He needed the country to hand over Sam Pope.
That would be easy enough and with a little research, he knew he would find something.
The hardest part was the third stage.
Giving Sam a reason to beg.
Mac ran his hand across the limited stubble that spurted around the scar tissue on his chin as a horrible feeling of regret manifested in the bottom of his stomach.
He knew exactly how he would do it.
He searched for any part of himself that would regret what he was about to do.
He found nothing.
* * *
There is nothing worse than knowing a crime has been committed but having no pieces to the puzzle. It was one of the lectures Singh had related to most when studying to become a detective, and now, having long since reached the rank of DI, it was rearing its head again.
No evidence meant there was nothing she could do.
Not within the structure of the legal system, anyway.
A part of her wanted to follow Sam’s lead by pushing the law to the side and doing what was necessary to get to the truth. But there were too many eyes on her. Ashton was keeping tabs on her movements, ready to throw her to sharks if she messed up or jump in and promote their relationship should Singh succeed.
Now, having mentioned it to the Commissioner, she was sure he would at least pass an interested glance in whatever she did next.
Singh had left the office that evening with her mind scattered. As she took the Jubilee Line back towards Canons Park, she knew she was battling two separate, but equally overwhelming, feelings.
The fury that someone had tampered with Sam’s transfer, along with the worry for his safety.
Ashton knew where Sam was, but wasn’t going to share that information. Singh opened her fridge and stared at the bottle of wine sat inside the door. Her drinking was beginning to dance dangerously along the line of becoming a problem and she slammed the fridge shut, turned, and popped a pod into her Tassimo coffee machine instead.
She needed a clear head.
Finding Sam was going to be harder than she ever imagined. As the coffee spluttered into the mug, she retrieved her laptop from her study and sat it on the kitchen counter, staring blankly at the search bar. There was little chance of her finding anything from Google.
If Sam was being kept hidden somewhere, she doubted the facility would have its own website.
Singh sipped her coffee and after an hour of staring at the screen, she slammed the laptop shut.
She needed a good night sleep.
Staring at the screen wasn’t going to do her any good and the chances of the answer just falling into her lap were non-existent.
As she reluctantly headed towards her bedroom, she heard the faint buzz of her mobile phone and darted across her plush flat, fumbling with her jacket that had been slung over the back of a chair.
She retrieved the phone mid-ring, not recognising the number, and hesitantly answered the call.
‘DI Singh,’ she said firmly.
‘Amara. How are you?’
‘Paul?’ Singh sounded shocked. She hadn’t spoken to Etheridge since the day of the trial, where her anger at his non-attendance had built a friction between them.
‘The one and only.’ Etheridge sounded his usual, jovial self.
‘Paul, I need to talk to you.’ Singh began, knowing she was taking the first few steps on a road that would lead to self-ruin.
‘What a coincidence. I need to talk to you, too.’
‘Really? Is it about Sam?’
‘Sort of.’ Etheridge paused. ‘Tell me, how do you feel about taking down the biggest criminal in the country?’
Chapter Nineteen
It took every ounce of Singh’s negotiation skills to get Ashton to agree to the raid.
As always, Ashton wanted to know all the details, demanding to know where the anonymous tip came from and to satisfy her own ego, why it didn’t go to her? Singh knew how to play the game, leaning on the work Ashton had done to push Singh front and centre which seemed to placate the Deputy Commissioner.
Ashton agreed to the raid and as they both stood against the police car, they watched as an Armed Response Unit infiltrated the JB Meat Co. factory, located in a remote business park on the outskirts of Aldershot, Hampshire.
Singh watched intently, remembering the days when she rode with that crew: vests, and helmets on, rifle by her side. It had been as exhilarating as it had been terrifying but bursting into a drug den and facing open fire had toughened her up.
Built her into the tenacious woman she was today.
It wasn’t her tenacity that had brought them to this location. Etheridge had told her he’d traced a phone signal that had received a call from Harry Chapman to the location, which he’d investigated. The large, metal structure was a clear meat packing factory, but Etheridge had scoured through the building plans and financial reports with a fine-tooth comb and something didn’t add up. How he got those records, Singh didn’t ask but there were definitely grounds to investigate.
‘You better be right about this.’ Ashton warned, looking straight ahead as she spoke. The brisk, spring morning brought with it a chill and Singh began to feel the effects of no sleep. A few coffees had kept her going and the forty-mile drive with the window open had kept her eyes open.
But now, with the chances of this all being a mistake, she began to feel completely exhausted.
Through the crackle of the radios, they heard the ARU command people to drop their weapons and then a loud crack of gunfire.
Singh and Ashton looked at each other and then marched forward, moving between the other squad cars that were parked in front of the building. Waiting by the door for further instruction, Singh felt her hands twitch with excitement.
Etheridge had been right.
Moments later, the captain of the ARU emerged, informing them that the gunfire was a warning shot and the workers within the lab had immediately
