A man in black.
The same description Aaron Hill had given after he’d been threatened by the man hoping to find Sam.
Whoever the man was, he was dangerous, and Singh had wondered if the brutish Farukh, whom she’d helped Sam fight, was the man beneath the balaclava.
She wondered.
She hoped.
Since that night, Etheridge seemed to have changed. While he walked with a limp, he walked with purpose. His previously chubby physique had been trimmed down. The house, once perverse in its expensive tastes, was now threadbare.
There was no sign of his wife.
No sign of anything.
The metal brace that wrapped around Etheridge’s knee would most likely be permanent; the bullet that was fired point blank into his kneecap had shattered the bone beyond repair. While Etheridge had the resources to ensure his life was always comfortable, he would be permanently disabled by the injury.
Innocent people didn’t suffer at the hands of Sam Pope.
Not directly.
Now, as she sat on the same patio where she’d first encountered Sam, she listened as the rain clattered against the roof of the gazebo that was protecting them from the water but not the chill of the wind. Etheridge meandered through the open glass door, two bottles of beer in his hand and a smile on his face.
‘Here you go.’
He handed a bottle to Singh with a smile. His original offer of a tea or coffee had been rebuked. Singh’s mind was on the trial that afternoon and she needed something stronger. As he handed her the cold beer, she wondered if her reliance on alcohol was becoming a problem.
‘Thanks,’ she said meekly, taking the bottle and immediately lifting it to her lips. Etheridge lowered himself down onto the step next to her with a grunt and held his bottle out.
‘To Sam.’
Singh nodded and clinked the bottle and both of them took a swig. The wind picked up, rustling through the overgrown garden and the sad silence that sat between them. Etheridge took another sip of his beer before speaking.
‘I never got to thank you for saving my life.’ He shook his head. ‘If you guys hadn’t found me, I’d have bled out.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ Singh said, almost embarrassed. ‘I guess you returned the favour, huh?’
‘How so?’
‘You helped Sam, right? When I got taken by Wallace.’
‘I just sat here and ran surveillance. It was Sam who saved you,’ Etheridge said humbly. ‘Sam and Pearce.’
‘Pearce?’ Singh exclaimed, her eyebrows raised.
‘Did you not know that?’
‘Pearce went behind my back to Ashton and had me suspended. Told me it was for my own good or some bullshit like that.’
Etheridge chuckled, shaking his head.
‘You know, when Sam came back, he went to see Pearce. Thanked him for saving me and what not. Do you know what Pearce told him? He told Sam to keep you out of it, that you had a career and a life that was going places. And then, when you were taken, Sam leant on Pearce to help get you back.’
‘What do you mean?’ Singh could feel the guilt building up inside her, threatening to break through in one of her rare and hated displays of weakness.
‘Who do you think drove the car after the ambush?’ Etheridge shrugged and looked at his knee. ‘Sure as hell wasn’t me.’
Singh felt sick.
Her burgeoning friendship with Pearce had been one of the few shining lights during her entire ordeal with Sam, but she’d cut him off due to his apparent treachery. To hear that he’d risked his own career, even his life, to help Sam save her hit her like a sledgehammer to the gut.
Pearce had recently retired, quietly making his way out through the backdoor after a distinguished career as one of the good guys. She’d treated him with such contempt.
But he’d done it all for her.
To keep her safe.
Singh raised her hand to her eye and dabbed away a tear. Etheridge awkwardly reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. While he had an effortless charm a crying woman had always been one of his biggest fears.
‘Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it.’
‘I was so horrible to him.’
‘The guy spent thirty years on the force, many of those investigating his own colleagues. I’m pretty sure he’s heard worse.’ Etheridge offered her a smile.
Singh took a deep breath and composed herself. She cursed herself for getting upset.
‘How the hell did we get here?’
‘I’m pretty sure you drove, didn’t you?’
Singh chuckled. Etheridge was a good man, and there was something about him that made her feel safe.
He was one of the good guys.
The world could use more of them, especially as one had recently stepped away from his career and the other was facing life behind bars.
‘My whole career, I was so hellbent on being the best. I was top of my class in everything I did, and I had a very firm grip on what was right and what was wrong.’ Singh stared out into the downpour as she spoke. ‘But then I was tasked with bringing Sam in, to stop a violent vigilante from haunting the city. But the further I delved the blurrier things got.’
‘Sam can do that to you.’ Etheridge scoffed. ‘The prick.’
Singh smiled again.
‘It just doesn’t feel right, you know? What Sam did, taking the law into his own hands, is wrong. But what he was doing it for…I don’t know. I guess sometimes people do bad things for the right reasons.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’
Etheridge and Singh clinked their bottles once more and took their final swigs. Singh placed her empty bottle on the cold, concrete step and stood up, dusting off her trousers.
‘Do you need a lift to the trial?’ She offered, looking back into the house.
‘I’m not going.’
‘What?’ Singh’s eyes snapped back to Etheridge who understandably, hadn’t
