Miss No One by Mark Ayre (interesting books to read TXT) 📕

more often than could reasonably be expected, but not always. He'd get back to her soon enough.

Next was the cell. Abbie turned to Franks after stepping through the door.

"When I said I was after a decent hotel, and money was no object," Abbie looked around, "I think you got the wrong end of the stick."

Without a word, Franks closed the cell door, and Abbie was alone.

Ndidi arrived a few hours later.

It was 06.15am. From Abbie's cell, the detective led her through quiet corridors, past empty offices, to a row of interview rooms. Or interrogation rooms, if you were feeling less generous.

He picked the third room down. Unlocked it. Led Abbie inside and gestured to the padded chair across the plain table. The whole room was basic. It looked identical to the numerous other interview rooms Abbie had entered. It looked like every interview room you saw on TV. Minus the one-way glass, which Abbie had never seen. Too expensive, probably.

Abbie was under arrest. She'd been held in custody for the last few hours. A uniformed officer should have accompanied her and Ndidi to the interview room and should now be standing outside. It was also unusual for the interviewer to be alone. And although Abbie had never been arrested for assaulting a police officer, she guessed it was irregular for the victim to conduct the interview and lead the case.

To top it off, Abbie had no legal representation present. She would have complained but could see Ndidi had only a file to hand. No tape recorder in sight.

Which meant this wasn't official. It was off the books.

Taking the seat opposite Abbie, Ndidi placed the folder on the desk. Peeling back the cover, he removed three sheets of paper and put them on the surface, spinning them for Abbie to see.

Typed, small print paragraphs on police insignia letter headed paper. At the bottom of each page was a printed name and, above this, a scrawled signature.

"Potentially," said Ndidi, "you're in a lot of trouble." He tapped the pages, one after another. "You know what these are?"

"Lanky's name is Gary?" Abbie asked. "You don't see a lot of Gary's anymore, do you? Think I read somewhere the name's dying out. Isn't that sad? Wait, is that sad? Maybe not. Crap name."

Three sheets of paper were all the folder had contained. Closing the empty file, Ndidi put it on the floor beside his chair. He tapped each of the statements again, one by one.

"Do you know what these are?"

Abbie raised her eyebrows. He was going to be dull, then. Whatever, if he wanted her to get to the point, she would. For now.

"Signed witness statements," said Abbie. "You know I know. Must we play this game?"

"I don't expect you to read them," said Ndidi, though he didn't remove the statements. "Can you guess what they say?"

Abbie glanced back at the sheets despite herself. Certain words jumped out.

"I imagine," she said, "The statements by Franks and Evans say they were patrolling the area when they noticed an altercation in the park. They pulled up roadside and, as they left their vehicle and approached, saw me, Abbie King, beating up their precious policeman boss."

"Well, I'm not their boss," said Ndidi, "though I do outrank them."

"You must be so proud."

"Other than that, you're spot on. What about this—“ he tapped the furthest right of the three statements. "Can you guess what Gary said when questioned?"

Abbie folded her arms, leaned back her head and let out a long puff of air.

"This is boring," she said. “Must it always be like this? You can't help yourself, can you?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Except you do," said Abbie. "You could have popped to your local fancy dress shop, bought a villain's moustache, then come to the station to stand over me and twirl it while letting off your best maniacal laugh. Then you’d explain your fiendish plan. It wouldn't have taken long: "ha, ha, ha, despite the fact we both know I attacked Gary and might have killed him if you hadn't intervened, I managed to get him to give and sign a statement saying you saw us talking and attacked for no reason we could see. As far as the record is concerned, you assaulted us both, and I did nothing, ha, ha, ha.""

Abbie looked at Ndidi. The cop's cheeks flushed. His embarrassment was evident, a look Abbie sometimes aimed to inspire in her conversational adversaries, but not this time. Her outburst had been born of pure frustration. She'd opened her mouth and out fell the words. It was dangerous to lose control like that, but it was done. Abbie would have to be more careful, moving forward.

When Ndidi managed to take hold of himself, he took a breath and said, "I would never have killed Gary."

Abbie shrugged. "What do you want me to do with that information?"

Ndidi looked at the sheets on the desk. He didn't know what to say.

"You know what I mean, don't you?" Abbie said. "You show me the statements because you think, if I draw the conclusion, rather than you telling me the situation, it'll be more crushing. A greater victory for you. It's pathetic."

Ndidi looked more ashamed, more embarrassed than ever. Abbie didn’t need to push like this but couldn’t help it. She was riled.

So was Ndidi. One by one, he grabbed the statements and piled them up. Snatching the file off the floor, he shoved the sheets in. Then the file was gone. Ndidi placed his palms on the table.

"I have three witness statements claiming you assaulted a police officer. I have the marks on my body plus my own testimony to give. In other words, I have you bang to rights."

He drew a breath, shook his head. Then forced a small, bitter smile.

"Obviously," he said, "assaulting a police officer is never smart. But your timing could not be worse."

There was something ominous about Ndidi’s tone. Something which suggested this wasn't just threatening discourse, intended to scare. Ndidi meant it.

"And why's that?" said