by Mark Ayre
Superintendent Norris didn't know what to say. After Ndidi's name, he had trailed off. Ndidi was unable to focus on his superior. His eyes were fixed on the blocked drive. He knew the badged cars were parked there because it was the only place that made sense. But he couldn't help but think they'd done it to block him.
Did they know what he'd done?
Then there was Stanton's car. Sat in his wife's space. Why not? Everyone at the station knew she'd run out on Ndidi and their daughter because that was the story Ndidi had told. They knew it was safe to park in the second space on Ndidi's driveway because they understood Ndidi's wife had not literally run out. Rather, she had driven away as fast as she could.
In truth, Leilani had neither run nor driven away from her husband and daughter because she loved them both dearly. Nothing could compel her to leave their side for so much as a week, let alone months or years. Not that it mattered in this case. She would never again need the space, so it was free.
Her killer had dealt with her car.
There was an awkward silence, which Ndidi failed for a while to notice. He looked from Stanton to the Superintendent.
"Why don't you come inside?"
In the living room, Ndidi offered around seats. Norris and Stanton shared the sofa, while Evans insisted he would stand, leaving the armchair for Ndidi.
"Can I get anyone drinks?"
"No, no," said Norris, answering for everyone. "But I'm sure if you want something..." he turned to look at the uniform.
"Evans, sir."
"Of course. If you want something, I'm sure Constable Evans would be happy to sort it while you take a seat."
"I'd be more than happy, sir," said Evans, this time looking at Ndidi. Although neither Norris nor Stanton was looking at the uniform, the young man resisted the urge to wink or smile at Ndidi or do anything to indicate he was something other than an ordinary police officer, just doing his job. Earlier, with the Abbie woman, Ndidi had lost his temper fast. This time, he managed to keep cool.
"That's okay," he said. "Thank you for the offer. Are you sure you wouldn't like me to grab another seat? There's plenty in the dining room. Not the most comfortable, but..."
"I'm quite sure. Thank you."
"Well, if you change your mind."
"Thank you. I'll let you know."
Ndidi took the armchair and twisted his knees to face away from Evans, towards Norris and Stanton. The latter's face was held in the perfect pose. It gave nothing away. That was something they taught you about delivering news to the loved one of a victim: don't let your face deliver your message.
Ask a thousand non-police officers a question: Which aspect of a police officer's job will he or she find the most challenging or upsetting? You will receive a wide variety of answers, but the one which appears most frequently will no doubt be: Finding and dealing with gruesome crime scenes and dead bodies.
Ask a thousand police officers the same question, and the vast majority will give the same answer as each other.
Dealing with crime scenes can be haunting, harrowing, devastating. Ndidi had seen bodies that gave him nightmares, especially in his early days. The most gruesome scene he'd ever visited had induced him to vomit by the side of the road, and he wasn't the only one.
But crime scenes weren't the worst aspect of a police officer's job.
The answer was: delivering devastating news to the parents, lovers, children of victims. To people who, more often than not, had no idea their world was about to be turned upside down when they received that fateful knock on the door.
Ndidi had delivered such news on eight occasions, and he remembered each one with startling clarity. He liked to think he had handled each case as well as could be expected. The key was not to allow your face to deliver your message and not to procrastinate. The soon to be grieving loved one might have no idea what had happened to their partner/parent/child but the arrival of a police officer at the door conjures specific images. You had to get in and deliver your news before the recipient's imagination could spiral out of control.
Procrastination was unfair to the recipient of the news. Yet, here Norris was, floundering under the weight of the information he had come to deliver.
Stanton looked to her superior. Ndidi knew the DI had only recently been promoted from Detective Sergent to Ndidi's level (replacing the DI who had been bumped up to DCI to fill Hammond's shoes). He hadn't worked with her previously but knew by reputation she was hard-working, professional, and sharp. He got the impression she could have handled this situation just fine. But she was afraid to overstep her mark with Norris in the room. She obviously didn't know Norris well. He had never liked this aspect of the job. He had been happy to delegate it almost entirely to subordinates the moment he reached his current level. Had Stanton taken over in the early hours of this dreadful morning, Norris would have had to resist the urge to release a sigh of relief. But Stanton had clearly spent too much time working with Kilman. A man Ndidi knew could lose his temper if he believed a subordinate was stepping on his toes.
Luckily, Ndidi knew more than Stanton and Norris realised. He wasn't on the sofa and wasn't afraid of overstepping any marks. So he leaned in to offer Norris some relief.
"The kidnappers called, not long before you arrived."
Stanton kept her face stoic. Norris' eyes widened, and his jaw slackened a little. In the face of that response, Ndidi found himself once again thinking of Kilman, the man now lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life because of Ndidi. Many people disliked Kilman, but the fact remained he had been the best detective in the area for a long time. Though he was several years younger than Norris, he was promoted faster, becoming Detective Chief Inspector two years before the Superintendent. When the Superintendent role became available, a few people murmured that Kilman should get the nod, but that would never happen. It was well known that the further up the ranks you climbed within the police force, the less the job became about police work and the more about politics. Kilman was the far superior police officer, but Norris was the one who kept in friendly with the higher-ups.
When the job became available, Norris' only threat was superstar Hammond. A man who excelled at both the police and political sides of the job. He missed out only on virtue of being over a decade younger than Norris. When the position became available, Hammond had only been DCI for three months.
And thank the Lord for that, thought Ndidi.
Stanton's face was struggling to keep its cool as Norris continued to fail to discharge his duties.
Ndidi stepped into the breach again. "They told me what happened. That police officers tracked the heist to the hideout, then stormed in and arrested all those who had participated in the robbery."
Now Norris did open his mouth. Ndidi saw protests on his lips and knew precisely what the Superintendent was going to say.
"I know that was the plan, Superintendent," Ndidi said, cutting off any protests, "and I'm not angry. I'm upset and afraid for my daughter, but I know your officers did everything they could. It wasn't your fault the kidnappers were holding Isabella elsewhere."
"She wasn't there," said Norris, as though this wasn't what Ndidi had said. "Five people committed the heist. We expected them to return to their comrades, but they stopped at an empty warehouse. I must admit I was rather hoping five was the lot."
His eyes flicked away from Ndidi to the wall, and Ndidi knew the Superintendent was considering how this would look for him, what it would do to his career. When Ndidi had suggested his compromise the previous day, he had known Norris would be lost. The Superintendent didn't know what the best course was in terms of PR, so tried to stall. But he couldn't. There wasn't the time. As plan B, he had called in Kilman, and Kilman did as Ndidi expected. The plan was rejected. Until Kilman was no longer in the picture.
"At least you caught some of them and retrieved the money," said Ndidi, his voice calm, level, though he was fighting not to shake.
"Yeah, except the guys at Lucky Dr
aw won't press charges. Those bastards. And the money will have to go back even though we know it's dirty. We'll almost certainly have to release the crooks we caught. None of them was armed, you know? And to make matters worse now, we have—"
"Sir."
Stanton's voice was soft but firm. No longer was she able to sit back and watch Norris trail off in this unprofessional manner. He wouldn't have done it if Ndidi was a civilian. He had forgotten in what capacity they were visiting the detective inspector.
The soft word, spoken from the woman to his right, was enough. Norris cleared his throat and gave a curt nod.
"I'm sorry. That's not for now, of course. Stanton, why don't you..." he cleared his throat again. Nodded again. Then fell silent.
"You know everything that happened from our end," said Stanton. "Will you tell us what the kidnappers said?"
Ndidi opened his mouth to answer right away, then hesitated. His eyes flicked across the room to Evans, who showed nothing. But Ndidi had no doubt the corrupt bastard would report everything he heard straight back to his paymasters the moment this meeting was over.
Ndidi probably wouldn't have asked for help, even if he was alone with Stanton and Norris. As it was, he didn't have a choice. In a way, that made things easier.
Prompted by Stanton's question, Ndidi internally recalled his conversation with the man with the unidentifiable accent. The one who had told Idrissa to call him Kidnapper A. Or, if he liked, A, for short.
In fact, A hadn't contacted Ndidi. Ndidi had phoned him on his way back to his house forty-five minutes previously.
After Ndidi had learned about Isabella, Constable Evans had come to his door. Had left him with a burner phone. Had told him which number to call if he ever wanted to see his daughter again. Ndidi hadn't hung around. He shouted and swore and threatened A until his voice was almost gone. A had seemed unfazed. He had explained what Ndidi was to do in calm tones and asked Ndidi to tell him about Abbie King. Evans must have told A about her arrest. Then A had allowed Ndidi a few seconds to speak to his daughter before asking if there would be any problems completing the task. It was at this point Ndidi had mentioned the obstacle that was Kilman and in doing so had, how had Abbie put it? Oh yes, signed the DCI's death warrant.
How right she was.
I hope our next conversation will be a little more amicable.
That was the last thing A had said before hanging up after his first conversation with Ndidi.
"Sorry," said Ndidi to Stanton. "It's been so tough."
Easy words. They were true, so who would disbelieve them? They allowed Ndidi a little time to recall his most recent conversation with A. This one had indeed been much more amicable.
"It's okay," Stanton said. "Take your time."
Norris looked as though he wanted to go home.
Is it done?
That was the first thing A had said upon answering Ndidi's call. Ndidi had said it was, and A had congratulated him.
It's almost over, Idrissa. You do what we say, and tomorrow, not long after the sun goes down, you and your daughter will be together again. Happy families. Well, minus the wife.
Ndidi had to take the phone from his ear at that. Already fighting tears, now he felt as though he might start screaming again. Stopping himself, he asked to speak to his daughter. A obliged, and her little voice had travelled down the line. She wasn't crying anymore. She sounded distant. Already, they'd broken her. Any hopes of a quick recovery once Ndidi got his precious little girl back were extinguished.
He wanted to kill A. What he wouldn't do to get the chance.
He kept his voice calm. He listened to his instructions.
Your friendly colleagues will visit you tonight. It's easy. You'll sit them down, you'll listen, you'll tell them we've been in touch. They'll want to know what we said, and this is what you tell them.
"They said they were disappointed," said Ndidi to Stanton. "I let them down, but I'm lucky. They still have a use for me."
"What use?" asked Stanton. Norris looked nervous. He feared having to make another decision which could only be described as a PR lose-lose.
"They didn't say. Midnight tonight, 22 hours away now, they'll call again. This will be the final chance to save my daughter. They told me that, then they put Isabella on the phone. And they made her scream."
Make sure you say the scream thing. It'll make 'em squirm.
Norris did indeed squirm. Stanton held her professional expression, but it was a close-run thing. This was a struggle for everyone. Except for maybe Evans, who wasn't even feigning discomfort.
"I know how hard this must be," said Stanton.
She didn't, but Ndidi had made similar unsubstantiated claims in the past and let this pass with no more than a nod.
"We want to help find your daughter. As you know, we still have people out looking and won't stop searching until we locate Isabella."
Alive or dead. The thought crept into Ndidi's mind unbidden, and he almost choked on the unspoken words.
"If we could come back for the call, listen to what the kidnappers have to say but also try to trace them, it would be a huge help in discovering where your daughter is. Would you be open to us coming here for that?”
Ndidi pretended to mull this over. A would call again, but their next conversation would take place hours before midnight. By then, it would all be over. One way or another. Of course, he couldn't let either of the two on the sofa know that.
"You have to understand," he said. "My daughter comes first. She means the world to me, and I will do whatever it takes to save her."
Stanton nodded. Her look was solemn, but understanding.
"Of course. We would expect nothing less."
Norris looked uncomfortable. Ndidi's claims were all very well. Norris was worried about what he might have to do if his subordinate tried to back them up against police protocol.
"You can come for the call," said Ndidi. "Bring whatever you need in terms of equipment, but please don't bring too many people. Two or three would be ideal if you could manage it."
A had given Ndidi no guidance on how to handle this situation. Ndidi was playing it by ear and, he thought, handling it quite well.
"We'll work to bring as few officers as possible while still ensuring we have the best chance of saving Isabella," said Stanton.
Ndidi nodded as though he was grateful, though these were meaningless words. Clever police talk. They made it sound as though Stanton was going to do as Ndidi asked while giving her the space to bring as many officers as she saw fit.
"I'd like to be alone now," said Ndidi. "You can return shortly before the call, but for now... well, I know as long as you're here, you're not looking for my daughter. So if you don't mind."
Ndidi stood. A straightforward enough signal, and Stanton and Norris took it, standing a second after him.
"Of course," said Stanton. "We'll be back around ten pm if that suits? I know that might seem early, but we don't want to miss—"
"It's fine," Ndidi cut in. "Perfectly fine."
They made an awkward move towards the door. Norris clearly didn't want to be there but wasn't sure he should go. In the end, Ndidi had to practically herd them out, brushing them from his house onto his drive.
Evans went first. On the doorstep, Stanton and Norris turned back.
"Thank you for coming," said Ndidi. "I appreciate everything you're doing."
"Of course," said Stanton.
"We will find your daughter," said Norris. "We'll bring her home safely. You have my word."
Stanton flinched at the promise. Another no-no when it came to delivering news to the families and loved ones of victims. Never make promises you weren't 100% certain you could keep.
In other words: never make promises.
"Thank you," said Ndidi. "I know you'll put every resource into it."
Before Norris could make any further stupid promises, Stanton all but dragged him away. Ndidi watched as Evans dropped into one of the badged
cars at the bottom of the drive, and both of those cars started up and moved out of the way. Stanton and Norris got into the car on the driveway, the one sitting in Leilani's space. Ndidi raised a hand as they started the engine. He didn't close the door until all three cars were out of sight.
Leaving the hall, Ndidi went through to the kitchen and poured the whiskey down the sink. It wouldn't help. He didn't need it.
Anger bubbled in his stomach. Norris and Stanton could say whatever they liked. Ndidi knew limited resource would be given to the search for Isabella. They already had several people dedicated to the Abbie King issue. Now there was something else. Something they hadn't bothered to tell him about. They didn't think he knew what else had happened tonight besides the casino robbery. In a way, he didn't. Except he knew something had. He had been part of it, after all.
From the kitchen, Ndidi returned to the living room. He took up his armchair and sat with his hands folded in his lap, unmoving, for ten minutes. When the time was up, he rose, crossed the room, and grabbed his car keys from the little bowl on the sofa side table.
Leilani had purchased that bowl at a craft fair. Ndidi kept losing his keys, and this was her solution.
You're a detective. You shouldn't be so absent-minded.
Ndidi had been striding with purpose but stopped as his wife's voice seemed to rock through him. Two deep breaths stopped the tears before they could begin, but it was with a shaking hand he opened his front door.
Norris and Ndidi's colleagues could never have saved Isabella. The only way was always going to be to give the kidnappers what they wanted. It was unquestionable. The mere suggestion Ndidi might fail to do what A said was laughable. He had already lost his wife. He would move heaven and earth to ensure he did not also lose his daughter.
Stepping onto the driveway, the detective looked left and right up his street. The street he had lived on for five years. The first house Isabella would remember.
The lights were off. Everyone was in bed.
