Miss No One

by Mark Ayre

  No messages. No missed calls. Either Orion had yet to get in touch with Ndidi, or Ndidi had been lying about calling her.

  As it was, Abbie believed Ndidi had been telling the truth, but that didn't matter. Christine probably wouldn't have let Ndidi get away with failing to call Abbie. Ana definitely wouldn't.

  Abbie opened the car door and stared at the building. On the way home, her head had filled with thoughts of Bobby and her sister. Would the man she thought she loved live? Had she let her sister down by forgetting about the book?

  Around and around, these considerations had raced, but no more. Abbie needed to push all that away and deal with the problem at hand.

  It was a few minutes to three in the afternoon on her second day. In a few more hours, Isabella would be safe, or Abbie would have failed her forever. Until the kidnapping was resolved one way or another, Abbie had to focus.

  Though thoughts of Bobby and Violet tried to pull her down, Abbie dragged herself from Ana's car and made her way towards the building. She used the keycard Christine had leant her to let herself in, and she went straight to the lifts. She travelled to Christine's floor, went to the door, knocked, then let herself in with Christine's spare key.

  "I'm back."

  She pushed open the door and stared into a quiet, empty hall. All three doors (living room, bathroom, bedroom) were closed.

  No one responded.

  "Hello?"

  Abbie had left one of her stolen guns with Ana. The other remained at her waist, and she withdrew it now. Her heart was pounding. The flat was tiny. There was no way any occupants hadn't heard her. Unless they'd all decided to take a mid-afternoon siesta.

  Taking a single step forward, closing the front door behind, Abbie turned the handle of the living room door. With a gentle push, she sent it swinging into the living room. Putting her shoulder to the bedroom wall, Abbie peered into the lounge.

  From this angle, she could see the kitchen, the TV, the back of the sofa, the foldable chairs. There was a glass lying on its side. Orange juice had splashed across the carpet, leaving a dark stain.

  At first, Abbie thought the room was empty of people.

  Then she saw the feet.

  Someone was lying on their front on the other side of the sofa to Abbie. The feet were still. Abbie recognised the shoes and felt her heart rate rise again.

  Ana had almost died when she and Abbie had met. It was starting to look as though Abbie might be a bad omen for the younger woman.

  For a brief moment, Abbie closed her eyes and prayed the lawyer wasn't dead. A little because she believed Ana was seeking redemption and wanted her to have the chance to continue on this path. A lot because she did not want to have to tell Alice Rayner that the mother had lost another child.

  Abbie wanted to call out to Ana but couldn't. There were more rooms to check, and Abbie had yet to account for Christine, Ndidi or Rachel Becker.

  Abbie changed her angle against the wall, moving left and right until she was sure no one else was hiding in the living room.

  It was only Ana.

  Ana who remained still, nothing but her feet showing beyond the end of the sofa.

  Don't focus on that now. Don't focus on that now.

  Abbie moved to the other side of the hall and this time grabbed the bedroom door handle, opening it in the same way she had the living room door.

  The door glided towards the radiator where Christine had cuffed, bound, and gagged Rachel Becker.

  Except, Rachel Becker was no longer there. Along with the gag, the binds, and the cuffs, she had vanished. Abbie could not believe Rachel had slipped free of those restraints. The Beckers were many things, but none were Harry Houdini.

  Someone had released her.

  Not Ana, who lay either unconscious or dead in the living room, and not Christine either.

  As though dragged by an invisible force, Abbie took a step towards the bedroom. On opening the door, she had forced herself to look at the radiator, but this was not what drew the eye.

  On the double bed, spread out as though she were making a snow angel, was Christine, and even she did not draw the eye.

  Above the headboard, in two-foot letters, someone had scrawled the word GRASS.

  Presumably lacking a pen, they had written the slur in blood.

  Abbie had no kit with which to DNA test the stand-in ink, but if she had to guess, she would say the blood belonged to Christine. Taken via the jagged, gaping hole in the young detective's throat.

  Thirty-Five

  Like the deck of a sinking ship, the world seemed to tilt. Abbie raised a hand to catch the door frame and somehow kept her legs from disappearing beneath her.

  Breathe in, breathe out. Not that it did much. That word in blood seemed to glow, to pulse, but Christine's body remained still as stone. Deadly still, you could say.

  There was no point checking for a pulse. With a sharp blade, someone had torn open Christine's throat and let the blood flow. The detective would have died long before her assailant wrote the message on the wall.

  Her killer had committed this heinous act on the bed. The sheets, once sky blue, were soaked red. Somewhat absorbent, the duvet had drunk the blood and swollen into a grotesque misshapen creature beneath the dead detective. Beneath the kind young woman who had never wanted to live here. Who had left her family and everyone she loved to do her duty, to fight corruption and save lives. To become an (GRASS) informant. Anti-corruption officer. To work undercover well before she had the years of investigative experience under her belt to suggest she was up to the task.

  She had done a brilliant job. A job she was so committed to, she continued to investigate, to do the right thing, even when her bosses pulled the plug on the operation.

  In pursuit of the right thing, she had picked up a drinking problem, driven by depression and loneliness. But she was strong. When she returned home, she would have been honest about her addiction. She would have fought it. With the support of her loved ones, she would have beaten it. Abbie was sure.

  Now she wouldn't need to. Now she was never going home.

  Abbie wanted to rush to the bed, to sit beside Christine, to close the detective’s eyes and to tell her to sleep well. She wanted to do all these things though she knew it would mean nothing to the corpse. That kind woman was gone, but it didn't change how Abbie wanted to act around the body.

  She was thinking of her sister. Her lovely Violet lost all those years ago.

  Then she was pushing those thoughts away. Pushing back her instinctive reaction to the body. Trying to regain her focus on the job at hand.

  Because her legs didn't want to work, Abbie shoved the door frame. The bedroom was empty of enemies. She propelled herself towards the bathroom, opened the door, and stuck her gun inside.

  Toilet, sink, bin, shower. No bath. The shower screen was closed but transparent. The room was empty.

  Abbie's phone began to ring. She jumped.

  Taking a breath, she turned towards the front door, her back to the empty bathroom. From here, she could see the open doors to both living and bedrooms. She was sure there was no one here beside herself, Christine, and Ana, but you could never be too careful. She had her gun at her side, and if danger emerged, she would be ready. From her pocket, Abbie took her phone to see a number unknown both to the device and to her on-screen. She hit answer.

  "Yes?"

  "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  Ndidi, sobbing, on the verge of a complete breakdown. Removing the phone from her ear, Abbie took a breath. Fury bubbled like lava, ready to spew, but Abbie couldn't let it. Her breath was cooling. It calmed the magma's raging heat. Now was not the time for emotion. It was time to lock away human Abbie and release the cool analytical robot.

  It took a couple of breaths, then she put her phone to her ear.

  "I'm sorry," he was still saying. "So, so, sorry."

  "Shut up," she said. Which indicated she had not quite got a grip on her fury. "You knew when to call. How?"r />
  "I'm sorry. I didn't want to. You have to believe—“

  "Ndidi, just shut up and answer my question. You've been told to call me, right? Did Orion ask you to apologise? I doubt it."

  There was a long pause as Ndidi tried to get a hold of himself. Standing in the bathroom doorway, shaking, Abbie somehow managed to keep a lid on her rage. To keep quiet.

  "He rang an hour ago. He knew where I was and that I was with Ana and Christine. He thought you were there too and told me I had ten seconds to kill everyonw, or he'd slaughter Isabella. He put my little girl on the phone and made her scream."

  Abbie closed her eyes. She could almost hear the scream. It made her shudder, and this was her imagination. What effect would the real thing have had on the father of the child doing the yelling? Abbie could hardly imagine.

  "The scream was a distraction," she said. "It made you forget we had leverage. The countdown was more of the same. Orion forced you to act on instinct and gave you so little time because he knew it would only take a second or two of rational thought on your part to undo his plan. All you had to say was you'd kill Rachel if he killed Isabella. You’d have been at an impasse. But the scream and countdown worked. Instinct circumvented your brain and you acted without consideration."

  At first, Ndidi couldn't respond. He was still sobbing, still struggling to control himself. That was okay because Abbie hadn't been talking to him. Not really. She had laid out the situation for herself to help her control her anger. How could she expect Ndidi to engage his brain with his daughter's scream and Orion's countdown ringing in his ears? The terrified father never stood a chance.

  Abbie saw all this, but she was struggling with rational thought herself. Although she had endeavoured to be a logical robot, emotion was overriding her circuits. Even as Abbie told herself Ndidi was not to blame for his actions, the image of Christine's body surfaced in her mind, and a burning hatred coursed through her veins. She realised she wanted the detective dead.

  But now was not the time. There was nothing Abbie could do to Ndidi even if she wanted, and she had to focus.

  Before she could get her head straight and think of what she needed to say next, Ndidi was talking again.

  “You’re right. You’re so right. I forgot about Rachel and acted on instinct. I knocked Ana down and put a bullet in her head. Would have done the same to Christine but after I hit her with the gun Orion made me stop. He said a bullet was too good for a grass.”

  "Yes," said Abbie, her tone cold as ice. "I saw what Orion thought of as an adequate punishment."

  "It wasn't me," Ndidi garbled. "It was Rachel. It was..." He broke off, which was good. Had he continued to ramble, he might have inadvertently enticed Abbie to start screaming. Luckily, he seemed to sense the road down which he was walking.

  "Christine was screaming at me, calling me a monster for what I did to Ana. I am a monster. I freed Rachel, and I watched. She told me to draw that message on the wall, and I did. Orion said—"

  "Stop," said Abbie. With her free hand, she clutched her temples between forefinger and thumb. Her head was pounding. She could take little more of Ndidi's voice. "You knew I was here. The cop who found you is still watching. Because it was a cop, wasn’t it?”

  It made sense, and Abbie had to turn some of her hatred for Ndidi on herself. She had correctly surmised that Evans and Franks were keeping tabs on Ndidi before Isabella's kidnap. That's how they were there to prevent Abbie beating Ndidi for attacking Gary.

  She knew this, so why hadn't she considered they might, with Moore, still be tracking Ndidi after Isabella was caught? They wouldn't have been on him 24/7, but it made sense they would regularly check-in to ensure the cop was still dancing to Orion's tune.

  Failing to make this leap was a dire failure in Abbie's duties to save Isabella. It was a failure that came from the same place that allowed her to follow Gary so quickly when he was obviously telling her lies, luring her into a trap. And from the same place that made her fail to connect Orion's actions to the nearby prison and Rachel. Her arguments with Ben had thrown her off, but that was no excuse. She should have shaken the conflict and focused on the job. She was responsible for the murders of Christine and Ana. For Kilman's shooting. And soon for the deaths of Ndidi and Isabella.

  "What does Orion want?" said Abbie. "His man's outside. He saw me arrive. He called you, so you must have been given a message. What is it?"

  Ndidi hesitated. He didn't want to say it, but there was nothing to be gained by holding back.

  "Stay where you are," he said. "The police are on their way. When they arrive, give yourself up and confess to Christine and Ana's murders and to the shooting of Kilman."

  "What's the stick?"

  A confused pause, then, "What?"

  "The stick. If I don't do what I'm told, how will Orion punish me? I assume he won't send one of his bent coppers to spank me, so what?"

  "PC Evans is waiting in the car park. He's the one who told me you'd arrived, and he called the police to tell them he'd seen you. If you don't give yourself up, if you escape or fight, Evans will tell Orion, and Orion will murder my daughter."

  Abbie closed her eyes. Held them tight for a few seconds and, when she opened them, found herself sitting on the floor, though she had no recollection of sliding down the doorframe.

  Why? She had known what Ndidi was going to say, and did it matter?

  "You're not driving," said Abbie. "I take it you're in a cop car with another bent officer?"

  Another beat, then, "So what?"

  "Rachel's beside you?"

  "You know she is."

  "Then Orion already has everything he wants," said Abbie. "I told you he's a twisted bastard. Only reason you're still alive is he wants you to watch your daughter die. The moment you arrive at wherever he's hiding, it's curtains for you and Isabella. So what's to be gained by me surrendering my freedom?"

  "He's promised he'll let her go."

  "I'm sure he has. He's lying."

  "Abbie," said Ndidi. His voice a whisper. "Please. My daughter means everything to me. I need to believe there's a chance. I need..." He paused, breathed in his tears, then said, "I can't make you do anything, but I'm begging you. You said Isabella was your priority, and right now, this is our only chance. If you meant what you said, you'd take the risk."

  He let these words hang over the line. He held on a few seconds, long enough for Abbie to intake her breath in preparation to speak again, then he said, "I'm sorry for what I did," and hung up. He was afraid of what Abbie might say next. The detective knew Isabella was doomed but could not bear to have his final hope dashed before he reached her. He needed to believe.

  Abbie replaced her phone in her pocket; put her gun at her side.

  And from somewhere in the distance, she heard sirens, moving towards her position, coming to put her in handcuffs.

  Thirty-Six

  For ten seconds, Abbie listened to the sirens grow closer without moving a muscle.

  She did not believe there was more than one of Orion's men in the carpark. She could avoid him and escape the onrushing police. Of that much, she was sure.

  But should she?

  She believed what she had said to Ndidi. Isabella was doomed. But what if Abbie handing herself in bought the child more time?

  Abbie had failed. The little girl she had come to save was going to die, and it was her fault. Abbie had taken her eye off the ball multiple times. She'd screwed up again and again. She struggled to live with the guilt of the few lives she had previously failed to save. None of them had been so young as Isabella. Abbie would never come to terms with this failure. This was one mistake with which she could not live.

  It was over. What if Abbie presenting her wrists and letting the police arrest her brought Isabella and Ndidi a few hope-filled minutes together? If it was only seconds, that might still be worth it.

  Besides, Abbie was to blame for the murders of Christine and Ana. If Kilman died, she'd be responsible for that
too. So why not confess? A life behind bars was better than she deserved.

  Bobby's smile tried to force its way into her mind, and she shoved it back. He was better off without her too. His memory would dissuade her from doing the right thing.

  Abbie remained on the carpet. Something held her to the ground. Something niggled at the back of her mind; whispered to her. Something wasn't right.

  But she couldn't fathom what that something might be…

  Enough. Abbie's mind was trying to find a way to make Abbie run from the police, but running was no longer the right option. Ndidi was right. If Isabella was Abbie's priority, she had to jump at any chance to save the girl. Even if she considered the odds of it coming in one in a million or worse.

  Leaving her gun on the carpet, Abbie finally forced herself to rise. Like a zombie, she stumbled towards the flat's front door. If she was to spend the rest of her life in a cell, she should enjoy her last couple of free minutes in the fresh air, the last of the day's sunlight. Besides, PC Evans was in the carpark. Perhaps Abbie would get a chance to kill the corrupt cop with her bare hands. She was already going down for murdering at least one police officer; why not add another? Why not really earn her sentence?

  Abbie reached the door and touched the handle. Paused. Now was the time to go. She really did want to take some deep breaths in the fresh air before her arrest.

  But she couldn't. Not quite yet. She looked to her left, to the bedroom; to her right, to the living room. She had to go to the corpses. She had to close their eyes and apologise to their faces. They wouldn't hear, wouldn't know, but it was important none the less.

  She would say sorry to Christine, sorry to Ana, then leave. Then the police could take her.

  Abbie released the door handle and moved into the bedroom.

  Still trembling, shaken by the twists and turns, Abbie stepped from the building into the carpark. From Christine's living room window, she had spied the car she wanted. Now she crossed to it.

  The sirens were heavy in the air. The police could be no more than a couple of minutes away. As Abbie approached the car she had seen from Christine's window, it's driver side door opened, and Police Constable Evans stepped out.