The Game

by Luca Veste

  He shook his head, then said ‘no’ for the benefit of the tape. He looked up at the camera in the corner of the room, wondering if anyone would ever see this video. If it would go that far. At the beginning of the day, he had no doubts it would. That he would be charged with multiple murders, plead guilty, and go quietly inside a prison for the rest of his life.

  But that couldn’t happen without him giving them something tangible, rather than just stories.

  ‘That’s fine, we’ll come back to that,’ Hicks said, shuffling the paper in front of him. ‘We’ve identified the young woman whose body you were found with, you’ll be pleased to know. Holly Edwards.’

  He kept a straight face. He’d known it would be coming eventually, but had hoped it would take a little longer to get to that point. He didn’t like the way Hicks was looking at him. Holding back a smirk, almost. Hiding something from him.

  ‘She was reported missing in Liverpool. How did she end up so far away from home?’

  He was becoming nervous now, thinking of all the strands he’d left hanging. The threads he hadn’t been able to keep a handle on, before he’d been arrested.

  The question still hung in the air between them, as he tried to think of the correct way to answer. He shrugged his shoulders instead of talking.

  ‘Not important right now, I suppose,’ Hicks said, as he shared a quick look with the detective sitting next to him. ‘We can get back to that. I think the bigger question is how you came to be a serial killer, as you tell us. The fact you’ve been running around this country, killing all these people without being caught out. We’d have no idea, if you didn’t sit down there and tell us, either… which doesn’t make much sense. Especially when of the eight names you’ve given us, only one, before this last week in Liverpool, has been determined to be a suspicious death.’

  ‘Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough?’ he replied, but he could feel it all slipping away from him. He placed his hands under the table, so they couldn’t see them shake and tremble. Gripped a hold of his leg to stop it jumping up and down in response. ‘It’s not my fault if you’ve missed it all this time. That’s for you to sort out.’

  ‘So, we started looking into this missing girl and who she was,’ Hicks continued, ignoring the accusation. There was a definite hard smirk on his face now. ‘It seemed bizarre to have someone just completely confess to a bunch of murders no one was even looking into. We knew we had to step back and look at the facts only. Holly Edwards. You’re found next to her body, but you don’t have any blood on you, no signs of injury whatsoever. And we think she put up a fight, would that be right?’

  He didn’t respond, seeing where this was all going.

  They knew.

  ‘We spoke to our colleagues in Merseyside,’ Hicks said, elbows on the table between them, arms lowering and folded in front of him. Staring into his eyes. ‘Turns out, she’d been linked to a string of disappearances over the past week or so. Two other young women, both found dead.’

  ‘Both victims of mine—’

  ‘I didn’t ask a question,’ Hicks cut in, before he could say anything more. ‘You should know better than that. As I was saying, the Major Crimes Unit down there were informed of her having gone missing, only this morning. The events of the past week made them take it very seriously indeed. Another young girl going missing in their city.’

  He put his head in his hands, wanting to curl up and disappear. Become invisible.

  ‘A third disappearance and now another body,’ Hicks said, and now his tone was softer somewhat. ‘They’re understandably upset that the body was found. Yet, with someone in custody, hopeful that this could all be sorted out. Especially when that person in custody is confessing to not just those three deaths, but a string of others.’

  He could feel it coming now. The final nail. He was just waiting for it to happen. Unable to say anything to stop it.

  He wondered if it was enough. If all of this was going to be sufficient to stop The Game.

  ‘Tell me, why did you do this? Why are you here? If you knew where Holly was, why didn’t you just tell someone, call it in?’

  He couldn’t lift his head up. Couldn’t look them in the eyes and explain it all. He couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed.

  He thought of her, of what would happen now.

  There was no way of keeping her safe now.

  ‘We just want to help,’ Hicks said, his voice full of concern and pity. He hated that. ‘What happened?’

  He wanted to tell them everything. Try and explain how he had ended up there. Tell them what he had discovered. About The Game.

  Instead, he continued to sit there, his head buried in his arms, and waited for the inevitable to happen. It had never been possible, this. To just be charged and end it all. That had been certain from the start. He thought he’d been stopping it all, but they were going to believe he was making it all up.

  Or worse.

  DI Hicks cleared his throat, waiting for him to answer. When it became clear that he wasn’t prepared to, he sighed loudly then finally spoke.

  ‘We know who you really are.’

  BEFORE

  Forty

  PLAYER ONE

  Her mum finally let her escape an hour or so after they arrived home. Left her in her bedroom alone, while she cried on the phone to Holly’s dad about how she didn’t know what was wrong with their daughter.

  When she’d arrived at the police station, Holly had quickly realised that she didn’t have a clue what to do next. In that sense, she supposed there was no real plan. She was being pulled into something that she’d never really had any control over. That was clear now.

  Yet, she was in it until the end. There was no turning back.

  What had happened at the police station would follow her for years to come. They had bailed her, which meant there would be more to come. Her mother had arrived from work, face lined with tension, trying to work out what her daughter had done. This happened to other people – not them.

  Hours later the house was quiet, after every attempt to talk had been batted back by Holly. She had listened to her mum cry herself to sleep as her dad tried to soothe her. She wanted to stay curled up on her bed, ignore what she’d brought into their lives.

  She thought this was worse than them finding out what she’d done. Yes, her aunty and her nan had died of cancer recently. Yes, she’d been pretending to have it, just to get sympathy.

  What this had done to her mum…

  Her phone buzzed.

  She knew the voice was waiting to give her more instructions.

  Holly answered and listened. Whispered her acceptance and felt the tears slowly crawl down her cheeks.

  Level Five.

  They wanted blood.

  When the call was over, she crossed the room silently, picked up a red felt-tip pen from the small desk near the television, and pulled a piece of paper from the ream underneath. She drew a heart in the darkness, I love you both underneath.

  That would be fine, she thought. It would be okay.

  It was just in case.

  The house was silent. Cold. She passed her parent’s room, moving as slowly and quietly as she possibly could, not wanting to be discovered. Her phone told her it was 02:03, even if she didn’t believe it. Crept towards the stairs as if any noise could permeate the darkness and wake her parents. Alert them that something was wrong and that their only daughter was sneaking out. She reached the top of the stairs and avoided the squeaky floorboard on the fifth step down. In the hall, the clock was silhouetted, the ghostly outline of time shown.

  Two-ten.

  She had never been out of the house at that time. Never needed to be. No late nights out, in town with a group of friends. No late-night parties. Nothing. She had always been tucked up in bed by this time every night.

  That was about to change.

  Holly slipped on her coat, picked her keys up from the hook where they lived near the front door, and turned them in the lock slo
wly. She heard the click and pulled down the handle. A rush of cold air came in as she stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her. She moved the handle up and locked the door.

  She didn’t know if she could do what she’d been told to. The fear of her secrets being discovered was enough to get her this far, but whether it would be sufficient to take the next step, she didn’t know.

  Forty minutes later, on the banks of the River Mersey, she broke out onto the waterfront. She was at the outer edges of the city now, before it turned into Southport, into Lancashire. The north of the city where she’d grown up, living her boring, uneventful life.

  Holly looked at the phone in her hand, knowing one phone call would bring them running to her. Driving their little car in pyjamas and slippers, that worried look plastered across her mum’s face. Exasperation on her dad’s. They would pull up and wrap her in their arms and tell her everything was going to be okay.

  And then, well, hundreds, thousands of people everywhere, knowing she was a liar. That she had told people she was dying and it hadn’t been true.

  As she looked down at the phone, it began to vibrate, making her jump in shock. She almost dropped it in surprise, but then composed herself quickly. ‘It’ll all be over soon,’ she found herself whispering, and she almost believed the words.

  She answered and lifted it to her ear.

  ‘Second thoughts?’ the voice said, and it was an oddly comforting sound.

  ‘No,’ Holly replied, but she could feel her own tone betray her. ‘I just…’

  ‘You finish playing The Game and no one will ever know what you’ve done.’

  ‘Why make me do something like this?’ Holly said quickly, almost a little too loudly. ‘I don’t understand. How much longer do I have to do this?’

  ‘You like playing games with people. With their emotions, their lives. Now it’s your turn. You’re going to finish this.’

  ‘Why here? Why this late?’

  ‘I thought you’d know the place…’

  Holly frowned, looking around, trying to remember where she was. Another time she had been there. A glimpse of memory came to her, but disappeared just as quick. ‘I don’t. I’m sorry.’

  The static on the line went silent. Holly thought the voice had hung up on her and she felt a momentary lapse of reason. Imagined being left there alone, no way out. The darkness around her became suffocating. It all became too much in an instant. The thought of being exposed. The thought of being ridiculed and shamed.

  ‘No, you can go on,’ the voice said finally, relief flooding Holly’s veins at the sound of it.

  ‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ Holly replied, hearing the earnest whisper escape her mouth. ‘I know I’ve done something wrong. Please, don’t tell anyone…’

  ‘Stop your whining. Carry out the instructions. Good luck.’

  The voice talked her through The Game again, not that she understood much of what was said. She listened to every word intently, scared of missing something.

  Why are you doing this? It’s obviously crazy.

  She ignored her own voice, screaming inside her. Listened carefully to the words, hoping it was enough to just do whatever it said and be done with it all.

  No more worry.

  She could fix things with her parents. Tell them she’d gone slightly crazy for a day. That it didn’t mean anything, all that trouble with the police. Tell them anything so they wouldn’t look at her with that worried look in their eyes.

  The call ended abruptly. She kept hold of her phone, thinking it would buzz again within seconds. Every step memorised, she walked further up the promenade, feeling the chill in the air. Out on the beach, she knew the Gormley statues would be looking out on the same vista as she had. They were a secondary thought to her now, as she soon found the secluded place that had been described to her.

  ‘One, two, three,’ she whispered, the air silent and still around her. She walked three paces forward, then two to her right-hand side. ‘One, two, three, four.’

  She continued for another two minutes, walking back and forth and side to side. A pattern that she’d had to commit to memory.

  Holly turned in a circle, recited words, and then went back to the beginning. Began the process all over again.

  Repeated it twice.

  On the fifth time – the final time – she felt as if she could feel the air around her change. Her heart began to beat quicker, as fear built within her. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but there was a definite shift in the atmosphere.

  She could hear sounds around her, but they were lost in her repetitive words. She didn’t want to look up, staring at her feet and chanting the words she hoped would be enough to not be exposed.

  Inside, she screamed at herself for being so stupid.

  The world became bright suddenly, her face illuminated in light. She screwed her eyes shut, but didn’t stop chanting numbers that meant nothing to her. Moving in small steps, side to side.

  Until the young man stepped out of the shadows and came to meet her, his body shaking with fear, tears cascading down his screwed-up face.

  Until the sound stopped and the world turned black.

  Forty-One

  Mark and DS Cavanagh were sitting across the table from Rich Burns, the small space seemingly doubling the size of the man. His arms were bulging against his chest as he folded them and leaned back in the chair. There was a calmness to him that spoke of being in the same room, the same scenario, countless times.

  He was used to this.

  His eyes betrayed him, though. The hurt etched into them. The redness underneath, a sign he had been crying recently.

  Away from this place, the grief had grabbed hold of the man. Now, he was only going to show the detectives what he wanted to show them. And it wasn’t going to be nice.

  No solicitor, which Mark guessed wasn’t usual for him. He’d done enough interviews in the past to know the type of career criminal Rich was and their usual modus operandi. An endless stream of ‘no comments’ until the interviewer became tired.

  This was different and Mark knew why. Rich wanted to talk and knew nothing he could say would mean he was guilty. Because he wasn’t.

  Mark made himself useful setting up the recording machine, as Cavanagh reeled off the usual talk about his rights and options. Rich once more confirmed he was happy to continue without representation and then leaned forward to take a sip of the coffee he’d asked for before they’d entered.

  He was like a coiled spring, which set Mark on edge. Rich wanted to be out of there, looking for whoever had killed his niece. That much was obvious just from looking at him. He expected that Cavanagh had made the same observation. His head was more red than usual, the bulging neck muscles and veins popping to attention. The hands curling in and out of fists.

  They would have to tread carefully. Although Mark expected Cavanagh could give the big man a run for his money in a straight fight.

  Rich’s clothes had been taken from him, sent for the same testing that would be done on the rest of his belongings. The jumper he’d been given to wear was too small for him, the material straining against his build. The tattoos on his neck seemed to be struggling against his skin to break free.

  Mark looked down, so he didn’t have to feel intimidated any longer.

  ‘Please state your name for the recording,’ Cavanagh said, once Mark had given him the nod.

  ‘Richard Burns.’

  ‘You’re uncle to Emily Burns,’ Cavanagh said, quickly and without pause. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘You know it is.’

  ‘Now, you’ve already been asked about your movements of the past few days. Before and after Emily’s death.’

  ‘Yes. And you can’t say I haven’t told you everything. Anything to get this out of the way so you can concentrate on finding out who actually did this.’

  ‘Rich, that’s what we all want here, but you have to agree that there are unanswered questions you have to answer. Does that
seem fair?’

  Rich sighed and lowered his head. He laid his hands on the table, palms down, and looked at Mark. ‘I know my past. You know it. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, still do some things I won’t mention. When it comes to family though, that’s different. I’m different. I wasn’t as lucky as some others. By the time I was doing the stuff you wouldn’t like to hear about, it was already too late. Mark, you’ve been around me, the family, all week now. You should know I wouldn’t be capable of doing anything like this.’

  Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat, aware of the recording of familiarity that would now be on file. ‘Rich, just answer honestly and we can move on. Right?’

  Rich nodded at him in response, sitting up and then leaning back again. Mark looked at Cavanagh and received a nod in return.

  ‘Your relationship with Emily, how was it?’

  ‘It was close,’ Rich replied, his voice low and cold. He shook his head; sadly, it seemed. ‘More so recently. She was getting down on herself a lot. I heard some stuff and just thought she might be heading down a dark path. I’ve seen it before and didn’t want that for her. For our Julie. And now look – I’ve failed them all.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to tell us what was happening?’

  ‘And have you think she was just depressed? You think we would have got a detective in our house every day if you just thought she was gonna top herself?’

  Mark shaped to answer, but anything he said would have been a lie. Instead he moved back to what he wanted to know. ‘What was going on with her? Was it the online stuff?’

  ‘What else?’ Rich said with a dismissive bark. ‘That’s all kids these days are obsessed with, isn’t it? Spending all day staring at phones, never talking to each other like normal people. It’s all about likes and comments. They put their whole lives on the internet and expect nothing bad to ever happen, then act all surprised when it does.’

  ‘How did this start?’ Mark said, discarding the short notes he’d made for himself and trusting his own instincts. ‘She came to you for advice?’