The Game

by Luca Veste

  Mark lowered his head, knowing it was done. He wondered how they had found out, what he had left behind as a clue. There was nothing in his pockets when he’d been arrested; he’d left everything in the car.

  The car?

  Next to him, the solicitor shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. Clearly he hadn’t been informed of what was happening. And DI Hicks was taking his time in dropping the hammer.

  Let him, Mark thought. He was getting ever closer to the twenty-four-hour mark. He considered the words he’d heard over the phone – the robotic voice and its stilted cadence. The almost palpable violence and anger in something that couldn’t express emotion.

  Mark was tired. His thoughts mudded up and crashing into each other. A robotic voice couldn’t do those things, he thought.

  He realised no one had spoken for almost half a minute; both detectives stared at him from across the table. They were waiting for him to say something.

  They were going to have to do better than that.

  ‘Why were you there?’

  ‘Because that’s where I had to be,’ Mark replied, staring back at DI Hicks. Daring him to maintain eye contact with him. He wondered if he thought he was crazy or if he believed Mark had actually done something to Holly Edwards. He supposed he’d find out soon enough. ‘That’s the Game.’

  ‘See, now we know who you are, we got the chance to do a little digging.’

  ‘I’m sorry, can I just interject?’ the solicitor said, interrupting for the first time in what felt like forever. ‘Could you tell me what’s going on here?’

  All three detectives turned to the weedy little man. He lowered his head in response and stayed quiet.

  ‘As I was saying,’ DI Hicks continued, giving the solicitor one last look of annoyance, ‘we’ve done a bit of digging. Turns out you weren’t even in the country for two of the people you claim to have murdered. Also, Steven Hallet died the same night you were on duty in Liverpool. So, unless you have a special transporter you’d like to tell us about, why don’t you start telling us the truth?’

  Mark swallowed, his mouth dry. There was a horrible taste in his mouth. ‘What time is it now?’

  DI Hicks glanced at his fellow detective, who looked down at her wrist. ‘Six-fifteen p.m.,’ she said, then went back to writing on her notepad.

  ‘I need another hour.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ DI Hicks said, shaking his head. He reached across and turned off the recorder, the numbered lights pausing in place. ‘Look, we’ve seen this before. Both of us. We understand…’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Mark said, his shoulders slumping down as he waited for the inevitable.

  ‘We’ve spoken to your friends in Liverpool,’ DI Hicks continued, as if Mark hadn’t interrupted. ‘They’ve told us how much strain you’ve been under. It’s understandable. We just don’t understand how you found her body. What you know about it. We don’t think you killed her. So, how did you find her?’

  Mark sighed deeply, feeling it all fall away from him. He could only hope that it had been enough. He could stay silent for another hour, but he didn’t think there would be much use. They had already decided what they were going to do.

  They thought they would be helping him. A fellow detective.

  ‘Information from John Redwood led me there,’ Mark said quietly, thinking about how to word it. ‘I’m guessing he didn’t talk.’

  ‘Can’t say I’ve ever heard the name mentioned.’

  John’s mother hadn’t called, as he’d instructed. As he’d expected her to. He shook his head at believing she would. Based on an assumption about where she lived. He should have known that her bond to her son would be greater. He wondered how long it would have taken to just do that small thing, call DS Cavanagh. Even if that meant Natasha would be dead already.

  If she wasn’t all along and he had just been played with.

  The dice had been loaded. The cards marked. He never had a shot.

  ‘What happens next?’

  ‘You tell us who John Redwood is, for starters.’

  Mark explained how he had found the boy. His story. He could see the doubt in their faces, the pity. They seemed to accept enough of it to not push him too far.

  ‘But, why have you pretended to kill eight people, Mark?’ DI Hicks asked, concern dripping from every syllable. ‘What’s made you do that?’

  There wasn’t an easy answer. Not without leaving him with zero chance of finding Natasha alive. He would tell them all once he found her. Alive or dead. For now, he had to shift his plan a little. That was all. Even with so little sleep in the previous few days, his mind was still working sharply. Connecting things together, making clear decisions.

  ‘I guess, finding Holly Edwards like that, something just… snapped,’ Mark replied, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes for a second or two. ‘I thought she’d be alive. That was how I’d redeem myself. Prove I was right about those people being mixed up in something no one was willing to accept.’

  ‘The Game.’

  Mark nodded slowly, already planning his first move, when they eventually released him. There were things he could do. Still time. It’s unlikely that he would be out there, watching to see if he was released. Whoever he was, he would be sitting back and waiting. Watching the news or something similar.

  Keeping Natasha captive.

  If she was still alive, of course.

  She had to be, Mark thought. Hope is a dangerous thing, but he needed to hold on to it.

  ‘And how do you feel now?’ DS Lee said, her soft Lancastrian tones reaching over the table and giving him comfort.

  ‘Tired,’ Mark replied, telling the truth. He could feel the weight of exhaustion bearing down on him. Determination battling against it. ‘Sorry, too, if I’m honest. I’ve wasted your time. I guess I just need to sleep. Forget about all of this for a while.’

  ‘There’s nothing we could charge you with… other than making false statements and wasting police resources,’ DI Hicks said, closing over the folder he’d brought in with him for the last time. ‘I think we both know how well they’d hold up. I want to tell you something though: if you were on my team, I’d bounce you out so fast, you wouldn’t know your arse from your feet. If – and I don’t think you need me to tell you, it’s a pretty damn big if – they let you back in MCU, you need to get some help, mate. Cracking when you’ve found a body is the last thing you should be doing. Going off on your own is fine and dandy if you want to be a fake cop on a TV show, but this is the real world. You never do that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Mark replied, leaving off the rest of the sentence. For the lecture, Einstein. This was how it worked for them. If he’d been a normal person off the street, he would have been charged with every single thing they could throw at him. For him, the rules were different. Some part of him had known that, he thought. That’s why he’d been willing to at least try it.

  He knew he wouldn’t be left in jail to rot on remand.

  ‘Your car is in our car park,’ DI Hicks said, standing up and folding his arms across his chest. ‘We found your keys in the wheel arch. You should be more careful where you leave them. They’ll be given back to you, but I’ve asked someone to come and pick you up and take you back to Liverpool. They’re going to check you over down there.’

  Mark continued to sit, brushing his hands through his hair. ‘Right, good.’

  ‘You can wait downstairs if you want, or up here with us.’

  ‘I think I’d rather wait out of sight, if that’s okay. Feel a bit embarrassed, now my head’s started coming back into focus.’

  Mark waited, the shared glance between the two detectives, the quiet nod. He followed them out of the room, leaving the solicitor in there, probably still trying to work out what had happened in the past twelve or so hours. He couldn’t be bothered trying to explain anything to him.

  Once he was downstairs, he knew it was just a matter of time.

  The keys were in his pock
et. Digging into his thigh. DS Lee stayed with him, any attempts at small talk with her being quickly dismissed.

  He knew he had an hour to do something. In the end, it was twenty minutes before the opening came.

  DS Lee got a phone call, excused herself and walked away a little. Mark didn’t hesitate – approached the guy on the front desk and smiled. ‘You don’t smoke, do you?’

  ‘Afraid to say I do,’ the guy said, overhead light shining off his bald head. He could carry small children in the bags under his eyes. ‘Been trying to quit, but I’m guessing you know how it is.’

  ‘Can I nick one off you?’

  Less than a minute later, he was outside. Finding the car park, then his car.

  As easy as that.

  Fifty-Three

  It didn’t take long before he realised he didn’t have a plan. Not one that was further than getting away from the police station in his own car. Rather than waiting for some no-mark to turn up from Liverpool. Judging him silently all the way back.

  He didn’t want to know what could have been in store for him. Instant assessments, mental health checks.

  Mark didn’t need any of that.

  Didn’t want any of that. He needed to do something first. So they would realise he’d been right. So they would welcome him back.

  So his life wouldn’t be over.

  He drove quickly, hoping they wouldn’t follow him soon. Maybe give up entirely and let other officers deal with him. He wondered what their thinking had been anyway. To just allow him out of custody, given what had been discovered. Then he thought of DI Bennett, and the way she had treated him. Kid gloves. She had put in a call, Mark thought. Talked them out of doing what they should have. Sent DS Cavanagh to pick him up, probably. They would try to find him, he decided. Would be out there now, on the unfamiliar roads he was travelling, trying to track him down. That couldn’t happen. He needed some time. Some space.

  He needed to think. To find Natasha.

  Mark drove without direction, his phone sitting safely in the false box underneath his seat. That meant he didn’t know where he was going, but that was okay right then. Any direction would do. He’d accomplished a lot in those minutes before they’d arrived at that garage.

  * * *

  He drove for fifteen minutes, taking turns at random, waiting to see the perfect place he could stop and take a breath. Formulate his next move. His mind was working overtime, trying to come up with a plan. Something, anything, that could work.

  In the distance, he saw a small clearing at the side of a country road. He turned into it, parking up and turning the engine off. Outside, it was pitch black. The surroundings plunged into darkness, once his headlights and dashboard ceased illuminating the way.

  Mark put his hand underneath the seat and removed his phone. Switched it on and keyed his passcode into it. It seemed to take an age to come on, then boot up. He couldn’t stay in one spot for very long if they were out looking for him, but he should have enough time, he thought. They could track his phone easily enough, but he doubted that would be their first port of call. That would come later.

  There were no notifications. No missed calls or voicemails. No robotic voice to tell him what the next steps would be. Just the same stream of messages he’d had earlier, from DS Cavanagh.

  Nothing.

  When he’d pulled out the phone, his hand had brushed against something. At that point, he’d only been thinking about retrieving the phone, but now his mind reminded him of it.

  The laptop. John’s laptop.

  He didn’t think twice, reaching underneath and taking it out. He prayed it would still have a little battery left, enough for him to see the forum John had on screen earlier. There had to be a clue there, something that could lead him to wherever he might be. A little kernel of information he could use.

  Mark opened the laptop, the screen coming to life. The background image was some kind of picture, the date and time in the foreground, the battery life meter in the bottom right-hand corner. It wasn’t in percentage, but he could see it was almost out.

  He had to work fast.

  He pressed the space bar, hoping that the screen saver would disappear if he did so.

  It did.

  Replaced by a password box.

  ‘No…’

  He tried everything he knew to get past it, but failed at every turn. It was no use. There was no option to bypass it, no cancel button to log in as a guest, no clues to the password. Mark began inputting random words. Strings of numbers. Anything he could think of, in order to get in.

  Every single one failed.

  Eventually, it stopped allowing him to put them in, locking him out indefinitely. Mark sat back in the driver’s seat, defeated. The screen changed back to its screen saver, the battery icon flashing red.

  He didn’t know what to do next, other than to tell the truth. To have the full weight of Major Crimes helping, and hopefully save Natasha. His career was probably still over, but he had to do something.

  It wouldn’t help, of course; she would be killed so he, whoever he was, wouldn’t be caught. If she wasn’t already dead, he thought. He’d been played with, just like everyone else involved. It was all a game and there were no winners.

  The laptop shifted on his knees, as he dropped his head back onto the seat rest. Screwed his eyes shut and tried to think of a way in which all of this could be sorted out. A way in which he could save his career, save Natasha, stop the madness.

  Nothing came.

  Mark was out of ideas, he realised. He had nothing left. Every single decision he’d made had been wrong. A day spent in custody, pretending to be a serial killer for what looked like no reason. He’d listened to some robotic voice over his phone, decided to follow it, and tried the ridiculous. And for what? To save someone who was probably already dead.

  Mark rubbed against his forehead with the palms of his hands, wondering how long it would take for someone to find him. To take him back to Liverpool in disgrace. He’d only narrowly escaped being charged for something back at the police station. Now he imagined an investigation against him would find plenty of reasons to make sure he was gone from the police for good.

  He had destroyed his life.

  Just like he’d been told to do.

  Maybe he had won then, Mark thought. Probably not in time to save Natasha’s life, but he could claim a victory of sorts. Even if it meant the loss of everything.

  There was nothing left to do, but go back to Liverpool. Face the music, which had been playing him offstage for the past week without him even realising – it was the only logical next step, the only chance at finding Natasha. He dropped his head down and placed a hand on the lid of the laptop to close it, hoping it would at least give the IT techs some information. They could scour it and find exactly what John Redwood had done. He wouldn’t be getting away with it for much longer, even if he had managed to convince his mum not to call DS Cavanagh as he’d asked her to.

  Then he thought of the missed calls and messages he’d been receiving the previous day. He thought about the increasing amount he’d been getting, which meant they knew he had been out there somewhere, doing something he shouldn’t have.

  Which meant John Redwood’s mother had called them. And John had not told the truth. He should have stayed with him, explained to the team what he’d done. He could have gone after that, or at least taken DS Cavanagh with him. Anything other than the giant mistake he’d made instead.

  Natasha had already been taken at that point though, Mark thought. Perhaps The Game had started before he’d even realised.

  The phone started buzzing in his lap. Mark glanced down at it, seeing PRIVATE NUMBER flash up and answered quickly. ‘I tried…’

  ‘Mark, where are you?’

  Mark swore quietly and thought about hanging up on DI Bennett straight away. Instead, he responded. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I was hoping you’d tell us.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mar
k replied, swiping a hand across his face and feeling the tiredness enveloping his skin. ‘I thought I was doing the right thing.’

  ‘You need to tell me where you are,’ DI Bennett said, a catch in her voice. Mark began to frown. There was something she wasn’t saying. ‘We know about Natasha.’

  ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘We don’t know where she is. Her mum has reported her missing and mentioned you. So, I think you can help us with finding her, right?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mark repeated, still hearing something unfamiliar in DI Bennett’s voice. ‘I’ve been trying to find her.’

  ‘Mark, why don’t you tell me where you are, so we can sort all of this out. I don’t want to do this over the phone. We’re worried about you.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Mark replied, leaning back into the headrest and closing his eyes. ‘There’s something else though, right? Why you’re so keen to get me back?’

  ‘I think it’s best if we talk about that in person, Mark.’

  ‘You keep saying my name, boss. Why is that?’

  There was a long sigh through the phone, then the sound of something tapping against a desk. ‘What happened last year. What’s happening now. Stephanie’s brother has made a statement…’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Why, Mark? What did you do?’

  Mark couldn’t make sense of what was being said. What he was being asked. Yet there was a sureness to DI Bennett’s tone. As if he was the one who was mistaken, who had forgotten something he’d actually done. ‘I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘Then come in and tell us the truth. What’s happened to Natasha, Mark? Is she safe?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but I had nothing to do with that. I’m trying to find her.’

  ‘You’ve made mistakes, but we can fix them together. I just need you to come back and sit down with us properly. Talk us through what’s happened.’

  Mark made to answer then closed his mouth, realising what she was implying now. They thought he’d completely lost it. Admitted to murders he hadn’t committed because there was something else he’d done wrong. ‘It’s not like what you think,’ he said, after a few more seconds of silence. ‘I was just doing what I thought was best.’