The woman was dead. The cover-up exposed.
Samson strode along the corridor of pillars flanked by his team. This was their moment of triumph, yet there was no celebration in what had happened. Their footsteps reverberated on the stone floor, echoing ominously.
They crossed the courtyard and stopped at the heavy arch door. Samson knocked. After a moment he called out: ‘Police. Open up.’
Silence greeted them. Samson nodded to the sergeant next to him and stepped back, allowing him space to use the battering ram.
He already knew what he would find inside. He knew they were too late.
The door crashed open and they filed in, the team spreading through the rooms of the old building.
Samson headed to the familiar office at the top of the stairs. The office he had sat in only the day before, questioning the Home Secretary.
The door was ajar. He pushed it open and saw the feet dangling in mid-air, the toppled chair on the floor.
The body of the Right Honourable Member of Parliament swayed gently as the stifling air moved.
‘Pillars of the Community,’ – that had been his pledge to turn around the fractured society – ‘Like I was growing up and living in my North London constituency that I am so proud to represent.’
A dead prostitute in a hotel room had been the reality. The State cover-up had been at his instigation.
And the Right Honourable gentleman couldn’t even face the consequences. He had taken the easy way out, the coward’s way.
Samson turned away as other officers arrived.
The pillar had crumbled.
Other stories featuring Detective Samson can be found here: THE DETECTIVE SAMSON STORIES