Back then, it had been an easy promise for Sam to make.
Eventually, Jamie pushed himself up from his mattress, rubbed his blue eyes, and stared at Sam.
‘I was just trying to help.’
Sam stepped into the room; his brow furrowed in confusion.
‘Help? What do you mean?’
‘I was trying to help the bird.’
Jamie glanced towards the window of his bedroom, and Sam walked across and peered out. On the grass verge outside their house, the carcass of a small bird was buried among a pile of feathers and blood. A cat was pawing at it, approaching the end of its attack.
Sam felt his heart sink.
While he’d been tasked with setting his son straight, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride. A defenceless animal had been set upon by a bigger, bloodthirsty attacker and Jamie had broken the strict rules of the house to try to come to its aid. Guilt hung from Sam’s neck like a lead chain and he pulled the curtains together to protect his son from the sight.
‘Well, it looks like it worked.’
‘It did?’ Jamie’s eyes lit up and his shoulders straightened. Sam stepped forward and ruffled his son’s hair.
‘It sure did, kiddo. That bird has flown away. It’s probably gone home.’
‘Birds don’t live in a home.’ Jamie giggled. ‘They live in a nest.’
‘Is it as big as our nest?’
Sam reached out, grabbing Jamie under the arms and began tickling, his son contorting in a fit of laughter. It echoed downstairs, and Sam knew he would have some convincing to do regarding his disciplinary technique. But as his son laughed and cuddled into him, Sam didn’t care.
After a few more moments, Sam stopped, stood, and walked to the door.
‘I’ll go and tell Mum that you are sorry, but how about you come down and tell her too?’
Jamie smiled.
‘Okay, Dad.’
‘Good lad. Love you.’
‘Love you too.’ The words sent a jolt of happiness through Sam. ‘Dad, is it really wrong to do the wrong thing if it’s helping?’
Sam took a moment, carefully considering his next words. He looked down at the hopeful expression on his son’s face and smiled.
‘You should always do the right thing.’ Sam nodded. ‘But if you break the rules, you need to be ready to face the consequences.’
Sam believed every word of it, gave his son a playful wink, and then hurried downstairs to remove the body of the bird and to save his son from crushing disappointment.
If Sam had known that just a few months later, his son would be killed, he would have reached out, held him tight, and never let him go.
* * *
Sam shook away his treasured memory of his son as the door to his holding cell creaked open. The court officer, a broad man with thinning dark hair grunted at him.
It was time.
Taking a deep breath, Sam stood and obligingly held his hands out, wrists placed together. The officer stepped in, flanked by another, and he roughly secured the handcuffs, jolting them needlessly and sneering at Sam. Without breaking his stare, or even twitching in pain, Sam smiled at the man, nodded, and then headed to the door. The other officer, who didn’t offer nearly as much attitude, tried to hide his smile at Sam’s response. The other officer shoved Sam in the back.
‘Keep moving.’
Sam refused to respond. He knew that there were a number of police officers who despised him for his actions, taking his betrayal of law enforcement as a personal attack on their loyalty. He understood and respected it. While he wasn’t ashamed of his actions, he knew there would be eventual consequences and he planned on facing them head on.
He had been brought from his cell at West Hampstead Police Station to Crown Court Southwark in an armoured van, flanked by a police motorcade. While he had no visibility of the streets as they passed them, he’d been sure that it would have attracted attention. From the kinder officers at the station, he’d been informed that he’d become a celebrity, and that his impending sentencing was headline news.
It had disappointed Sam that his capture, and the bizarre cult of celebrity that had consumed the country was seen as more important than the truth about General Wallace and his vile acts of terrorism.
It was why he’d been needed.
To set the world straight.
As he approached the door to the courtroom, the antagonistic officer reached out and gripped his shoulder, making the extra effort to dig his nails in. They crunched down into Sam’s skin, pressing his navy jumpsuit tight against the skin and Sam felt a sharp pain in his shoulder.
A few months earlier, it had been shattered by a bullet. This was nothing but a lame attempt of intimidation.
‘Time to face the music, you prick,’ the officer whispered, as the door opened and Sam was led through.
The entire courtroom fell into an eerie silence and Sam felt the eyes of everyone zoom in on him as he stepped through into the glass balcony that overlooked the courtroom. Transfixed, journalists began to write in their pads, no doubt jotting down the bruises that covered his face and the bandage around his broken hand. Sam looked across to the section where the public were seated, locking eyes with Assistant Commissioner Ashton who shook her head in disgust.
A man in a suit leant over and whispered in her ear, no doubt congratulating her. She nodded her head and diverted her gaze.
Sam saw Singh. Her eyes were red, the sadness of his situation hanging over her like a rain cloud and he offered her a gentle nod of the head. A reassurance that he was fine.
Then Sam saw Pearce. The retired detective offered him a respectful nod and Sam felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he fought against the smile. Throughout his entire fight, Sam had come to view the ex-detective as a friend, and his show of support meant more to him than Pearce would ever know.
As the circus of his sentencing
