by Mark Ayre
Christine shrugged. "Why would they be? Unrelated to the kidnapping and the casino, there's you, our known police attacker. Everyone knew Kilman was trying to convict you, and everyone knows he radioed to say he'd found you and was trying to arrest you and that you had a gun. All right before he was shot."
"Granted," said Abbie, "that is compelling. But it doesn't add up. I don't believe Orion will let Isabella live, no matter what happens. Still, Ndidi has to believe Orion will release Isabella if Ndidi ensures the heist is successful. It's his only hope. Yet, he seems to be working against that. Presumably, the police didn't know the heist was taking place until Ndidi told them."
"Yeah," said Christine, "that's right."
"So once he's revealed the heist is happening, rather than begging the police to stay away to save his daughter, he instead suggested they go to Lucky Draw in force. Yes, he's asking them to stay out the way, but there's a huge risk they'll be spotted, and then what? His daughter dies."
Brimming with frustration, Abbie rose from her chair. Her legs felt tense and taut. She knew if she didn't walk off some of her excess energy soon, she would go mad.
She turned to Ariana. "You have all the information. Care to cobble together a theory that makes sense? After all, you wanted to be my sidekick."
"I wanted to be the Holmes to your Watson," said Ana, "and as you'll remember, Holmes never did much theorising. He just documented what his mate got up to."
Christine looked confused. Abbie rolled her eyes.
"As was the case earlier," said Abbie, "Holmes is still the detective and Watson the sidekick. Stop getting them mixed up."
Ana raised her hands in surrender. "Sorry to disappoint."
"So you don't fancy having a guess?" Abbie asked. "No ideas racing around that lawyer brain of yours? In that case—"
"No, no, hang on," said Ana. "I'd like to give it a go."
Abbie nodded. Gestured for Ana to go right ahead. Christine twisted from her side of the sofa to face the lawyer.
Having the spotlight thrown on her prompted Ana to finish her wine. Christine sensed a chance for a refill and brought her drink to her lips to see off the second half of her own glass.
"That's enough for me," said Ana, placing the empty at her side.
There was the briefest moment—a pause, a beat—where Ana put down her glass then looked at the wall, clearing her throat. Abbie tried to look natural.
Maybe catching this, perhaps not, Christine seemed to get the hint. Rather than a gulp or more, she took only a sip of wine. Wiping her mouth, she placed the drink, with just under a half remaining, by her feet. After a moment to regain her composure, she looked at Ana, who still could not quite look back.
"Well," she said. "You have a theory or not?"
Ana bit her lip. Took a few more seconds to consider, then gave the slightest nod.
"Okay, how about this? Orion Becker arrives in town planning to steal from Lucky Draw. To do this, he bribes or threatens one or more casino employees to feed him insider information, poaches some cops in Lucky Draw's pocket, and starts searching for a higher rank detective, knowing, on the night, the cops could be a problem and wanting to mitigate any impact they might have on the job."
Ana stopped. Took a breath. She looked at her empty wine glass, and Abbie could tell she wanted another. Responsibility took over, and she pointed to Abbie's drink.
"Mind if I get myself a water? This theorising is hard work."
"I'll do it," said Abbie. "Keep going."
"Cool, right, so," Ana continued as Abbie rose. "Let's say Lucky Draw get wind of the heist. Worse than that, they realise some of their coppers have possibly switched sides. Maybe they even catch wind that Orion is trying to get hold of a more senior officer, so they determine to trump their enemy. They go after Hammond."
Abbie returned with the glass of water, handed it to Ana, and reclaimed her seat.
"Thank you," said Ana. "Where was I?"
"Hammond," said Christine.
"Right, so maybe the owners of Lucky Draw know Hammond is corrupt. In the past, he's only helped out his mate Davesh, but they decide they can turn his head. How? They offer him a hundred grand. What corrupt cop could refuse such a payday?"
"None, I'd imagine," said Christine. "But what are they paying him for?"
"Protection," suggested Abbie. "That's your theory?"
"It is," said Ana. "They know Orion's going to try get the police out the way on the night in question, so they find the top dog in the local station and pay him to protect them. They also discover Leilani is working against them and kill her. Meanwhile, Orion discovers Lucky Draw has paid Hammond to protect them, so kill him."
Ana stopped. Took a couple big swigs of water. Continued.
"Now Orion's jumpy. He knows Lucky Draw are on to him. He's tried to find a corrupt officer of DI rank or higher but failed, so he goes for more brutal methods to get his way. He kidnaps Isabella."
Ana drank more water, then leaned back.
"Becker's bent cops arranged for Kilman to be shot and Abbie framed. As for Ndidi's plan, the only thing I can think is that he wants the police nearby but not interrupting. Maybe it's a case of keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."
There was silence as this story finished. Ana seemed to grow more concerned with every passing second. She sought validation.
Abbie picked up her phone, opened the Becker file, and started scrolling.
"I think that's plausible," said Christine. "It certainly fits most of the elements. Though you left out Davesh. How does he fit in?"
"You said Davesh and Hammond were close, right? Maybe Hammond had information relating to Lucky Draw that he handed to Davesh. Orion found out and sent his people to extract said information. Only Lucky Draw also knew of this information exchange and acted first. They killed Davesh so he couldn't talk."
Christine nodded. She liked this. For her, it drew all the evidence together.
"What about you Abbie, what do you think?"
It was Christine who spoke, but Abbie looked from her phone to meet Ana's eye. She saw the needy quality in the lawyer's look and couldn't help but want to validate the lawyer, abhorrent as some of her previous actions had been.
"It all fits," she said, and Ana smiled. Then she dropped the other shoe. "But it doesn't feel right."
Ana's face fell.
"What do you mean?" said Christine.
Abbie still wasn't sure. She got to pacing, circling the sofa and coming back around the front of her two comrades. She was trying to slot it together.
"From the Lucky Draw side, it seems to make sense, at first glance. Criminals run in small circles. The Beckers were big time so, if Lucky Draw got wind Orion was trying to rob them, they'd act accordingly. I believe, in their anxiety, they would murder Davesh and Leilani to keep them quiet, and pay large sums of money to a corrupt cop for protection. But what about the money itself? It's not just about the quantity, right? These guys are money launderers, which means they absolutely cannot lose the cash they hold. Why not? Because they would have multiple criminal factions on their back, furious and baying for blood. If they get robbed, they plummet into a war where they are vastly outnumbered. A war they cannot win. So yes, they would take desperate measures but, first and foremost, why wouldn't they just move the money?"
The other two considered this.
"Maybe they have," said Christine, while Ana said, "maybe they're afraid Orion wanted them to find out about the heist and is planning to attack when they move the money."
Abbie was still pacing, now only in front of the sofa.
"Maybe, maybe. Both of those are possible, except here's something else, I'm going through this file," Abbie held up her phone, "looking at the jobs we know the Beckers carried out in the past. It makes me think, how much money do we guess Lucky Draw's holding in that casino?"
This question she directed at Christine, who thought about it, but not for long.
"Well, everyone know
s that's their hub, and like you said, they hold a lot of money for a lot of different crooks but can't afford to lose any of it. That mistake would be fatal for their business and possibly for them."
"Right," said Abbie. "Which means?"
"Well, the smart money would be on them keeping the bulk of the cash elsewhere. But they look after a tonne of money. There could easily be several hundred thousand pounds in the casino itself."
"My thoughts exactly," said Abbie. "Let's say, for the sake of argument, they keep a million pounds on the premises. Would they pay a police officer 10% of that to keep the rest safe? And I need to add I think it's not likely so much as a million. Which means Hammond's fee could be as much as twenty or thirty per cent of what they're holding."
"That's a high fee," said Ana.
"Incredibly high. Now look at it from Orion's side because that's what's been bothering me the whole time. Bothering me more than anything else. Look at these jobs," Abbie slapped her phone. "Where possible, I've added what they netted. The figures are estimated, but there's ten million, twenty million, fifteen million. The lowest-earning job is five million. Now Orion's risking everything for what will probably be a six-figure haul if he gets away with it."
"Sounds as though he doesn't need the money," said Ana.
"He doesn't," said Abbie, "and this was never going to be about the money. But it has to be something. I was telling myself it was about getting one over on another bunch of crooks but is that enough? After eight months in hiding, is this the job that entices him to risk life imprisonment?"
Abbie was still pacing. She knocked over her glass as she went, and the remainder of her water splashed onto the carpet. No one noticed. Or if they did, no one cared.
"Then there are the cops," said Abbie. "How would Orion know which cops were bent? Has he been here long enough to uncover their identities? Even if he has, could he get them to switch sides? Corrupt cops love money, I get it, but they'd be afraid to cross Lucky Draw, wouldn't they? These money launderers mean serious business. You cross them at your peril."
Still pacing, and the phone was back in her hand. She was scrolling through the file, searching, searching.
Searching for what? Something specific. She just hadn't yet worked out what that something was.
"Finally, there's Ndidi. Like I said, I don't believe he'd risk his daughter to capture her kidnappers. I agree, Ana. It makes more sense that Orion would tell Ndidi to get the police to monitor the heist. There's a certain logic to it, keeping your enemies close. If the kidnappers know where the police are and that they won't be hit while they're in the casino, it'll be easier to escape. But there has to be a better way, doesn't there? Couldn't they arrange for some sort of exchange involving Isabella? Get the police out in force and away from the casino that way?"
This to Christine, who nodded.
"That would make sense."
"Hang on," said Ana. "Are you telling me you had all these thoughts before I presented my theory? Did you know you were going to invalidate most of what I had to say?"
Abbie stopped. Stared at Ana, who shrank into the sofa.
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry," said Abbie. "You did great. This wasn't about making you look stupid. I needed to hear everything laid out in a cohesive narrative before making sense of my doubts. You played the sidekick role perfectly."
Thumbs up from Ana. Abbie resumed pacing.
"Something's missing," she said. "Some key piece. Something's wrong. We're so close, and yet none of it works, none of it's right."
"Maybe if we take a break..." Christine began, and Abbie rounded on her.
"No," she said. "The sun's down. Time is draining away like water in a sieve, and if we don't do something soon, it'll be too late. We'll lose."
"It's not a game," said Christine.
"It's always a game," said Abbie. "It's just not always a fun one. This particular game is shit. The stakes are too high. If we lose, Isabella dies, and a vile criminal gets away. But if we win, we stand not only to save Isabella but also to round up the remaining Becker, the people who run Lucky Draw, and the corrupt cops. If we win, those bastards could all end up dead or locked away in Broadmoor for the next few decades."
Abbie had stopped pacing. There was a long pause, then Ana cleared her throat.
"Would they go to Broadmoor? Isn't that the psychiatric prison?"
"Whatever," said Abbie. "Dartmoor, then."
"Is that still a prison?"
"Is now the time for this?" said Abbie.
"Whether it's open or not," said Christine, "They'd probably just chuck them in Stonehaven. Prison just up the road."
Abbie turned and stared at Christine. She took two slow steps back and slipped into her chair. Christine and Ana stared at Abbie as though afraid she had surrendered the will to live.
Abbie took out her phone and scrolled again, searching, searching.
"Abbie—" began Ana.
"Shut up a minute."
Searching. Searching. Christine and Ana fell into silence, watching, a little afraid.
Searching. Searching. Searching...
Stop.
Abbie stared at her screen. With trembling hands, she locked her phone and looked at her two partners.
"I know why Ndidi suggested his compromise to Norris."
Ana and Christine looked at each other, then back at Abbie.
"Why?" they said in unison.
"It's a decoy. It's all a decoy."
Unlocking her phone, Abbie ensured she was still on the right screen. She chucked the phone to the woman on the sofa.
"It's not about crooks robbing crooks, and it never has been."
Ana and Christine stared at the phone.
"It's so much worse than that."
Twenty-Nine
Half an hour after he arrived home, there was a knock at the door.
It was nearly one in the morning. The knock was not unexpected—Superintendent Norris himself had guaranteed it would come—but it still made Ndidi jump.
Whenever we're done, whatever the outcome, we'll come right away, Norris had said. Right away. You don't have to worry about that. You don't have to worry about a thing.
Norris held a reassuring smile as he spoke. He'd only been Superintendent for a year, but he'd already forgotten the basics of proper police work. Like thinking carefully about what you said to a grieving or worried spouse or parent or partner.
You don't have to worry about a thing.
What a stupid, clueless thing to say to the father of a kidnapped child. A group of dangerous criminals, identities and location unknown, held Isabella. Her life was in danger. It was impossible to imagine how frightened Ndidi's little girl might be, but Norris should have been able to understand her father would worry relentlessly, endlessly, destructively, until this was over. Until Isabella was back in his arms.
Or she wasn't.
You don't have to worry about a thing.
It made Ndidi angry to recall the conversation. Closing his eyes, he tried to remind himself Norris was doing his best. The Superintendent was a good man. He'd put a lot on the line to follow Ndidi's plan. He hadn't had to. His superiors might still eviscerate him, professionally speaking, for doing so. Ndidi had to be mindful of that.
Thud thud thud. The knocking again. Not more insistent. The officers would be too understanding for that. But that didn't mean they wouldn't grow impatient, frustrated.
Whatever. Ndidi couldn't care about anyone but his daughter at the moment. He just simply did not have any more concern and consideration to go around.
It was all for her.
A third knock.
How long had there been between knocks two and three? He honestly couldn't say. Time was a blur.
He was in his kitchen. His hands were pressed palm down to the counter. Between them was a tumbler of whiskey. Ndidi was not and had never been a big drinker. People with long term problems often turned to drink, not realising, or refusing to understand
, that alcohol provided, at best, a short term solution. Come the morning after a binge, your problems remained and were accompanied by a hangover which framed the issue and made it seem even worse.
This was different. If all went well, Ndidi's problem would be short term. The drink might help him get through the final hours before Isabella came home.
The house was quiet. It seemed as though there should have been a fourth knock by now. But four knocks was a lot. Most people would walk away after three, but the Superintendent had promised. Ndidi didn't believe he would go, which would leave the kind man in a quandary after three knocks and having received no answer.
Ndidi didn't touch the drink. Taking his hands from the counter, he left the kitchen and crossed the living room. Entering the hall, he wondered if he had what it took to do what the kidnappers were asking. Was he strong enough?
Then he heard his daughter. Her frightened, hurried words in the few seconds the kidnappers had given her to talk to her father, to prove she was safe.
Well, not safe. Alive.
Yes. Ndidi could do what the kidnappers asked. He could and would do anything to ensure his daughter's safe return.
A clenched fist was coming down for the fourth set of knocks when Ndidi finally opened the door.
There were three of them, cramped together on his doorstep. Ndidi's eyes shifted over their shoulders to the double driveway on which sat two cars. Identical exteriors. Dark, unmarked, police issue vehicles. The one on the left, closest to the door, belonged to Ndidi. He'd parked it there half an hour previously. He always parked on that side of the drive, like he always slept on the same side of the bed. Even now, when he had the freedom to switch it up.
Seeing someone parked in that second space still made his stomach churn—every time.
"Idrissa..." The Superintendant himself had come. He stood alongside Detective Inspector Stanton. They must have come together in the unmarked car. At the foot of the drive, blocking it, were two badged police vehicles. Ndidi guessed at least a couple of uniformed officers waited down there, in those cars, but at least one stood a little behind Stanton and Norris. Yesterday, Ndidi would have been unable to name the uniform. Now he knew Police Constable Evans.
