The Game

by Luca Veste

  ‘Hmm,’ Mark said, nodding to himself as he walked around the pool of blood, which had coagulated and stained the concrete. He’d seen stains like this before, so was pretty sure it wasn’t just an oil patch or the like. The CSI gave him the nod, just to confirm his suspicion.

  Blood. But that wasn’t enough to start making assumptions, he reminded himself.

  They were a good twenty feet away from the nearest wall, not exactly near the centre of the yard, but far enough away for it to tell Mark a few things. ‘If she was doing something to herself, I don’t think this would be the place. What, slit her wrists and then jump in the river? Or cut herself? Without her back against the wall or anything? It doesn’t seem right.’

  Mark followed the few spots of blood that led away from the larger pool, watching as they grew smaller and eventually vanished. ‘They’re not leading to the water anyway,’ he said, turning back to the uniformed officers. ‘Over to that side, which doesn’t show a way out.’

  PC Robertson hesitated, while the mute uniform standing next to her gave Mark a lazy shrug. ‘It might not even be her blood for all we know,’ he said finally, making a few notes to himself in his notebook. ‘At the moment, we need to concentrate on the fact she’s missing and that’ll have to do for now.’

  ‘You’re the detective,’ PC Robertson said, then turned away from him, following the path back out of the yard.

  Mark stood for a few minutes, taking the scene in again, wondering what the hell he’d stumbled into here. Probably nothing, he thought. Yet, there he was – looking at a stain on the ground and wondering where a nineteen-year-old girl had disappeared to.

  He felt the familiar nervousness in his stomach build, wiped a hand across his brow and moved away. Tried to ignore the feeling that he didn’t belong in the suit he was wearing and reminded himself that he wanted this.

  Five

  When Mark had read the family’s address, he’d winced. Searching for a friendly face in this vicinity would be difficult. A residential area that turned more industrial-looking towards the top.

  He took his time making his way over to the front door. He scanned the surroundings as he did so, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary, but it couldn’t have looked more normal if it had tried. White double-glazed bay windows at the bottom, a double-pane above them. Dirty brown bricks and a patch of grass that needed mowing, but wasn’t exactly overgrown. It was difficult to discern any difference from any of the houses on its row, apart from the decorative numbering on the pane of frosted glass at the top of the entrance. What cars were parked up on the road were all in various states of disrepair, with only a smattering of newer vehicles further down the road. The houses behind them looked even worse. The money being spent in the city centre rarely made its way further out towards the estates.

  He tried to prepare himself for what was to come; the questions he’d be forced to answer, the information he couldn’t yet give them. He turned the file over in his hand, the sparseness of the details provided to him even more annoying than usual.

  A uniformed officer was loitering outside the house, which at least gave him respite before entering.

  Mark pulled his coat tighter around him as he crossed the road and pushed open the gate.

  ‘PC Olsen, right?’ Mark said, recognising the officer blowing into her hands as she stood outside the front door. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Can’t complain, sir,’ Olsen replied.

  ‘What’s the score then?’

  ‘I was asked to come and keep an eye on the family until you arrived,’ Olsen replied, her hands now resting at her sides. ‘They’re still in a bit of a state. Came out here for a break. The mum is pretty messed up.’

  ‘Who else is in there?’

  ‘The mum’s brother, and two kids. Well, I say kids. Both teenagers.’

  Mark took another look behind him at the street, wondering what type of family he was about to encounter. His days in uniform hadn’t been exactly fun when dealing with anyone who lived within a mile or so of this address.

  ‘Well, I’d best go in and speak to them,’ Mark said, taking a deep breath and raising his eyebrows at Olsen. She gave him a tight smile and stepped to one side.

  Mark moved past her and pushed open the front door, which she’d helpfully left open for him. A flight of stairs led almost directly from the front door with a short hallway behind it, which led towards the back of the house. He could hear the voices from what he presumed was the living room to his right. Quiet murmurs for now, which relieved him a little.

  ‘Hello, I’m Detective Constable Mark Flynn,’ he said as he entered the room. Announcing his presence. Taking control of the situation, just as he’d been taught. He scanned around quickly, marking out the missing girl’s mother and addressing her directly. ‘I’ve taken over the investigation into your daughter’s disappearance. Did PC Olsen tell you I was coming?’

  The mother looked him over and then towards the mountainous man currently leaning against the mantelpiece. He stepped forward towards Mark, hands thrust into his jeans’ pockets. ‘Have you found her yet or what?’

  Mark glanced at the man, deciding against offering him a handshake. Instead, he turned back to the mother and shook his head. ‘Not yet, but I want to reassure you everything is being done to find your daughter. I’ve only just taken over the case, but I can tell you we’re doing everything we can for Emily.’

  ‘Well, that’s not been much so far,’ the man-mountain muttered under his breath. He shaped to say something, but the mother stopped him with a raised hand.

  ‘It’s okay, Rich, no need for that right now. I’m Julie, Emily’s mum,’ she said, standing up slowly from the sofa and extending a hand towards Mark. He took it in his, closing the other hand over the top of it and smiling thinly at her.

  ‘I wish we were meeting in better circumstances,’ Mark said, waiting for her to break the hold. ‘Tell me, is there anything you need right now?’

  ‘Just Emily,’ Julie Burns said, letting go of Mark’s hand and dropping back down onto the sofa. Mark had read as much as he possibly could before driving over. He would have guessed at her being older than forty-six, but then the past two days had probably aged her a few years. The vertical lines on her upperlip were more pronounced than they might have been the previous week. More cigarettes being smoked, the wearing away at her skin taking hold. Her dark brown hair was looking limp, lifeless. Grey roots beginning to show on top. He used the pause in the conversation to pass a comforting look to the two other people in the room as he moved nearer to Julie – one boy, one woman. The boy looked to be in his mid-teens, the other around the same age as Emily.

  Her twin, according to the notes, but having glanced at the photographs of the missing Emily, there wasn’t much resemblance.

  ‘What do we call you then?’ the man in the room said, his voice now slightly softer, but with the edge of someone who was used to dealing with police and not used to being ignored. His shaven head revealed old scars, a tattoo crawling up the back of his neck and around to the front. A faded, black tribal design. ‘Shouldn’t you be out there looking for our Emily anyway?’

  ‘Call me Mark, if you like. I can promise you there’s uniformed officers looking for her as we speak. I’m here to get as much information as possible to assist that search. And to make sure you’re all informed as much as possible.’

  He gave a grunt as a reply, but the man didn’t move. Still trying to stare him down, even though Mark wasn’t even looking in his direction.

  ‘Is there any news at all?’

  Mark turned towards Emily’s twin sister as she spoke, his mind conjuring up the name he had learned only minutes earlier. ‘You must be Stephanie.’

  ‘Yes, well done for remembering my name,’ she replied, rolling her eyes theatrically. ‘Can you answer my question now?’

  There was a brief moment when Mark wanted to let the disarming smile he wore slip from his face. He didn’t blink, taking a
seat in the only available spot, next to the mother.

  ‘We made a small discovery of interest this morning,’ Mark said, leaning forward and talking to the twin now. He swivelled a little to face the mother, too. ‘Now, it’s not her, but it could be the beginning of finding her, okay?’

  He told them what had been found, expecting to receive more reaction than he did. He ploughed on, choosing his words carefully as he did so. As he finished into silence, he cleared his throat and gave them his final platitude. ‘We’re doing all we can to make sure Emily is found safe and well.’

  ‘It’s been too long for that,’ the other sibling said, quietly. Charlie, Mark thought. The younger sibling. From the look on his face, he was smack bang in the throes of adolescence and all that went with it. His face wore a well-rehearsed scowl, which Mark imagined was a permanent feature. He remembered that age well. Sometimes, it didn’t feel like all that long had passed since he was angry at the world and all it contained. Not knowing it would pass soon enough. The lad didn’t look like the popular type. He remembered being like that once, too.

  He’d soon learn, Mark thought.

  ‘Don’t say things like that,’ Julie replied, almost spitting the words out. ‘It’s only been a couple of days.’

  ‘Yeah, well, we all know it’s not looking good, right? She wouldn’t just go off on her own for days. You can barely get her out of the house at the best of times. Plus, the fact that she dropped out of college and didn’t even tell us.’

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ Mark said, sensing he was losing control of the conversation before it had even really begun. He hadn’t read all the report – what there was of it – but had read about Emily dropping out and not telling her family. ‘It’s best we all remain calm and see what we can find out in the meantime. I’ve gone over the notes so far, but the more things you can tell me, the better.’

  He was greeted by near silence, only broken by the mum chewing on the end of her wool jumper like a small child.

  This would be his life until the missing girl was found, Mark thought. This family. This dodgy estate. This misery.

  He made a decision to split them up, talk to them individually, rather than letting them continue to snipe at each other. It was probably in a handbook somewhere that it is better to do it that way, but he allowed himself a mental pat on the back for thinking of it now.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Mark said, breaking the growing discontent brewing in the small living room. ‘Stephanie, do you want to show me where things are in the kitchen?’

  He waited for her to stand up and make her way out of the room before following close behind her.

  Mark followed the twin into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway as she busied herself filling a kettle. He’d only seen a picture of Emily Burns, but he could see major differences between the pair. Differing hair colours – Emily a brunette, Stephanie blonde, albeit from a bottle, he guessed. Life looked like it had been kinder to Stephanie, it seemed. Which made him think of the nineteen-year-old Emily, possibly living in her twin’s shadow.

  ‘Sugar?’

  ‘Two please,’ Mark replied, watching as she removed cups from a cupboard on the wall. ‘Should I be worried about the rather large bloke in the living room? He looks ready to take my head off at any moment.’

  ‘Uncle Rich is harmless really,’ Stephanie replied, still facing away from him. ‘His bark is worse than his bite.’

  ‘Good to know. Although I don’t think I want to test that theory.’

  Mark turned away from her and looked at the small kitchen. There was a patch of darker paint in three corners of the room, damp or mould patches that had been painted over, he guessed. It was a perpetual problem for houses in the area, where landlords were more interested in the money appearing in their bank accounts every month than the state of the houses they were letting out. Other than that, the place was much cleaner than he imagined others in the road would be. A small fridge-freezer was closest to the door, silver and covered in various paintings and drawings. All done by the children when they’d been younger, he suspected.

  ‘Do you think you’ll find her alive?’

  Mark didn’t speak for a moment, working out the best way to answer a question he’d been asked countless times before. Stephanie finally turned to face him, hands braced against the counter behind her.

  ‘We never give up hope until there’s evidence otherwise,’ Mark said, hoping it would be enough. ‘People go missing every day. Hundreds of thousands a year. Most of them turn up within days – that’s why you don’t hear about it more.’

  ‘But some don’t turn up at all, do they?’

  ‘Very rarely. Emily might be found at any moment. Don’t give up on her just yet.’

  Stephanie smiled thinly at him, then turned back to where the kettle was boiling away. ‘I hadn’t given up, not at all. Not until you said about the blood. I’m just preparing myself for the worst. That’s all.’

  Mark had been waiting for one of the family to say the ‘B’ word. He had been careful not to use it himself, but it was quite obvious what he’d meant. The fact they hadn’t been able to positively identify the blood as belonging to Emily yet meant he could still pretend it wasn’t hers. ‘We don’t know anything for sure right now, other than that it’s blood.’

  ‘That copper that was here before you,’ Stephanie said, her voice betraying none of the worry or hurt Mark knew she’d be carrying inside her. ‘She said they’d tracked her on CCTV then you tell us that blood was found there. Would be some coincidence if it wasn’t hers.’

  Mark’s phone buzzed in his pocket, as if it had been waiting for the perfect time to interrupt. He excused himself and checked it. A text message, with a simple and short meaning.

  Same blood type.

  He tried not to react, but felt his stomach drop as he placed his phone away. DNA results wouldn’t be back for another day or so, but Mark didn’t think they’d turn up anything shocking.

  It would be Emily’s blood.

  Then, they would continue looking for a body. Probably wait for the river to hopefully wash it back to shore. If it was suicide.

  A thought jumped into his mind, which he quickly tried to forget.

  Please be a suicide. I don’t want it to be a murder.

  ‘I’ve seen people come back,’ Mark said finally, watching as Stephanie lifted the kettle and began pouring. ‘I’ve dealt with many families over the years who think there’s no hope. There’s always hope. Nothing is over until it’s over.’

  ‘And then the real battle starts,’ Stephanie replied, handing him a mug that had probably been new when he was starting out in the police service. He swivelled it in his hand so the chipped rim faced away from his mouth. Tried not to think of what the inside of it looked like before the liquid was added.

  ‘So, you’re just going to be asking us more questions then?’ Stephanie said, stirring milk into the rest of the cups on the counter. ‘Seeing if any of us slip up and tell you she’s in the attic. I’ve seen these stories before. You always think it’s the family… if she hasn’t done something to herself.’

  ‘I’m only going to be trying to find Emily,’ Mark replied, enjoying the warmth of the cup in his hand. ‘No one is under suspicion at the moment. If you need to tell me anything, that’s what I’m here for. I’ll listen to everything you’ve got to say – any worries, or if you have your own theories. And to learn about Emily.’

  ‘Sounds like a hiding to nothing to me. No offence.’

  ‘None taken,’ Mark said, waving his hand away at the remark. ‘I know what you mean. It might seem small, but that’s often the thing that provides the answers. It’s my job to recognise that tiny bit of information.’

  ‘And what if she’s never found?’

  ‘That’s something we don’t need to think about now.’

  And he hoped they never would.

  Six

  Mark asked Stephanie questions he was s
ure had already been asked. He guessed she would be used to going over the same thing over and over by now, but it made it no less awkward.

  ‘I don’t know much of anything,’ Stephanie said, as he made notes while she spoke. ‘Nothing that would be of any help, anyway. I’ve been away the last few months. Second year at uni. First one in the family to go.’

  ‘Emily didn’t go?’

  Stephanie shook her head. ‘Don’t think she was ever interested in going to university.’

  ‘Did no one suspect she had dropped out?’

  ‘No, my mum was as shocked as anyone. Mum works now – she must be a better liar than we thought. I didn’t really talk to her about it anyway, so I had no idea. Charlie… well, he does his own thing.’

  ‘What are you studying?’

  ‘Sociology and criminology,’ Stephanie replied, then caught the look on his face and rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to start eulogising on the criminal mind to you. I don’t know enough to start doing that yet.’

  ‘Feel free to tell me anything you like. I’m happy to listen.’

  ‘You’re quite young to be a detective,’ Stephanie said, looking away after a few seconds of staring into his eyes. ‘I was expecting someone older. More weathered.’

  ‘Give it a couple of years and you won’t recognise me.’

  ‘Let’s hope you find Emily before then.’

  Mark lowered his head, trying to think of something to say to that. Failed. Stephanie eyed him for a second or two more, then picked up two cups and walked past him into the hallway. He waited a moment, then picked up the other cup on the counter and followed her through, mentally logging all the questions he hadn’t asked yet. He paused at the photographs on the wall, seeing Julie’s three children in various stages of their lives. It seemed that the twins had been dressed and groomed identically throughout their early childhood, but diverged once they became teenagers. As he moved past the pictures, crossing each year of their existence as he did so, he could see the obvious similarities between the sisters fade, as they took different paths. Emily, putting on weight and looking darker-eyed with each school year, Stephanie going the opposite way.