The Players

by Darren O’Sullivan

  ‘Karen?’

  ‘Near the Chinese, I found this.’

  I showed Howard the picture and watched as his mouth dropped open.

  ‘Howard, are you all right?’

  Howard scrolled through his picture gallery, until the screen featured the back cover of H. J. Card’s book. He narrowed in on a hand-drawn doodle in the corner. A steam train.

  The two pictures were almost identical.

  ‘Shit, Howard, you need—’

  ‘Yeah, I know, the nightclub. I’ll go right now, see if this image is there.’

  ‘And if it is, we’ll have learnt he’s leaving calling cards.’

  ‘But why?’ Howard asked. ‘He’s making a spectacle. Why the need to leave another mark?’

  My phone buzzed in my hand, and I was shocked to read the message:

  Karen, it’s DCI Bradshaw. When you get this, could you call in?

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘What is it?’

  I showed Howard the screen.

  ‘I’m gonna call, be quiet. He can’t know you’re with me.’

  Howard nodded as I dialled Bradshaw’s number. He picked up on the second ring.

  ‘Karen, how are you?’

  ‘I’m fine thank you, sir.’ I almost added ‘and you?’ but stopped myself.

  ‘Thank you for getting back to me. I didn’t wake you, did I?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Good. Are you able to come to the station?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course.’

  ‘I’m assuming I don’t need to tell you about what’s going on?’

  ‘No, sir. I’ve seen the news.’

  ‘It’s a disaster. And with the surviving victims being arrested, it’s only going to get worse.’

  ‘When were they arrested, sir?’

  ‘Last night. Obviously, we tried to keep it quiet but it’s already all over the news.’

  I hesitated, looked at Howard who was trying to listen in.

  ‘And the third, from last night?’

  ‘You know, huh? Well, I guess everyone knows. No such thing as discreet police work anymore. The survivor, a kid really, no older than my own son…’

  He trailed off for a moment, then cleared his throat and continued.

  ‘They will all be released, I’m sure of it. But the law is the law. They did commit a serious crime, and it needs to be processed properly.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Even saying that makes me feel like an arsehole.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, we need to talk about your review. Can you be here in thirty minutes?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thirty minutes.’

  I hung up the phone and exhaled loudly, relieved he hadn’t mentioned anything about Howard and me talking.

  ‘He wants you in?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Are you coming back to work?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Maybe it’s all done,’ Howard continued, excitement in his voice. ‘Maybe you’re finally cleared to return.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I agreed, trying not to get too excited. ‘But just in case, find the train in the nightclub, and then get back to the office. If we know anything about this guy, we know he is going to post the video at some point today.’

  Chapter Thirty

  8.04 a.m.

  Arriving at Thorpe Wood Police Station I wasn’t sure what to think. Thorpe Wood had been my home for many years, and I used to feel welcome in it, safe. The security of these four walls protected me in some of the darker times in my career. And yet, now I was here, I felt like I was trespassing. An imposter, a criminal. I thought being back would make me happy. It didn’t, I was scared. My chest felt tight, and I could feel pins and needles start to tingle in my fingertips. I forced myself to take deep, measured breaths. Each one became harder to draw than the last as I approached Bradshaw’s office. Once there, I took one more for luck, and knocked lightly on his door.

  ‘Come in.’ His voice beckoned from within.

  ‘Morning, sir. I’m not disturbing?’ I said formally, at attention, hoping he couldn’t hear that I was struggling to control my breathing.

  ‘Not at all,’ he replied, but I could sense he was frayed.

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir.’

  Talk about stating the obvious, Karen.

  He was usually a sensitive boss, placing the wellbeing of his staff before most things. Most things. The Host was one of those things.

  ‘Let me get right to it,’ he said. ‘People are panicking, we are inundated with calls about what’s happened. Dozens of comments about seeing men in motorcycle helmets, like they didn’t exist before. We are on the brink of chaos. And we need to put a lid on it, reassure the public we have this under control.’

  ‘Do we have it under control, sir?’

  ‘Of course we bloody don’t,’ he said, rubbing his hands through his thinning hair. It was the first time I had ever heard him lose his composure. ‘Sorry. I’m tired.’

  ‘Nothing to be sorry for, sir.’

  ‘We have to make it look like we have it under control until we do.’

  ‘How can I help?’ I asked, preparing myself to return to active duty, roll up my sleeves and find The Host.

  ‘I need you out there.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ I’d rehearsed my gratitude to look unexpected. ‘Thank you. I’m ready to get involved and find him, and I’m happy to act under the guidance of Rawlinson to do so.’ The last part was a lie.

  ‘Karen—’

  ‘I have some theories I’d like to explore, with your permission. I would like to go to the—’

  ‘DI Holt,’ he said, cutting me off mid-sentence. ‘I need you out there with the public. Being visible, in uniform.’

  ‘Sir, I—’

  ‘Some of the schools in the city have reached out, asking for help to keep students calm in this situation. I need you there.’

  ‘No…’

  ‘No?’ he echoed, his voice losing its soft edge, the boss in him taking over.

  ‘Sir, I mean no disrespect but I’m better on the case; going into schools, it’s important, but a waste of what I can bring.’

  ‘I totally agree with you.’

  ‘But…’ I waited.

  ‘But until the IOPC state you can return to full active duty, my hands are tied. At least you get to do something.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘And I had to fight for the suspension to be lifted.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, defeated. I’d hoped that if I was allowed back to work, and I was with Howard, I could distract myself, bury the past. Being a uniform wasn’t what I’d planned. On my own, I wasn’t sure I’d cope.

  ‘I don’t like it any more than you. I need you back, any way I can have you. We need everyone available on this. We all have to do our bit.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, slumping back into his chair, beat.

  ‘Sir, are you OK?’ It was unlike him to appear as anything other than a pillar of strength.

  ‘Honestly, no. I’ve been doing this job for a long time. Christ, you were probably only a baby when I started. I’ve not seen anything like this before. Who could do something like this?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir, but we’ll stop him.’

  He looked up at me, smiled. ‘I hope you’re right.’

  I wasn’t happy that I was on restricted duty, having to don a uniform for the first time in years. But in that moment, I swallowed my pride. My guilt. Bradshaw looked defeated. If I could do even a little, I would. This was bigger than just me.

  ‘Where would you like me to go first, sir?’ I asked. My question was greeted with a smile.

  ‘Thank you, Karen. In the wake of the murders, the City Academy have had a lot of issues with students. They need answers, someone to reassure them, so start there?’

  I was taken back; the City Academy was where Sam worked. She had mentioned it was rough, but it appeared to be much more than that. Hadn’t
she told me how bad it really was? Or had I been so wrapped up in myself I’d not listened?

  ‘Yes, sir, right away.’

  I turned to leave, and as I opened the door, Bradshaw stopped me.

  ‘Oh, Karen—’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘I’m really sorry about what happened. You know, I just want to make it clear. I know I speak for everyone here when I say we don’t believe you did anything wrong.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘With what’s going on, I’ve insisted the inquest be bumped up the list, so expect to hear something soon.’

  ‘How soon, sir?’

  ‘A few days, a few weeks – who knows with that lot? But the sooner the better.’

  ‘Yes, the sooner the better,’ I said, turning and leaving his office.

  I made my way to the changing rooms to dust off my unworn uniform. I was aware of the stares given by colleagues, of the sympathetic smiles when I locked eyes with the few who didn’t divert fast enough. As I readied myself to leave, grabbing a notepad from my desk drawer, I couldn’t help but feel Rawlinson giving me a stare. When I met his gaze, he held it. Even though Bradshaw said everyone was on my side with regard to Grayson James, it was clear ‘everyone’ didn’t include DI Paul Rawlinson.

  I was only gone for ten minutes, but in the short time that I was in the belly of the station, changing into my uniform, everything changed.

  In that short ten minutes, he had posted again.

  Stopping just before the situation room that was no longer sedate but buzzing, I took out my phone. It didn’t take long to find it on the internet.

  ‘… As you watch this video now, the Fourth Game is in motion, and my new Players will play tonight, this time, at 8.30 p.m.’

  I sat transfixed as the library came onto the screen. I saw the victims. I saw the weapons, and before I locked the screen, I saw the violence. As did thousands of others. A number that was likely to rise. I felt myself begin to hyperventilate again, and despite wanting to get moving, I couldn’t. I was paralysed.

  And then, from nowhere, Grayson James came into my head.

  Calming my breathing, I walked into the bustle, locking eyes with Rawlinson, who was standing over a computer analyst, a kid, barking for him to get YouTube to remove the content. I could hear the young man say it was challenging, because before YouTube could respond, the video had been downloaded onto personal hard drives, and then reposted.

  ‘I don’t know what that means. Just get them to turn off the switch,’ Rawlinson shouted before giving me a look and storming away and up a flight of stairs. I approached the young technician; he was clearly shaken up.

  ‘I’m trying, it’s not as easy as turning—’ he started defensively.

  ‘Don’t worry about him, he’s a dickhead. You’re doing a great job.’ I tapped him on the shoulder and headed after Rawlinson.

  I didn’t know what to do: technically I shouldn’t be there, so I stood still, lost, like I was a rookie in the station. Then I spotted Howard across the room, who beckoned me with a nod. I followed and found him in the kitchen area, where we couldn’t be seen.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Nice costume,’ he smiled, referring to my uniform. An attempt to lighten the mood, perhaps keep us both calm. It didn’t work.

  ‘I’ll take whatever work I can get.’

  ‘I hear that.’

  ‘Did you find the train symbol?’

  ‘It was there.’

  Howard handed me his phone: on the screen was a picture taken inside the men’s bathroom at the nightclub. I could see a sink, three urinals, and a mirror. The walls were covered in a paper that made it look like a bookcase – the club’s desperate attempt to make the shit-hole, pun intended, look respectable. Really, it was a place where men pissed and did coke and got laid if they were lucky. But at least it tried. At first, I didn’t know why Howard had taken the picture, but then, right in the middle of the wall was a familiar shape. Pinching the screen, I zoomed in, and there it was, a train.

  ‘Can you see it?’ Howard asked.

  ‘Yep. I see it.’

  ‘You were right, Karen. He is leaving clues.’

  ‘Let’s piece it out,’ I said, the experienced detective in me taking over from the awkward and anxious woman. Sitting at a table and zoning into the middle distance, I let myself think out loud. ‘At first he was measuring the blunt impact, with no prior warning, no clues. Then, he left his calling card and in the video he mentioned the library as a clue. He did it knowing we would hate ourselves for not seeing it in plain sight.’

  ‘Why would he do that? What if we’d worked it out?’

  ‘He knew we wouldn’t; it was amongst other things.’

  ‘So why say it at all?’

  ‘He likes to play. To him, this is all just a game. I’ve not had a chance to look at what he said in the latest video. Did he mention anywhere new?’

  Howard took out his phone and replayed the latest video, noting down the locations he stated. Offices, restaurants, pubs, high streets, libraries, cinemas, gyms.

  Nothing new.

  I banged the table in disappointment.

  ‘Maybe he hasn’t left a clue this time?’ Howard said.

  ‘No, he has, he definitely has. It’s part of his Game.’

  ‘Sick Game,’ Howard whispered.

  ‘If it’s not in the video, it will be something to do with that book, and the train symbols. Let’s talk it through. He leaves a recording, stating the location and the time. Then at that location, we find the book and…’ I stopped. ‘Shit, the toilet walls. The train was on a bookcase.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Howard said, catching on. ‘Show me the photo from the underpass.’

  ‘Already ahead of you,’ I replied. I tapped the image on the camera roll and pinched the glass to zoom in. The train centred on the screen. I didn’t see anything, but Howard did.

  ‘Look, top corner.’

  Howard reached over me and moved the image; there was a graffitied word, blended with the many other tags on the wall. Echo.

  ‘The nightclub, it’s called the Echo Lounge,’ I whispered.

  ‘Shit, he’s leaving the locations right under our noses.’

  ‘So he leaves the train next to the word “echo” at the Chinese, then he leaves it on the bookcase wallpaper at the Echo Lounge.’

  ‘And the latest is on the back of a book in the library,’ Howard said.

  ‘Yeah. It must tell us the next location. The train problem is about the lever being thrown, right? But remember, this book adds the detail that instead of just throwing a switch, you have to push a man in front of the train. Same problem, same solution, different moral outcome.’

  ‘Yeah, but what is he saying?’

  ‘What if he’s trying to say it will be on a bridge?’ I said off-hand.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘No, finish the thought.’

  ‘What if he’s telling us it will be on a bridge? He didn’t disguise the library, he just said it. The word “echo” was clear to see, if you knew where to look.’

  ‘You’re right, he didn’t hide it, he just said it plainly.’

  ‘And the book focuses on the train problem, but not the bit about throwing a switch – instead of pushing someone from a bridge.’

  ‘What if that’s it,’ Howard said, ‘what if in the Fourth Game he will make someone push another from a bridge?’

  From outside the kitchen, I saw Rawlinson look in, before turning on his heels and marching away.

  ‘Shit. We’ve been busted, Howard. I better go before we both end up on the chopping block. Tell Bradshaw what we’ve discussed. Find that bridge. Stop this bastard.’

  ‘We’ll get the son of a bitch. I can feel it.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Carlson

  4.46 p.m.

  Three hours and forty-four minutes until the next Game

&nbs
p; After Karen left the station, Carlson went straight to Bradshaw and told him their thoughts. He didn’t let slip that he and Karen had spoken, but Bradshaw knew. There would likely be consequences, for both of them, but now was not the time.

  Bradshaw agreed it made sense, congratulated Carlson on a job well done, and mobilised the team in the incident room to hand out tasks to his officers. They were to index and prioritise bridges in the city, and once that was done, they would hit the streets in the hope of catching The Host when he started to play.

  As Bradshaw briefed and prepared the team to head out, Carlson could feel the apprehension in the air.

  ‘Remember, people,’ Bradshaw said, getting everyone’s attention. ‘If you see anything suspicious out there, wait, watch; we need to catch this guy in the act. I don’t need to remind you that there have been several calls to the 999 switchboard today, reporting people wearing a motorbike helmet, like it’s a bloody Hallowe’en costume. And I don’t want some poor sod who happens to be wearing a helmet pounced on because a motorbike happens to be his mode of transportation. The Host takes his time, sets up each Game. Wait until you are sure.’

  ‘Really think it’s a bridge?’ Rawlinson asked, a hint of annoyance on his face that Karen Holt was still influencing police operations.

  ‘No, we can’t be a hundred per cent sure. That’s why I’m not sending the whole force out. DI Rawlinson, Michelle Reed is out of the HDU. Go and speak to her, find out something new. PC Sommers, go see the families of The Players. There must be something connecting them.’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ Sommers said nervously. It was the first time he had been singled out in a briefing. Carlson nodded in his direction, offering reassurance that he would do a good job.

  ‘DS Carlson, when we have the bridges indexed I want your thoughts on which is most likely to be the target.’

  As the team got to work, it quickly became apparent there were literally hundreds of bridges in and around the city. Carlson thought it would be impossible to state which was most likely as a location. But as soon as he saw the crescent bridge – a bright blue one that ran over the railway line close to the city centre – he felt sure it would be the one. It was one of the few that ran over the railway lines. Bradshaw agreed, and the eight bridges that crossed the railway line became the primary focus. He messaged Karen, telling her they were focusing on the bridges, but she didn’t respond. He wanted to call but thought better of it. She had done enough.