by Leona Deakin
Bloom continued to sit in her velvet chair, facing Seraphine. ‘And I’m sure you’re aware of how clever today’s surveillance systems are. Only last year a number of police forces purchased the technology needed to listen in to conversations via someone’s phone microphone. It’s intended for counter-terrorism activities, but people do like to play with a new toy.’
Stuart looked at Seraphine. ‘So they’ve heard every word you’ve said?’
‘Which is why I’m still sitting here,’ she replied.
‘And you called me by my full name – so I’ve been identified too?’
‘Which is why you are here too, Stuart. It seemed illogical to put the others at risk of exposure.’
‘I’m afraid it gets worse than that,’ said Bloom. ‘You see, as part of our investigation we met a talented young police officer with impressive social media skills. By the time the police arrive, who you really are and the details of your game will be trending across the country, if not the globe.’
Jameson winked at Bloom, then said to Seraphine, ‘Not nice, is it? When someone makes a fool of you.’
Seraphine held on to the seat of her chair as if overtaken by a wave of dizziness, then she blinked a couple of times. ‘I know you think you know better than me, Marcus, but think about it.’ She took an unsteady breath. She was struggling to maintain eye contact. ‘Augusta did exactly what I would have done. She played the game. It just so happens she was a move or two ahead of me this time.’
‘So because she beat you, she must be like you?’
‘To do what she did, she had to know who I was before she came in this room. But she didn’t warn you, did she? She never gave you the chance to get away … and she could have. She could have texted or called you … but she chose not to. Because she needed you here to make this little scene work, to make me think I had the upper hand. So …’ She coughed and took a deep wheezing breath.
‘So you would talk,’ he finished her sentence. He looked at Bloom. Seraphine had a point. His partner could have warned him, could have included him, and her decision not to had almost cost him his life.
‘If that’s not a psychopathic thing to do …’ Seraphine looked at Bloom. Her voice was getting weaker with every word. ‘I could have made your life so much better.’
‘My life is just fine, thank you.’
Seraphine nodded. ‘Go, Stuart.’
The guy turned to leave, but Jameson blocked his exit. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, psycho.’ He wasn’t sure he could overpower Rose-Butler with a broken elbow, but he sure would enjoy trying.
68
Seraphine’s hands held the chair beneath her as she swayed from side to side. The drug in that vial had been intended for a vein but it had landed in her muscle. Bloom knew this would slow its progress.
Stuart tried to sidestep Jameson. Jameson blocked him and delivered a single punch to Stuart’s stomach. He fell to his knees.
Bloom thought about the call she’d made to Assistant Chief Constable Steve Barker from the train. It had been a gamble to suggest using Stuart’s phone as a listening device. She couldn’t be sure that Stuart would even be there, but it had been the only card she’d had to play. She knew there was a good chance her own phone would be taken away once she revealed who Sarah really was. And so Barker agreed that his team would access Stuart’s phone. And if at any point they verified that Bloom, Stuart and Seraphine were together, they’d instruct Libby to send a single text message saying, ‘Your son is called Harry.’ Bloom would know that anything from that point on would be recorded.
If Stuart hadn’t checked his text message, this situation could have ended very differently. Steve Barker had had his doubts about Bloom’s plan, but they needed to catch Seraphine revealing everything. She’d have kept her distance from the crimes committed by the players. They had to make her admit to being the orchestrator. Not that any of that mattered now.
‘What was in the syringe?’ Bloom asked.
Seraphine swayed, but said nothing.
‘You need to tell me, Seraphine. The doctors will need to know.’
A male voice outside the room announced the presence of armed police.
‘No one’s armed!’ shouted Jameson.
‘And we need an ambulance!’ called Bloom.
The door opened and two firearms officers entered with their weapons raised. They scanned the room, saw Stuart on his hands and knees beside Jameson, and Seraphine spaced out in the chair opposite Bloom. They lowered their weapons and radioed for an ambulance.
Bloom moved to crouch in front of Seraphine. She wanted her alive. She wanted more information on the group Seraphine had founded. They needed to know what was coming next. ‘What was in the syringe, Seraphine?’
Seraphine’s eyes closed and opened slowly. Then, just before she passed out, she said, ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Bloom and Jameson stood side by side, watching the paramedics attach Seraphine to the monitors in the back of the ambulance.
‘Why didn’t you warn me?’ Jameson said, as the ambulance pulled away.
‘You wouldn’t have believed me. If I’d texted or called to say that Sarah was really Seraphine, you’d have said I was talking rubbish – or, worse still, you’d have told Sarah. I couldn’t risk that.’
‘I could have died.’
‘I wouldn’t have let that happen.’
‘You came bloody close.’
‘Marcus?’ She placed a hand on his shoulder, taking care not to jar his injured arm. ‘I had no choice. I’m sorry. It was your idea though, really. The Romanova play. Make them think they’re winning in order to interrogate them.’
Jameson looked at her. ‘I think she might have been right. I think there’s something wrong with you.’ He walked away, up the street, then round the corner and out of sight.
69
The sun shone brightly as Bloom walked across Russell Square. She’d visited Libby Goodman and then come straight back to London, eager to get back to the normality of work. But it didn’t feel normal any more. Not without Jameson, who’d refused to return. She understood his anger, but it had been three weeks. He’d finally answered her call this morning and had simply said, ‘Stop calling me, Augusta.’ He’d hung up before she could speak.
Claire had said to give him time. She was sure he’d come around eventually. She said she’d never seen her brother as content as he’d been over the past five years.
‘He used to carry around this darkness,’ she had said. ‘Then, when he started working with you, we got the old Marcus back.’
Bloom asked if the darkness had returned and Claire had replied, ‘Not like before. He’s hurt and humiliated, but he just needs to lick his wounds and see that he had a lucky escape.’
Bloom had been so focused on confronting Seraphine and making her admit what she was doing that she’d failed to do right by Marcus. She’d said that she had no choice but to keep him in the dark, and she’d meant it at the time, but now, on reflection, she knew she could have done things differently. She could have called him and made him listen.
And she had to face the possibility that he might never come back. Before Marcus, she had been happy working alone. But she didn’t want to return to that life. She missed his company and his humour.
She’d called him that morning to tell him that the fitness-to-practise case against her had finally been dropped. Dave Jones had been shown pictures of Dr Sarah Mendax and had withdrawn his complaint. It had been Sarah who’d visited him to suggest an inappropriate relationship between Bloom and Amy, and she was behind the fake images.
Bloom took the pathway through the square, as she did every morning, and walked past the dozen or so metal tables and chairs outside the cafe.
‘What a beautiful day.’
It couldn’t be. Seraphine Walker was sitting at the table nearest to the hedge with her legs crossed and her hands in her lap.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Bloom.
The liquid
in the syringe had been an anaesthetic dose of ketamine. Just enough to knock someone out and mess with their memory, but nowhere near enough to kill. Within a couple of hours of arriving at Leeds General Infirmary, Seraphine had regained consciousness.
‘They released me on bail.’
‘I know. That was three weeks ago. What are you doing here now?’
‘I thought we should talk.’ Seraphine pushed the free chair at her table towards Bloom with one high-heeled shoe.
Bloom didn’t move. ‘About?’
‘About how you ruined my life … again.’
‘You are joking.’
Seraphine pushed the chair a little further. ‘Sit down, Augusta. You can give me five minutes.’
Reluctantly, Bloom walked towards Seraphine’s table and sat down. Why was she here?
‘I really should hate you, you know.’ Seraphine took a sip of espresso from the dainty coffee cup in front of her. ‘You ruined my career and threatened my liberty. Not that there’s much chance they’ll put me away. All they have is that recording and I’m sticking to my story. I was just messing with you.’
Within minutes of the players leaving that room under the arches, all traces of the game had disappeared. The psychopaths had gone to ground and covered their tracks.
‘Your little friend and his social media activities, on the other hand, have been impressive.’ DC Logan had uploaded a few splices of the recording and shared them widely. ‘He managed to select just the right vignettes to undermine our activities.’
‘Like the bit where you said that if you were going to convince the world that psychopaths were superior, you had to remove those who muddied the waters.’
Seraphine smiled. ‘Yes, that does seem to have alienated both your kind and mine.’
‘You said it. You only have yourself to blame. So why not disappear again? You’ve done it before.’
‘I may not be able to continue in my chosen profession, and there is a chance, albeit small, that I may spend some time at Her Majesty’s pleasure, but thanks to you I am now the most famous psychopath on the planet … and I didn’t have to kill a single soul.’
‘Didn’t you?’
‘That’s a first, don’t you see? I’m already changing perceptions. Psychopaths don’t have to be serial killers to be powerful or infamous any more.’
‘What about the poor girl you used to fake your own suicide?’
Seraphine shrugged. ‘Just one of the drug-addled homeless people I found in Leeds. There were a lot of young girls on the street at that time. It wasn’t hard to get one to do what I wanted when I promised her the hit of her life.’
The double meaning wasn’t lost on Bloom and she felt a fresh wave of disgust towards this woman. ‘What do you want, Seraphine?’
‘How’s Marcus?’
Bloom said nothing. She refused to discuss Marcus with Seraphine. And, of course, she didn’t really know.
‘He knows I wouldn’t really have hurt him, doesn’t he? I like Marcus. He was different to my other men. I think maybe—’
‘No. Absolutely not. No. Don’t even think about it. He hates you and he always will.’
Seraphine took another sip of her coffee.
‘If this had gone to plan and you’d given him that ketamine, what then?’ Bloom asked. ‘Would you have labelled him a failed game-player and sent him off to God knows where? You certainly wouldn’t have let him go, so don’t even think about claiming you would have done right by him.’ She thought about Lana and Grayson. Geoff Taylor hadn’t made it to Peterborough police station in time to collect his son, despite DS Green’s best efforts. The officer in charge had released Grayson on bail, and he’d walked out of the station and hadn’t been seen since. As for Lana, Jane had confirmed that the necklace Jameson found was the one she’d given to her mother. But as yet, she remained missing.
‘Gosh, Augusta. So much anger. Where is this coming from?’
‘What. Do. You. Want. Seraphine?’
‘You can’t stop us, you know.’
Bloom sat back in her chair. She knew Seraphine was right. The psychopaths would learn from their mistakes, regroup and re-launch. ‘Seraphine, you messed up. You had all that power, and you lost it all because you wanted to show off to me. Was it worth it? Because I’m not even impressed. I’m actually appalled that you would let your own kind be so callously lured in and manipulated. And you don’t even know what happens to them. You wanted me to see what you had learned, how you’d grown and excelled, but you’re still that naive little girl unable to grasp the consequences of her actions. You have no empathy, Seraphine, and it makes you stupid.’
Seraphine stood. The anger in her eyes disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. ‘I thought you were the one person who understood me.’
‘I am, Seraphine. You’re just not listening, and I don’t think you ever were.’
Seraphine looked out across the square at the ordinary people going about their day: walking their dogs, commuting to work, checking their phones. ‘There are some people in the world that you really shouldn’t mess with.’ She met Bloom’s gaze. ‘And I am one of them.’
For a moment or two they watched each other in silence, and then Seraphine smiled the sweetest of smiles. ‘It has been so lovely to see you after all these years, Augusta. Let’s keep in touch.’
And then she was gone.
Acknowledgements
The journey to publication has been a long process of trial and error during which my lovely family and friends have been called upon to read and comment on numerous stories. I am hugely grateful for their constructive criticism and encouragement. They have taught me plenty, and always cheered me on. Thanks to Liz, Jo and Richard, Barbara and Malcolm Rigby, Catherine Meardon, David Rigby, Elizabeth Kirkpatrick, Dominic Gateley, Kathryn Scott, Nicola Eastwood and, of course, my parents Norman and Jillian. Without you I would never have made it this far.
Thanks also to forensic psychologist Emma Stevenson, who helped me better understand the mind of a psychopath. Your insight was much appreciated and any mistakes I have made are mine and mine alone.
I owe a great debt of gratitude to The Penguin Random House Writers’ Academy, not only for introducing me to my wonderful editor Lizzy Goudsmit, but also for the inspiration and insight offered on their Constructing a Novel course. In particular I need to thank my tutor Barbara Henderson, whose enthusiasm and advice were invaluable.
Thanks to the whole team at Transworld for welcoming me into their world and making my story the best it can be. I will be forever grateful to Lizzy for spotting the potential in my idea and championing it with such passion. You are a superstar. Thanks also to Kate Samano for honing my words to perfection and to Joshua Crosley for negotiating those wonderful translation rights.
Finally, a huge thank-you to my beautiful Ella – you never fail to brighten Mummy’s day.
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First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Black Swan
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Copyright © Leona Deakin 2019
Cover image © Shutterstock
Cover design by R. Shailer/TW
Leona Deakin has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
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