The Players

by Darren O’Sullivan

  Guys, have you seen the newest Karen Holt video? I can’t believe the Seventh Player was her friend. How fucked up is that?!? Is anyone going to the vigil?

  1,482 Comments

  Jack Anderson

  I can’t watch any more of The Host videos but I have seen Karen Holt’s. I cannot believe The Host killed a police officer, and her friend.

  Amanda Belkin

  It’s good you’ve not seen the actual video. It’s horrific, he died saving his partner and child.

  Jack Anderson

  THERE WAS A KID IN THE HOUSE WHEN IT HAPPENED???

  Amanda Belkin

  His daughter.

  Jack Anderson

  Oh fuck. I hope she didn’t see her daddy die

  Amanda Belkin

  From what I can tell, she was in the room.

  Jack Anderson

  The Host is pure evil. Johnny, I’m wasn’t going to go to the vigil, but I am now.

  Johnny Ormo

  Good, I’ll see you there. I hope the rest of you come too.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  11.58 a.m.

  Ten hours and two minutes until the next Game

  Knowing I wouldn’t be allowed to go for myself, all I could do was sit on my sofa, with Sam beside me and Jake in the doorway, and watch the news coverage of Howard’s house. To the rest of the world, this was good television, a melodrama. But actually it was real life.

  With the cameras rolling live, I watched as well-wishers drifted in, slowly at first, then, with each passing minute, the swell of people intensified. I was nervous because we had pinned so much hope on this working. I hadn’t thought about the consequences if it didn’t. We were using Howard’s death to try to lure out the girl. If she came, we could perhaps claim it as a victory. If she didn’t, I knew I’d likely crumble. I could only carry so much guilt.

  More and more people came, with flowers and cards. They came carrying teddy bears for Jess. They lit candles on the footpath outside his house, despite it being in the middle of the day. Some had their placards, #FIGHTTERRORWITHLOVE. A clear message to The Host, again, despite the fact that love was not winning this fight, love was killing, love meant a good man had to hang himself.

  As I watched, more and more came, so many the police had to shut the road and redirect traffic. I tried to keep focused as I needed to concentrate on watching the crowds to see if the girl arrived as I hoped. I prayed she felt compelled to join the crowd, that her guilt was thick and sticky, something she couldn’t shake free from no matter how hard she tried, a quicksand, dragging her down.

  As the report spoke of Howard, a picture of him filled the screen. He was younger, dressed in his pressed uniform, smiling proudly at the camera. My dear, dear friend. I remember when we first met, how we both clicked straight away, how I knew we would be more than work colleagues; I remember the day he told me they were having Jess. How he giggled with joy, like a kid at Christmas.

  He was too good a man to have died in such a horrible way.

  So wrapped up in my memories, I didn’t notice the disturbance in the crowds until Sam nudged me. In the live footage, several of our undercover officers were moving quickly through the crowd. One of them showed her badge, and the crowds gave some space, I saw the girl standing between two officers, their hands on her wrists so she couldn’t run.

  ‘Karen – is that her? Is that the girl?’ Jake asked over my shoulder.

  ‘Yep, that’s the girl.’

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  2.19 p.m.

  Seven hours and forty-one minutes until the next Game

  ‘Well done, Karen, your idea worked perfectly,’ Bradshaw said as I entered his office and shut the door, leaving Jake outside. The other PPO, Kane, had stayed at home with Sam.

  ‘Is she talking?’

  ‘Not yet. I need to be clear, Karen. You shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Why am I then, sir?’

  ‘Because Howard shouldn’t have done what he had to do. This is more than a job, this is personal. For now, the rules are forgotten. You have always been closer to this guy. I need you to help me stop him. The girl is in with her solicitor and social worker.’

  ‘Social worker?’

  ‘You were right, she’s just fifteen.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Yeah, Jesus. Rawlinson is about to go in. I want you to watch the interview.’ Bradshaw and I walked into a small room, adjacent to interview room two and watched through a monitor as Rawlinson entered, sat down and began to interview the girl.

  ‘Hello, I’m Detective Inspector Paul Rawlinson. Can I ask your name?’

  ‘Jessica Thomas.’

  ‘Jessica, do you know why you have been brought in today?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I want you to understand the reasons why, and know we are able to help you. I assume, as you were at the vigil, you know about what is happening in the city?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Can you tell me anything about it?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Up close, I knew I had seen her somewhere other than by the Chinese and by the river. She was a student at the City Academy, Sam’s school. She was the girl who I saw bustle away in the canteen. I should have placed her there and then, if I did, Howard might well still be alive.

  As Rawlinson asked questions, the girl shifted every few seconds in her seat, not knowing what to do with herself. And with each question asked, she looked to her solicitor, begging with her eyes to be guided in the right direction. Rawlinson showed her the footage of herself on the night of the vigil at the overpass and when she signed the statement, he commented on how she was left-handed like The Host in that video.

  Each time he stated a truth, the girl looked for support, but her solicitor didn’t meet her gaze. Instead she was noting everything down, no doubt trying to work on a plea bargain. After an hour, it was agreed that they should have a break, because of her age, and Rawlinson left the room. Alone with her solicitor and social worker, and in Rawlinson’s absence, the girl began to sob. The social worker whispered something I couldn’t quite make out, but no doubt reassuring her that she was a victim. And she was right, the girl was a victim. Yes, she had done something that would be unforgivable to Jim Weston, Lucas Mathews and their families, but I sensed she had been swept up in this. The Host was always going to play his Games. There was hope for her, but if she didn’t cooperate, and another person died, there would be no reprieve.

  The door to my left opened, and in stepped Rawlinson.

  ‘I’m not gonna get anywhere with her.’

  ‘Well, we need to keep going,’ Bradshaw said. ‘This is a critical time.’

  ‘I’ve been on a loop for over an hour. She isn’t going to budge. I’m gonna really lean on her.’

  ‘No. She might be caught up in this mess, but she is just fifteen.’

  ‘So what now?’ Rawlinson said, irritated.

  I didn’t comment but watched Jessica. She was tapping her foot; at first it was light, but the longer we left her, the more anxious it became. The solicitor stood to excuse herself, no doubt using the small window to collect her thoughts before beginning to negotiate a plea for her client’s immediate release and witness protection. As she was buzzed out of the room, the social worker leant in, resting her hand on the girl’s shoulder, and asked how she was. Jessica shook her head. Fresh tears fell.

  ‘Remember, when the police come back in, you don’t need to say anything. But you need to think about what will happen if you don’t tell them something that could help their investigation.’

  ‘Am I going to get into a lot of trouble?’

  ‘I don’t know. I hope not. But if you can help, you need to. This is serious, you know that, right?’

  The girl nodded. ‘I don’t want to talk to that man.’

  ‘And you don’t have to.’

  The solicitor came back in, smiled curtly towards Jessica and the social worker.

  ‘Any ideas?’
Rawlinson asked of Bradshaw and me.

  ‘Just keep going, reiterate that we know of her involvement, tell her she needs to help us stop this,’ Bradshaw said.

  ‘And tell her we want to help The Host,’ I added.

  ‘Help him? I wanna hurt him,’ Rawlinson replied.

  ‘Me too, but she is drawn to him, she wants to protect him. Tell her we only want to help. Let’s soften her.’

  Rawlinson nodded and left for the interview room once more. He started by reconfirming that he knew she was involved.

  ‘Tell him,’ the girl interrupted, speaking with the social worker.

  ‘Jessica says she doesn’t want to talk to you.’

  ‘Jessica, we want to—’ Rawlinson pushed on.

  ‘My client reserves the right to not speak to anyone.’

  Jessica spoke up. ‘I want to talk. I just don’t want to talk to him.’

  Rawlinson flashed a look to the camera, before returning it to Jess. ‘OK, Jess, who do you want to speak to?’

  ‘Karen Holt. I’ll only speak to Karen Holt.’

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  3.27 p.m.

  Six hours and fifty-nine minutes until the next Game

  As I opened the door, I smiled, suggesting to Jessica I was calm, in control, happy to be there to talk with her. But in truth my heart was pounding and my chest felt tight. I didn’t want to be the one to have this conversation. I didn’t feel strong enough. The clock was ticking, we had less than seven hours to go, and still no idea what The Host’s latest clue meant. Unless I found out from the girl where the Eighth Game would be played, someone else would die, and The Host would start again. Perhaps it was my anxiety, but I couldn’t help feel if we didn’t stop him now, we never would.

  Taking my seat, I introduced myself to the solicitor, social worker, and Jessica, before resuming the interview. I knew the tape would likely be useless, because I wasn’t technically allowed in the room. But all agreed our priority was to stop The Host.

  ‘Hello, Jessica, I understand you wanted to talk with me. What did you want to tell me?’ I started, hoping my voice remained level and calm.

  The solicitor chipped in. ‘Remember, Jessica, you don’t have to say anything, and you shouldn’t. I highly suspect DI Holt shouldn’t be in this room. If I’m right, you will be out of here very soon.’

  ‘That’s OK. You don’t have to talk to me, Jessica,’ I said, ignoring the threat. ‘Just listen. We’ve met a few times, haven’t we? If I recall, we nearly walked into each other in your school. Am I right?’

  ‘What do you want to ask DI Holt?’ the solicitor said.

  I ignored her. ‘Jessica, it’s a nice name. Howard’s little girl is called Jessica too, did you know that?’

  Jessica shook her head.

  ‘No? She’s six. She’s my goddaughter actually. Now she has to grow up without a daddy. That’s going to be really tough for her.’

  ‘I didn’t know that he had a daughter.’

  ‘But you knew he was a target?’

  ‘No, honestly, I was just told to watch the house.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘Him.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  Jessica paused for a moment, and I could see she was about to throw out a ‘no comment’. I needed to keep her talking.

  ‘Tell me about the Chinese takeaway. Why were you there?’

  ‘He wanted me to see what happened after. Report back.’

  ‘How long did you watch for?’

  ‘All night. After you and I spoke, I got spooked and left.’

  ‘Why did he pick the Chinese? Why Michelle Reed and Timothy Smart?’

  Jessica hesitated again, unsure if she should continue. I flexed my hands under the table, till my joints burned.

  ‘Jess, can I call you Jess?’ I asked, feeling like I was betraying my fatherless goddaughter by saying her name.

  ‘Uh huh,’ she replied, staring at her hands, now meshed together on the table, her right leg ceaselessly tapping underneath.

  ‘Jess,’ I swallowed, ‘I want to help people. Surely you understand that, right? I just want to help people, like I couldn’t help my friend, Howard.’ I felt my diaphragm tighten further.

  Shit, not now. Please not now.

  Jessica looked up, caught my eye, and I blinked several times.

  ‘He wasn’t just my partner, Jess; Howard and I were friends.’ My voice was shaking now.

  Push it down.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘How did he choose Michelle and Timothy?’

  ‘He didn’t choose Michelle. Timothy was the one he watched.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Timothy went to the takeaway every week, at the same time. He spoke nicely, held the door open for others. He was kind.’

  ‘And that’s it? Timothy was chosen because he was kind?’

  ‘Yes. The Host wants everyone to see that kindness doesn’t really exist. Even in those who were truly good.’

  ‘And the second, in the nightclub?’

  ‘I don’t know. But the library, it was for the same reason. Both involved were good people, truly good people,’ she said quietly as tears began to fall, landing on the table.

  ‘And then you had a turn.’

  Quietly, Jess began to sob, and as she spoke, she did so quickly, I could sense, the lid had boiled over, and it would all spill out.

  ‘He was worried if I didn’t actually do it, I could bail.’

  ‘He made you be The Host, to keep you from talking.’

  ‘He said if I did, I’d go to jail too.’

  ‘And you love him.’

  ‘Yes, yes I do.’

  ‘And you wanted to keep him happy.’

  ‘I wanted him to see me again, like he did before this all began.’

  ‘But it didn’t go to plan.’

  ‘The man—’

  ‘Jim Weston?’

  ‘Yes, him. I was told there was no such thing as a good person, but when he moved to jump, to save the boy, I saw that there was. He saved that kid. He…’ She trailed off; her words stuck in her throat as the night on the bridge came back to her. I could see it shook her to the core. Changed her. ‘He didn’t ask me to try again, because I’d get it wrong.’

  ‘Would you have wanted to?’

  Jess shook her head. ‘No. I couldn’t. So I said I’d watch, to see if you or anyone else was close. I knew he was beginning to obsess, even if he still didn’t know who you were.’

  ‘Was that hard for you? The fact he was obsessing?’

  ‘With each Game he became more distant and the more distant he became, the more I didn’t understand why anymore. Especially after the married couple.’

  ‘Maggie and John Stroud,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, them. When people went into the streets…’ She trailed off, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘And then he played The Game with the brothers.’

  ‘Yes, the brothers.’

  ‘Who had to kill each other.’ I needed her to know who was involved, I needed her to know what had happened. She was skimming the important details to protect herself. I understood, I had done the same in the past. But this was real, this needed to be faced.

  ‘Yes, killed,’ she said, barely at a whisper. ‘And for what? I don’t know anymore.’

  ‘But you did once.’

  ‘Yes. I did. And then, when your police officer…’

  ‘DS Howard Carlson,’ I said, despite how hard it was to say his name. My eyes filmed over. I tried to wipe them discreetly, but the girl saw.

  ‘DI Holt, I didn’t know whose house I was watching, not at first. Then the woman and the girl.’

  ‘Becca and Jess—’ I said quietly.

  ‘When they came, I told him to stop.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘I wanted to.’

  ‘But you didn’t, did you?’

  ‘I was scared, I am scared. I’m scared of how much trouble I am in; I’m scared that when he finds out I a
m here, he’ll…’ She began to sob into her hands. I exchanged a look with the solicitor, and the social worker. We all understood she was a young person who had been manipulated into this. I knew she would still have to face the law for what she did. But I hoped, even where Howard’s death was concerned, they would bear in mind she had been coerced. She was still just a child and she had been groomed.

  ‘Jess,’ I said, lowering my head to try to draw up the teenager’s eye. ‘Jess…’

  She wiped her eyes with the ball of her hands, before smearing her nose onto her jumper sleeve, the action making her look younger.

  ‘Jess,’ I said for the third time, and when Jess looked up to me, I didn’t dare blink.

  ‘We need to stop this. We need to help him, he is unwell.’

  She nodded, shifted in her seat, pulled down her jumper sleeves to cover her hands.

  ‘Jess, do you know where the next Game is taking place?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ She nodded.

  ‘I need you to tell me where it is. I need you to help me help him. This needs to end, you know that, right?’

  Jess nodded, wiped her nose again, hid more of herself inside her jumper.

  ‘Jess, where is The Game?’

  ‘I…’ she paused.

  ‘He will never know you told us. I have been close before, as far as he will ever know, I worked out the clue. Where is he going?’

  ‘It’s a pub,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Good, that’s good, Jess – do you know the name of the pub?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What can you tell us?’

  ‘It’s a boat.’

  ‘The pub? The pub is a boat?’

  She nodded. ‘On the river.’

  ‘Jess, that’s great. Thank you,’ I said, standing up and leaving the interview room, the teenager’s sobs muted only once the door was closed behind me. I took some measured breaths. I wanted to be sick, but I needed to move. Time was not on our side. Going back into the observation room, I looked to Bradshaw. He nodded a ‘well done’ in my direction. And I felt fresh tears press.

  ‘Does it fit? Could it be that her lover has told her to send us down a false trail?’ Rawlinson asked.

  ‘No, it fits. The clue is a compass, right? The needle pointing east.’