by Mark Ayre
For now...
Ndidi sighed. Pointed to the glass.
"Fill it to the brim. Dealing with you's made me thirsty."
Thirty-Two
While Christine tried to figure out where they were all going to sleep, cramped into that tiny living room, Abbie crossed the hall and entered the bedroom.
It was dark. Christine’s bedside lamp was on, but it only cast a small circular glow across the table, the floor on that side of the room, and Christine's half of the room. It didn't reach the side of the bed on which Christine's boyfriend might sleep, were he allowed to stay with her during her undercover operation. It certainly didn't reach the floor on the other side, or the radiator beneath the window, and the woman handcuffed bound and gagged to it.
"Damn, you must be bored," said Abbie.
Her eyes were fast adjusting to the light. The shape pressed against the radiator was morphing into a human. Within another few seconds, Abbie would probably be able to make out some of the woman's facial features. Maybe those furious eyes. But none of that would be necessary.
Abbie flicked on the bedroom's main light.
The shape became a woman and the woman flinched, turning her head towards her chest and squeezing closed her eyes. Her ankles were bound and there was a gag in her mouth. Her wrists were handcuffed, the chain behind the pipe of the radiator, holding her to the wall in a most uncomfortable looking position.
"Hello, Rachel," said Abbie.
Raising her head, Rachel blinked rapidly in the light to adjust her eyes. As she did, Abbie remained perfectly still, framed in the doorway. She waited until the middle, and youngest surviving Becker child met her gaze, then walked in and sat on the bed on the radiator's side.
In this position, Abbie's knees were only a foot or so from Rachel. Had the Becker a mind, she could have swivelled, brought her bound knees towards her chest, and fired her feet at her captor. Clearly a rational woman, Rachel did no such thing. She didn't attempt to attack nor try to speak. The gag would have made communication difficult, but she could have got across a simple message.
Rachel said nothing. She held Abbie's eye and remained static. Not that she had many options in that regard.
"Just a flying visit," said Abbie. "I don't know how much Orion told you, but I think we both know it won't be long before he tries to complete the job he started. I should imagine he intends to have his little sister back in his protective big brother embrace by the time the sun next drops below the horizon."
The eye contact still did not break. Abbie had always known she would step in here and never intended to have a conversation or spout an hour-long monologue.
"A child has been taken," said Abbie. "If you and your brother play fair tomorrow, I'll let you both live. But if anything happens to the girl, I warn you, there will be no mercy. I'll kill you, I'll kill him."
These threats seemed not to concern Rachel in the least. Abbie could have mentioned the bullet she had put in the Becker matriarch, but her aim wasn't to get a rise from her captive. Abbie had come in to get a good look at Orion's younger sister. Photos were never as good as the real thing, and Abbie was convinced, having met Rachel's eye now, she would find it easier to end her life later.
Because Abbie had been lying. When she came face to face with Orion, Abbie's priority would be to save Isabella. Still, she did not intend either Becker sibling to survive the next twenty-four hours. They would meet, and Abbie would finish what the police had started with Quintus, and she had continued with Margaret.
The child would be saved. The Becker clan extinguished.
Rising from the bed, Abbie smiled at Rachel.
"It won't be easy, the position you're in, but I advise you to try and get a few hours sleep. After all, you've a big day ahead."
Using the few duvets, pillows, cushions and throws she had available, Christine had managed to arrange four sleeping stations in the living room. One on the sofa, where she would sleep, and three more on the floor. When Abbie stepped in, it looked as though someone had recently completed a successful game of Tetris. Abbie hated to undo all that.
"I'm sleeping in the hall," she said.
All eyes turned her way. Ana said nothing but Christine questioned the decision, and Ndidi argued against it.
"I don't trust you," he said. "We should all be in here, where we can keep an eye on each other."
Abbie rolled her eyes. "What do you think I'm going to do; run off with Rachel? You're welcome to kip in the bedroom if you're concerned. There's even a bed in there."
Despite the allure of the bed, Ndidi seemed unwilling to share with a convicted murderer. Go figure. After that, Abbie got her way fairly quickly.
No one slept well. It was gone three in the morning when the group got their heads down, but by half seven, they were all up; Christine and Abbie were pouring orange juice and making toast in the kitchen.
Christine had a decent selection of spreads. Abbie and Ariana had Marmite, Ndidi raspberry jam, and Christine marmalade. The homeowner grabbed a second fold-up chair in the bathroom; she and Abbie created something resembling a circle with Ana and Ndidi on the sofa.
The minutes dragged by. There was some stilted conversation, but for the most part, the group sat in silence, browsing the internet on their phones or contemplating the turns their lives had taken.
Bobby occupied Abbie's mind. Over thirty hours ago, she had left him with a warning. He could text while she was gone, but there was every chance he would receive no reply. Abbie had to focus, and in any case, she might not get a chance to check her phone. Still, she had expected a text last night. Something short to tell Abbie he was thinking of her. To say he couldn't wait to see her again. To check she was doing as he had asked: staying safe so she could come back to him.
Maybe that was the problem. Abbie had warned Bobby his messages might go unanswered. Still, perhaps he knew if he texted and Abbie didn't respond, despite her warning, his already worried mind would kick into overdrive. At least if he didn't message, he would only have to deal with the baseline worry levels with which he'd begun.
With this in mind, maybe Abbie should text Bobby. To tell him she was okay. To let him know she missed him and was looking forward to returning to his bed. Although, as it stood, that would actually be her bed, as that's where she'd left him. Yes, a quick text was her best course of action.
Only every time Abbie unlocked her phone and navigated to her message stream with Bobby, something stopped her. At first, she believed this to be a faceless, nameless, unknowable something, but it wasn't. She was lying to herself. The face lingered at the peripheral of her vision. The name bounced around the back of her mind, like a whisper echoing through the deepest chamber of her subconscious.
Ben.
How could his words not affect her? His fear, or the fear of his employers, was that Abbie could not focus on her job while in love. Were her concerns over who should text whom and when not proof these anxieties were warranted?
Of course not. This was scheduled downtime. There was nothing Abbie could do, and no plans she could form until Orion rang. There was no reason she shouldn't let Bobby occupy her mind. No reason she shouldn't text him and tell him she missed him; that she was fighting to get back to him soon.
But she wouldn't. Every time she tried, that whispered name got a little louder, and Ben's arguments put paid to a harmless communication.
God, how she loathed that awful man.
"You have no idea how I ache to add a dash of vodka to this."
It had just passed eleven in the morning. After breakfast, Christine had called the station and learned Kilman's condition was stable but critical. It looked more likely than yesterday that he would live, but there were no guarantees. On the bright side, Gary was going to be okay. If not today, he would be released tomorrow. Bitter at the lies he had told her on Orion's behalf, Abbie wasn't concerned if she never again saw the lanky teen.
An arrest warrant hung over Abbie's head. But Rachel Becke
r had knocked her from the wanted list's top spot. That might change if Kilman died, but for now, it meant the heat on Abbie was a little reduced.
Christine delivered these messages a little after eight am, and it was she who spoke next, some three hours later.
She was staring into her third orange juice when she mentioned the vodka, twisting the glass and watching the liquid swirl. It was like a form of self-hypnosis.
"Before I came to this town, I wasn't much of a drinker. A glass of wine with dinner every now and then, a couple if we went to the pub. A little more at Christmas. I can't remember ever getting drunk or drinking spirits. Maybe a shot of sambuca, once. It probably made me throw up."
"Understandable," said Ana.
Christine was still staring into the orange juice like it was an autocue, and she was struggling to read her lines. She didn't seem to have heard Ana as she continued.
"But when you can't make friends because you hate to lie, and when you're afraid to ring your family or your boyfriend in case anyone finds out you're not who you've said you are, drinking starts to become a little more appealing. When I first got here, I'd sit in front of the telly all evening, not really watching. I wouldn't always cry, but I was almost always on the verge. I bought my first bottle of wine on a whim on my way back from the station one day. I'd popped in to get something else and saw it on sale. It was a brand I'd had before, so I picked it up. Why not? That night, in front of the telly again, I poured myself a glass. I didn't exactly feel like a drink, but I'd bought the bottle, so why not?"
She raised her hands and touched her lips as though remembering that first glass of wine. A smile played across her face, but it was a sad smile. Almost bitter.
"I was surprised to find wine calmed me. There was no doubt by this point, I was suffering from depression. I was away from everyone I loved, doing a job I never wanted to do and sneaking around gathering evidence against people I genuinely liked but with whom I could never make friends. So I was full of this black depression and also a deep, all-consuming self-loathing. The wine didn't make me any happier or make me like myself anymore, but it did relax me, help me sleep. It didn't improve my mood, but it made my situation easier—maybe that sounds stupid."
"No," said Abbie. "It doesn't sound stupid at all."
Christine nodded. She brought the orange juice to her lips and drained it, then put the glass on the floor at her feet.
"After that first glass, I started buying two or three bottles a week. I would limit myself so each bottle would last three days. Except, as you can imagine, three days soon became two, and then one. Before long, I was getting through a couple of bottles a night. Then I diversified. I got into spirits and started drinking pints at the pub. The rent on this place is pretty cheap, and I had no social life, so money was fairly plentiful, making the habit too easy to keep up. I started adding a vodka shot to my orange juice in the morning and another to my tea at work. Irish tea, is that what they call that? I don't even like it. What's to like? But I needed it. How pathetic is that?"
"It isn't pathetic," said Abbie. "You were trapped in an awful situation. You never asked to join anti-corruption, yet you were chucked into a covert operation as soon as you became a detective. That would affect anyone."
"I knew how people would react," said Christine. "And I was right, wasn't I? Even though I'm on his side, even though I've been trying to lock up people involved with his daughter's kidnappers; you saw how Detective Ndidi here treated me when he arrived yesterday. The contempt in calling me Miss Lakes. It would have been like that with all of them. I would have been ostracised, cast aside. I lived in fear of discovery, knowing how they'd treat me."
As she spoke, Christine glared at Ndidi, but when she was done, she turned away. She wasn't into confrontation and didn't want to further challenge the detective.
Abbie didn't look away. She saw the shame in Ndidi's eyes and gave him a chance to make it right. When he didn't, Abbie turned from the detective and placed her hand on Christine's shoulder.
"You're not alone," she said. "If the four of us formed a club, we'd be called the Self-Loathers. I'm working hard to change my self-perception, but I still spend at least a third of my time despising myself for one thing or another. Ariana abandoned herself to cruelty after her father died and only got worse when someone murdered her sister. Now she seeks redemption, but you can't seek redemption without claiming guilt, and the claiming of guilt inevitably leads to a certain degree of self-hatred. Isn't that right, Ana?"
With a slow nod, Ana said, “The nights are the worst."
"You bet they are," said Abbie. Still holding Christine's shoulder, she turned to Ndidi. "Then we have our good friend Detective Idrissa Ndidi.”
All three women turned to the only man in the room. His legs shifted. He looked uncomfortable and as though he didn't know what to do with his hands. It was his turn at the confessional, but he wore his silence like a suit of armour. No matter. It wouldn't protect him from Abbie.
"Someone once told me most people, when attacking another person, are really attacking themselves. This is not as universally true as it is sometimes perceived—for example, not all homophobes are closet homosexuals—but it is a common phenomenon, and Ndidi here is a good example. You know what I mean, don't you, Idrissa?"
Ndidi met Abbie's eye for a moment, then looked away.
“I’m not corrupt.”
Abbie smiled. “When Ndidi interviewed me at the station, he expressed strong loathing for corrupt police officers. Later, at his house, I suggested he was perhaps angry at himself. After all, Gary told me Ndidi worked for Lucky Draw.”
“Gary was a filthy liar.”
“Actually,” Abbie responded to Ndidi, “he was pretty clean. Especially for a drug addict. I do believe he was lying, though. I think you hate yourself, but not because your’e corrupt. Quite the opposite.”
“What?” said Christine.
Abbie kept her eyes on the side of Ndidi’s face for a few seconds, giving him the opportunity to reveal the truth. When he didn't, Abbie turned back to Christine.
“Ndidi was furious that a superior he respected turned out to be corrupt. I deduced he was talking about Hammond. Like you, he knew Hammond was corrupt, but he wasn’t corrupt himself. He hated Hammond’s corruption.”
“Then he’s a coward,” said Christine, looking at Ndidi.
“Like you said; when we arrived yesterday Ndidi was disparaging of your status as an undercover officer.”
Christine turned back to Abbie. “Yeah. So?”
Abbie spread her hands. “How did he know you were working undercover? What’s more, why did Leilani come to you with her information about Hammond and the casino? She was taking a huge leap, trusting someone she barely knew with a secret that could get her killed."
“We discussed that,” said Christine. “Leilani had to trust someone and I was the logical choice. And I assumed you told Ndidi I was working undercover.”
“I didn’t," said Abbie, “and the logical choice for Leilani wasn’t you, it was her husband. Why would a police detective's partner work for known criminals? Even if those criminals have never been convicted. Ndidi can't have been happy about it. Would his wife really take the job anyway? And this wasn't just about Idrissa. Leilani had to know she was putting herself and, by extension, her family—her daughter—in danger by working there. Would it be worth all those arguments and all that worry for a teller's job?"
Christine stared at Abbie, then looked to Ndidi, who was staring at the floor.
“Again, we discussed all this," said Abbie, “but let me put a new spin on it. Idrissa is a good cop. He may have gone astray since his wife disappeared, but before that, he saw corruption in his police division and endeavoured to do something about it. He might have pretended he hated his wife working at the casino, but I'm willing to bet it was his idea. And the reason she took her findings to you? Leilani didn't trust you because you were new in town, and you seemed nice; she trusted y
ou because her husband told her you were trustworthy. Because he was the one who leaked the information about Hammond to the head of the anti-corruption unit who hired you. He's known who you are from the beginning; Idrissa sent his wife to you, so his attitude yesterday didn't come from any problem with you but out of self-loathing for himself. He feels like a grass, and worse, he feels as though he got his wife killed. With you, he was just projecting. People are like that."
Christine stared at Abbie, half agog. The words took some time to process, but when they did, she seemed to have to force her head to turn back to Ndidi.
"Is this true?"
Everyone looked to the male detective. Abbie didn't know her suspicions were correct but was pretty sure. It was the only thing that made Leilani's actions—working at the casino, trusting Christine—make sense when combined with Ndidi’s knowledge of Christine’s job and his apparent hatred of corrupt police officers.
Ndidi kept his eyes to the floor, and at first, it seemed he wouldn’t answer. After several seconds, when it became clear no one was going to look away, he gave a curt nod.
"I suspected Hammond and found out what I could, but I was afraid to push too hard, so I sent what I'd learned to the nearest anti-corruption division. It was they who suggested I send my wife to work at Lucky Draw. I wasn't happy, but Leilani and I didn't keep things from each other. We discussed our options, and she begged me to let her go for the job. Like you, she hated police corruption and said it was her duty to help, even if she wasn't a detective. I wasn't happy, but I agreed." He looked from Christine to Abbie. "You called this the Self-Loathers club, and isn't that the truth? I gave in and let my wife take that job, and now she's gone forever. I'll hate myself for the rest of my days. If not for my daughter, the rest of my days might already have run out."
He bowed his head, and the tears began to fall. With a deep breath, he almost pulled them back. Raising a hand, he wiped his eyes and tried to shake off the sadness.
