The Players

by Darren O’Sullivan

  He smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  I stood to leave, thanking both Jim and Susan profusely for their time, given the late hour and circumstances. As I stepped outside into the frigid air, I turned back to Susan, who had walked me to the door.

  ‘Susan, thank you for allowing me into your home.’

  She fixed me with a hard stare. ‘Just stop this guy.’

  ‘I intend to.’

  As I walked away, the knot in my stomach wouldn’t shift. In my mind, The Host was taller, taller than me. I was sure of it when I chased him. In light of Jim’s story, I had to ask myself: had I projected Grayson James onto my depiction of The Host? I quickly dismissed it. No, my first instinct was right. I thought back to when I nearly caught him by the footbridge – he was definitely bigger than me, not the diminutive figure Jim had described.

  It didn’t make sense, but before I could understand why, the burner phone buzzed. A text from Howard.

  Call me when you can. New developments to discuss.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  10.08 p.m.

  As I approached my house, I saw Sam’s car had gone. Or rather, I had driven her away. Walking into an empty house felt strange. I threw my coat on the end of the banister; it slid off and fell to the floor but I didn’t pick it up, I didn’t have the energy. Although I knew Sam wasn’t going to be there, I hoped she would be at the breakfast bar when I walked into the kitchen. But of course she wasn’t. Sam was gone, as she had warned. I was destroying my marriage as I destroyed my career. I was hurtling further and further on a downward spiral which would soon spit me out at rock bottom.

  Taking a seat, I rested my heavy head in my hand and watched Bob swim. I didn’t blame Sam for leaving. I loved that about my wife, she was true to her word. She had a clear sense of what was right and wrong, which was everything I had been lacking these past few weeks. I could have sat there all night, my head in my hands, wallowing. But what would it achieve? Sam wouldn’t come home, and I wouldn’t be any closer to stopping The Host. There was time for self-pity but it wasn’t now. I forced myself onto my feet, and walked over to the sink to splash my face with cold water. I felt more alert once I had, and that was when I saw a note waiting for me on the side.

  I’ve gone to stay at Mum’s for a bit. Please think about why you are doing this.

  If you change your mind, you know where I’ll be – your side of the bed will be waiting. I love you,

  S x

  The idea of being in a warm bed, the duvet pulled high, the arm of the person I loved wrapped around me, and a full night’s sleep was tempting, more than that. I knew if I called, said I was on my way, Sam would wait up. Despite being upset and angry with me, I knew she loved me as much as I did her. One quick call and I would feel safe. But I knew I wasn’t going to call, not her anyway. Instead, I rang Howard back. After three rings, he answered. No pleasantries, no greeting.

  ‘We’ve found the sixth crime scene. Both dead.’

  ‘Shit.’ I knew from seeing the film, they were likely both badly injured, but both dead? That was new. In all the games, someone survived – they had to be alive to keep the story living forever. With both Players dying, it explained why there was no phone call, and why the video was posted online a lot earlier than the others had been. But I had to wonder, what would that mean for the Host?

  ‘Where did you find them?’

  ‘In the basement of a closed-down coffee shop, on Bridge Street.’

  ‘Bridge Street – that’s where the news footage was coming from.’

  ‘Yep, one hundred or so feet from the crowds.’

  That was what I could hear in the video, the faint noise in the background. It was the crowds on the streets nearby. The Host said he was going to crush hope – when the world knew they were celebrating so close to where The Game was being played, hope would indeed be dead. He was right under dozens of police officers, literally. And no one knew.

  ‘Karen, the basement was under refurbishment. Debris everywhere.’

  ‘I could see in the video.’

  ‘It’s not confirmed, but that rock – the one at the rowing lake – looks like it was from here.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Yeah, fuck. Did you speak to Jim Weston?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Maybe. If you can, could you check the other CCTV footage from the library? I can’t see how tall The Host is in either the Chinese or the footbridge incidents. It’s not clear.’

  ‘Sure. Why?’

  ‘I got a sense of him being taller than me. Five ten-ish, but Jim Weston said he was small in stature and thought he was about five five.’

  ‘OK, I’ll have a look.’

  ‘It might be nothing.’

  ‘I gotta go, Bradshaw is here. I’ll message later.’

  ‘Don’t tell him we’ve spoken. If the height discrepancy comes up, say you had a hunch, the idea can’t come from me. I was supposed to go to him with any ideas, but…’

  ‘Yeah, how would you explain to him you’d been to see Jim Weston? Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.’

  Howard hung up, and I started digging through my messages from him, bringing up the CCTV footage he had sent me from the Chinese takeaway again. I was missing something. I watched him: the swaying, the preparing, he reached up and turned on his GoPro with his right hand. I pulled up the CCTV footage from beside the footbridge. Did his build look different from before? It was hard to tell in the low light and poor-quality picture.

  Trying again, I looked at the GoPro image The Host had posted after both crimes, trying to see if one was from a higher vantage point than the other. In both videos the image sprang to life when he reached up to his helmet to turn on the camera. Taking a screenshot of the first moments in both videos I compared the pictures. I hoped to confirm my thoughts, but again, it was impossible to tell.

  I was just about to give up, when I noticed something different in the two pictures. In the Chinese, The Host’s right hand was in the first shot, captured as he lifted it down after turning on the camera. In the second his left featured. Going back to the CCTV videos I watched them both again. At the Chinese, he turned on the GoPro with his right hand, pulled the weapons out of the bag with his right hand, laid them down using his right hand. On the bridge, the order was the same, but even in the low light, I could see the hand was different. Left every time.

  The difference in behaviour, the height discrepancy, the difference in the hand used. We weren’t looking at someone with two personalities. We weren’t looking at someone who was feeling the pressure of public perception.

  We were looking at two different people.

  Closing the videos, I went to call Bradshaw but stopped myself. I shouldn’t have seen the CCTV footage and would likely get in deeper shit. Instead, I messaged Howard. This had to go through him.

  Get Jenny from profiling to draw up a character of The Host from the footbridge – forget the other videos, just the footbridge. I’ll explain when we talk.

  After I hit send, I went back to looking at the videos. Trying to find something else that was staring at me and I’d missed. Now I had worked it out, it was obvious they weren’t the same person – to me, anyway.

  Despite the latest crime being the most horrific and only a few hours old, I kept coming back to the Fourth on the bridge. I watched The Host pace, wipe his hands. I could almost hear him talking to himself inside the motorbike helmet. If I had to choose one word to describe him, that word would be conflicted.

  If it was another person entirely, like my gut was telling me, and if they were still conflicted, I could use that. I had to find them first or get them to come to me. It was a big if, and with that came a big risk. If I could pull on their doubt, make them feel safe and understood – if I could give them a way out – I could use that to find the other. The real Host.

  I knew what I had to do. I knew it would no doubt cost me my job but I had no choice. I could be wrong about
all of it, but if there was even a one per cent chance I was right and there was a second person involved, I had to try.

  Logging into my Facebook, I tapped the upload button, changed the format from a picture to a video, and began to record.

  Day 7

  9 February 2019

  ‘BLOOD BROTHERS’ TRAGIC END. THE HOST STRIKES AGAIN, CRUSHING HOPE FOR THE CITY OF PETERBOROUGH

  The City of Peterborough is in a state of shock after a moment of hope quickly turned to terror as The Host committed the sixth terrifying and brutal attack on the city and its people. Following the death and subsequent video of John Stroud, the people of Peterborough participated in a vigil in the city centre as a sign of defiance at the time The Host stated the next ‘Game’ would be played.

  At 8.24 p.m. – twenty-four minutes after The Host’s stipulated time – there had been no indication his crime had taken place. As the city began to celebrate, The Host posted his latest video showing the attack on two young men, brothers Nistor and Rusu Hofer.

  The Host also took the opportunity to directly address DI Karen Holt who took to social media to respond in an attempt to stop The Host continuing his rampage on the city. In her video message, she said:

  ‘I know there is a part of you that doesn’t want to do this, a part of The Host that believes this is wrong. A part that has doubts. I am speaking to you. Reach out, let us help you, let’s work together to stop this. You know where I am, so find me.’

  Her message has been seen over 100,000 times on social media. DI Holt and Cambridge Constabulary have yet to comment.

  Amanda Belkin > Peterborough Free Discussion

  Has anyone else seen that video? What the hell is that police officer thinking?!?

  1,212 Comments

  Johnny Ormo

  She is going to end up dead.

  Jack Anderson

  I think she is being clever, trying to appease him in a way he understands.

  Amanda Belkin

  What do you mean, Jack?

  Jack Anderson

  Well, he likes a big audience, doesn’t he? I think she knew if she posted anything, especially after she was named, it would go viral. It’s had like, what, 100,000 views or something. I bet he has watched if for sure, and who knows? It might make him stop.

  Johnny Ormo

  Of course it won’t. This guy is a psycho. I agree with Amanda. All Karen Holt has done is make herself vulnerable. She’s gonna end up dead if she’s not careful.

  Claire Turner

  At least she is trying.

  Amanda Belkin

  But it was desperate, don’t you think? There is no way he is gonna hand himself in.

  Claire Turner

  I agree, but what else could she do?

  Johnny Ormo

  Keep quiet, let the police do their job.

  Jack Anderson

  She is the police.

  Claire Turner

  Guys, has anyone seen Emily? Is she OK?

  Jack Anderson

  Emily left the group last night.

  Claire Turner

  What?

  Jack Anderson

  I messaged her after, you know, it happened, and she sounded broken. She said she was responsible, because it was her idea to defy him.

  Michaela Balfour

  No, he was going to do it regardless of what we did. Her idea gave us hope.

  Johnny Ormo

  But now what? Last night we had hope, we arranged a congregation of people, in the middle of town, and he still killed right under our noses. Where I stood last night was within fifty metres of where he played. Fifty. How can you stop someone who can do something like that so close to so many people?

  Jack Anderson

  I was close too. I saw the body bags coming out.

  Amanda Belkin

  Jesus!

  Jack Anderson

  Yeah, Jesus. This guy could literally pick off anyone if he wanted.

  Claire Turner

  I agree. None of us are safe.

  Johnny Ormo

  Me too. That’s why I think that police officer, Karen Holt, is going to get herself killed.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  10.14 a.m.

  Bradshaw had seen my video and I had been summoned. Walking into work felt a lot like it had the day after Grayson James died: the sideways looks from colleagues who knew, quiet whispering when they thought I was out of earshot. I knew I was putting my neck on the chopping block when I posted that video on Facebook last night. But it was for the right reasons – I just hoped Bradshaw would see it that way. I know I should have spoken with him first, but I hadn’t wanted him trying to stop me.

  Just before I reached Bradshaw’s office door, a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me towards a quiet corridor outside the buzzing incident room.

  ‘Karen, what the fuck?’

  ‘Howard, let me explain.’

  ‘You have any idea how much shit you are in?’

  ‘Yeah, I suspect a bit.’

  ‘A bit? The whole fucking world has seen it. You’re gonna get yourself sacked. Or worse, Karen.’

  ‘I can explain.’

  ‘You bloody need to, because it looks like you’ve got a death wish.’

  ‘Howard, you know the height discrepancy I ask you to have a look at – it’s not one person with conflicting personalities, it’s two people.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘In the CCTV videos, one is right dominant, one is left. I didn’t notice until Jim Weston raised the height difference. There are two of them.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I am, and I think Jenny will agree. Have you spoken with her yet?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  From behind I heard someone clear their voice, and when I turned, Bradshaw was leaning in the doorway. He didn’t say anything but raised his eyebrows and walked back towards his office.

  ‘Shit, I’d better go.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Before I do… did you find the train image?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll fill you in later.’

  Head down, I walked back toward Bradshaw’s office and tapped lightly on the door.

  ‘Come in. Close the door, take a seat,’ he said, not looking away from his computer screen. I did as instructed, readying myself for the bollocking I was about to receive. After a moment, Bradshaw looked up, sighed, dropping his shoulders. I assumed he’d not been home since it all began.

  ‘Sir, are you all right?’

  ‘Just…’ he hesitated.

  ‘I’ll be quiet.’

  ‘Yes, please, thank you,’ he said with an air of defeat. ‘I have watched you, Karen, right from when you started as a bobby to the day you passed your exams and became a detective – a thumping good one, I might add. I know it’s not been easy for you, with the demotion and now the IOPC investigation, but I need you to know, I am always in your corner.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘You have a good gut for policing, you see the things others don’t. So I didn’t want to assume the worst when I saw this.’ He turned his computer screen, to show my Facebook video. ‘DI Holt, do you want to explain what the bloody hell you were thinking?’

  ‘Sir, I know what it looks like.’

  ‘Do you really?’ he asked earnestly.

  ‘I can explain.’

  ‘It better be bloody good.’

  I told Bradshaw exactly what I told Howard.

  ‘Are you sure? Two people?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I think so.’

  ‘And how did you come by all this information?’ he asked, unblinking.

  Shit.

  ‘You’ve seen the CCTV footage, I’m assuming?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I have seen some of them.’

  ‘How exactly have you identified the height discrepancy when I’ve got an office full of people combing through it all, dozens of times, without reaching that conclusion?’

  ‘Sir, I…’

  ‘This morning
Rawlinson has spoken with Mr and Mrs Weston, and although Mrs Weston didn’t say so outright, Rawlinson believed they have already been spoken with. I wonder how that could be possible, DI Holt?’

  I opened my mouth to say something, protest my innocence, justify my actions, but the words wouldn’t come.

  ‘And now I’m going to ask about your face. Besides visiting Jim Weston, just how closely involved have you got yourself?’

  ‘Too close, sir.’

  ‘Jesus wept,’ Bradshaw said, getting up and moving towards his window.

  ‘It wasn’t something I planned.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ he asked, snapping his attention back to me.

  ‘No, sir, that’s the truth. I promise.’

  ‘I just don’t know what to believe anymore.’ He held my gaze until I looked away, ashamed of how bad it had all got, and all behind his back. ‘But I did specifically state that if you had any ideas you should come directly to me.’

  ‘I know, sir. I forced DS Carlson to share with me and, once he had, I was worried if I came to you with my ideas, he would get into trouble. It’s all my doing, sir, and I take full responsibility for it. I messed up.’

  Bradshaw sat back in his chair, rubbing his hands through his hair. ‘I’m assuming you’ve asked for corroboration on your theory of it being two people?’

  ‘Sir, I—’

  ‘Yes or no?’

  ‘Howard asked Jenny in profiling.’

  ‘You are making this very difficult for me, DI Holt.’

  ‘Sir, I miss my job, I miss the work I do. The Host is making people kill; I can’t help but want to stop him.’

  Bradshaw nodded towards me; I hated seeing the disappointment in his eyes.

  ‘Because of your little stunt with the video, I’m getting pushed from the very top, and I mean, the very top. The IOPC are considering your dismissal.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I just want to stop this guy.’

  ‘We all want to stop him, but no one else is popping up all over the internet, calling him out, are they?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘It was reckless. You’ve put yourself in danger. From today, there will be a police protection officer with you at all times.’