While Ashton had wanted Sam locked away in the darkest hole for his crimes, a lifetime spent in HMP Pentonville would suffice. With her ascendency to the top of the Metropolitan Police all but guaranteed, she now needed to ensure that DI Singh was on her side. While she didn’t know it herself, Singh was a valuable commodity and her loyalty would be one of Ashton’s most valuable assets.
‘Singh, please sit.’
Reluctantly, Singh obliged. It had annoyed Ashton that Singh had decided against wearing her tunic. Was it a statement that she didn’t believe in the badge anymore? A pathetic show of unity with Sam? As Singh sat down, Ashton spun on her chair and opened the bottom of the oak cabinet that lined the back wall of the office. The clinking of glass accompanied her retrieving two crystal glasses, along with a decanter of brown liquid. Singh imagined it would taste disgusting, but she knew better than to bite the hand that intended to feed her.
Pearce was right.
Singh had it made. Any connections the Met thought existed between her and Sam would magically be erased and she could now look forward to a blossoming career. But she could feel her skin crawling at the thought, especially as Ashton poured out two half glasses of the pungent alcohol with a smug grin across her stern face. On the walls either side of the cabinet, a number of commendations and certificates were proudly displayed and Singh remembered how in awe of them she was when she first stepped into the office.
Her career had been prodigious, rising through the ranks of the Met swiftly and with merit. While a number of her peers sneered at the ‘quota filling’, Singh pressed on, leaving them in her rear-view as she climbed the organisation. Her time in the Armed Response Unit had only solidified her reputation and when Ashton had requested she run the Sam Pope task force, she’d jumped at the chance.
Ashton was the most senior female officer in the Met, and to have her holding the ladder as she climbed had meant the world to Singh.
Now, she knew that Ashton was only holding it for her own gain.
‘To a job well done.’
Ashton lifted her glass and reluctantly, Singh wrapped her fingers around hers and lifted it. Ashton forced a smile, before raising it to her lips and taking a sip. Judging by the following expression, it clearly burnt, and Singh apprehensively looked at her own drink.
‘What’s the matter, Singh?’ Ashton asked. ‘I thought you liked a drink?’
The sly dig was petty, but not unfounded. Ever since being booted off the task force, Singh had found herself turning to the bottle more and while Ashton herself had begun proceedings to hound her out, Singh had wavered dangerously on the line of sobriety for too long. It’s what drove Singh to dig deeper, to put herself in Wallace’s crosshairs.
It had almost gotten her killed.
Sadly, it had led to the death of an innocent journalist.
It had cost Sam his freedom.
As she stared at the glass, the weight of the guilt hung too heavy for her to drink it. She slowly placed the glass on the table, making a silent vow to never drink again.
The sneer on Ashton’s face told its own story.
‘Look, Singh. I know we may have had our differences in the past, but that’s where they belong. In the past.’ Ashton held Singh’s stare. ‘Things are going to change here very soon, and I need to know whether you’re in or not.’
‘In?’ Singh said, raising her thin eyebrow.
‘Where your loyalties lie.’ Ashton finished her drink and then plucked the lid from the decanter once more. ‘Let’s not pussy foot around the allegations that you helped Sam Pope. I know there are many people, officers within this very organisation included, who believed his actions were noble. I mean, saving abducted kids from sex slavery is as noble as it gets. But that doesn’t give anyone the power to go above the law. So while I’m willing to let those notions of collusion disappear, I need to know that your loyalty is to this badge and to serving this city.’
Ashton poured herself another Scotch, slamming the lid back on the container before dropping back into her seat. As she glared at Singh, the young DI took a breath. She’d fought too hard to get to her position to throw it all away, but the thought of pledging allegiance to this woman was a hard decision to stomach.
‘Ma’am, all I ever wanted to be was a detective. And I’m a damn good one. Whatever you believe, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh, it matters,’ Ashton barked back, immediately scolding herself. Commissioner Stout had made it clear: Singh had to be on her side. She changed tact, offering a warm smile that almost hurt. ‘But what truly matters is what you believe.’
‘I believe in the justice system.’
‘So, you believe Sam Pope is a criminal?’
Singh could feel the accusing eyes boring into her like a pneumatic drill and she clenched her fist. Every fibre of her being wanted to drive it into her superior’s jaw, but she knew that was career suicide.
A career Sam had handed back to her with his sacrifice.
She unclenched her fist, relaxed her shoulders, and looked Ashton directly in the eye.
‘I believe he is a good man who broke the law.’
‘Good enough.’ Ashton raised her glass again, this time on her own and took a sip. ‘As long as we know where our priorities lie.’
‘Is that all, ma’am?’
‘Yes. Dismissed.’ Ashton waved her hand and Singh rose from her chair. ‘Oh, and Singh. Next time you’re offered a glass of expensive Scotch, I would advise you at least appreciate the
