Gone

by Leona Deakin

  Getting past the gatekeepers was all about the right credentials.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir, Dr Mendax isn’t here.’

  Jameson felt panic rising and suppressed it. ‘Is that because she failed to turn up?’

  ‘The meeting is off-site. Have you tried Dr Mendax’s mobile?’

  Gosh, no, I hadn’t thought of that. ‘It’s turned off. Could you tell me where the meeting is, please?’

  The PA fell silent for a few moments. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You don’t know where your boss is having a business meeting? What sort of PA are you?’ The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir. I cannot help you.’ Her tone was clipped and frosty.

  ‘This is very urgent. Can you call your boss and find out where they are, please?’

  ‘Can I take your name again?’

  He’d lost control of this. This woman knew where her boss was and was refusing to say out of some elevated sense of duty. ‘It’s of utmost importance that I find Dr Mendax. Can you help me or not?’

  His next call was to DS Green in Bristol. ‘Green, it’s Jameson. I need a favour.’ He hopped off the train and on to the platform of a station called Horsforth.

  As Jameson waited for his Uber, DS Green called back. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘The PA did know where the meeting was. She was very apologetic. It’s a lunch meeting in a restaurant called Browns which she told me is in The Light, a shopping centre at the top of town. I called but the woman said they were busy and it was impossible to check who was there.’

  ‘I’ll head there now. And thank you. I owe you one.’

  ‘What the hell’s going on up there? Why the panic?’

  ‘I saw Stuart Rose-Butler this morning in a hotel. My girlfriend’s staying there. I think he was waiting for her.’

  ‘Why didn’t you approach him?’

  ‘He looked nothing like his photograph. He was clean-shaven and well-dressed. I didn’t realize it was him at the time.’ The Uber arrived and Jameson waved to the driver and climbed in the back seat.

  ‘But you’re sure now?’ Green’s tone had its typical air of suspicion.

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘After that Faye Graham business, I hope for your sake you’re wrong.’

  Me too, thought Jameson as he hung up. Me too.

  52

  Bloom was on the train to Leeds when Jameson called from a taxi. It took a lot of willpower not to say, I told you so. When Sarah had called yesterday to say she’d be in Leeds, Bloom had told him not to go. But he had brushed off her concerns.

  She’d replied to the last WhatsApp message with a very specific question – Why me? – but there’d been no response. As they’d canvassed Ilkley, Bloom had kept an eye on her phone. Was this someone who knew her? Or a family member of someone she’d helped convict? How could she know when these functional psychopaths were all hiding in plain sight?

  Bloom watched Leeds come into view, Bridgewater Tower rising above the other buildings like a ship’s sail. For every step forward, they fell back five. She made a list of all the things they knew. Someone, probably a well-funded group or organization, had designed a way to identify psychopaths. They had then invited them to play a game, probably with a range of challenges, for some unknown purpose. Most of the hundred or so players were still playing, but a handful – three to be exact – had returned home and resumed their lives as if nothing had happened. As Bloom had anticipated, DS Green had elicited no further insight from interviewing the other two returnees. Llewellyn was bound to have tipped them off, making them more than capable of running rings around the police. But where were the rest? Some had been missing for over a year. Were they still playing or …? How long would the game hold their attention? A few weeks, maybe months – but a year? Surely not.

  Bloom stepped on to Platform 1b and wheeled her case to the ticket barriers. She’d abandoned her trip to London. The tribunal would have to wait. She’d call later and invent a family emergency. They wouldn’t buy it, and it would make things worse, but that was the least of her worries.

  She abandoned her suitcase in Left Luggage and headed towards Browns. The old bank had a dark bar, floor-to-ceiling windows and wooden table sets straight out of a Paris cafe. There were business diners and ladies lunching, chatting and clinking cutlery. It reminded Bloom of her days as a waitress. Jameson sat at the far end of the bar on his phone. He didn’t look surprised to see her. He was leaving a message for Sarah, asking her to call him as soon as she could.

  ‘I take it they’re not here?’ said Bloom, shaking her head at the barman coming their way.

  ‘I’ve walked round the place twice and waited near the ladies’ just in case. No sign.’

  ‘And the PA at the hospital can’t get hold of her boss?’

  Jameson shook his head. ‘They either have their phones off or are out of signal or …’ He scanned the room again.

  Bloom’s phone buzzed in her jacket pocket as Jameson’s vibrated against the bar. Their eyes met, then they both checked their screens: there was a new message in the ‘Dare to Play?’ WhatsApp group.

  Blocked

  Dr Bloom, how are you enjoying the game so far? I want to see what you’re made of, so here is your first challenge. A choice.

  1:32pm

  They stood motionless in the midst of all the laughter and conversation, both staring at their phones. The next message arrived a few seconds later.

  Blocked

  Would you like me to return Mr Jameson’s girlfriend?

  Or …

  1:33pm

  ‘Yes,’ said Jameson. ‘Crap! Yes … whatever the or is, we want Sarah back.’

  Bloom placed a hand on her partner’s arm. ‘Wait,’ she said quietly. A few seconds later the next message arrived.

  Blocked

  Or would you like Grayson’s father to have his son back, Libby’s child to have his father back and Mr Jameson to have his family friend and her daughter Jane back?

  1:33pm

  ‘Oh, Christ.’

  Very clever, thought Bloom. She was in Marcus’s bad books whichever option she chose. It was a lose-lose scenario, one that would wreck life as she knew it.

  ‘What do we do?’ asked Jameson. ‘I mean I couldn’t give a crap about the psychopaths and their families. I expect everyone would be better off without them. But Sarah and Jane aren’t part of this.’

  ‘It’s a moral dilemma.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘No, I mean, it’s a famous thought experiment in ethics. One life for four lives. It’s the Trolley Problem.’

  Jameson stared at her.

  ‘There’s a trolley speeding down a railway track and ahead are four people tied up and unable to move. The trolley is heading straight for them, but you are standing by a lever which, if you pull it, will divert the trolley to a separate set of tracks. However, there is one person standing on that second track. Do you sacrifice the one to save the four?’

  ‘Well … probably.’

  ‘And what if the one was your partner, or your child?’

  ‘Then I wouldn’t flick it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Survival of the fittest. Protecting my genes and all that.’

  ‘OK, so try it this way … You’re a doctor. You have four patients who will die in the next few hours without organ transplants. There is no chance of any organs arriving. Then a lone traveller comes into the hospital for a check-up and you find he is a match for all four sick patients. Do you sacrifice the healthy man to save the four?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Which is exactly what most people say. It is a core human moral.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. The average psychopath kills the one.’

  ‘Of course they do. It’s the most logical solution. To them, it’s the same as the trolley problem. Four lives have to be more valuable than one.’

  ‘I’m getting pretty sick of train shit,’ said J
ameson.

  Tell me about it, thought Bloom.

  ‘But don’t you see?’ she said. ‘This whole thing has been orchestrated from the start, right down to the people Jane found. The people they’re offering to send back are the people we’ve been looking for.’

  ‘So they’re observing us, listening in on our calls.’

  ‘Or …’ What if the whole thing had been a game? A game to get at her? The cards, Jane’s request for help, South Milford. Bloom typed out a response and showed it to Jameson before hitting Send. He nodded. His complexion was grey.

  Bloom

  What happens to the person, or persons, I do not pick?

  1:35pm

  The barman came over. ‘Can I get you guys something?’

  ‘We’re just waiting for some colleagues,’ said Bloom.

  ‘Can I get you something while you wait? We do coffee as well as cold drinks.’

  ‘We’ll tell you when we want a drink,’ said Jameson.

  The barman shrank at Jameson’s tone, but continued to smile. Here was a man used to dealing with dismissive comments from people who thought they were more important.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bloom. The barman walked back down the bar as her phone vibrated again.

  Blocked

  Choose and you’ll find out.

  1:36pm

  ‘You can’t choose,’ Jameson said.

  Bloom thought about that. Could she do nothing? Let them choose? She could see Jameson fighting to keep a lid on his temper. ‘What if they keep them both?’ she asked.

  ‘They can’t make you choose. You can’t choose. You wouldn’t be able to live with it.’

  He was right. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if something happened to either Jane or Sarah. Which was the point of the challenge.

  ‘Wait,’ she said. She scanned back through the WhatsApp messages, reading each one carefully, then typed a quick response.

  Bloom

  How long do I have to decide?

  1:39pm

  ‘That’s him!’ Jameson pointed towards a man walking past outside and then sprinted to the door and out into the street without glancing back.

  Bloom’s phone beeped and she checked the response.

  Blocked

  Until 3pm.

  1:40pm

  53

  Lunchtime pedestrians filled the pavement outside Browns. Jameson craned his neck as he rushed along, trying to find Stuart Rose-Butler. He was half a block away, strolling casually. Jameson reached him in a matter of seconds and slammed him into the wall. Rose-Butler barely reacted.

  ‘Where is she? Where’s Sarah?’ His hand was around Rose-Butler’s throat. Most pedestrians sped up to avoid the drama, but a few slowed to watch.

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’ Rose-Butler’s crisp accent bore the clear marks of a public-school education.

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, Stuart. I know who you are. I saw you in the hotel.’

  A smug smile crossed Rose-Butler’s face. He moved his head from side to side against the pressure of Jameson’s hand. ‘I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not Stuart,’ he lied. ‘And I have no idea who Sarah is.’

  Jameson tightened his grip around the creep’s throat. ‘Are you denying you were in the lobby of the Malmaison this morning? Because I saw you. You were watching us.’

  ‘Let me breathe.’

  Jameson released his hold slightly, then continued: ‘Were you in the Malmaison this morning? Were you watching us?’

  Rose-Butler held his hands up and spoke calmly. ‘Yes. I was in the Malmaison this morning. I had a meeting there. But I wasn’t watching you. I don’t even know you.’

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘Leave the guy alone,’ said a male voice on Jameson’s left. Jameson looked up at two large businessmen just a few feet away. Further down the road a woman was speaking to a police officer and pointing in his direction. The smaller of the two businessmen stepped forward and spoke again. ‘He clearly doesn’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Stay out of it,’ Jameson said to him, holding eye contact for longer than was polite. He turned back to Rose-Butler. ‘I know you people are masters of disguise and all that shit, but I know who and what you are.’

  Rose-Butler sniggered. ‘Look, Sir, I’m not who you think I am.’

  ‘Are you laughing? Do you think this is funny?’

  ‘Just calm down, mate,’ said the businessman.

  ‘I told you to stay out of it,’ Jameson said without looking over. He tightened his grip around Rose-Butler’s throat. ‘I’m only going to ask you one more time. Where is Sarah?’

  ‘Let go of the gentleman, please,’ said a policeman as he walked into Jameson’s eyeline. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Fine.’ Jameson released Rose-Butler’s neck. He didn’t want to get arrested.

  The policeman hooked his thumbs into the arm holes of his body armour. ‘Would you please tell me what’s going on here?’

  Rose-Butler beat Jameson to a response. ‘This gentleman appears to have a problem with my kind.’ He held out his hand to the police officer. ‘Stuart Lord, QC.’ The officer didn’t move.

  ‘He’s no QC,’ said Jameson. ‘He’s a low-life, shelf-stacking psychopath playing games with people’s lives.’

  ‘Let’s keep this calm, please,’ said the officer.

  ‘His name is Stuart Rose-Butler. He left the scene of an accident two months ago, walking away from his heavily pregnant partner to play a sick psychopathic game. He’s on your missing-persons list.’

  ‘I’m not who this gentleman thinks I am. I tried to explain, but he became very aggressive.’ Rose-Butler managed to look both annoyed and concerned simultaneously.

  ‘Marcus?’

  Jameson turned to see Bloom approaching them.

  ‘And your name, Sir?’ the officer said to Jameson. He took out his pocketbook and a pen.

  ‘Marcus?’ Bloom said again. ‘I’m very sorry,’ she said to Rose-Butler and the police officer. ‘My colleague has been under a lot of strain.’

  Jameson looked at her with astonishment. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘This is not Stuart, Marcus.’

  Jameson turned back to look at him again. His hair was short and neat, his clothes tailored and expensive, and his five-grand Breitling watch poked out from beneath his shirt sleeve, but this was definitely Rose-Butler. Jameson had an uncanny ability to recognize faces; he could remember people he hadn’t seen for decades. In his MI6 tests, he’d been flagged by the examiners as a ‘super recognizer’.

  ‘Your name, Sir?’ the policeman insisted.

  ‘Marcus Jameson.’

  Bloom took hold of Jameson’s arm. ‘Come on. Let’s go. We’ve got more important things to do.’

  ‘More important than getting the truth out of this piece of shit?’

  ‘Sir, I am going to have to ask you to calm down.’ The policeman blocked Jameson’s access to Rose-Butler with his body.

  ‘Am I able to go back to work now, Officer? I have clients waiting in chambers.’ Rose-Butler adjusted his suit jacket.

  ‘Let’s go,’ insisted Bloom. ‘This won’t get us anywhere good.’

  Jameson met his partner’s eyes and the red mist gave way to logic. Stuart hadn’t been at the doorway to Browns by accident. They were up to something. And he was playing right into their hands.

  ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘My apologies, Officer.’ He held his hands up in a show of restraint as the policeman warned him about keeping his temper, then let Bloom lead him away.

  In the lobby of the Malmaison Hotel, Jameson sat in a plush armchair trying to steady his breathing. A headache radiated from the injury at the back of his skull.

  ‘You requested some water, Sir?’ A barmaid in a smart black shirt placed a glass in front of him.

  ‘Cheers.’ He took a large gulp. Bloom was heading back to her mother’s house. There were some files in the loft she wanted to consult. He was waiting to vi
ew the hotel’s CCTV footage. DS Green had been rather persuasive, but the manager had insisted that a local officer should attend too. A few minutes later a young – rather attractive – police officer joined him in reception and introduced herself as PC Hussain. She had a clear remit from her boss’s boss’s boss to gain access to the hotel’s CCTV for Jameson. Soon they were both sitting in the manager’s office watching the morning’s footage alongside the Head of Security, who was a slick-haired muscular man, no doubt ex-military.

  ‘There’s Rose-Butler.’ Jameson watched as Stuart took his seat in reception and removed a small laptop from his briefcase. The security man fast-forwarded the image. ‘OK. Stop. There’s Sarah and me coming in.’ Jameson watched himself walk across the lobby with his hand on the small of Sarah’s back. As they waited for the lift she looked up at him and smiled, as he ran his fingers slowly up and down her spine. He remembered her smile and closed his eyes. Why hadn’t he been paying more attention? Why hadn’t he seen Rose-Butler then?

  He knew why, of course, but it was no excuse.

  The Head of Security fast-forwarded the footage again. Rose-Butler didn’t move and no one joined him. Jameson watched himself retrace his steps across the lobby. Rose-Butler had looked up and brazenly met his eye. Had he wanted Jameson to recognize him? Expected him to?

  ‘What does he do now?’ said Jameson. He watched as Rose-Butler stood and walked to the lifts. The Head of Security fast-forwarded the footage once more. There were no cameras in the bedroom corridors, only in the main public areas, so this was all they had. The lifts opened and closed and strangers got in and out, but neither Rose-Butler nor Sarah appeared.

  ‘Her room. I need to see it.’ Jameson turned to the security man. ‘Now!’

  54

  Bloom got off the train and checked her watch: 2.34pm. She had less than half an hour to get to the house, into the loft and find the file she wanted. It was going to be tight. Really tight. She’d left her case at Leeds station, knowing it would only slow her down. She wished she’d had time to collect her iPad, but she’d have to rely on good old-fashioned memory.