Game Theory (17 page)

‘Oh, no. It's personal.'

She picked up a phone, tapped a number, mumbled something and then put the phone down. ‘Ms Abbott will be with you shortly,' she said. I smiled but she didn't smile back, just watched me, her mouth working continuously. Fortunately, I didn't have to endure the uninterested spotlight of her glare for long because Ms Abbott rocked up in less than a minute. She took one look at me and recognition swam into her eyes.

‘You're the brother of that little girl,' she said.

‘Phoebe,' I said. ‘Her name's Phoebe. And I'm Jamie.'

She put a hand flat against her chest. ‘Is there any news?'

I tilted my head towards the gum-chewing employee.

‘Any chance of a word in private?' I said.

‘Of course. Please follow me.'

It was strange walking through the supermarket aisles, and a wave of nausea hit me as we went past the deli counter. It was even stranger being back in that office. I remembered the plate of biscuits and the pale tea and the female police officer. But it was as if all that had happened in some other era to some other person. My stomach clenched.

‘Is there any news?' repeated Ms Abbott, sitting behind her desk.

‘Nothing so far.'

‘I'm so sorry. If there's anything I can do . . .'

‘Well, actually there is.' I hadn't sat down. Maybe I'd entertained some stupid idea of exerting dominance by towering above her,
but suddenly I wanted to sit. I wasn't sure my legs would support me for much longer. ‘Could you explain how Phoebe left this store without any of the security cameras picking her up?'

Ms Abbott frowned. ‘I really have no idea. I told the police that as far as I know . . .'

‘But you
must
know which parts of this supermarket are blind spots for the cameras,' I said. I tried to smile but I think it came out wrong. ‘The police told me there were plenty, so I'd really appreciate it if you walked me through the place. You know, so I can better understand.'

Ms Abbott's frown deepened and she placed both hands flat on the desk.

‘I don't want to be unhelpful,' she said, in a tone of voice that indicated she was about to be just that, ‘but I think the police have all the relevant information. Perhaps you should talk to them.'

‘But I did talk to them. I just told you. Now I'm talking to you.'

Ms Abbott brushed imaginary specks of dust from the surface of the desk. ‘I'm sorry,' she said, ‘but I can't simply show people – even you – potential security breaches at work. I really am sorry, James, but you should talk to the police.'

‘It's Jamie.'

‘Pardon me?'

‘My name. Jamie. Brother of Phoebe and also Summerlee Delaware. You probably remember Summerlee.'

That got a reaction, though she tried to hide it. For a fleeting moment her face filled with loathing.

‘Of course I remember Summerlee. How is she?'

I ignored her. ‘Perhaps you could let me know if there are any staff members who might have a grudge against my sister?' I said. I tried that smile again. ‘She rubs some people up the wrong way, as you probably recall.'

This time Ms Abbott got to her feet.

‘I'm sorry,' she said, ‘but you know I cannot answer a question like that unless it's to the police. I'd really like to help, Jamie, but unless there's something else I think it might be better if you left.' ‘I appreciate your help and concern,' I said but if she spotted the sarcasm she gave no indication.

Ms Abbott personally escorted me to the front of the store as if she couldn't relax until I was gone. She watched me all the way out through the sliding doors. I could tell from the itch beneath my shoulder blades.

I could only breathe properly when I'd turned a corner and the supermarket was out of sight.

I met up with Gutless at the small cafe we'd occasionally visit after school.
It's a really bad cafe, the sort of place where choosing from the menu feels like a game of Russian roulette with food poisoning. Anyway, that's one of the reasons we like it so much – it's not often that eating becomes a high-risk activity. Gutless was already there and had ordered a couple of plates of chips and gravy. He was most of the way through his. I sat opposite and pushed my plate towards him.

‘That fuckin' relief teacher, man,' said Gutless. ‘What a wanker. Some kid near the door told me it was you outside, that you wanted to see me and I'm like, why didn't you let me know – to the relief teacher – and he's like get on with your work and I'm like, fuck this shit, I'm outta here, so I go and he's like, I'm reporting this and I'm like . . .'

‘Gutless,' I said. ‘I need to talk to you. I don't need
you
to talk. Just listen, okay?'

He put a chip into his mouth and shrugged.

I told him about Phoebe. Some people, I realised, must have known already. Word from supermarket staff would have got around, and there were those posters that Mum had put up, though maybe the lack of news might have led some to believe she'd been found, that the drama had been resolved. Or maybe people just forget. Isn't that what I always did? If it wasn't in the news, then it floated away into oblivion. We all have busy lives. Other people's problems simply dissolve into the relentless flow of time.

Gutless listened, his mouth open, one half-chewed chip resting on a back tooth, and it was obvious from his reaction that he hadn't had a clue. Video games, let's be honest, rarely allow the real world to penetrate.

‘Fuck, man,' he said when I'd brought him totally up to date.

‘Couldn't have put it better myself, Gutless,' I said. ‘Anyway, I've got a few ideas I want to run by you. Detective Moss – one of the cops I was telling you about – asked my family to draw up a
list of people who might be behind this. You know, people with a possible grudge.'

Gutless nodded and closed his mouth. I was pleased. That chip was getting on my nerves.

‘I want to apply game theory to the problem,' I continued. ‘But game theory works much better when you have some idea of the other players in the game. You know, their personalities and how that might affect their decision-making.' Gutless nodded again. ‘Okay,' I continued. ‘I'm gonna throw out a few thoughts. Just listen, all right, and tell me if anything I say sounds right or wrong or just plain weird or stupid.'

Gutless started on my plate of chips.

‘It's important to know whether the kidnapper is working alone or if he or she has an accomplice,' I said. Gutless opened his mouth, but I beat him to it. ‘Because if he is working alone, then I can rule out the people with me when he made a call.'

‘Like?'

‘Like Mum and Dad, Summerlee and a few of the cops.'

‘Whoa, man.' Gutless dropped a chip back onto the plate. ‘You serious? Your Mum and Dad? Summerlee, for fuck's sake? You think she's extorting cash from herself? That's fucked-up thinking, man. True.'

‘Just because it's unlikely, doesn't mean I should rule it out,' I replied.

‘But your Mum and Dad?'

‘Both have motive. They've spent eighteen years bringing up
Summer and she doesn't give them a cent from her winnings. Can you imagine the resentment? And who better to kidnap Phoebe? She'd be looked after, loved. And she'd have gone with either of them from that supermarket without thinking twice.'

‘You're fucked up, man.'

I took a chip from the plate. It was cold and greasy.

‘I know, Gutless. Trust me, I know.' I had to swallow hard to get the chip down. ‘But I've ruled them out. And Summer. Partly because I think the kidnapper
is
acting alone – two million dollars is shitloads, but if you start splitting it, it might not be worth the risk.'

‘Still a million each if there's two of them.'

‘In which case, they would've asked for four. No, I think it's just one person. Plus, Mum and Dad are not great actors. There's all sorts of shit going down at home and they can't hide their feelings. Mum thinks Dad is useless and Dad kinda agrees, but resents Mum for making it plain. No. They couldn't hide this. And you're right about Summer. It's not like she has any kind of motive.'

Gutless was looking at me as if I'd lost my senses. I tried to ignore him and continue my train of thought. ‘So, if it's one person acting alone, that would also rule out Gardner and Moss, because they listened in to a phone call. But it doesn't necessarily rule out
every
cop, like Dixon, the one who first interviewed me. Or the female officer who stayed with me in the supermarket. In fact, she brought up Summer's win on the lotto.'

‘You think the cops could be involved?' Gutless clearly felt I was moving further and further from reality, which is ironic for someone who spends his entire life in computer games.

‘The police crave money, like everyone else.'

‘Yeah, but . . .'

‘Then there's Spider,' I said. ‘True, he's with Summer and she bought him a car, but that doesn't mean he's got access to all of her cash. Maybe he wants to start his own drug cartel, needs a little seed money.'

‘You hate Spider, man. You could be biased.'

‘That's for sure. And anyway, I don't think he has the brains for this. Most of the time, he's stoned out of his head. Unless that's just an act . . .'

Gutless shook his head and took another handful of chips.

‘I'm thinking Mr Monkhouse could also be a suspect,' I said. Gutless choked and spluttered a mouthful of half-chewed chips across the table. When he'd recovered, I told him about Monkhouse's ‘sickness', our phone conversation and what I'd witnessed at his house.

‘Yeah, but that don't mean shit. I mean, c'mon, man. You can't be serious . . .'

‘He has the brains, all right,' I continued. ‘He's the smartest person I've ever known. And everyone knows teachers get paid peanuts. In fact, he mentioned that himself when he asked about Summerlee. Said it would take a teacher a hundred years to earn that kind of cash. Said it just before Phoebe was taken.'

‘Yeah, but he wouldn't've if he'd been planning to do it, man. Come on. He's smart. Your words.'

‘Maybe that's exactly what a smart person would say. Throw off suspicion because no one would expect a guilty person to say that.'

Gutless took a swig of Coke, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and muttered something. I think it was, ‘Fuck's sake.'

‘And then there's Ms Abbott,' I said.

This time, Gutless nearly lost it.

‘Who da FUCK is Ms Abbott?'

The cafe went silent. Actually, I think the cafe had always been silent because only one other table was occupied. Nonetheless, we had the full attention of a guy with a grizzled beard and a bacon sandwich. The owner of the cafe moved towards us, a dirty tea towel slung over his left shoulder.

‘You watch your language, you kids,' he growled, ‘or you will leave. I won't put up with that kind of talk in my restaurant.'

Gutless raised both hands in the air. ‘Sorry, dude,' he said. ‘Won't happen again. We love your
restaurant
.' He winked at me.

The owner regarded us for a moment and then moved back to his counter. ‘Fucking kids,' he muttered at the guy with the bacon sandwich, who nodded and took another bite. It was the closest I'd come to laughing since Phoebe had disappeared. I leaned towards Gutless.

‘The manager of the supermarket,' I whispered. ‘The one Summer gave such a hard time to. Think about it, Gutless. That
woman was humiliated in front of everyone. Wouldn't you want payback? And it's more likely Phoebe would leave with a woman – a woman who knows the back entrances and how to avoid surveillance cameras. I went to see her and asked for information. She was tighter than a duck's arsehole and it was obvious she hadn't forgiven Summer for what happened.'

‘How about it's someone you
don't
know?' said Gutless. ‘You think of that? Your sister's lotto win was plastered all over the news. Hell, man. It could be anyone, probably a complete stranger.' ‘Yeah,' I said. ‘In which case all of this is a waste of time. But that is something I have no control over. If it
is
someone who knows me, then it'd be criminal not to at least think through the possibilities.'

The proverbial light bulb appeared over Gutless's head. It was disarming in a way. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He was never very good at hiding what he was thinking.

‘That means you thought
I
could've done it,' he whispered. ‘Shit, Jamie. You had me down as a suspect as well?'

I smiled. Inwardly, at least. Yeah, I'd thought about Gutless. Of course I had. But unless he had spent the last five years carefully building up a persona to fool the world on the off-chance someone who knew him would win the lotto, then I could discount him. Where would he keep Phoebe? In his bedroom? She'd sneak out while he was blowing someone's head off on his computer and probably wouldn't notice she'd gone for a couple of hours. Anyway, I knew Gutless. There wasn't a bad bone in his body. Or
that many brains in his head. I opened my mouth to tell him just that – minus the brain part – but I didn't get the chance.

My phone rang. Caller unknown.

CHAPTER 17

I scrambled from my seat, knocking it over in the process, and bolted out the door.
I heard the cafe owner's voice raised in anger behind me. I thumbed the screen.

‘Yes?'

The heavy, portentous silence. And then the computer-generated voice.

‘Are you alone, Jamie?'

‘Yes. No. I mean, someone will probably be joining me in a minute or two. But I am now. Alone, I mean. And I'll tell him to go away, okay?

The velvet silence.

‘Calm down, Jamie. That's fine. I won't hang up. Is it Gutless?'