Gone

by Leona Deakin

Bloom thought about it. ‘For this type of person to want to compete, there’d need to be a real sense of achievement at the end. The game would need to be highly competitive … So players either feel they’re winning against other people or there are substantial rewards. There needs to be a kick-back.’

  ‘Any word from Barker?’ asked Jameson.

  ‘They didn’t get anything else from Llewellyn. Barker wants to try again with one of the other returned players, but my guess is that as soon as Llewellyn left that police station he alerted everyone. The shutters will be down. We aren’t going to be able to infiltrate the game. There’s no way to get you in.’

  ‘Look,’ said Jameson, turning up the volume of the TV.

  ‘Police are very concerned about the whereabouts of sixteen-year-old Jane Reid,’ said the newsreader. ‘She was last seen leaving her school in Wembley on Friday at lunchtime. She was on foot and wearing her school uniform. Anyone who has seen or heard from Jane in the past few days is asked to contact the police immediately.’ The contact details hovered on screen for a few moments beneath a picture of Jane. Then the newsreader moved on to a story about strike action on the London Underground.

  39

  ‘They’re discharging you today,’ said Sarah as she walked into Jameson’s room. ‘Your consultant says your head is healing well and they’ve been able to reduce your pain medication.’

  The last few times she’d visited, he had been in bed and in a hospital gown, so it felt good to be dressed and sitting in a chair.

  ‘Who’s the coffee from?’ asked Sarah, pointing at the Fork cup on the bedside table.

  ‘My business partner.’

  ‘I thought you were freelance?’

  ‘We are. There are two of us.’

  ‘And is he a researcher too?’

  ‘In a way, yes, she is.’

  Sarah smiled and sat on the end of the bed. ‘You don’t like talking about what you do, do you?’ Her dress had a slit in the front and as she sat down it revealed a small section of thigh.

  ‘I’ve learned it’s best not to share too much too soon.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  Jameson smiled.

  ‘What’s the big secret? It doesn’t fit.’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘With your character. You’re so friendly and easy-going. But if that’s just a big con I’d rather know now. Because I have no secrets.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t buy that.’

  ‘No, really. What you see is what you get. I’m a middle-class girl from Yorkshire. I’m an only child. My mum was a book-keeper, my dad a company director, and I’m a doctor. I lived my whole life in one county until this recent secondment. I went to church every Sunday. I’m a good girl. That’s it. That’s all there is to know.’

  ‘You telling me you’re one of those waiting-for-marriage types of good girls?’

  Sarah narrowed her eyes and a small smile reached her lips. ‘Not that good a girl,’ she said.

  ‘Thank the Lord.’

  ‘And what makes you think that information is in any way useful to you?’

  Jameson held up a hand. ‘Sorry, you’re quite right. I was thinking out loud.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘So what about you? Where did you grow up?’

  ‘Berkshire – not far from Ascot. My father was in the forces and my mother is a psychiatrist. I have one younger sister, Claire, who lives in Wembley – if you hang around long enough you’ll probably meet her. She comes in every lunchtime.’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure. If she finds I’m seeing someone she’ll have you at every family function and talking babies before you can say second date.’

  Sarah raised her eyebrows. ‘OK.’

  Jameson mentally kicked himself. Why did this woman make him say such stupid things? ‘Anyway, talking of second dates, would you like to have one? Without the drama of paramedics and ambulances.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘I thought we could take a picnic to Hyde Park on Saturday. The weather’s meant to be nice. Do you think you’ll be able to get into the city? I’m not sure they’ll let you drive yet.’

  ‘I never drive in the city.’

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘That is a yes.’

  The room suddenly felt smaller, as if a bubble was tightening around them, pushing them closer together.

  ‘OK, you win the staring competition,’ Sarah eventually said as she looked away.

  Jameson laughed. ‘What you lack is a sibling, you see. I was the unbeaten family champion for three years running, ages twelve through to fifteen.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘Claire found boys and make-up and refused to play stupid games with her stupid brother.’

  Sarah looked amused. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘It must have been boring growing up without a playmate.’

  ‘I had lots of friends; I didn’t really notice.’ She checked her watch. ‘I should go. I have a meeting at eleven.’ She stood, leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He caught her wrist and she hovered, her face above his.

  Then the door swung open. ‘Right then, young man. Time to get you washed and brushed and ready for the road.’ Nurse Janet had a shock of red hair and a twinkle in her eye. She was oblivious to the tension in the room.

  Sarah stood up straight. ‘Saturday then. Midday at the Serpentine Gallery?’

  Jameson kissed the back of her hand and then released her wrist. ‘See you there.’

  40

  The initial meeting with the Health and Care Professions Tribunal Service was wholly frustrating.

  ‘So you deny any wrongdoing in relation to the interactions you had with twelve-year-old Amy Jones in the period between 12 October 2016 and 4 December 2016?’ said Keith Timms, the badly suited, balding official tasked with briefing Bloom on the misconduct case.

  ‘Absolutely,’ she replied.

  Keith turned his tablet around so that Bloom could see the screen. ‘Can you tell me if you recognize this residence, Dr Bloom?’

  ‘Of course. It’s my house.’

  He flicked to the next photograph. ‘And who is this outside your house?’

  ‘That’s me. But who took these photographs and when?’

  Keith flicked to the next photograph. ‘Some time between 12 October and 4 December 2016.’

  Bloom stared at the third photograph. It didn’t make sense.

  ‘Can you tell me who is in this image?’ asked Keith. ‘The two people walking up the pathway to the door of a residence you previously confirmed to be your own home.’

  ‘I can, but the photograph isn’t real. Amy Jones has never been to my house. I have never met her outside the consulting room.’

  ‘But you can confirm that the people photographed here are you and Amy Jones?’

  Bloom nodded. It was so realistic. She could see herself mid-stride in black trousers and her winter coat, and then just a couple of steps behind her was the unmistakable image of Amy in jeans, pink trainers and her grey duffle coat. Bloom recognized Amy’s coat and trainers. She had worn them to their sessions, taking the coat off as she arrived, putting it back on when she left.

  ‘How do you explain this then?’ said Keith.

  Bloom looked him in the eye. ‘I suggest you ask a photography expert to look at this forensically. Someone has faked this to frame me.’

  ‘And that is your defence.’ It wasn’t a question. Keith sighed as though he’d heard the same tired excuse a million times before. He turned his tablet away and folded up his papers. The meeting was done.

  After the meeting, Bloom went to meet Professor Mark Layton at a nearby cafe. He was sitting at a table by the window when she arrived. He’d been her psychology professor at Sheffield University and then her mentor as she worked through her professional qualifications. He was an expert in criminal profiling and one of the first psychologists to provide assistance to the police. Layton had championed Bloom even as a student whose ambit
ion lacked real direction.

  ‘How are you doing?’ he said to Bloom.

  ‘My main reaction is one of disbelief. Have you decided?’

  Professor Layton nodded, and Bloom waved at the waiter.

  ‘I’ll have whatever he’s having with a glass of tap water, please.’ She closed the menu and handed it to the waiter.

  ‘Eggs Benedict and an Americano with hot milk for me, thanks.’

  ‘Thank you for meeting me,’ said Bloom. ‘I didn’t want to take a lawyer with me as that would have felt too much like I was guilty of something. But I’m glad to debrief with someone I trust.’

  They talked about the investigation. They reviewed the original case. They discussed Professor Layton’s latest group of undergraduate students, who he described as lazy and rude (which was nothing new – he always described the undergraduates that way).

  ‘As I have you here, I wanted to pick your brains on another matter, if that’s OK?’ said Bloom as they came towards the end of their lunch.

  Professor Layton nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘If you were to design a set of challenges that would appeal to psychopaths – a game, of sorts – where would you start?’

  ‘Why would I do that?’ He wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  ‘To recruit them for something.’

  ‘So I want to test how psychopathic they are?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘And what type of psychopath? Criminal or functional?’

  ‘Functional, in the main. You’d need to attract them from the general population and inspire them to walk away from their lives in order to play.’

  Mark wrinkled his nose, a sign that he was deliberating. ‘Why are you asking, Augusta?’

  ‘It’s just a project. Theoretical in the main.’

  ‘And it has to be a game, does it?’

  ‘As opposed to?’

  ‘A simple incentive or bet.’

  ‘Like a dare?’

  ‘Psychopaths tend to be attracted to high-risk activities with high potential gains,’ said Professor Layton. ‘Think about studies into psychopaths and gambling. They live in the moment, so they treat each bet as an isolated event. Non-psychopaths might start out with a nothing-to-lose attitude, but once we’ve won or lost a few rounds we become protective and cautious. Our past experience affects our future decisions. But psychopaths simply carry on betting high as if every round is the first. It’s a good strategy, too; they win more often.’

  ‘The risk is high – leaving their lives and so on – so there needs to be some truly impressive gain too?’

  Mark nodded. He looked out of the cafe window. It had started to rain and passers-by were putting up umbrellas and hoods, or sheltering under newspapers held above their heads. ‘Or perhaps you’d need a series of continual wins. Just like gambling. Psychopaths need more and more stimulation to experience that feel-good factor, which is why they go to such extremes, but an on-going stream of quick wins would work just as well as one larger deferred win. Better in most cases, I’d expect.’

  ‘Like Scientologists and their levels of initiation. Their followers are always hungry for more because they’re constantly working towards the next level of membership.’ Bloom was finally getting some traction on what such a game might look like.

  ‘And like all the best video games.’ Layton stacked his coffee cup and saucer on top of his plate and placed his knife and fork next to them.

  ‘I was also thinking that to select such people in the first place you would plant profiling questionnaires on social media,’ Bloom said.

  Layton wrinkled his nose again. ‘Well, that would give you a sample of psychopaths who like to engage in social media. But I expect you’d need more data for a psychopathic diagnosis.’

  ‘Exactly. You would use their whole online profile.’

  ‘People reveal too much online. And if they’re on Facebook and Twitter, we get two sides of their personality. Facebook reveals their idealized self – “me as I wish the world to see me”.’

  ‘The facade?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Layton. ‘And then Twitter provides a more anonymous forum where they can express their truth, whether it be anger, bitterness, prejudice or joy.’

  ‘The private self.’

  ‘It would be tricky to avoid attracting non-psychopaths. A lot of people have dark inner lives for all sorts of other reasons.’

  ‘The abused, the angry or the downtrodden might all exhibit similar profiles.’

  Layton leaned forward and gestured as he spoke. ‘But our psychopaths would lack the emotional context. Their language would be different and their behaviour more rational.’

  ‘So you would filter for that?’

  He sat back and exhaled. ‘It’s a big job, Augusta. A sophisticated process and certainly not one your average university department could handle, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

  Bloom shook her head. ‘And not something an individual could pull off alone either.’

  Layton frowned. ‘You’re not thinking of doing this, are you? For what possible purpose?’

  ‘Goodness, no. I’m just conducting a feasibility study. Like I say, this is theoretical.’

  Layton insisted on paying. ‘You get the next one,’ he said, inserting his card into the machine and tapping in his pin. Bloom left a tip on the table and they collected their coats from the stand by the door. The rain was falling heavily on the pavement.

  ‘Seeking out functional psychopaths is one thing, Augusta,’ said Layton as they stepped outside, ‘but what on earth do you do with them once you’ve found them?’

  You read my mind, thought Bloom.

  41

  ‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ Bloom said as she arrived in the office for the daily conference call.

  ‘Stop fussing.’ Jameson sat at his desk with an untouched sandwich and drink in front of him. Even his freckles looked pale today. ‘Tell me again what Barker said yesterday.’

  ‘Just that he’d be taking up the Assistant Chief Constable post a little earlier than expected, so he might not be as available going forwards.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I told him that it seemed a bit of a coincidence that he was suddenly needed elsewhere. And he said it was just one of those things.’

  ‘Like your professional conduct coming into question and me being hospitalized by a rogue cyclist.’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune.’

  ‘I’ve had time to think.’

  ‘If the person running this game didn’t know about us before Llewellyn, they certainly do now. So it’s not paranoia to question why our most senior officer is suddenly needed elsewhere. He says that police can’t be influenced by an outside party, but look at DCI Warren Beardsley.’

  ‘The police officer who’s playing the game? You think he’s influencing the investigation?’

  ‘Maybe not directly. But the game has identified at least one potential psychopath within the police force, and I’m pretty sure there’ll be others. It’s an obvious career choice for people drawn to power.’

  Jameson swivelled his chair to face her.

  ‘Whoever’s running this thing wanted to be noticed,’ she went on. ‘Like you said, they could have carried out the whole recruitment process in secret, but they didn’t. I don’t think the dare-to-play invitation was meant exclusively for the psychopaths. I think it’s also meant for us and for the police.’

  ‘So we’re playing too?’

  ‘We’re part of it somehow, no doubt about it. I was talking to Professor Layton.’ Bloom saw Jameson nod his recognition. He and Layton had met a handful of times. ‘We talked, and to design this game would be a phenomenal undertaking. It would need lots of money and lots of time. And technical skill. I’d be amazed if it’s the work of one individual.’

  ‘Do psychopaths do working together? Aren’t they just self-centred egotists out for themselves?’

  ‘That’s been the
predominant theory. But what if it’s wrong? Or something’s changed?’

  ‘They’ve evolved into pack animals?’

  Bloom gave him a dismissive look. ‘Evolution is not that quick. This is motivated by something more human.’

  She dialled in to Barker’s conference call and put the phone on speaker so Jameson could listen too. After a few moments the music stopped and DS Phil Green’s voice filtered through.

  ‘Afternoon, both. It’s just me, Kaye and Raj today. The others have all been called to an incident in town.’

  Jameson raised his eyebrows at Bloom. It seemed their investigation was no longer the top priority.

  ‘Hello, everyone,’ said Bloom. ‘So here’s what we know so far. One hundred and nine people have received a birthday card and taken up the dare. Craig tells me he has now identified four players who have returned home after a month or so, including Clive Llewellyn and Faye Graham, although after killing her husband Faye has disappeared again. All the others have been missing for anything from a few weeks to over a year. We’ve had no one come forward to say they received a card but didn’t take up the dare.’

  Bloom paused to see if anyone would dispute that. They didn’t.

  ‘We’re bringing in the other two returned players for interview,’ said DS Green.

  ‘Good,’ said Bloom. ‘Although I expect they’ll be as slippery and uncooperative as Llewellyn was.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate us.’ DS Green sounded offended.

  Bloom didn’t rise to it and continued her briefing. ‘Then last Friday, Jane Reid – the daughter of one of our missing players, Lana Reid – also went missing, near her school. She was caught on CCTV at King’s Cross station on Saturday morning, but no one has seen or heard from her since then.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ interrupted DC Raj Akhtar. ‘A Thomas Lake was in touch yesterday. He’d seen the appeals for Jane Reid. I’ll email over his number. It sounds legit, but he’s not a criminal. He’s a dentist in Manchester.’

  ‘What?’ Jameson looked up from the desk.

  Bloom turned to him and spoke quietly so that only he would hear. ‘Are you still under the impression that Lana’s a trustworthy source, Marcus?’ Then she said, ‘Thanks, Raj, we’ll look into that.’