Miss No One, Mark Ayre [romantic love story reading .TXT] 📗

"DCI Hammond.”

Abbie waited. When no more information was forthcoming, she shrugged.

"If this is another game, I'm going to lose. Or you are, depending on the rules. What I'm saying is, I don't know any DCI Hammond and won't if you don't tell me."

Ndidi nodded. Sneered, as though Abbie's lack of knowledge signalled a character deficiency. As if she should know the names and ranks of every police officer in the country, past and present.

She let the sneer wash over her.

"DCI Alan Hammond was my boss and mentor," said Ndidi. "He was also respected and loved throughout this station and across the community. To the people of our fair town, he was a hero."

Mulling this over, Abbie nodded. Then said, "I'm guessing you're not going to tell me he received a slap from an old biddy down the bingo hall? That's not why people are so sensitive to police assault right now?"

"There was a botched robbery," said Ndidi. "Some low life piece of shit bust into Hammond's house, thinking the place was empty. They were wrong. Hammond was upstairs, asleep. He came down to find out what was going on. There was a fight. This low life got the better of the DCI. Cut Hammond’s throat and did a runner."

Ndidi let this sink in, though Abbie hadn’t known Hammond, so found it difficult to get too upset over the incident.

“You catch the killer?” she asked.

Ndidi shook his head.

“No suspects? Possible you think it was Gary? That would explain a lot.”

“That waste of space could never kill Alan Hammond, and don’t try turn this on me,” said Ndidi, just about holding his temper. “My point is clear. People around here are pretty damn upset about Alan Hammond. They hate that his killer's running free. It eats them up. So when they learn we have a police attacker in the cells, well,” he spread his hands, “do you know what transference is?”

Abbie smiled. “You’re intimating they’ll take out their anger at Hammond’s killer on me.”

“If they don’t go even further and assume you’re one and the same. Yes, they’ll pursue your case with extreme prejudice. They’ll seek surrogate justice to make themselves feel better.”

Abbie was still smiling. “Surrogate justice. I like that phrase.”

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“Yes, now shall we cut to the chase?”

“The chase?”

The smile tried to morph into a laugh, but Abbie held it. She thought she knew where this was going, but Ndidi was temperamental; he might change his mind. Abbie was on thin ice.

Leaning across the table, she said, "Let's not do this. You don't know me, but if you think I'm wet behind the ears, easily manipulated, let me disabuse you of that assumption. I'm no fool. You can't drag me into this interview room before the sun's finished climbing the horizon, with no uniforms or tape recorders in sight, and expect me to believe this is all some prelude to charging me with assaulting a police officer. Come on, give me some credit."

"Maybe you give yourself too much credit," said Ndidi. "Perhaps this is a curtesy. Can you honestly be sure I won't leave this room right now, return with a colleague and a tape recorder, and charge you?"

Abbie smiled. Tapped the table.

"I have a motto," she said.

"And what's that?"

"Never be sure."

Now Ndidi smiled. "Not very catchy."

Abbie shrugged. Said nothing further. This whole conversation teetered on a knife-edge. As convinced as Abbie was that she knew what Ndidi wanted to do, she was not fool enough to believe that was necessarily what he was going to do.

After a long silence, Ndidi said, "Do you want me to press charges?"

That was a question Abbie had been asking herself since Franks had slammed the cell door in her face a few hours ago.

The clock was ticking. Somewhere in town, a young girl's life was winding to a close. Every second was precious, and Abbie guessed it would be difficult to save any lives while trapped in a cell.

She needed freedom. Ndidi could keep her locked up for 24 hours before deciding whether to charge her or let her go. If he let her go, she would be into day two of her two-day window without having met the girl she had come to save—a perilous position. So maybe being charged was best. Once the police charged her, assuming Ben sent a lawyer, Abbie could apply for bail. A top-quality lawyer, which this would be, could probably get her out in a couple of hours.

In a perfect world, all this would happen before one of Davesh's team arrived for work and found the place littered with dead bodies. The moment the police learned what had happened at the dealership, the game would change. Abbie was new in town. A mile from the shooting, she had attacked a policeman, or so they were saying.

Connections would be made, questions asked. Why had she been out so late? What was her purpose in town? Abbie's situation would worsen. Her hopes of saving the innocent child would deteriorate.

Nothing frightened Abbie more than that.

So being charged or released might be okay, so long as it happened soon. The Hammond situation was a concern. The cops might decide to keep Abbie locked up as long as possible while they desperately sought cast-iron evidence to guarantee any judge would reject her bail application. They probably wouldn’t find any. Then again…

Glancing at the file on the floor, Abbie leaned in, bringing her face as close to Ndidi as the table allowed.

“Neither us wants me charged. My reasoning is obvious. As for you… you attacked Gary. We both know that's true. If I get charged, I'm going to put what happened on the record. Now, before you start babbling about how no one will believe me, don't. I'm way ahead of you, and in a legal sense, you're right. I'd probably be convicted, and you'd get off scot-free. But I wouldn't do time. Not for a punch in the stomach. Meanwhile, you might not get into any trouble, but people would remember my accusations. If I get