Miss No One

by Mark Ayre

  As part of this fight, Christine said, "I don’t know what your client might mean about my position, but I would suggest that if she wishes to exonerate herself for the shootings of Detective Kilman and Gary, she should make an official statement, on the record, at the police station, about what happened at the school. Given what she has said about the alleged shooter, it might also be in her best interest to confess any previous meetings she has had with this man."

  Abbie smiled. How careful Christine was, and fair play to her. Ana was a lawyer, and as with the police, you had to be oh so careful what you said in their presence, even in unofficial settings and during conversations that could undoubtedly not be entered into evidence in any future trial.

  Still, whatever Christine said, Abbie knew it would take one more push to get this fish into the boat. She nodded to Ana, who ignored everything Christine had said to proceed with the planned strategy.

  "Before Kilman died, he revealed he believed he knew the reason corrupt police officers would want to kill him. It relates to Isabella's kidnapping."

  Ana stopped. Didn't go on. This was all part of the plan; it drew Christina in. Once she asked the question, Abbie would know they had her.

  Silence.

  Silence.

  Then, the intercom crackle.

  Then, "What was his theory?"

  Both Ana and Abbie smiled.

  "He said they wanted him dead because he had said no to Ndidi. Ndidi brought him a plan or a suggestion today, and Kilman said no."

  Silence.

  Ana looked at Abbie, who nodded again. This time she was not suggesting Ana go on. She was saying, Got her.

  Silence.

  Ana wasn't so sure but trusted Abbie, to a degree, and kept her council.

  Silence.

  Then, the intercom crackle.

  Then, "Okay. You'd better come up."

  Given Christine had already been unsure about letting Ana up when she believed the lawyer to be alone, Abbie did not expect the detective's mind to be eased when she realised Ana had employed subterfuge via the information she had left out of their conversation. Namely, information regarding her secret companion.

  Christine opened the door, saw Ana, and bit her lip. Though the building had no lift and Ana had traipsed up four flights of stairs to reach the door, Christine still looked as though she might try, with polite words and a firm tone, to make the lawyer leave.

  Then Abbie entered stage right.

  Christine's eyes widened as had Ndidi's, and she turned a hateful glare to Ana, who appeared unfazed by the wrath.

  "We need to talk," said Abbie.

  "I'm calling the police."

  Abbie stepped forward as Christine tried to slam the door. With a foot and a hand, she prevented the detective from shutting them out.

  Rather than attempt to fight Abbie and force her from the flat, Christine turned and rushed deeper inside.

  Abbie followed, Ana hot on her heel.

  The door opened into a short corridor. A door on the left led to the living room/kitchen, one on the right led to the bedroom, and one at the end opened into the bathroom.

  Closing the front door behind them, Abbie and Ana took the left door and stepped into the living room. A small but cosy space comprising a two-person sofa, a TV, a couple of bookshelves, and a kitchen tucked into one corner at the end.

  Due to a lack of room, there were no sofa-side tables. Christine had been enjoying a glass of wine which sat on the floor beside the sofa. Her mobile had rested on the arm. As Abbie entered the living room, the detective was collecting her handset and unlocking the screen.

  "Deja vu," said Abbie. "Ndidi did exactly the same when I arrived at his place."

  This stopped Christine. The phone screen was unlocked, but she looked up at her unwelcome and uninvited guest rather than dialling one of her colleagues or going straight for 999. Abbie knew this gave her only seconds to further delay Christine's initial plan. She started by stating her suspicion as fact.

  "The person responsible for Isabella's kidnap is Orion Becker. I believe his plan is to rob the mob-run casino in this lovely little town of yours. Possibly, he coerced information out of sources including Gary that would assist him plan and execute this robbery. He has certainly kidnapped Isabella Ndidi because he needs Detective Idrissa Ndidi to achieve something to do with the police for him. Kilman stood in the way of whatever this thing was. That they have resorted to kidnapping Isabella indicates no corrupt officers are working for Orion of Ndidi's level or higher. That Kilman, of a higher rank than Ndidi, could block their plan indicates they would have been better off kidnapping the child of a more senior officer. Maybe Ndidi was the only one with a young child they could access. I don't know. What matters is Kilman rejected his plan and therefore had to go. Presumably, whoever has replaced Kilman will sign off.... blank."

  Following the speech, Abbie took a breath. When Christine remained across the room, phone in hand, unmoving and speechless, Abbie moved further in. Leaning beside the seat, she picked up the glass of wine and sniffed.

  "Smells good," she said. "Unfortunately, I don't drink when I'm saving lives, but if you wanted to do a drinks run, I'd go for water. Doesn't need to be filtered. I can see you have a tap, so as long as you own glassware, we're good to go."

  Mention of drinks seemed to snap Christine from her reverie. Glancing back at the tap, she paused, then returned to Abbie. She did not make a move to fill a glass. Nor did she offer around biscuits.

  "If what you suggest is true," said Christine. "That is all the more reason to make an official statement at the station. It's all useful. It could make a big difference."

  Abbie shook her head. "No one would believe me. Certainly not soon enough. Kidnapping is risky business. Orion wouldn't have taken Isabella unless they were ready to move. My guess is they’ll try and rob the casino tonight, so we need to act now. I need to know what plan Ndidi brought to Kilman. That’s the lynchpin. It could explain everything."

  Christine looked over Abbie's shoulder to Ana. Like Ndidi, she was still holding the phone up though she had done nothing with it. Like Ndidi, she was lost. Unsure of what to do.

  “Come on,” sad Abbie. “I ask myself why Orion needed to kidnap Isabella and it makes me think of Hammond. Maybe they had a corrupt DCI in their pocket but he died in a home invasion. That would explain why they had to pivot. Plan B was a kidnap because they didn’t have time to find and bride another corrupt cop of Hammond’s rank."

  Still unsure of herself, Christine temporarily lowered her phone. Abbie made sure not to reveal any relief or happiness at this action. With steady eyes, she watched the police officer, waiting.

  "You said Isabella was all that mattered," said Christine. "She was the priority."

  "I did," said Abbie. "And I meant it."

  "In which case you should leave this alone. Who cares what the kidnappers want? Who cares if he robs the mob, those bloody Lucky Draw monsters? What does any of it matter so long as Ndidi gets Isabella back? So long as that poor child ends up safe?"

  Abbie met Christine's eye and saw such genuine concern there. This was no trick. This young detective cared about helping people. About making things right.

  "I have a file stored in the cloud," said Abbie. "Earlier, I asked Ana to download it. If you give her your email address, she'll hit send, and you can take a look."

  This stumped Christine. "What file? What are you talking about?"

  “It's every bit of information I've gathered about the Beckers, from the mother Margaret's childhood to Orion's disappearance. Within is a section on all of the crimes they are known to have committed. And in some cases, as I think you'll see, "crimes" is not a strong enough word. I don't mean to sound dramatic, but "atrocities" might be more appropriate."

  Ana had withdrawn her phone and was logging into her emails. Earlier she had downloaded the file at Abbie’s suggestion. Christine looked from Ana's moving fingers to Abbie's earnest expression.

 
; "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

  "You should sit down," said Abbie. "Drink your wine. I'll get myself a water, something for Ana if she wants it. With your permission, of course. You just need to give us your email address."

  Abbie stepped across the room, putting herself between Christine and the kitchen, with Christine between the sofa and Abbie.

  "You tell me what you mean," the detective said. "I want to hear you say it."

  "You know what I’m saying but okay," said Abbie. "As you'll see from the file, the Beckers show neither mercy nor remorse. Their exploits made them rich, but money never excited them. They thrived on undermining the so-called best security systems in the world, they relished outwitting and outrunning large scale police operations, and they delighted in both ending and destroying lives. If stilling one heart broke another, they enjoyed it all the more."

  Abbie sighed. Looked to Ana, then back to Christine.

  "They were all the same. Orion is as sick as his siblings, who were as vile as their mother. I've never met him, but I know him, and by knowing him, I understand that when he has what he wants from Ndidi, he won't give that poor father his daughter back."

  Abbie took a breath and forced herself to continue.

  "He'll murder that poor little girl with her father watching. And he'll laugh while he does it."

  Twenty-Five

  For a few seconds, the women opposite Abbie could do nothing but take these words in.

  He'll murder that poor little girl with her father watching. And he'll laugh while he does it.

  Then Christine released a sob, stumbled backwards as though struck, and collapsed to the sofa.

  Ana said, "Actually, I think I could go for a glass of wine. If anyone's offering. Though vodka would be better. Only if someone's offering. Or if they’re not.”

  Abbie was closest to the kitchen but looked to the homeowner for consent. Christine took a few more seconds to gather herself, then held a hand towards Ana.

  "Get that email ready to go and give it here. I'll enter my address."

  Ana glanced at Abbie. Then, as though remembering she didn't need permission, returned to her phone and did as Christine asked.

  The shaken detective leaned over the sofa arm to grab her glass and drain what remained of her wine. Standing, she handed the empty to Abbie.

  “You can’t know it’s Orion Becker.”

  Abbie couldn’t. But admitting as much would allow Christine to have doubts about working with Abbie, so she said nothing. Guessing Christine would fill in the silence with what she most dreaded to hear.

  At last, Christine nodded as though Abbie had revealed a piece of information that proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they were dealing with Becker.

  "One to the left of the cupboard under the sink,” Christine said. “Think there are some spirits in there. Probably vodka. Glasses are in the cupboard above that. I'd do it myself, but... my legs feel a little weak right now."

  Abbie understood. "Sit down," she said.

  While Ana handed her phone to Christine, Abbie went to the kitchen. She crouched beside the cupboard the detective had indicated. In here, she found three bottles, one of which did contain vodka. It was unopened, so Abbie unscrewed the cap and broke the seal.

  Taking the bottle, she stood and placed it on the counter. By her head, another wooden door opened to reveal the glassware. Abbie retrieved two whiskey tumblers and a pint glass. Into the tumblers, she poured double, or possibly triple, measures. She filled the glass with water.

  It wasn't that she didn't want a drink. Though she was the one to deliver the information regarding what she expected Orion to do once Ndidi has outlived his usefulness, it had still made her dwell on it. That poor innocent girl, to Abbie known only via dreams and pictures, crying, screaming, begging, as Orion laughed, as he ended her life...

  Yes, Abbie could use a drink, but she didn't drink on missions. She'd stuck to that credo through some awful situations, situations where it seemed only drink could numb the pain or the horror. She'd stuck to it then, and she'd stick to it now.

  It wasn't that she believed after a couple of shots she'd be less effective. Not really, though this was undoubtedly true. It was that, in a situation like this, though she'd always been a casual drinker, she feared that once she'd started, she would be unable to stop.

  Leaving the wine glass by the sink, Abbie pushed the tumblers together and lifted them with the fingers of her left hand. With her right, she collected the pint glass and returned to the living room.

  Since she'd left, Christine had sent the email from Ana's phone, then disappeared to the bedroom. She returned as Abbie did, carrying an iPad Pro. A better implement on which to read what Ana had sent. Retaking her seat, Christine unlocked the device and located the email. Downloaded the file.

  In one corner of the room, Abbie noticed a fold-up chair. Passing Ana both tumblers, she nodded to the free half of the sofa.

  "Go on, take the load off."

  Abbie grabbed the fold-up chair from the corner and placed it opposite the sofa, partially obscuring the TV, which was off. Ana was handing one of the vodka measures to Christine, who was already perusing the Becker file. She muttered thanks, then went on reading for a little while in silence. Retrieving their phones, Abbie and Ana opened the same file and started reading as well.

  Something was nagging at Abbie. Or maybe it was lots of somethings her mind was trying to roll into one for ease. She had always known Orion would only return for a job worthy of the Becker name. Robbing a mob-run casino, evading the police, and kidnapping and killing a child certainly seemed, on the face of it, to fit the bill.

  But Orion had been gone for months.

  Was it enough?

  Christine dropped her iPad into her lap and, with a huff, tore Abbie from her thoughts.

  "This is too much," she said, putting her head in her hands then pulling it out again. "It's too much, too soon."

  Abbie and Ana remained quiet, resisting the urge to glance at each other. They allowed Christine to take a deep breath, to look at the ceiling, to compose herself.

  "I did my training," she said after a spell. "All I ever wanted was to be a cop and to make a difference. So I worked hard, and I was great. Got on the fast track to becoming a detective and passed with flying colours. And when I was done, when I was out of uniform and into my suit, I was so excited to get started. I knew I was young, which would make it harder, and I knew I was a woman, which would also make it harder, but that was okay. I was ready to work. I had the support network, see? They always talk, during training, about how important that is—the support network. Well, I had my family a couple of streets away and, just as I was passing my detective exams, my boyfriend asked me to move in. Without a second thought, I said yes, and I knew before long, engagement would follow. Then marriage, then kids. It was going to be hard, sure. But it was going to be perfect."

  Christine stopped. Wiped her eyes and stalled her tears by downing her vodka. She grimaced. Shook her head like a dog coming out of a pond as though she could shake away the droplets of tipsiness.

  Abbie remembered what she had noted earlier about the young detective. The pints in the pub. She wondered how many glasses of wine Christine had consumed before her guests arrived. The vodka bottle had been unopened, but the gin was half gone. The whiskey three quarters. Was the vodka a long time unopened, or was it a fresh bottle, its predecessor recently polished off?

  "I need another," said Christine, rising. Abbie stood at the same time. Something told her she should stop the young detective. But a little girl's life was on the line. Now was not the time to be talking to Christine about the dark path she was on.

  Instead of trying to delay Christine, Abbie said, "Allow me. Same again?"

  Christine nodded. Handed over the glass. "Please."

  Abbie went to the kitchen, retrieved the vodka. This time, she poured a little over a single measure. If Christine noticed when Abbie returned, the d
etective chose not to mention it. She was partway through her story. Something was heavy on her chest. She was ready to pull it off.

  "I'd been out of uniform a week when my direct superior called me in," said Christine. "He sits me down and introduces me to another man, even higher up the food chain in a completely different department. I'm ready for my career in Vice to begin, and here's the head of one of the biggest anti-corruption teams in the country, claiming to need my help. Both he and my boss make sure to tell me I must feel free to say no if this isn't something I want while making it abundantly clear I have no choice. They want to send me a hundred miles from my family and the love of my life, and I want nothing more than to tell them, no. I'm happy where I am. We're in that room less than ten minutes, and by the time I leave, I've agreed to go undercover, to leave everything I know behind to take on one of the most hated jobs in police work. You already worked out what that was."

  Christine swigged down the second vodka and stared into the tumbler. Abbie expected her to ask for another, but she managed to hold off. At least for the moment.

  "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

  This time Abbie did glance at Ana. On the lawyer's face, she saw pity, but Ariana could never understand what Christine was going through. No chance.

  Taking a swig of water and placing it at her side, Abbie leaned forward in the horribly uncomfortable fold-out chair.

  "I cannot imagine how hard it must be for a sociable but honest person to go undercover and investigate other police officers. You're surrounded by colleagues, most of whom are friendly, but you feel you're betraying them. You struggle to make friends because you don't believe friendship should be based on a lie, but you can't tell them the truth. You must feel so isolated, so alone, and I can only commend the strength of character it must take to persevere. It's no wonder you want to spill all to Ana and me, and you shouldn't feel guilty. It's your first chance to be truly honest with people who might understand for Lord knows how long. Anyone would get that."