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

a little. She wouldn't tell the whole truth but would offer a decent dose in an attempt to wheedle information from Christine which might prove useful.

"I am a contractor," she lied, putting her lemonade on a coaster. "I'm a consultant, and as a consultant, I get paid too much to do not very much. I have far too much time on my hands. When I was a teenager, I suffered some personal tragedies which I won't go into, but what matters is I felt the police and justice system let me down."

Although Abbie wasn't going to discuss these tragedies, she couldn't help but remember them. She saw Paul, her big brother, standing in front of a jury of his peers. Heard the gavel as he was sentenced to eighteen years in prison for assault and battery against the boys who had drugged and raped Abbie, none of whom, flanked by their fancy lawyers, backed by their wealthy parents, would see the inside of a cell. This came before Abbie was almost killed. Her unborn baby stolen to certainly suffer the fate Abbie barely escaped. Before her sister was butchered like cattle in a warehouse. And how many of the perpetrators of these two hideous crimes had ended up in prison? None, so far as Abbie knew.

Christine was staring at Abbie, and Abbie realised she had allowed the memories to overwhelm her. Wiping her eyes, she forced herself on.

"Because of what happened in my past, I aim to help others avoid similar suffering in the future. My financial situation, and contacts I’ve built up over the years, allow me to learn about upcoming events affecting innocents. When I receive such information, I act as a matter of priority."

This was vague because it was untrue. Still, in this modern world, with the technology available, most people believed any information could be found if you had the skill to uncover it. Therefore any information could be acquired if you had the money to grease the right palms. In this case, Abbie's lie made for a much more convincing narrative than would her truth.

"So you pay someone or someones to find for you information indicating when people might be in danger?” said Christine, doing Abbie's job of lying for her. "Then you seek to save that person."

Abbie nodded.

"You're a vigilante."

Abbie smiled. "That's a loaded word. I know you police officers aren't particularly fond of it. I don't much like it either because people tend to associate it with hippies acting against banks and other major corporations. People unhappy with the status quo and engaged in pathetic attempts to redress the balance. That isn't me. Of course, the actual definition of vigilante is a member of a self-appointed group of citizens who undertake law enforcement in their community without legal authority, typically because the legal agencies are thought to be inadequate."

"You memorise that from the dictionary?" asked Christine.

Abbie shook her head. "Google."

"Ah, yes, and does that definition apply to you?"

"It's much closer."

"Then what you do is illegal. I could arrest you."

"You could," said Abbie. “Though, it would be a waste of time, given you have no evidence I've performed any illegal acts nor that I'm planning to perform any illegal acts. Beyond, that is, this off the record conversation. I doubt that'll do you much good."

"Which means you can be candid."

"It means we can. And let me note: I've saved numerous lives. Innocent lives, none of whom would have lived had I had left the matter to the proverbial long arm of the law."

"Ah, yes," said Christine. "Because we're incompetent."

Abbie smiled a sad smile and shook her head. "You've not been a cop long enough to have acquired such a chip on your shoulder about the way people perceive you boys and girls in blue. Come on, try to hold off becoming so jaded until you're at least thirty."

"Are you saying you don't see the police that way?"

"I think, for the most part, the police do fantastic work,” said Abbie without hesitation and without lying. "You're heroes. You're also confined by the laws you aim to uphold, which is as it should be. A profession that could act with impunity against anyone it believed had acted wrongfully would attract the wrong kind of people. That kind of power is intoxicating. Innocents would suffer far more under such a system than they do under the present, restrictive one. It has to be the way it is."

"Given those restrictions," said Christine. "It's lucky we have someone like you out there to pick up our slack."

Abbie sighed. "I don't think you're taking this the right way."

Christine frowned but didn't respond. She had her hand around her glass and was sipping from it periodically. Abbie thought the detective was trying to restrict herself by taking less alcohol each time she lifted the glass to her lips. Intentionally or not, Christine didn't seem to have noticed she was taking these sips more frequently than before and was therefore negating the impact of her smaller sip strategy.

"You're not going to arrest me," Abbie reiterated, "and I'm not interested in a debate. What matters is my intention to keep Isabella alive, whatever it takes, and that we don't have to be on opposing sides of this. We could work together."

But Christine shook her head. "I told you I'm not here to open a dialogue. You have information I need.”

“For example?”

“For example, what happened after I escaped the dealership last night?”

Abbie shook her head. “Give a little to get a little,” she said. “You’ve not told Kilman anything that happened last night, but why doesn’t he know about Davesh? What happened when the dealership opened this morning?”

“Nothing,” said Christine. “Why do you think I’m so keen to know what you did? I went by this morning, and it was business as usual. I saw dealers showing around customers. I saw a punter shaking a salesman by the hand.” She shrugged.

“Maybe the staff are just dedicated,” said Abbie. “They turned up, popped Davesh in a cupboard,