He stopped it less than an inch from Sam’s temple.
Sam didn’t flinch.
The guard scoffed nervously, his eyes darting around the room for support and then he slowly stepped to the side in embarrassment. Sam sighed and looked back over his shoulder at Chapman, who arrogantly smirked.
‘Can I go now?’ Sam asked with a sense of boredom.
‘Of course.’ Chapman motioned with his hand. ‘But keep your energy up for tomorrow night, Sam. You’re going to need it.’
Sam took a step, stopped, and turned back.
‘What’s tomorrow?’
The Guvnor, who had retaken his seat, fixed Sam with a confident gaze, stroked his bearded chin, and smiled.
‘Day one.’
Chapter Twelve
‘Fancy another?’
Matt Allison offered his best smile, and Singh sighed inwardly. For all intents and purposes, he was a good man. Well-built and with a strong jaw, he was the identikit police officer. For over a decade, Allison had been on the beat, loving the thrill of the unknown and the adrenaline of every 999 call. But after a nasty traffic collision caused serious damage to his spine, Allison had to step away from his dream job.
He was lucky not to be paralysed, but his limited mobility meant there was no chance he could return to the streets. Not to be outdone by the cruel hands of fate, he took up a position as a prison guard at Her Majesty’s Prison Pentonville in Kings Cross and from what Singh had gathered, he was well liked and respected.
He was just a little too blatant in his attraction to her.
As he went to get them both another drink, she scolded herself for her actions. Allison was a good man and in a rugged way, quite attractive, even if middle age had greyed his hair and slightly bulged his waistline. But he’d made the effort tonight, with his beard trimmed neatly and his smart shirt had clearly been brought for the occasion. The guilt Singh was feeling was that to him, this evening was a shot at potential happiness.
For her, it was a fact-finding mission.
As he returned to the table with another pint of ale and a gin and tonic, he afforded her his best smile. She returned in kind, thanked him for the drink and took a sip.
‘So, what’s it like being the hottest detective in town?’ Allison asked, before taking a swig of his drink.
‘Not as glamourous as you might think,’ she responded, poking the stirrer into her drink dismissively. ‘Lots of attention.’
‘You must be used to that.’
She smirked, flattered slightly and that small twinge of guilt returned. The bar was packed, the Thursday night crowd in London was the same as every other night.
Out for a good time.
Swathes of local businesses had poured in, with numerous co-workers drunkenly clambering over each other with regrettable abandon. Judging by the wedding rings around some of their fingers, Singh wondered how many were possibly on the verge of making a drunken mistake. Quickly, she returned to the conversation.
‘Well, funnily enough, in our line of work, attention isn’t always a good thing.’
‘That’s true.’ Allison agreed as he sipped his pint. ‘Being called an ugly cunt by an inmate isn’t much fun.’
Singh scoffed into her drink, her mind racing at the thought of actually enjoying herself. Judging by the effort Allison was making, he saw this as a date. Despite being the one to call and arrange the meetup, Singh had to disassociate herself from that idea.
She wanted to find out about Sam.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, the notion that he was the reason she wouldn’t allow herself to enjoy it gnawed away at her like a toothache.
But this wasn’t about them, if there even was a them.
She still hadn’t found anything relating to Sam’s incarceration at Pentonville. No reports. No news articles.
Nothing but closed doors and vacant shrugs.
The most wanted man in the UK finally put behind bars, yet nobody wanted to talk about it.
‘Lots on your mind?’ Allison asked, his words slightly worried. Singh returned a smile.
‘Long week, that’s all.’
He nodded, more to reassure himself than in agreement and took an anxious sip and placed down the empty glass.
‘Another?’ She offered, but he held up a firm hand.
‘No, this evening is on me.’ He stood, nodded to her half empty glass and she shrugged her acceptance. When he returned, the confident swagger that verged on desperation had returned.
Singh seized her moment.
‘Must be a media frenzy at your place at the moment, eh?’ she said playfully as she finished her previous drink.
‘Not really. People don’t get that excited about prisons these days unless Ross Kemp is telling the world how shit they are.’
Singh giggled flirtatiously. She hated herself for doing it. She was a highly trained, highly decorated detective with over a decade on the job. Her career had seen her burst into drug dens with an assault rifle, bring down paedophile rings, and fight against Ukrainian sex traffickers.
But here she was, using her gender and the possible allure of a sexual encounter to get what she wanted.
To her, it felt like a betrayal.
Not just of this sweet man’s trust, but of every value she held dear.
But she needed to get to the truth.
To do what was necessary.
It’s what Sam would do.
‘Oh, come on.’ Singh sipped her drink. ‘Not a day has gone by where the press hasn’t asked me about arresting Sam Pope. Bringing in the biggest vigilante this country has ever seen. They must be swarming all over your prison like ants at a picnic.’
‘I’d liken the press more to flies around pig shit.’ Allison chuckled. ‘But no, it’s been fine.’
‘Bullshit.’ Singh playfully retorted. She saw a flicker of excitement in his eye and as he peered over his shoulder, she felt the muscles in her body tighten.
He was about to tell her something.
Trust her.
She felt sick with guilt.
‘Thing is, we haven’t seen him.’ Allison shrugged. ‘We
