The Game Changer

by Louise Phillips

  September 1988

  Twelve-year-old Kate picked up a near-dead female blackbird. The bird’s beady eyes elicited a form of empathy from her. Her father, Valentine Pearson, dumped it in a bin. The bird formed part of the Game Changer’s collection. After the Game Changer scooped it out, a line with a pen was drawn down its chest, starting at the throat. The knife brought the slow illicit sound of skin being torn, before removing it in its entirety, the same way someone might take off a coat.

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  CENTRE OF LIGHTNESS

  20 Steps to Self-enlightenment Programme

  Kate would know that some psychopaths enjoyed collecting body parts. The Game Changer over time has examined many segments of the human body, as well as those of animals, and other forms.

  Initial studies concentrated on insects, with an appreciation for watching them when they were trapped, especially their futile attempts at escape before a slow, resolute death.

  The eyes of Kate’s dead blackbird underwent optical nerve examination. The ophthalmic, maxillary and mandibular branches leave the skull through three separate foramina, with the ophthalmic nerve carrying sensory information from the scalp to the forehead, the upper eyelid, the conjunctiva and the cornea of the eye.

  Overview:

  During the next phase, Kate will come down from her ivory tower, and when she does, she will have no idea that the Game Changer is waiting for her, or how much the Game Changer intends for her to suffer.

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  Special Detective Unit, Harcourt Street

  AS ADAM WAITED FOR THE SEARCH WARRANT FOR the O’Neill garage, he began trawling through media footage from the eighties, examining cases of convicted paedophiles. As yet, he hadn’t found anything remotely connected to Michael O’Neill, Valentine Pearson, Tom Mason or Malcolm Madden. It was early days, though. These things took time. If there was something to be found, he needed a lucky break, enough for PIU and the Domestic Violence Unit to play ball. It was standard to make enquiries via both departments, as history dictated the two often overlapped.

  With the longer timeframe for Kate’s disappearance now in the mix, based on what she had found in O’Neill’s notebooks, Adam was prompted to check if a missing-person report had been filed in 1988. If she had been missing for an hour or so, there would be nothing, but with the disappearance being longer, he wasn’t surprised that a file existed. Although there wasn’t anything too unusual in the statements taken at the time, some parts were interesting.

  Kate had separated from her friends. Her parents had become concerned when she hadn’t returned by six o’clock. According to her mother, they contacted the parents of each of her girlfriends, assuming Kate had gone to a friend’s house. It didn’t take long to establish that she hadn’t, and that it was at least four hours since any of her friends had seen her. The alert was sent via Rathmines police station, and a search by locals had ensued. By morning, with no sign of Kate, the worst was feared, but then at ten past one that afternoon, Kate had arrived home. She claimed she couldn’t remember what had happened to her, other than something about being grabbed from behind. Her mother’s statement was one of relief that her daughter had returned home safe and sound. Her father’s was more official and reserved, stating that both he and his wife were relieved to have Kate back, and what had probably been an attention-seeking stunt on his daughter’s behalf had ended without anyone being hurt. It wasn’t surprising that no more was made of it. A missing person, even if it was a child, wouldn’t have warranted a criminal investigation. Once Kate had returned home safely, that would have been the end of it. Also, it seemed that Kate’s limited memory of the events was overshadowed by her father’s view about it being an attention-seeking exercise, and the police investigation was closed.

  Depending on how they got on in the O’Neill garage, and considering how Kate had lost it with him, he would have to tread carefully. He also knew that keeping her in the dark might prove to be a decision he would regret. She wouldn’t stop digging, even if her close association to the case made her the worst candidate for reaching clear and logical conclusions. Nevertheless, she could also be the key. A lot depended on how she handled this emotionally and, from her angry outbursts in his office, he had his concerns that her normally rational thought processes would win out.

  When the all-clear came through from Fitzsimons on the warrant, Adam thought about what Kate had said about the newspaper cutting of the Cronly case in the back of the notebook. It was certainly a curveball. Why was it in O’Neill’s garage, and why at the back of the 1988 notebook? Kate was certainly right about one thing: this case felt as if someone was playing games with them.

  Addy

  ONCE ADDY AND SARAH REACHED HIGHER GROUND, they could see the main commune building, with a series of linked whitewashed cottages. Aoife must have been watching out for him because, within minutes of reaching the upper level, he saw her leave the main building, waving to them. She was with another guy. Don’t jump to conclusions, he told himself, but when they got closer, even though it had been only a short while since he’d seen her, she looked different.

  She seemed older, more conservative, with her flat shoes, black trousers and white blouse, like something his grandmother would have worn, buttoned up to the neck. Her hair was different too, flying loose around her face, as if she was some wild woman of the islands. It unsettled him, but he didn’t say anything.

  When Addy reached out to hug her, she put her hand out instead, shaking his before she did the same with Sarah, as if they were polite acquaintances, not boyfriend and girlfriend. Then she introduced Stephen, who, with his short blond hair and clean-shaven face, looked to Addy like one of those holier-than-thou nut-jobs, who knocked on your door wanting to convert you to the good life. Addy took an immediate dislike to him, especially when he rested his hand on Sarah’s shoulder.

  Walking towards the commune house, Addy kept in line with Aoife, and even though there was a good distance between Sarah and Stephen further up the footpath, he kept his voice low: ‘I’m not going to have to change my designer wardrobe, am I?’ he asked, half joking.

  ‘No,’ Aoife replied. ‘You’ll be different.’

  ‘How do you mean different?’

  ‘You’re one of the helpers.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You can wear whatever you want.’

  ‘And you can’t?’

  ‘Of course I can, but my choice of clothing is part of the programme.’

  ‘You look like something out of a convent.’

  ‘I don’t care. What matters is how I feel inside.’

  ‘I preferred you the way you were.’

  She stopped walking. ‘Addy, I don’t expect you to get it, but I have my reasons.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘The clothing is a statement. It frees me from the social pressures of how other people think I should look.’

  ‘Like attractive, sexy?’

  ‘Yes, something like that,’ she said coldly. She continued walking.

  ‘Look, Aoife, I want to understand. Honest, I do.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Addy, I’m not altogether sure why you came here.’

  ‘You asked me to come, remember?’

  ‘I did, I know, but a lot has changed very fast.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Again she stopped walking, and so did he. ‘The way I used to dress wasn’t about self-expression. That’s part of the lies they feed you, and the more you think that stuff is important, the more you’ll strive for something unattainable. You don’t need twenty pairs of shoes, you need one. It’s commercial brainwashing, nothing more.’

  ‘And dressing like my granny is what exactly?’

  ‘It’s my choice, and part of my progression in the group programme.’

  ‘But as a helper I don’t need progression – is that it? What does that make me? A group leper?’

  ‘Why are you so angry, Addy? I
never led you to believe you’d be anything other than a helper. Your contribution will be valued.’

  He decided to change tactics, add a bit of humour. She always liked his jokes. ‘I hope this helper lark doesn’t require the sharing of blood or anything, because it’s a long swim home.’

  ‘Will you stop being so immature? And remember, leaving is your choice. No one will keep you here if you don’t want to stay.’

  It was then that Stephen turned back to them, asking Aoife if everything was okay. For the first time, Addy heard the guy’s strong American accent.

  ‘Fine,’ she called back, then faced Addy. ‘While you’re here, you need to realise that everyone who is part of the programme believes in it. Your lack of respect will only get you into trouble.’

  He was tempted to ask what kind of trouble, but then a large bell rang out from the tower at the front of the commune buildings.

  ‘Hurry up,’ shouted Stephen, as if he was the person in charge. ‘If we don’t get a move on, we’ll miss the next group meeting.’

  Inside, Aoife and Stephen went towards the meeting hall, and Addy and Sarah were led in the opposite direction along a series of long, linked corridors, by a female member. The woman looked about the same age as Addy’s mother, but twice the size, with eyes that appeared as if they were about to pop out of her head. Halfway along the corridor, they stopped: Sarah and her doll were directed into a room to the right. Addy heard something about setting up the camera and a recorder, but then the door closed behind them.

  Waiting in the corridor, he pulled out his mobile phone. ‘Damn, no bloody signal.’ When the female member returned, she instructed him to follow her. Her tone didn’t encourage conversation. Close to the end of the linked corridors, she stopped, and he did too.

  ‘This section,’ the woman said, ‘is where the helpers stay.’ She opened a door to a room the size of a prison cell. Inside, there was a single cast-iron bed with a white cover, a wooden desk and chair, and a small window with iron bars. The furniture looked like it belonged in a Amish house. There was a matching chest of drawers for his clothes, and a single lightbulb without a shade in the centre of the ceiling.

  As if she was reading his mind, she said, ‘You will be sharing bathroom facilities with the other helpers. Most of them are male. Jason and Owen are Irish, Christopher and Alexander are American, Asan is from Dubai, and Karl is German.’

  ‘A regular United Nations.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  He remembered Aoife’s warning about him not making fun of the members or the programme, so he said. ‘Ah, nothing – forget I said anything.’

  The female member didn’t seem perturbed so she continued where she had left off. ‘There is a roster on the bathroom door. If you don’t put your name on it, you won’t get a bath. Any questions?’

  ‘What’s with the bars on the windows?’

  ‘This end of the buildings gets the worst of the island breeze. During a storm, we use the shutters, and we need the bars to keep them intact.’

  ‘Is there a separate toilet?’ he asked.

  She didn’t answer him, at least not for a few seconds, and although he wasn’t sure at first, he soon grasped that she was sizing him up, giving him the full body check. His neck felt hot, and even though he told himself not to be daft. It was then that he noticed her staring at his neck, and it must have been really red, because she gave a wry smile. He looked away. She took a step closer, and he jumped back with more force than he’d intended.

  ‘Follow me,’ she said. ‘There is no need to be embarrassed – we’re all friends here.’

  He glanced down at the lock on the door, noticing there wasn’t a key on either side.

  Again, she knew exactly what he was thinking. ‘We don’t believe in locked doors here. We’re a community.’

  Following the woman up the corridor, he saw Sarah come out of the room she had gone into earlier. She was some distance away, but he could see that she was hunched over, and thought she was crying. He waved, but she turned her back on him, holding the doll closer to her chest, as if it might be in some kind of danger.

  When Addy and his guide reached a wooden pine door with ‘Helpers’ Toilet’ painted on it in white, the woman said, ‘If you report to the entrance of the commune house in an hour, I will let you know your duties.’

  Kate

  KATE KNEW CHARLIE WOULDN’T BE HAPPY ABOUT going straight from school to Sophie’s house. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Sophie. She had been the family child-minder for at least three years, but with Kate taking time out, Sophie was now minding another child – Thomas, aged four. To Charlie, the age gap of three years was like an eternity, and no matter how Kate packaged it, he didn’t like it.

  She got the police statement out of the way first, knowing, despite the argument with Adam, that it was the right thing to do. Her next call was going to be with Malcolm, and instead of phoning ahead, she decided to go directly to his office. It wasn’t that she thought Malcolm was behind the note, but she felt that he was another person who wasn’t being straight with her. His secretary was friendly when she arrived, but unimpressed when Kate insisted on seeing him, even though he had a busy schedule.

  ‘He won’t mind,’ she reassured the woman, and within moments, Malcolm was standing at his open office door.

  ‘Come in, Kate. Always good to see you.’

  She didn’t reply, but followed him into the room. ‘Sit down, Kate. You look concerned. What’s the matter?’

  ‘I’m not completely sure.’

  ‘Oh?’

  She stared at him, the man she’d known since childhood, the one who’d called so often to the house as a young college student that he’d seemed part of their family. He looked far more sophisticated now – tall, lean, his straight black hair cut tight, his skin tanned, impeccably dressed. For an instant, Kate tried to see him as he used to be, an untidy, enthusiastic twenty-something, who ate like he’d never see food again. Finally, she said, ‘I understand DI O’Connor has spoken to you about the O’Neill investigation.’

  ‘Why, yes, Kate, he has. Is that an issue for you?’

  ‘You know that we’re …’

  ‘In a relationship?’ he replied, finishing her sentence.

  ‘Yes, we are, but that isn’t why I’m here.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘My visit isn’t about him. It’s about Michael O’Neill.’

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘I understand you two knew each other.’

  ‘Yes, we did.’

  ‘Did you know each other in 1988?’ She maintained eye contact, watching for any small alterations in expression.

  ‘I understand why that year is important to you.’

  ‘Did you know him then, or didn’t you?’

  ‘I had my reasons, Kate, for not giving the police the exact date of our first acquaintance.’

  ‘And what were they?’

  ‘I wanted to protect you.’

  ‘What from?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to hear this?’

  ‘Considering I don’t know what you’re going to say, no, I’m not sure, but I still want an answer.’

  ‘Okay, then.’ He let out a sigh. ‘I was an ex-student of Michael O’Neill’s, from his time as a lecturer. It was through Michael that I originally met your father. They were part of a group of academics who met on a regular basis in the late eighties.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘It was made up of men, mostly the same age as your father and Michael – early to late forties. I understand there was a selection committee who voted on membership approval.’

  ‘You were in your twenties then?’

  ‘That’s right, and far too young to be taken seriously, or to be part of any of their meetings.’

  ‘So they were all academics, professionals?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where did they meet?’

  ‘Various places, but it was rarely at the members’ homes.’

 
; ‘I’m assuming they met to discuss the issues of the day, or something like that.’

  ‘That’s how it was viewed.’

  ‘You sound as if you might have another opinion.’

  ‘The group may have gone beyond the original scope.’

  ‘I don’t follow you.’

  ‘Your father’s area was literature, others had different skill sets. It’s important that you realise, Kate, it was a different time back then.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, but you haven’t explained how they went beyond the original scope of the group.’

  ‘You’ve heard of Jean Piaget?’

  ‘You’re talking about the Swiss developmental psychologist?’

  ‘Yes. Piaget was known for his epistemological studies with children. His theory of cognitive development and epistemological view, linked together, are referred to as genetic epistemology.’

  ‘What has that to do with my father and this grouping?’

  ‘I’m getting to it. Piaget died in 1980, but his studies were of interest to the group. As with many other intellectuals at the time, they were concerned about the education system in Ireland, which was primarily controlled by religious orders. Piaget placed great importance on the education of children, declaring that it is only through education that societies can be saved from possible collapse.’

  ‘Okay, I follow you so far.’

  ‘I’ll cut to the chase, Kate. The goal of genetic epistemology is to link the validity of knowledge to the model of construction, showing how the knowledge is gained, thereby affecting its validity. It also examines how people develop cognitively from birth through the four primary stages, sensorimotor up to age two, pre-operational from age two up to seven, concrete operational, aged seven up to eleven, and formal operational from eleven years onwards.’