Miss No One

by Mark Ayre

  “Grief makes us reckless,” said Ana. “I was worried about nothing other than avenging my sister. Didn’t even consider the fact that my actions would have horrified Aurora. It wasn’t the justice she would have wanted.”

  “Sounds like grief alright,” said Abbie as she made for the fridge. “Let me guess, white with sugar?"

  After extracting the semi-skimmed milk, Abbie turned back to Ana, who nodded. Returning to the counter with the mugs and the kettle, Abbie placed the milk down and located the sugar pot next to the instant coffee. From a drawer at her waist, she retrieved a couple of teaspoons. With the first, she scooped instant into the two mugs.

  "We were careful," Abbie said, moving the conversation away from Ana's past. "And it's all very well acting nervous now, but need I recall how prepared you were for a situation just like this?"

  Ana said nothing, but this was entirely true. That morning, the lawyer had driven her car to the police station and entered to free Abbie. Once the two women split, despite Abbie telling Ana to go home, the younger woman had prepared for the kind of trouble she and her mother were sure Abbie would soon face.

  Alice, Ana's mum, had provided Ana with numerous tools and piece of kit she believed might be useful to Abbie in her latest mission. Most of these were in Ana's hotel, but a few choice items, chosen by Abbie, were in a black bag held at the lawyer's side.

  Upon leaving the station earlier that day, Ana had driven to a Park and Ride lot and collected an untraceable car from a friend. In this car, Ana had collected Abbie from the T-Junction, and it was for this car the police were now searching. Before long, they would find it back in the Park and Ride lot outside of town. But there would be no sign of Abbie or Ana and no clue as to where they had gone next. From the car lot, now in another untraceable car, they had driven to Ana's hotel. No one had seen Abbie. Once Ana had collected a couple of bits from her room, the pair had walked a mile and a half to the home in which they now stood.

  "There's not much information about you out in the world," Ana said. "But mum's found a little, learned a little from you, and guessed a fair bit more. She predicted that, before long, you would outgrow the people who paid you and would need new allies who did less to restrict your life. She was determined to be ready."

  The electric kettle boiled. Taking it from its stand, Abbie poured water into her mug and stirred it with the first spoon. Placing the kettle back on the side, she gestured to Ana.

  "What proportions we talking? I warn you now: if you have as much milk and sugar as your siblings, I'm not doing it. It repulses me."

  This drew a smile.

  "Alex and Tony take their coffee habits from their father,” said Ana. “Luckily my dad and our shared mother were more normal, and I take my coffee like them." She gestured to the second mug. "Dash of milk, please. One sugar."

  Turning away, Abbie poured water into the second mug, replaced the kettle on its stand, and took the milk.

  "Alex and Tony's father was a lawyer, right?" she said.

  "He was."

  "I'm sure he'd be proud that one of his wife's children was following in his footsteps. Even if you weren't his, and he never got to meet you."

  Ana didn't comment. Abbie replaced the cap on the milk and dropped a spoon of sugar into the mug before stirring. When she was done, she returned the milk to the fridge and handed the whiter coffee to Ana.

  "We need to stay alert," said Abbie. "But we have a little time. I'd like to hear how things are by the sea. Your mother, Ollie, Tony."

  Ana looked a little awkward. For what she'd done to Jacob, it was clear she hated herself. Her stiff nod to Abbie's question came as she tried to hold her icy facade.

  "I'm being nice to you," said Abbie, reading the lawyer's expression. "And we'll have a lovely chat. That doesn't I've forgiven what you did. Doesn't mean I ever can."

  To this comment, Ana displayed not misery but relief, which Abbie understood. The lawyer didn't believe she deserved forgiveness, but nor did she want to be frozen out in the cold. Abbie's words suggested a decent compromise.

  Before it could get too awkward, Abbie nodded to the kitchen door.

  "Come on," she said. "Let's chat in the comfy seats."

  It was early evening when headlights swept the curtains, and the homeowner pulled into the drive.

  Abbie drained her coffee and rose from the comfortable armchair as Ana stood from the sofa. Rounding the coffee table, Abbie handed her now empty mug to the lawyer.

  "You know what to do?" she asked.

  Ana nodded.

  "Nervous?"

  A shake of the head. "I'll be fine. You sure you want me to leave, though?"

  "I'll be fine, too," said Abbie. "Do your bit, get back to the hotel, and we'll meet as planned. Once my good friend and I have had a chat."

  Outside, a car door slammed. They heard the blip of the car's central locking, then shoes crunching over gravel.

  "Go on," said Abbie. "Let's do this."

  With a nod, Ana put the mugs in her bag and walked through to the kitchen. She was slipping out the back as the front door opened, and the homeowner stepped into the short hall from which could be accessed the living room, the downstairs office, and the stairs.

  The back door closed with an almost inaudible click. A second later, the homeowner was turning the living room handle and pushing open the door.

  By this time, Abbie had resettled herself in the armchair. Having rested her gun on the arm of the chair (her spare was with Ana), she collected it as Ndidi stepped into the room, clasping it in one loose fist.

  "Good evening.” She watched with muted satisfaction as the detective leapt with shock. "I hope you don't mind me making myself at home. The back door was unlocked. Sort of."

  Gathering himself, reclaiming control of his galloping heart, Ndidi went for his phone. Unlocked the screen.

  "What are you doing?" asked Abbie. Her voice was calm because she was calm. Ndidi would not bring the police here.

  "You think what you did isn't out there? As if attacking me wasn't enough, now you've shot DCI Kilman. My colleagues are out in force. There are probably already some in the area ready to pop over and cart you away."

  Abbie had her gun in front of her but wasn't pointing it at Ndidi. She guessed this was why he hadn't noticed the weapon, and that was okay. She didn't expect to need it.

  Ndidi had found a number.

  "I didn't shoot Kilman," said Abbie, "and you don't want to bring your fellow detectives here."

  Ndidi's finger paused above what Abbie assumed was the call button. Luckily, his curiosity was piqued.

  "Is that so?"

  "It is," said Abbie. "Put down your phone, and we can discuss the situation. I think you'll be interested to hear what I have to say."

  Ndidi smirked. "No chance. You can have your say in court. If you get that far."

  "If you or your colleagues don’t murder me first, you mean? As a department, you do seem to be into some nefarious activities."

  The phone was still in Ndidi's right hand. Now he took the index finger of his left away from the screen and jabbed it towards Abbie.

  "Watch your accusation," he said. "I'm not the criminal here."

  "You said I'd shot Kilman," Abbie said, moving on. "As you didn't plump for the word murdered or, given your hyperbolic mood, slaughtered, I'm guessing he’s alive?”

  Ndidi still held the phone aloft, though that right arm had to be aching. He dropped the left. In his rage, he still hadn't noticed the gun.

  For a few seconds, he considered. He wasn't sure how much to say. He was near lost in his rage and confusion.

  In the end, the detective made the right choice.

  "Kilman's in hospital. Last I heard he was fighting for his life, but the chances weren't good. The doctors aren't hopeful."

  "No?" said Abbie.

  "Disappointed?" said Ndidi.

  Abbie smiled but shook her head. In fact, she was relieved. The longer Kilman clung to life, the m
ore chance he had of exonerating Abbie and getting the police heat off her back. If he could survive, that would be ideal.

  Regardless, she didn't expect the detective would be in any position to talk in the next 60 odd hours. Abbie would have to save Isabella while remaining as public enemy number one.

  "Disappointed?" she said. "Not me."

  Ndidi laughed at these words, but the laugh was false. Abbie wasn't sure if Ndidi was a good detective. It was abundantly clear he was a crap actor.

  "It's true Kilman came to the school to arrest me," said Abbie. "Even pointed a gun at my head and told me to raise my hands. But I didn't shoot him."

  "Riddled his torso with bullets himself, did he?"

  "Don't be silly," said Abbie. "We were attacked by a lone gunman. We escaped his first barrage of shots, and, before the shooter downed Kilman, we had a chance to talk. Together, I think we discovered why we were lured to the school and attacked."

  Poor Ndidi. As she spoke, Abbie watched the detective try oh so hard to keep his eyes and expression from revealing the truth of his feelings. He needed more practice. It was so clear.

  "It was Gary's job to lure me," Abbie said, moving back along the story's timeline. "We chatted on the way. He told me he’d been dealing drugs for the owners of Lucky Draw. You’ll know all about them, of course. Such criminals are always known to the local police, even if the cops can’t gather enough evidence to make arrests."

  Ndidi met Abbie’s eye but didn’t confirm or deny.

  “Before Isabella’s kidnappers became Isabella’s kidnappers, they met Gary,” Abbie continued. “Coerced him into revealing all the information he had on Lucky Draw. It wasn’t much but might have included the name of a police officer who was in their pocket. That would be mighty useful information to these kidnappers, huh?”

  Ndidi’s eyes had been angry but confused. Something seemed to click as Abbie ended her sentence.

  “Hang on,” Ndidi said, anger turning to rage. “You’d better not be implying what I think you’re implying.”

  Raising her hands, Abbie said, “Not implying anything. Merely relaying what Gary and I discussed. He said Lucky Draw discovered his betrayal and sent their enforcer to punish him.” Abbie paused, letting this sink in, then continued: “by which I don’t mean a spanking or a ticking off. I mean, for example, a vicious attack on open ground beside a grubby toilet block. For example.”

  Ndidi was taking slow, deliberate breaths. Trying to control his temper.

  “You think I work for the scum at Lucky Draw? You think I attacked Gary on their say so?”

  “Again,” said Abbie. “I’m more relaying Gary’s words than actively pointing fingers. I remember how you responded to my corruption talk earlier. I think you’ll agree it’s not a mischaracterisation to say you were livid?”

  “Of course I was livid. There are no worse creatures in this world than corrupt police officers.”

  “Strong stance,” noted Abbie. “And that hatred is directed mostly at former superiors, people you respected, who turned out to be corrupt?”

  “Obviously. Who else?”

  Abbie didn’t answer right away. Recalling her conversation with Christine, she thought of Hammond. Ndidi had claimed to respect the DCI. Was it possible he had known Hammond was corrupt? Was Hammond one of those superiors that inspired such hatred of corruption in Ndidi? Or was the answer simpler still?

  “Gary became a drug dealer several years ago,” said Abbie. “Now, he hates what he’s become but doesn’t know how to escape his life of crime.”

  This was enough. Abbie didn’t need to explain herself because Ndidi caught her words and inferred her implication. He still seemed on the verge of explosion but forced himself to be calm.

  “You think my hatred of corrupt police officers is self-loathing?”

  “It’s a potential explanation.”

  “It’s incorrect. It’s a despicable lie.”

  “Could be,” said Abbie, finding an easy calm even as Ndidi struggled not to blow up. “Like I said, Gary lured me to the school today. Isabella’s kidnappers made him do that. They could also have fed him lies to answer my inevitable questions. One of those lies might have been that you attacked Gary on the order of Lucky Draw.”

  “I don’t know if you were lured to the school or not, and I’m not saying I believe your claims that someone framed you for Kilman’s shooting. You still seem the most likely suspect to me.”

  “But?”

  “But, if Gary told you I attacked him on the word of Lucky Draw, he’s a filthy liar. Hardly difficult to believe of a low life, drug dealing scumbag.”

  “You’re quite right,” said Abbie. “Further evidence against Gary’s claim is that I’ve already seen proof he will distort the truth when pressured by someone more powerful than him. Someone willing to break the law and frighten the weak.”

  This pushed Ndidi to breaking point. Whether he was corrupt or not, being reminded of immoral actions he had taken made his blood boil. Abbie was sure this was to do with self-loathing.

  “I explained that,” he said.

  “You couldn’t risk your daughter becoming parentless?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Laudable,” said Abbie. “So why did you attack Gary?”

  Like a grenade, Abbie tossed the question in the hope of knocking Ndidi off balance and maybe inspiring an honest answer even the detective was surprised he was giving.

  The blow certainly unbalanced Ndidi, but he regained his footing before he could reveal anything he sought to keep hidden.

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Cop killer.”

  "Okay, that's enough," said Abbie. "You know full well I had nothing to do with Kilman's shooting."

  “I know nothing about you or your intentions.”

  “No?” Abbie raised her free hand and tapped her chin. “And yet, earlier today, when you learned someone had murdered your au pair and kidnapped Isabella, you threw me against a wall and not in a sexy way.” She resisted the urge to wink. “Your detective friend—Moore, was it?—had to drag you away to stop you pummelling my head into the wall. You can’t have forgotten.”

  Eyes bulging, Ndidi forced open his mouth, and Abbie could almost see the words on his lips: What’s your point? But he couldn’t verbalise them because he knew Abbie’s point. He realised he’d made a mistake in not reacting with more fury to Abbie's arrival, in not pretending still to believe Abbie was involved in Isabella's kidnapping.

  "That anger has dissipated in the intervening hours not because you have achieved a hard-fought serenity over the issue of your missing daughter," said Abbie, "but because you have spoken with the kidnappers and therefore know for a fact they and I are not in cahoots."

  It looked as though Ndidi might fight this claim, but Abbie wasn't done, and she pressed on.

  "You know I'm not responsible for your daughter's kidnap, nor for shooting Kilman. You know I’m not responsible for Kilman because you are."

  Abbie leaned forward and nodded to the phone, which remained in Ndidi's hand.

  "Now," she said, "I think it's time to put that down and start being honest."

  Twenty-Three

  Abbie hadn't expected her request for truth to result in an immediate outpouring of honesty from the pent up detective. She expected to push his rage beyond the point where he could control it, and this expectation was met.

  Ndidi didn't explode with fury, but it laced his quiet words with venom. "You vile bitch. You make me sick."

  The words had no effect on Abbie other than to make her roll her eyes.

  "Come on," she said. "Kilman saw the truth before taking several bullets to the chest. He realised a uniformed police officer had lured him to the school because he had rejected something you requested. That was what he said: 'I told Ndidi no.' So you can call me a liar, but I don't need your confirmation. This I know to be true, and I'll tell the police the same if they catch me."

  Ndidi still had his phone.
>
  "They'll never believe you."

  "You don't reckon?"

  Ndidi wanted to respond but found he couldn't. The words caught in his throat.

  "The problem for you," said Abbie, "is that it sounds true. After your daughter was kidnapped, it makes sense the kidnappers would contact you. It’s clear they only took Isabella because they need something from you. It can't be money, because you don't earn enough. I believe they're looking to rob Lucky Draw. Gary says you work there, but let's say, for a moment, he's lying."

  "He is lying," said Ndidi. The venom remained in each word.

  "Okay," said Abbie. "But let's assume the kidnappers want to rob Lucky Draw. It's hard enough to swipe large quantities of cash from beneath the nose of fellow dangerous criminals. How much more difficult would it be if the police swarmed the place before the crooks get out? Orion has plenty of experience evading police capture, but following recent experiences, perhaps he's a little jumpier than usual. When he called, what did he demand for the safe return of your daughter?"

  Looking at his phone, Ndidi searched for the right combination of words, not to convince Abbie he would call the police, but to convince himself he was safe to do so.

  "I think they asked you to propose something to your superiors, and I think you told them Kilman would reject the idea. They said they could deal with the DCI if he was to be a problem. They probably didn't spell it out, but you would have known what that meant."

  Abbie sat back in the armchair, let this sink in. Ndidi was still fighting a losing battle against his reflexive expressions.

  "You might be a bad man," said Abbie. “But on this, at least, I can probably give you the benefit of the doubt. It was a choice: your daughter's life or Kilman's. And what a simple choice, when boiled down to such simplistic terms. You tried to save Kilman by proposing what the kidnappers wanted anyway. But he blocked the suggestion as you knew he would, and you didn't dare confess to him what this would mean. You let the kidnappers proceed with their removal plan. Of course, you would also have told them my name and how I could be acquired, so they could deal with Kilman and me at the same time. You never specifically asked for anything, but in what you told the kidnappers, you signed our death warrants."