The Takers, стр. 40
‘Yes, Carl?’
‘I know it may be stating the obvious, but you cannot afford Sam Pope to continue on his rampage too much longer.’ Before Harris could angrily react, Carl raised a calming hand. ‘Not only would it jeopardise your campaign, but these investments you have made will also be affected.’
‘Thanks, Carl,’ Harris snapped. ‘Why don’t you go make me a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Burrows hurried to the door, feeling the glare that Harris had aimed at the centre of his spine. Despite the fury he felt, Harris knew that his trusted aide was right. He slumped back in his chair and gently massaged his temples.
Sam Pope needed to be stopped.
That same morning, Aaron Hill stood in his kitchen, the kettle boiling when he caught a glimpse of himself in the window. With the sun hiding for the majority of the morning, the orange glow of the street lights outside his house caused his window to double as a mirror.
A week ago, he would have been faced with a middle-aged man, dressed smartly who was making a packed lunch for his beloved daughter. Clean shaven, thinning blonde hair neatly brushed to a more flattering style.
Not fat but years of living well had given him what the magazines had recently labelled the ‘dad bod.’
The reflection staring back at him was unrecognisable.
His skin was grey, the bags under his eyes were dark and heavy, a memento for another sleepless night.
His chin was covered in a dark, grey stubble and his hair shot off in wild directions like he had been electrocuted.
His body craved for sleep but Aaron knew his brain wouldn’t shut off.
Not while she was still out there.
Not while there was still a chance.
As the kettle rumbled to a bubbly conclusion, he slowly raised his skinny hand to the top of it, gently holding it above the spout. A barrage of piping hot steam filtered out, enveloping his hand and instantly burning him.
He held it for a few more seconds.
Then, with a yelp of pain, he retracted it, using the jolt of anguish to snap him back to the current world, awakening him enough to make a cup of coffee and face another hopeless day. Aaron flicked on the cold tap and held the palm of his hand underneath it, the skin turning a shade of raw pink and the freezing water instantly cooled it. After a few more moments, he turned back to the kettle, pouring the water into a mug, watching as the coffee granules swirled like dirt in a tornado.
He stirred and just as he raised the mug to his lips, a firm hand slammed against the front door.
Startled, he placed the mug down on the side and instantly felt terrified. The world had recently shown him just what lived in its dark shadows and in all likelihood, his daughter would spend the rest of her life in them.
He pulled his dressing gown tight against his belly and shuffled towards the door.
Another firm knock. Then a voice.
‘Mr Hill.’ It belonged to a female. ‘My name is Detective Inspector Singh. I’m with the Metropolitan Police.’
Aaron shuffled closer, unlocking the door and pulling back, allowing the chain to catch and a crack, large enough for him to peer through to emerge.
A striking woman was stood on the door step, her dark hair pulled back, her brown skin as clear as a summer’s sky. She offered him a friendly smile before holding up her badge.
‘Can I come in, please?’
‘What’s this about?’ he asked, feeling his knees weaken.
‘I think it would be best to do this inside,’ she said, looking around at the neighbouring houses as if to suggest they may be listening.
Aaron closed the door and took a breath. The afternoon before, he had watched as Sam Pope, the most wanted man in London, easily took apart four youths before swarming one of the most dangerous estates in Wembley. Minutes later, he had stuffed a naked man into the boot of the car and demanded Aaron drive. They stopped at the B&Q near Park Royal Station where Sam told him he needed the car. Aaron made his way home via the London Underground and Sam drove away with a gangster and a number of bottles of liquid.
Aaron had no idea what Sam had planned, but he was sure it wasn’t a cocktail evening.
‘Mr Hill, please,’ Singh spoke through the door, a hint of frustration in her voice. With a trembling hand, Aaron removed the chain and pulled the door open, welcoming the DI and a gust of freezing, wet wind with one of his best smiles.
‘Please, come in.’ He stepped aside, ushering the law into his house. Singh obliged. ‘I just made some coffee, if you would like?’
‘No thanks,’ Singh responded, looking around the house as she stepped through the hall way. Aaron closed the door and sheepishly made his way back to the kitchen, focusing on his coffee as the Detective Inspector stared at him.
‘Mr Hill, I know you came to the station a few days ago to report your daughter missing. I believe you had been drinking at the time and I think it was myself who asked you to leave.’
Aaron squinted, trying hard to locate the memory as if he was searching for a door on his advent calendar. Singh continued.
‘Now since then, you happened to be at the High Rise in Shepherd’s Bush the night Sam Pope took out a dozen men and your car was discovered late yesterday in Wembley, not far from where reports say Sam Pope attacked another gang.’
Aaron looked at her blankly.
‘My car was stolen and…’
‘Stolen?’ Singh raised her finely plucked eyebrows. ‘Right. Well you see, Mr Hill, I’m in charge of a specialist task force put in place to ensure that Sam Pope is taken off the streets immediately. Yesterday evening, Pope committed two more acts of violence that the media are