by Mark Ayre
Her elbow extended, her palm grabbed the side of Gary's head, cutting his speech dead.
With some force, Abbie slammed Gary's head into the brickwork. With a cry and a gasp, he crumpled into the grass.
There he lay, sobbing and clutching his head. He buried his face in the grass to hide his tears and to hide from Abbie. It was as though he believed if he burrowed far enough into the dirt, she would leave him alone.
Still inspired by anger, Abbie reached forward to grab Gary's shoulder. An inch from the cloth of his jacket, she hesitated, then stopped before she could touch him. Retracting her hand, Abbie stood and stepped away from the building onto the field. Notably, she was stepping away from Gary.
Deep breaths. He was only a teenager.
Deep breaths. Frightening people bearing guns and cruel intentions had no doubt cornered him, terrified him into doing what they said.
Deep breaths. This wasn't his fault.
Fine. It was Gary's fault. But he was young; he didn't have the strength or experience possessed by Abbie. How could he be expected to resist the will of men and women who shoved guns in his face and explained to him, in great detail, what would be the result of such resistance?
Deep breaths.
Emotions back under control, Abbie returned to the side of the building and crouched beside Gary, who remained in a heap, his hands on his head. At first, she did not touch him.
"Sit up," she said.
He remained in the dirt, soundless and unwilling to risk meeting Abbie's eye, facing her ire.
"Come on," she said. "It can't be that bad. I'm sorry I lost my temper."
Still, he would not move. Abbie began to worry about the time this was taking. Here she was, if not in the centre of then adjacent to a trap. Were her enemies aware of her location? Were they still waiting for her to go through the double doors or pivoting, preparing for plan B?
The gun clasped in her right hand, Abbie used her left to drag Gary's arm from the side of his head.
There was blood, but not much. It looked as though Gary had scraped his skull on the brick. He would be left with nothing more than a graze. In other words, he'd live.
No more time to mess around.
Abbie jabbed Gary in the ribs, and he jerked up. Before he could collapse back into the dirt, Abbie grabbed his shirt and shoved him into a sitting position against the wall.
"I don't understand," he whined.
Abbie closed her eyes. Took a breath.
"If you're wondering why I'm doing this," she said, indicating the closed lids, the deep exhale, "it's because of what I told you about how dangerous I was, especially to people who lie. Because you're a teenager, and I think you've been forced into deceiving me, I'm trying to resist the urge to put a bullet between your eyes. With every lie, you make it a little harder."
Letting this sink in, Abbie took several more deep breaths before opening her eyes and gazing into Gary's face.
"They told you to get me here and to get me to walk through the double doors you first indicated to me, correct?"
Gary hesitated. Fear of the people who wanted Abbie dead still held his tongue.
Hating herself for doing it, Abbie put the gun to Gary's head. Pressed the cool business end against the skull. Applied enough pressure to be uncomfortable after a few seconds.
Gary was a frightened teenager. He didn't deserve this.
But Abbie needed to know what she was facing.
"Whoever made you bring me here no doubt threatened you with all manner of torture if you didn't comply. I won't do the same. Nothing could move me to torture a teenager, but that does not make me harmless. If you don't tell me what I want to know, I will pull this trigger and end your life. There’ll be no torture. There’ll be nothing. You're afraid of the pain that might come your way if you disobey your masters, but I can protect you from that. No one can protect you from me."
Gary quivered and trembled. There was every chance the poor boy had wet himself, and, with every passing second, Abbie reviled herself more. After all, she had been sure this was a trap before she entered the school. Before she forced Gary over the gate she could have put on the frighteners, made him tell her the truth of the trap. Thoughts of Ben had made Abbie reckless. Following their earlier phone call, her emotions were heightened and she had overreacted to Gary’s bare faced lies about Isabella. Now this. She would never pull the trigger, but her actions could leave Gary traumatised for the rest of his days. Another innocent Abbie would have irreparably damaged. More guilt she would have to carry like a boulder on her back.
And despite all this, she couldn't stop. Or wouldn't, at least.
"You have three seconds to tell me their plan," said Abbie, "Before I put a bullet in your brain."
Abbie knew he would break before then. The count was a tool to inspire Gary's tongue to start wagging. She watched his mouth open before she'd even begun. He was about to spill all.
Then someone stepped around the corner.
"Oh dear, looks like I've caught you red-handed."
Abbie spun. Her gun was half-way raised towards the newcomer before she saw who it was.
"Kilman."
"That's DCI Kilman to you," he said, raising his own gun. "But don't bother correcting yourself because you have the right to remain silent."
The detective stepped forward, a triumphant smile on his lips.
"You're under arrest," he said. "And this time, no pretty little lawyer's getting you off."
Nineteen
“‘No pretty little lawyer’s getting you off,’” Abbie repeated. “Is that intentional innuendo?”
Abbie was no stranger to the whole having a gun pointed at your head thing. She had stared into the faces of numerous supposedly murderous men and women and, more out of habit than design, tended to try and read their eyes.
Sometimes, what Abbie saw signalled this would-be murderer was not going to kill her. Ana was a case in point. Though she had not come at Abbie with a gun, rather a knife, she had undoubtedly come claiming she was about to end Abbie's life. Abbie had suspected Ana would not find the will to carry out this threat. She said will, rather than courage, because she believed, more often than not, murder was closer to an act of cowardice than it was to one of strength. Many of Abbie's own kills she attributed to this same cowards trait.
Many people had threatened Abbie with a gun or a knife, a decent number of whom had a look in their eyes that said they would be unable to pull the trigger, metaphorically or literally.
Kilman had no such look.
"Drop the gun, put your hands on your head."
Abbie rose. She lowered the gun to her side but didn't drop it. Her hands remained by her hips and showed no signs of making the short trip to her head. Kilman looked as though he had the will to kill Abbie. But that did not mean he would.
She looked the detective straight in the eye.
"Should you even be armed?"
Rather than answer, Kilman went for his radio. His gun still aimed at Abbie's chest, he pressed a button on the radio's side, and it crackled into life. Never breaking eye contact with Abbie, the cop demanded an armed response unit at the school ASAP. He told whoever was on the other end of the line he had prevented Abbie from murdering a witness in her ongoing case, and he needed backup to secure her. She was armed and extremely dangerous.
"Extremely?" said Abbie as he released the radio button. "You flatterer."
The radio crackled into life again. Received and understood. Armed response was on the way.
"Drop the gun," Kilman said again. "Hands on your head."
"If I do that," said Abbie, "you might cuff me and kick me to my knees. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
"Would I not?"
"No. How pissed will the armed response team be if they turn up and find they've wasted a trip. Lot of taxpayers' money goes into kitting them up, and that's before we take petrol into account. Don't you want to give them something to do?"
"I want your gu
n on the ground and your hands on your head. You have three seconds to comply."
This almost made Abbie smile, but she held her blank expression. It was the same trick she'd used on Gary moments earlier. Only in this case, the ticking clock wouldn't get her to speak because only one ticking clock held her interest, and that was the one attached to Isabella's life.
"Or what?" she said. "My hands are by my side. I'm displaying no threatening behaviour. You'd have to shoot me in cold blood."
"I'll say it was self-defence," said Kilman. "You're a dangerous criminal, Abbie, and you don't want to test my patience."
Abbie sighed, then spun on her heel. Now she was facing away from Kilman.
"How about now?" she asked. "Still think you can paint the altercation as self-defence if there's a bullet in my back?"
"That's very clever," said Kilman. "You okay keeping your back to me, though?" He said. "Don't you fear what I might do?"
"People who fear the sights of a gun don't turn from the shooter," said Abbie. "I'm alert; my hearing's in top condition. You might think you can rush me. Why not give it a try?"
Her back to him, Abbie couldn't see Kilman's face, but that didn't matter. His hitched breathing told her all she needed to know. His temper was rising. Question was, how far could she push it before he did something stupid?
"You're in a world of trouble, girl," he said, which inspired some anger in Abbie, too.
"The police should be about more than stopping crooks," said Abbie. "As guardians, they should be held to a higher standard."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm twenty-nine," she said. "I've long since left girlhood behind and become a woman, though calling me woman wouldn't be ideal either. You know my name. Why not use it?"
"Someone's sensitive." Kilman sniggered at his own comment. Abbie rolled her eyes. At least he hadn't thrown out the phrase time of the month.
There was still time, of course.
Glancing at Gary, who remained on the floor, his knees to his chest, his head tucked in, Abbie said, "Was this part of the plan? The police?"
"What are you talking about?" said Kilman.
"Gary led me here," said Abbie. "He told me this was where the bad guys were keeping Isabella. But it’s a trap. Someone who doesn't want me involved threatened Gary, got him to lead me here. I wonder if that plan involved you."
Kilman chuckled. "Is that how you think you're getting out of this? Inventing other criminals? I believe the only crooks involved are those working with you. You targeted Ndidi and had your pals kidnap his daughter. Now you're assaulting the witness for giving a statement against you."
"That's a clear narrative," Abbie noted. And she meant it. And it was annoying. There was no hard evidence Abbie had anything to do with Isabella, but the circumstantial stuff was compelling. Plus, now Kilman had caught Abbie pointing a gun she wasn't legally allowed to carry into Gary's face; he had everything he needed to lock her up. Ana might get her out, but not before a trial, and there would be no bail in the interim.
All of which meant Abbie couldn't let the officer put the cuffs around her wrists.
Evading police capture would only make things worse in the long run, but the priority was saving Isabella. Once the danger to the girl had passed, Abbie would face the consequences of her actions.
How she would escape Kilman was still very much in question.
"Maybe you're in on it," she said. "Whoever kidnapped Isabella is linked to police corruption. Are you corrupt, Kilman? That would explain how you knew I was here."
"Oh, you do have a nerve, don't you? Girl."
Kilman wouldn't get this, but the fact he'd used the word specifically to annoy, rather than casually, unthinkingly, stole a lot of its power to frustrate Abbie.
"People in your station are being investigated," Abbie said. "Don't you know?"
Because she still had no intention of turning towards the armed detective, Abbie could not tell what Kilman's face was doing. Her clues to his state of mind came only from his tone.
"I've met some vile liars in my time."
And that tone told her plenty. A shiver ran down her spine, and she tried not to flinch. She couldn't let Kilman know she was slightly nervous he might lose control of his temper and put a bullet in the back of her skull.
"So, how did you know?" Abbie asked. "Lucky guess?"
"Are you going to tell me you came here under an invisibility cloak?"
“I’d never have guessed you were a Harry Potter fan."
"A uniform saw you make your way up here. They saw your gun and called me at once. I told them to back off. Said I'd deal with you."
That was interesting.
"My gun was concealed," said Abbie. "I was alert on my journey. Uniformed officers don't drive unmarked cars, and I'd have seen a cop on foot or in one of those glowing vehicles you make them drive. Which means one of two things."
"And they are?" Kilman asked. His voice was tight, as though his jaw had frozen and he was forcing the words through whatever gaps remained between his teeth.
"Either you're lying, there was no uniformed officer, and you're the bent cop. Or the uniformed officer is the one on the take, and they've orchestrated this little meeting."
"Or you're the liar," said Kilman.
"I appreciate you'd need to consider that as an option if you were telling the truth about the uniformed officer. The question is: if the uniformed officer is real and therefore corrupt, why did they want us to meet? Why here? They must have a plan."
Slowly, Abbie twisted towards Kilman. While her back was turned, he'd lowered his gun. When their eyes met once more, he raised his weapon, aiming at her chest. Centre mass. Smart.
Abbie looked at Gary.
"What did the crooks tell you, Gaz?"
Gary pressed his face deeper into his knees. Only under duress would he reveal more information, and Abbie couldn't put any pressure on the teenager with Kilman around. She had to do it through the cop.
"I've had enough," the detective was saying. "You'll allow me to cuff you, or I'll put a bullet in your leg. Turn away, see if I can't call it self-defence and get away with it. See if—"
"Shut up," said Abbie. She was sure she'd heard something on the building's other side. What was that? The sound of feet on concrete slabs?
At Abbie's order, Kilman's face went red with rage, and at first, his fury choked him. This gave Abbie a few seconds to listen and plot the newcomer's course, then Kilman was storming towards her, gun moving from Abbie's chest to her head.
'How dare you tell me—"
While Kilman shouted, Abbie lost track of the unknown element. How close were they now?
Annoyingly, she had problems far closer at hand.
Kilman was still coming. He wasn't going to shoot Abbie, but he might attack her with the gun's butt.
Anxious to regain control of the situation, if indeed she had ever had it, Abbie made the one move Kilman didn't expect. As he came to her, she charged. Turning, she grabbed his arm, elbowed his stomach and sent him sprawling into the grass.
"Thank me later," she muttered.
No sooner had he hit the ground, Kilman was rising and still making plenty of noise. Abbie was sure the newcomer had been moving down the building towards the L's base when Abbie had heard them. How long before he appeared around the corner, ready to strike?
Moving towards the wall as Kilman regained his feet, Abbie grabbed Gary's shirt and yanked him up.
"We need to move."
Kilman slammed into her.
The cop was tall and muscular. His shoulder was like an iron girder. His bodyweight crashed into Abbie and tossed her into the brickwork. As she smacked the grass and dirt, her hand was torn from Gary, who stumbled a couple of steps back.
"Abbie King, I'm arresting you for attempted murder—"
The single glass pane of the nearest window exploded outwards. With a yell, Kilman hurled himself to the ground even as Abbie was rising.
&n
bsp; Kilman's barging strike had shaken Abbie. Somehow, during her collision with both wall and ground, she had held onto her first gun. The second remained in her jacket.
Now rising, as two shots fired through the open window, it was apparent what had happened. Abbie felt a fool for not considering it. Rather than rush around the building, the shooter had entered through the double doors Abbie had lock-picked. He had rushed to the small room opposite and found himself looking out at Kilman and Abbie.
Kilman had moved as he spoke. In his anger, coming towards Abbie as he attempted to arrest her. As a result, the first bullet had crashed through the glass and missed Kilman's head by less than an inch. Now the detective was on the grass, rolling towards the building as Abbie stepped away.
Her gun outstretched, Abbie aimed through the window. Fired. Watched as Smoker, her enemy from the previous night, ducked. Rushing towards the window, Abbie fired three more times as he scrabbled back through the door into the main corridor.
Gary was still stumbling, close to the wall.
"Run," Abbie shouted as she turned and bolted around the side of the building, curving further away from the wall as she went, arcing around the lock-picked double doors, her gun aiming into the gloom.
She listened. She could hear plodding feet on the building's other side: Gary, but no one else. Smoker had options. He could attempt to leave the block through either set of double doors, depending on if he fancied the full-frontal assault or trying to get behind Abbie. Alternatively, he could sneak into one of the block's ten classrooms to hide or hop through a window.
Whatever Smoker did, Abbie didn't think escape was on his mind. He'd lured Abbie here for a reason and wouldn't want to leave until the job was done. Not after last time.
Perhaps having refound his nerve, Kilman appeared around the corner.
You might think any two people could bond over becoming joint targets of a gunman. But Kilman still had his weapon aimed at Abbie.
As though he didn't, as though he was approaching in the spirit of friendship, Abbie nodded to the door.
