The Players

by Darren O’Sullivan

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  10.04 p.m.

  I could hear Sam moving above me, brushing her teeth, getting ready for bed. None of this was her fault, and yet, I was pusing her away, like she was responsible for how I was feeling. I didn’t want to go to sleep with this energy between us. Making my way upstairs, I saw the bedroom door was shut. I decided to knock to be on the safe side. If Sam told me to go away, I would. She’d had an awful day, and instead of giving her my time, my ear to bend, my shoulder to cry on, instead of going to bed with her, cuddling her and telling her it would be OK, I’d chosen to answer the phone. I had got involved in something that Sam had asked me not to – for my own good. I had chosen my work over my wife. I should have been solely focused on trying to deal with what had happened, but The Host and his crimes had forced their way in and taken over. Without him, and his Game, I’d be beside Sam now.

  I raised my hand to tap, but hesitated. If Sam asked me to stop taking an interest in the case, would I be able to? I couldn’t make a promise that I knew I would break. I shouldn’t even try. So, I backed away and went downstairs. Sam and I would be all right, we were solid as a couple, resilient, we’d had tough times, but who doesn’t?

  Instead of telling my wife I was sorry, and that I loved her, I paced, drank coffee, checked my phone every two minutes for an email, or text, and I looked at the image of the train stencilled by the Chinese takeaway a thousand times. There was nothing new to gain from it. The CCTV from the bridge would take time to filter to Howard, and eventually to me, if he decided to share it. And I knew that interviewing the boy would be a lengthy process as well. The shock, time of day, and the fact he was a minor would all impact on how it was handled.

  But I needed something to do. I tried to kill time by looking at bodies of water in and around Peterborough. It didn’t help, there were too many, and with nothing else to go on, it would be just like the bridge. We knew it would be connected to water, but there was no way we’d ever know where.

  ‘Karen.’ Sam’s voice made me jump and I tried to not look guilty as I locked my phone screen. ‘Come to bed.’

  ‘I’ll be up soon.’

  ‘It’s late, we both need a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Just a few more minutes, I promise.’

  ‘Why can’t you stay away from this?’ Sam asked, crossing her arms in the living-room doorway. ‘You don’t have to prove yourself, Karen.’

  ‘Prove myself?’

  ‘His death wasn’t your fault.’

  I knew what she was saying, but it was my fault. If someone else had been arresting, maybe they wouldn’t have fallen. Maybe they could have arrested him without it ending in tragedy. Over the past decade, I had been involved in more arrests than I could count. I had helped so many, stopped murderers and thieves. I had caught serial rapists and helped those trapped in the grip of domestic violence. I had pulled people out of car wrecks. I’d even sacrificed promotions in order to help someone who was truly innocent. But my entire career would now be defined by one arrest, one fall.

  ‘Karen, you don’t need to stop this Host person to make amends. You don’t need to make anything right.’

  I could feel a cold sweat begin to break out on my forehead, my hands began to tingle.

  Shit, not now.

  ‘Sam, I…’

  ‘Come to bed, please? I think we’ll both feel better after a good night’s sleep.’

  I couldn’t go to bed now, I just couldn’t. Sam had just hit a nerve, the nerve. I didn’t want Sam to see me have a panic attack. I didn’t want her to know what a bad state I was in. As my breathing began to catch I mumbled an apology and headed to the front door.

  ‘Karen, where are you going?’

  ‘I need to get some air,’ I said as I wrestled on my shoes, the simple task harder than it should be as my hands were going numb.

  Keep it together, just for one more minute.

  ‘Please don’t go out walking, Karen. Last night you went out, and I had to come and rescue you. Stay with me, let me help you.’

  ‘Sam, I need some air, I’ll take the car around the block,’ I said, struggling to get my words out.

  ‘Karen? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, I need to get some air, that’s all.’

  ‘No, you are not OK.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, fighting to put my coat on.

  ‘Please, let me in, let me help—’

  ‘I just need some bloody air! Will you give me a minute?’ I shouted, regretting it instantly, unable to take it back.

  I expected Sam to say something, but she didn’t, she just watched, shocked by my outburst. I could barely look at her as I mumbled an apology for shouting at her and stepped into the night. Thankfully, I managed to get to the car, unlock and climb in. Starting the engine, I opened the front windows, and the cold night air helped me regulate my breathing. I gagged three times. I’d never been like this before, it scared me.

  At first, I thought I would drive for ten or so minutes, with the windows down and the radio volume up, but instead I found myself heading in the direction of the city centre. I didn’t know why, or where I would end up. I just needed to move, to not look back, and as the miles started to fall behind, I felt myself calm.

  I drove through the city centre, a steady 30 mph on the quiet roads. It wasn’t until I was close that I realised I was on the A15, driving towards the footbridge. I assumed I wouldn’t get near, as they would still be processing the scene. But to see it with my own eyes – to walk the way he would have walked – would hopefully trigger something that would help.

  Eventually, artificial floodlights from the scene came into view, and approaching from the south, close to a cluster of houses, I was confident I wouldn’t be noticed. The crime scene was taped up, the road below closed. I didn’t realise that it wasn’t just one footbridge that ran over the road, but several intersecting over the huge roundabout.

  Parking Sam’s car in a side road, near an Indian takeaway, I climbed out and began walking. This simple action and the sense of control it provided stalled the sick feeling in my gut. Investigating a scene was familiar and comforting, and I could pretend the last few weeks hadn’t happened. As soon as I started to think like a detective again, the panic I had been feeling subsided.

  Keeping my head down, I walked past the ramp to the overpass where it happened, taking note of the small train stencil Howard had discovered, and the lone CCTV camera above. I crossed the road at the roundabout and scurried to the next footbridge to the north of where the forensics were, confident the handful of officers still working wouldn’t see me. From where I stood, I could see across to the bridge to where Jim Weston jumped.

  To my right, there was someone like me, watching the police work. They were a fair distance away, and obscured from view by several trees. The police beneath the artificial lights would have no idea they were there. I was curious, and began to cross to the other side of my bridge, to draw closer. Then I saw it. In the hand of the person was a motorbike helmet.

  The man turned, catching sight of me and, for a moment, neither of us moved. I couldn’t see his face, it was too dark, but I knew he was staring at me, and the way he stood, startled and alert, left no doubt in my mind. It was him, it was The Host, and he had come back to where he failed. It was either brazen, or stupid. His first mistake.

  The stand-off lasted for just a moment before he began to run.

  ‘Stop, police!’ I shouted, knowing that it would do nothing. I didn’t call out again; instead, I saved my breath and forced the oxygen into my legs to power me down the ramp, arms wheeling to keep me upright.

  I managed to flash a look across as he reached the bottom of the incline and was on the footpath that ran alongside the road. If he turned right, he would run closer to the working police officers, surely drawing their attention. Left would be towards me and beyond. He turned my way, and I upped my pace to intercept. As I hit the level ground, he was three steps ahead. Pus
hing myself as hard as I could, my lungs screamed as I fought to get enough air, I chased. I was helpless to stop the space between us growing.

  Ahead the footpath hit a wall. If I could keep up, I could apprehend him when he had to slow down to turn or climb over it. He was bigger than me, several inches taller, but I knew I could use his own speed against him to stop him. If I could get him to the floor, I could hold him there until help arrived. The wall approached, fifty feet, forty, thirty. I could feel my muscles begin to tighten and slow me down. Twenty more feet, that was all I needed to push for. Ten. He began to slow. A few feet away, he jumped, his hand landing with a slap on the top of the cold wall. One leg went over, if the second met it, I would lose him. Lunging, I grabbed his left foot, and began to pull back with all my might. He tried to kick me off, but I held firm. As I began to yank him backwards with both hands, he swung the motorbike helmet, hitting me on the temple, knocking me to the ground.

  Just before I blacked out, I saw the blurred image of his face look back and then he disappeared.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  11.12 p.m.

  From somewhere, I could hear humming. It sounded for a short time, and then stopped, then started again. I couldn’t work out what it was, or where it was coming from. My eyes began to open and focus on the shapes created by the branches of an overhead tree. My vision was blurred, something was wrong, but I couldn’t tell what. Then the pain came, a throbbing in my left eye and cheek. I touched the locus and felt blood, not a lot, but some, and some serious swelling to my cheekbone and eye socket – my eye was partially closed, restricting what I could see. I hoped it wouldn’t close entirely.

  Rolling onto my side, I gingerly sat up, and for a moment, my head swam from the movement. The humming began once more, and realising it was my phone, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled it out. The bright display hurt my one working eye.

  ‘I’ve got CCTV footage. Both from the bridge, and from a small camera inside the Chinese,’ Howard leapt in as soon as I answered. ‘There’s also footage from the library, but as I tried to get it, Rawlinson approached.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t get caught. Anything from inside the nightclub?’ I said wearily.

  ‘Nope, the cameras were off. Sorry, I’ve not woken you, have I?’ Howard said, noticing I sounded foggy.

  ‘Not quite. I couldn’t rest, so I went out.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘By the footbridge. Howard, he came back, The Host came back to the scene.’

  ‘What? You saw him?’

  ‘I had him, Howard, I had him, in my hands and I couldn’t hold him.’

  ‘Jesus, Karen. What were you thinking? You could have got yourself killed.’

  ‘No,’ I groaned as I pulled myself to my feet and leant my full weight against the wall. ‘Our man isn’t a killer.’

  ‘We speculated he isn’t a killer because he didn’t hurt the kid. But we don’t know that.’

  ‘Howard, he is a planner, he isn’t impulsive.’

  ‘But your being there meant he would have had to act on impulse. It was a stupid risk.’

  ‘Well, I’m not dead.’

  ‘Not for the lack of trying. Sit tight, I’ll call it in.’

  ‘No, don’t. Bradshaw will know I’ve been out.’

  ‘But we can get him…’

  ‘He’s long gone by now.’

  ‘Did you get a good look at him?’

  I thought about the moment he’d been close enough for me to see his face, just before I slipped unconscious. I focused to recall his features or a distinguishing mark, but as I tried, the dark eyes and high cheekbones of Grayson James projected onto the memory.

  ‘No, I didn’t get a proper look.’

  ‘OK, we’ll get the bastard. I’m coming to get you. Sit tight.’

  Despite the ground being cold, I slid down and sat, my back pressed into the wall. The blow to my head had left me rattled, combined with the lack of sleep and dropping adrenaline I was sure I wouldn’t be able to walk far unaided.

  As I sat waiting for Howard, I thought about the reasons The Host had come back. His rules had been broken, but to return on the same evening to the scene was blind arrogance or wild petulance. He responded like someone lacking any self-control, and if The Host had shown anything it was that he was disciplined. The risks were huge and he must have known that. If I had to speculate, I would say he came back to play again. I just didn’t understand why.

  Possible motives were racing through my head when a torch shone towards me.

  ‘Jesus, you look like you’ve just done twelve rounds with A. J.,’ Howard said, helping me up onto my feet.

  ‘Charming,’ I said, flashing a tired smile.

  ‘Do we need to get you to a doctor?’

  ‘You need to get me to somewhere serving coffee. Did you bring the CCTV footage with you?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve downloaded it onto my phone, but it can wait.’

  ‘No, I want to see it now.’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ he said, helping me back to his car, before driving a few hundred yards up the A15 to a twenty-four-hour McDonald’s.

  ‘Now who says I’m not classy?’ he joked as he parked as close as he could to the front door and grabbed a small first aid kit from the glove box.

  ‘I bet you bring all your dates here.’ I smiled, then winced, the pain in my face sharp and hot. ‘Don’t worry,’ I added. ‘It’s nothing a coffee and a few painkillers can’t fix.’

  ‘You’re tougher than me,’ he said, handing me the kit.

  We walked inside, the hot air blowing down from the overhead heater stopping me in my tracks. For a moment I let it warm me before Howard told me to go to the toilet and clean up my face. Seeing the person staring back at me in the bathroom mirror with a badly swollen eye was a shock. It looked horrific. Opening my mouth was painful, but I did so as wide as I could, to make sure my teeth were still firmly intact. Thankfully, they were, but my cheekbone wasn’t looking great, and as I touched it, I winced again. I was lucky it hadn’t been broken. As I started to clean myself up, there was a gentle knock on the door.

  ‘Karen, everything all right?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Howard came into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. I looked at him in the mirror.

  I tried to smile. ‘You shouldn’t be in here.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ he replied, running the cold tap and opening the first aid kit, retrieving some antiseptic wipes. As he cleaned the small cut by my eye, I took a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘You’re gonna be sore for a few days,’ he said quietly, cracking a cool pack that soothed as soon as it was applied. ‘Hold this here, go out grab a seat, I’ll get you a coffee.’

  ‘Thanks, mate.’

  Howard left, and after taking one more look at myself, I followed, and took a booth near the door. There were only a handful of people inside, two in high visibility jackets, either just starting or finishing a shift for Highways England. Behind them, tucked in the furthest corner was a young couple – teenagers whispering to one another, looking at a phone, partially obscured behind their milkshakes. I looked at my watch and saw it was close to midnight. I wondered if anyone was worried for them. I thought about approaching, saying something, but stopped myself. I was beginning to show my age; it had snuck up on me. The young couple must have felt my gaze on them, since they looked up, and seeing my face – the cold compress half covering it, like an odd homage to Phantom of the Opera – they looked away quickly. Moments later they stood, threw their milkshakes in the bin and left. I tried to flash a disarming smile, but it didn’t work, as they looked back disgusted. With a sigh, I slumped back against the chair. Then my phone pinged, and I pulled it out to see a message from Sam.

  Are you OK? When are you coming home?

  I’m fine, I’ve popped to see Howard, I’m safe, don’t worry, go to sleep, I’ll be home soon. X

  I waited for her to message back a kiss or
an OK, see you later, but it didn’t come. Howard returned with the drinks.

  ‘Let me see it,’ he said, sitting opposite. I moved the cold compress and he made a face.

  ‘Could at least try and pretend it’s not all that bad.’

  ‘It looks bloody sore.’

  ‘Yeah, it smarts a little.’ I smiled, taking a sip of my drink. ‘I have no idea how I’m gonna explain this to Sam. I’m already in the doghouse.’

  ‘Sorry, mate.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I feel like I’ve dragged you into this.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, Howard, I think I was always going to end up involved.’

  ‘No, Karen, I dragged you—’

  ‘Howard.’ I cut him off. ‘I’m grateful you asked me. I needed you to need my help. What happened with Grayson James, it’s…’ I hesitated. ‘I, I have to prove I am still a good copper.’

  ‘Karen, of course you are a good copper. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t.’

  Howard nodded towards me.

  ‘So, shall we have a look at this footage?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Scoot over,’ I said, getting up and sitting beside him. I rested my head on his shoulder as he loaded the PGN file on his phone.

  ‘You all right? Not feeling sick, or dizzy?’

  ‘No, I’m just tired.’

  ‘Perhaps we should get you checked out.’

  ‘Howard, honestly, it hurts like hell, but I’m fine.’

  ‘OK. If anyone finds out I’ve downloaded this…’ He didn’t need to say any more, we both knew the risks we were taking.

  ‘Thank you.’

  The footage rendered, and a grainy image of the bottom of the footbridge came into view. We could see up the ramp, a little of the top of the bridge, and in the very bottom left corner, the concrete fire hydrant on which Howard had discovered the train image. The A15 ran beside it. We both stared at the video – for a while nothing happened, then Howard tapped the screen, bringing up the timeline at the bottom, and he began to fast forward. The video revealed little beside the odd flicker of tree branches in the wind and headlights from a few cars. Then as the timestamp said 8.21 p.m., I spotted something.