Stout’s office took over a quarter of the top floor of New Scotland Yard, the views from the window offering a tremendous view of the city he protected. Sat in the PA’s office, Singh thumbed through her phone, trying her best to research government facilities but they were either general articles or off limits.
Although her status as the Met’s shining star had granted her an audience with Stout, she still had access permissions in line with her paygrade.
On the other side of the lavishly decorated room, Stout’s PA, Marie, was frantically typing away on her keyboard, all the while juggling phone call after phone call. Singh chuckled at the thought that she was as busy as the commissioner himself. She’d arrived fifteen minutes before her allotted time, agreeing to wait patiently as Stout was currently in a budget meeting. The thought of overseeing the organisation finances was just another reason why Singh never wanted to climb that high.
As the clock affixed to the wall ticked past her appointment time, she fidgeted on her chair, drawing a wry smile from Marie.
‘These meetings tend to overrun, I’m afraid.’
Singh nodded politely, doing her best to hide her agitation. Another minute fell from her small window of opportunity and just as she was about to remonstrate with Marie about the commissioner’s time keeping, the door flew open. A bespectacled man carrying a laptop and a few folders bounded out towards the stairs looking as if he’d just been tied to a chair and beaten. Commissioner Stout followed swiftly, sliding his arms into his jacket as he closed the door behind him.
He didn’t even notice Singh.
‘Marie, ask Mohit to bring the car around.’
Without thanking her, he strode towards the door and Singh leapt from her chair.
‘Commissioner Stout?’
He turned, clearly in a hurry.
‘Detective Inspector. Wonderful to see you as always.’ Singh nodded and she saw the confusion on her his face. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I have an appointment with you, sir.’
‘Well, we’ll have to take it on the road. Walk with me.’
Without waiting for her response, he pushed open the door and left the office with Singh scurrying behind. As he descended the steps at a pace that made a mockery of his advancing years, all the officers he passed stopped and saluted. A man of the people, he acknowledged every one of them, much to Singh’s annoyance.
‘Sir, I need to speak to you about Sam Pope.’
‘Yes, quite. A fantastic piece of work there, Detective. I did ask for Deputy Commissioner Ashton to pass on my praise.’
‘Thank you, sir. But I’m not here to pander my ego.’
Stout chuckled out loud, appreciating the straight talking of a prominent detective with a reputation for her bullish nature. He stepped off the bottom step and headed towards the door where a large, Mercedes C class was waiting.
‘Anyway, you can put that matter to bed now. Sam Pope is behind bars thanks to your sterling work.’
‘But, sir, I need to follow up my investigation with him but I can’t get access to him.’
With the automatic door to the building opening before him, Stout stopped and turned to her. A gust of wind flew through the reception, a sprinkling of rain on its coat-tails. He raised an eyebrow at her.
‘Singh, if you need access to the prisoner, you need to go through the necessary channels.’
‘That’s the thing, sir. I need to know which prison you transferred him to.’
Stout laughed, shaking his head.
‘I signed the papers to lock him away in Pentonville,’ Stout said, clueless. ‘I was told you were at the trial?’
‘You didn’t sign any others?’
Stout regarded her with a fleck of irritation in his eye.
‘Is there a problem here, Singh?’
It was clear to Singh that the commissioner had no idea what had happened. Whatever transfer papers had been signed by the commissioner hadn’t come from his office. Which meant that either Ashton had forged them, or someone wanted Sam locked away from the world.
After a few seconds of contemplation, Stout’s tone stiffened.
‘Detective, I asked if there was a problem?’
‘No, sir. No problem.’
Stout nodded his head firmly, pulled his coat tight, and stepped out into the spring shower, darting to the back door of the car which was held open for him by the driver. As the car pulled away, Singh watched with her hands on her hips, wondering what the hell was going on.
* * *
As they sat for dinner that evening, the entire canteen was silent. There were no hushed conversations or empty threats exchanged between the inmates. Even the guards, usually keen to assert their authority, were uncharacteristically subdued. It was if Sam’s act of debt collection and solidification as Chapman’s muscle had ushered in a new reign of fear.
Sam sat quietly, picking at the mash potato on his plate, his appetite long evaporated.
Chapman was basking in his achievement. Having Sam under his command had once again elevated his control over the facility and he made no effort to hide the grin across his face.
When the door opened midway through the meal and Ravi hobbled in, there wasn’t even a murmur. With his arm covered in a cast, Chapman’s henchman glared at Sam, but took his seat alongside him at the table. Sam shrugged, pushed his plate away, and headed back to his cell, hoping that an evening reading would take his mind off the situation.
It didn’t help, despite two hours of staring at the pages.
He had promised his son he would read more and as a way to cope with the grief of losing him, Sam had absorbed many books during his absence.
Lucy would have been proud, knowing that Sam was keeping a promise to their son. The fact he’d broken his other and had killed numerous criminals only underlined how correct she was to leave him.
During the few weeks before his transfer, he heard that she’d given birth to a baby girl. Happily remarried to a man
