She’d never condoned Sam’s actions, but she knew he didn’t belong with them.
Back then, Singh had worn her police tunic with immense pride, whereas today, she’d settled on just a suit. While she still protected the city with the same ferocity as before, her pursuit of Sam had caused the lines to blur.
Possibly for good.
As she watched the herd of reporters swarming anyone who approached the building, she stopped and looked up to the sky. The English weather always held the fate of the day in its untrustworthy grip but the rain that had fallen earlier that afternoon had since vanished. It drew a smile from her, as she was happy for the small mercy.
She was still angered by her trip to see Etheridge.
While he’d undoubtedly played a part in saving her life, his refusal to show any support to Sam before he was sent down didn’t sit right with her.
As did his final remark.
‘There is always a plan.’
Singh had become a damn fine detective due to her curiosity and having something as vague as that dangled before her was already eating away at her. There was no plan.
How could there be?
Sam had been beaten to within an inch of his life and was now awaiting a life sentence. There was no plan.
There was no way back.
‘Lovely day for a sentencing, eh?’
The familiar voice broke Singh’s concentration and she spun on her heel to come face to face with the warm smile of Adrian Pearce. The retired detective was as casual as she’d ever seen, with his usual resplendent suit replaced with a shirt, chinos, and shoes. He had a jacket slung over his shoulder, the warm breeze removing its necessity. A flurry of thoughts and feelings raced through her body like a shot of adrenaline and she tried her best to wrestle back control. She’d been adamant that Pearce had betrayed her when Sam disappeared to Europe, only to discover today that he’d tried to save her.
With his final act as a member of the Metropolitan Police, Pearce had helped Sam stage a dangerous assault on Wallace’s motorcade and sent the police to bring her back.
It may have seen Sam leave in cuffs, but he’d done it to save her.
Without thinking any further, Singh flung her arms around Pearce’s shoulders and pressed herself against his solid frame. For a man in his fifties, Pearce had always kept fit and he took the brunt of her weight without shifting, before embracing her in their mournful hug. They stood for a few moments, their sadness for Sam and their reborn bond tightening their embrace.
‘I’m so sorry, Pearce,’ Singh eventually said as she pulled back, trying hard to mask the tear forming in the corner of her eye.
‘You don’t have to apologise,’ Pearce said warmly, reaching up and wiping it away. ‘And please, just call me Adrian.’
‘Adrian?’ Singh scrunched her face. ‘That sounds weird.’
‘You can blame my mother.’ Pearce looked over to the mob of reporters, haranguing anyone who dared step foot near the court. ‘I see the cockroaches are back.’
‘I know. It’s a shame we can’t move them on.’
‘Well, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.’
‘How’s retirement?’ Singh asked, her eyes still locked on the mob at the end of the road.
‘Different. But I guess anything would be. It’s not like the last year is something you would get used to.’
They stood in silence for a few moments, their attention drawn to a black Mercedes which rolled past them, the windows tinted black. Behind, a police car followed. They watched as it slowed to a stop in front of the building, the press swarming like a horde of zombies. To a burst of flash photography and a litany of boom mics, the driver stepped out, rudely shepherding the intrusion to the side before pulling open the door.
Assistant Commissioner Ruth Ashton stepped out.
A smile, as smug as a Cheshire cat, was across her face, which she’d accentuated with make-up. Singh had never seen the woman wear anything more than a flick of mascara, but with her impending promotion to the top seat rumoured, she was certainly ready for her moment in the spotlight. Out of ear shot, they both watched as Ashton gave a few rehearsed words to the eager journalists, no doubt commending Singh herself for bringing Sam in.
But Ashton would be sure that they knew it had been on her watch.
This was her moment.
For all the good Ashton had done in a stellar career, her movements behind the scenes had been just as important. Her fine police work had always felt arbitrary to her desire to climb the ladder, and it boiled Singh’s blood that she was being lauded as a hero on the same day Sam would be convicted as a dangerous criminal.
What made it even worse was Singh would have to face the same questions and despite her resentment, she’d have to tow the same line.
It was almost as if Pearce could read her thoughts.
‘Come on, superstar. Let’s get this over with.’
Pearce chivalrously offered his arm, drawing a smile from Singh which relaxed her. She graciously turned it down, straightened her back, let out a deep breath, and marched towards the excited crowd ahead, with Pearce following behind her.
* * *
The inside of the courtroom was eerily quiet. Despite the maximum capacity, everyone was waiting with bated breath. Running down the side of the room was a portioned off section, with the seats behind the wooden fence filled with eager journalists, all of them prepping for their biggest scoop of the year. On the other side of the room, where the jury would have been
