‘He’s doing my head in and I’m not even there!’ I laughed.
‘Honestly, Karen, if you were, you’d be climbing the walls.’
‘Is he doing his usual walk around like he’s in charge?’
‘You guessed it.’
‘What a dickhead.’
‘And as usual with Rawlinson, the size of the case alters the size of his ego, so you can imagine, with something like this…’
‘Oh God, is he being a bigger prick than ever?’
‘If only you could see him,’ Howard laughed. ‘I tried to explain that we were right about the bridge, and he countered with saying that the force was out searching bridges on the fringe of the city, and the incident happened close to the centre.’
‘How were we supposed to know which fucking bridge? He’s so blind – doesn’t he see that we got inside his head, we understand how The Host is thinking?’
‘You know Rawlinson can’t see past his own self-righteousness. However, Bradshaw agrees, although he would never say it. So he sanctioned a dozen officers to look around the city’s lakes and river for a train symbol.’
‘A dozen, that’s nowhere near enough.’
‘You know how it is, though – the paradox of a growing city but a shrinking force because of budget cuts. And he says there isn’t any proof.’
‘What about the “take life where life began” line, surely he must agree it’s a good fit?’
‘Is it?’
‘Civilised life began on the banks of rivers, we stopped being hunter-gatherers and settled because of them. We grew crops, herded cattle, starting with Mesopotamia – Christ, even Peterborough exists because of the river. He’s telling us it’s the river, life where life began.’
I stopped; Howard just stared at me. I frowned back. ‘What?’
‘How do you know all this stuff?’
‘I wasn’t very popular at school.’
Howard smiled, sipped his pint. ‘I’m guessing we aren’t here – in a pub close to the river – for a social drink, are we?’
‘No.’
‘I figured.’
‘Let’s hope it’s not a waste of your time.’
‘If we can work out just one piece of this puzzle together, it won’t be.’
‘Christ, gushy.’ I smiled. ‘Come on.’
Draining our pints, we left and began to walk along the river’s edge, the path lit with soft blue floor LEDs that made it seem peaceful and safe. Romantic, even.
Neither of us spoke as we moved. We scanned the edges of the path, searching for any sign of disturbance, the train stencil, or even better, The Host himself lying in wait. On the opposite side of the river, a man walked by, hands in his pockets, lost in his own thoughts. We both considered him, but he was too broad to be our guy. He moved like he was in a different world, not like someone who was about to commit a horrendous crime. Once the man was gone, we kept looking, but as far as we could see, there was nothing else to draw our eye.
After a mile I stopped and asked if we should turn back. Howard shook his head. ‘No, let’s keep walking.’
With the pub far behind us, and the soft lighting of the path having faded out a hundred feet back, we came across a thick line of trees hugging a bend in the river. We both froze when we heard something from within. At first, I thought it was an animal, but as it moved once more, I knew it was something bigger. A twig snapped close by and Howard stepped to my side and reached for his Maglite.
‘Who’s there?’ Howard asked. ‘It’s the police – step out of the treeline.’
A person cleared the trees and raised their hands as they were blinded by the torch. We both sighed; it wasn’t him but a homeless person, who was taking shelter in the quiet refuge of the riverbed. I knew lots of the city’s homeless slept down here, but in the moment, I had completely forgotten. The Karen Holt from before Grayson James would have made that link instantly. Sam was right after all. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Apologising to the girl, Howard lowered his torch, but told her she needed to keep a low profile as there was a bad person on the loose. She nodded, still very much startled.
‘Have you got anywhere to go?’ he asked, and the girl shook her head.
‘I’m fine here,’ she said quietly.
‘OK, be careful.’
‘Thank you.’
As we watched the girl slip back into the treeline, she gave me a look, a flash. I couldn’t work out what the look meant. Leaving the girl behind, we continued to walk. I couldn’t help dwell on the fact of how sad it was that people ended up alone like her. The girl was just a kid. Just like the kid from the Chinese. I turned back to try to see her. She had gone, lost in the trees that she no doubt knew her way around.
‘You OK?’
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.’ I didn’t say my thoughts aloud. The girl might just look similar, and at the moment, I couldn’t trust my memory to serve me properly, not when it imprinted the face of Grayson James on most things…
We continued looking in vain for something to indicate he was along this stretch of the river, and with each passing minute my dread that I had got it wrong intensified. I stopped to check my watch; it was four minutes to nine. The Host was about to strike again, and we had failed to stop him.
The Fifth Game
As soon as the figure approached, they knew. Perhaps, with their age and their bodies slowing, their minds had also slowed. He had assumed the sight of him would cause panic but instead, they seemed to calmly assess the situation, the flight or fight instinct inside them already dying. The Host didn’t need to say much. He instructed them to tie up their dog, and there was a quiet resignation as he informed them of the rules. Then they exchanged a look, a weight hanging in the space between the unsaid words. They understood. He ushered them into the water and wound the clock. It was the easiest Game yet to set, but the one that would probably create the most devastating impact. If one killed the other, then everything good would be dead. The proof would be irrefutable thanks to the GoPro mounted on his helmet to capture it all. No one would be able to deny that they were all capable of wrong, given the opportunity. No one.
‘The clock is ticking,’ he said, as the pair stood, motionless in the knee-deep freezing water.
‘I won’t do it,’ the woman said, but not to The Host, she said it looking into the eyes of her husband.
‘I can’t do it,’ her husband said, his attention towards The Host.
‘Then I will be forced to go after those you love,’ The Host said quietly, turning to walk away.
‘No, wait!’ the man shouted. ‘Wait.’
The Host paused. His bluff was working. Turning to face the pair, he nodded towards the clock. ‘Tick tock.’
‘Maggie, we have a daughter, we have grandchildren. They need one of us.’
‘John?’
‘Christie needs you. Our daughter isn’t like you, she is like me, she needs help, she needs support, if you go, she will be lost, because I will be lost.’
‘She will—’
John took his wife by the shoulders and squeezed her tight. She fell into his embrace and he stroked her hair and whispered in her ear. The Host stepped forward, hoping to capture the words on the GoPro microphone so that he might enhance the sound later. Neither noticed him approach the water’s edge, neither cared.
The Host checked the clock.
Two minutes thirty-one seconds.
John leant back from Maggie’s embrace, kissed her tenderly on her head. Both had tears in their eyes. John nodded, Maggie didn’t. John lowered himself into the water, struggling to catch his breath as the lake enclosed his chest and squeezed his lungs. The Host looked away – for a moment John Stroud reminded him of his mother when they went into the dyke in their car. The cold snapping at their breath, his mother unable to speak clearly because of it. He heard her try to tell him to open his door and escape, he heard her try to reassure him when she knew it was impossible. He remembered the song that had started on the radio, hi
s song, telling them there was no need to run and hide. They listened, accepted, and he held her hand for the last time as the water engulfed them.
He shook it off, now was not the time, he had to be present to honour her. He turned back to face his Players and watched the water line draw level with John Stroud’s chin.
‘Maggie, it’s going to be all right.’
‘John, I don’t want to do this.’
‘Maggie, you have to. You’re stronger than me, you need to be the one that stays. You can look after our girl, help her raise our beautiful grandchildren.’
Maggie didn’t move, so John reached forward and took her hands. He kissed her palms, told her he loved her and placed them on the top of his head, before submerging himself under the water.
Chapter Forty-One
9.11 p.m.
As Howard’s phone rang, both of us knew what the call would be about before he answered.
‘DS Howard Carlson. Hello, guv.’
I watched Howard, desperate to hear what was being said. He looked at me, shook his head.
‘Where did she call from?’ he asked, and I watched his expression change from something accepting and sad to something charged, ready for a fight. He didn’t say anything, nor did he say goodbye when he hung up his phone, but instead he ran in the direction we had been walking for the past hour. I sprang into a run to catch up, but his years of service as a soldier threw a switch in his head, and it was hard for me to draw level.
‘Howard, what is it?’ I shouted between breaths. He turned and slowed so I could catch up. ‘The call came in from the rowing lake.’
He didn’t need to say any more. The lake was only about half a mile from where we were, running parallel to the river. He might still be in the area. Watching the aftermath. I found that on the rest of the run, I could keep up just fine.
As we cleared the narrow tree-lined path into the huge expanse of the rowing lake and its nearby club, I struggled to see anyone, victims or Host. All I could hear was the incessant whimpering of a dog somewhere. However, Howard spotted someone straight away.
‘There—’ He pointed to the far side of the black water and then I could just about discern a figure on the edge, sitting down. As we approached, I could see it was a woman, one I placed at around my mother’s age, sitting perfectly still, her hands resting on her lap, both feet in the freezing water. Behind, the dog barked a threat, wanting desperately to protect their owner. Sensing I should take the lead, Howard stopped a few feet back. I dropped onto one knee, my breathing heavy.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked delicately, taking off my coat and wrapping it around the woman, who was clearly in shock. The woman didn’t respond. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ Again, no response. The woman didn’t even blink, just stared out into the frigid blackness. I followed her gaze but couldn’t see anything. ‘My name is Karen. Can you tell me your name?’
Again, the woman didn’t reply.
‘Are you the one who called 999?’
The woman nodded.
‘Can you tell me where the other person is?’
The woman lowered her head and began to sob.
‘Please, we want to help you, where is the other person? Or the man who made you do it, is he still around?’
‘No,’ the woman managed between sobs.
‘OK, that’s OK. Are you hurt at all?’
‘No.’
‘Good, that’s good.’
‘Karen,’ Howard said from behind, and when I looked, he was pointing out across the water. In the distance, there was a shape. The woman began to wail. Before I could say anything, Howard barrelled in, wading chest-deep to grab the man who was floating face down. Dragging him back to the edge, he heaved him onto the concrete and began to administer CPR. I asked the woman to move her legs from the water, worried that hypothermia would kick in, and when she didn’t respond, I scooped under her arms and dragged her back. Howard needed space to work, and I wanted to avert her gaze, in case he wasn’t successful. Sitting her down, the sound of sirens descended on our ears. Howard told me to go, not breaking his rhythm as he administered chest compressions.
‘No, I’m not leaving her.’
‘She will be fine. You’ll get into trouble.’
‘No, Howard. I’m not leaving her.’
With thirty compressions done, Howard blew air into the man’s mouth, so his chest expanded. There was no sign of him coming back, but he didn’t stop and began another thirty compressions. I did all I could to warm the woman, who was shivering violently as the police cars screamed to a halt around us. Several officers charged in, one removing a foil blanket to wrap around the woman. Another two ran to help Howard. I stepped back, allowing people to do their work, and as I did, I bumped into Rawlinson.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Trying to help,’ I said, not backing down.
Rawlinson opened his mouth to say something, but before he could spill an unpleasant syllable, Bradshaw approached.
‘DI Holt, Surprised to see you here,’ he said, eyeing me closely.
‘Sir, I was walking along the river.’
‘You’re not supposed to be involved in this investigation.’
‘I was with Howard when he got the call. We’d been for a drink and were only half a mile away.’
‘Half a mile?’
‘Yes, sir. When you called Howard, we both just ran, on instinct. I had to help.’
‘Of course, I’d do the same.’
‘Thank you, sir. I’m sorry.’
Rawlinson started to mobilise a cordon area. ‘The bastard might still be here, so split off into pairs and find him,’ he shouted, but still he hadn’t moved, an eye firmly fixed on me. ‘Sir, I want her off this now.’
‘DI Rawlinson, do not forget your place,’ Bradshaw said, shutting him down.
Nodding, Rawlinson began to move towards the shaking woman, charging in for answers, even though it was obvious she had completely slipped into shock and would likely not be able to give them.
Once he was gone, Bradshaw turned back to me. ‘Karen, you’re not allowed to be here, we have lots of people. I need you to go.’
‘But, sir?’
‘Be in my office at nine tomorrow, is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Now go home, Karen, you look terrible,’ he said softly, examining my eye.
‘But, sir, I could help work the scene.’
‘Go home. That’s an order. And for God’s sake, don’t let anyone see you, you’re in enough shit as it is.’
‘Sir, I…’
‘Just go.’
I was angry – at being reprimanded for wanting to do my job, at the IOPC investigation for taking so long and leaving this black cloud over my head. I was angry at Grayson James for resisting arrest. I was furious with myself, too. I wanted to help, and because of what I had done, I couldn’t. As I walked away I saw Howard watching the paramedics work on the man he had dragged out of the lake. He caught my eye and he shook his head.
We had got there too late.
Chapter Forty-Two
The Host
10.52 p.m.
The Host plugged the GoPro into the cable to upload the footage. What he had captured and what the world would soon see was definitive proof there was no good anymore, that anyone could kill. People clung to the idea that everyone was special, that life was special, but it was all bullshit. All of it. And after people saw this video, they would know the truth. If a woman could kill her husband of thirty-one years…
After he released the video, with the details of the next Game, he would create a new Twitter poll to see what they were thinking. If it came back with the truth, everyone would kill, he wouldn’t play the next Game, he would disappear, knowing the world forever be changed. As he waited for the upload to complete, he picked up two more pipe cleaners, lined them up, folded them in half, twisted the top and the middle, fashioned arms and legs, and introduced Maggie to the othe
rs on the shelf. There were now four friends for the original.
Behind him, the door opened, and in stepped the girl. She was late.
‘Well?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, she was there.’
‘And you’re sure it was the same woman who spoke to you outside the Chinese?’
‘Pretty sure.’
‘How sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ she said.
The Host sat back, sighed. He suspected he knew exactly who the woman was. ‘Did you get a good look at her face?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was there anything noticeable about it?’ he asked, not wanting to guide her answer.
‘She had a really bad bruise on her left eye.’
‘It’s her,’ he said quietly, as an image sprang to life on his computer behind him – showing the video frame from the moment he pressed record before tonight’s Game.
‘It’s who?’
‘It’s the woman I saw on the bridge last night. The one who nearly caught me. It’s a police officer, a detective.’
‘A copper! Shit, do you think she knows who we are?’ the girl said, panicking.
‘Calm down, of course she doesn’t know who we are.’
He smiled. She didn’t have a clue who they were, but he knew everything about her. Her full name, address, police record, bank details. Her private life. It seemed he was closer to DI Karen Holt than he’d first thought.
‘What if she recognises me from the Chinese?’
‘You were posing as a homeless girl. She wouldn’t have seen you, no one sees the homeless.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘I just am.’
‘But…’
‘Stop panicking. You know it does no good,’ he said quietly, turning his attention to his screen to begin editing.
The girl watched over his shoulder as he worked, editing the footage to present a clean, shortened version of the events. She was expecting to see unadulterated animal violence, like in the first, second and third videos. What she saw was something entirely different. It was heartbreaking, the way the man whispered in the ear of his wife as he held her, the way her hands were gently placed on the top of his head, her cries as she held him under. She had to look away, her attention fixed on The Host’s face. She wanted him to be as moved as she was, she wanted there to be a flicker of regret. But he remained neutral.
The Players Page 17
