty and was now as good as fired.
Theo Walker, Sam’s best friend and a man who did as much as he could for others, was brutally killed in his own home.
There had been so much death.
So much blood spilt.
While Sam had done it for the greater good, the aftereffects were still shaking lives into a state from which they would never recover.
And Pearce felt old.
As if maybe the commitment wasn’t there anymore. Not when he knew that those who called the shots were not always as trustworthy as they seemed. Not when the institution he had given his life to would place stopping Sam Pope above finding the teenage girls he was tearing through the city to find.
Maybe it was time to take that step back after all.
As the sun shone down on the concrete playground just outside of Bethnal Green Youth Centre, the decision was becoming harder to turn down. The centre, which had flourished in the past few years, had been the brainchild of Theo Walker once he’d retired from the armed forces. As a fellow black man, Pearce respected Theo’s brave plan to take under-privileged children off the streets and push them to make better choices.
Encourage their learning.
Mould their passions.
It was a noble cause from a noble man and as sickening as his death had been, Pearce wasn’t surprised it came in a heroic way.
Ever since then, Pearce had volunteered as much as he could. While he didn’t have Theo’s raw charisma, he was still able to banter with the kids, with a lot of them giving him stick for his profession. But he knew they respected him and the more weekends he’d spent with them, especially those who didn’t get to celebrate Christmas due to their home situation, Pearce had felt a stronger connection.
For the first time in a long time, he actually felt like he was doing some good. It had been a feeling he’d felt for most of his career. Whenever he’d outed a corrupt officer or found an issue with a case, he’d felt like he’d made a difference.
But after Sam shook the whole Met to its core, he’d been marginalised.
The local council had contacted him about running the youth centre on a full-time basis, for a marginal salary but easy hours.
It was becoming increasingly tempting.
As he mulled over the decision, three teen boys raced past him, all of them hunting a stray football. The five-a-side match had become a weekly staple, with enough youngsters turning up to run an eight-team tournament. All of them respected Pearce’s house rules.
No swearing.
No fighting.
No negativity.
At first, it had been tricky. A few fights broke out. A bit of gang culture threatened to rear its ugly head, but it was soon stamped out. Now, as the sun beat down and Pearce’s stomach thought about lunch, he watched with pride as two teams played some excellent football, while the others watched on, chanting and cheering with excitement.
Sean Wiseman, the young man who had stepped away from one of the worst gangs in London, volunteered at the weekends. He had volunteered as ref, but was already running out of breath, much to Pearce and the other boys’ amusement.
‘He looks like he could use a rest.’
Pearce spun on the spot; the recognition of the voice caused him to smile.
Sam Pope.
On the other side of the fence that ran around the youth centre grounds, Sam stood, one hand gripping the chain link.
‘Jesus. I thought you were dead.’
‘Almost.’ Sam smiled. ‘But not quite.’
Pearce nodded and smiled again. Despite the mayhem of the last year, he knew that Sam was a good man. A good man who was pushed down a dark path and was now doing whatever he could to scramble back to the light.
‘It’s good to see you, Sam. Nice hair cut by the way.’ Pearce flicked a glance back to the pitch as Sam ran a hand across his newly cropped hair. ‘I’m assuming you haven’t come here looking to help out, eh?’
‘Sadly not.’ Sam looked around at the building, the immaculate state of the garden and the mural painted along the brick work in honour of Theo’s memory. ‘He would be happy his work is continuing. Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me. It’s the least I could do.’ The ball shot past them both, with one of the boys in pursuit. ‘We both know what this world can do to people. It can chew them up, spit them out, and expect them to be okay with it. Whatever we can do to get to those before that happens, we do it. These boys, some of them might not make it off the streets. But if one of them goes on to become a doctor or a lawyer, or has a nice family life, then I would have done my part.’
‘You’re a good man, Pearce,’ Sam said warmly. Pearce turned back, looking Sam in the eyes.
‘So are you. Don’t lose that, okay?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I know what happened in Italy. We’ve been on red alert to find you by the Assistant Commissioner. You lost a dear friend.’
‘I’m
