‘Right, what’s that got to do with a boat pub? As far as I know, there are none east of the city.’
‘There isn’t. The Game is going to be played on the Hawser.’
‘The Hawser?’
‘Yep. The pub is the bottom of the barge. The top…’
‘A restaurant called East Point,’ Bradshaw said, catching up.
‘It fits, in the clue left behind, the compass needle is pointing to just below east. He didn’t mean east of the city, he literally meant just below East. The Hawser is just below East Point. The girl is telling the truth. Sir, that’s where he’ll be.’
Chapter Sixty-Seven
8.41 p.m.
One hour and nineteen minutes until the next Game
Over the few hours since Jessica told us the location, we’d listened intently as Bradshaw himself led the team and got them into place to ambush The Host. Bradshaw asked over the radio every now and then for an update. Each voice came back, sounding off that all was quiet, and that, despite searching, there was no sign of the train stencil, the one thing that would confirm categorically we were right, and the teenager hadn’t lied. Time was ticking, and I started to worry I had been mistaken.
I felt completely at a loss, sitting in the empty police office whilst the entire force was out, stalking a barge on the river, waiting for The Host to arrive. I could see Jake was at a loss too, having to stay with me, despite me telling him and Bradshaw it wasn’t necessary. He paced, clock-watched, checked the radio was still working when all was silent for too long. I wanted nothing more than to be there, with them, but Bradshaw pointed out two problems with that. The first was despite him calling me in, despite me speaking with a key witness, I was still, in the eyes of the IOPC, on restricted duty. I began to argue against it, but I couldn’t contest the second, more obvious reason. My second video had gone viral. I wouldn’t be able to move without someone seeing me. Going home wasn’t an option either, because then I wouldn’t be able to listen to the closed-circuit radio Bradshaw had left with Jake.
A voice came over the radio. ‘I’ve found it.’
‘Confirm, over?’
‘The train is here, under a bench in the pub’s beer garden,’ the voice said, quietly. His confirmation that the train had been found cemented the fact that we were right.
‘Good. Sit tight, everyone. He will come,’ Bradshaw said, then, silence.
I stood up, began to pace the room, looked at the clock, its ticking relentless and deafening. I grabbed my cold coffee and took a sip, looked at the clock again. I put down the cup and ran my fingers through my hair. Paced some more. Time seemed to slow to a complete stop. It felt like I was waiting for hours, and only minutes had passed. Sitting down once more, I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to move the tension somewhere else. It would soon be over. We had him; we had the bastard.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
The Host
8.44 p.m.
One hour sixteen minutes until the next Game
Walking over the bridge that crossed the River Nene, he dared to look down towards the Hawser on its bank. It should have been a quiet, wet Sunday night, and yet, several people were sitting at a bench, pints of beer in their hands, barely speaking to one another, none were smoking, it was too cold for non-smokers to be outside. Something wasn’t right. Stopping midway over the bridge, he leant on the wall and pretended to text on his phone, so he could watch. For a while, they did nothing but chat occasionally and sip their drinks; one checked his watch often, kept exchanging a look with the man opposite, like they were waiting for something. Then, he flashed a glance under the table, to the exact place The Host put the train mark.
They knew he was coming.
He had viewed Karen Holt’s second video as desperate but it was in fact something else entirely. He assumed Holt was trying to draw him out, but now it appeared she wasn’t after him, she was after the girl. And the girl had been caught. How else would they know exactly where he was going to play?
The barman and his regular drinker who were supposed to be The Players in his Eighth Game had been given a stay of execution. He would return to them, but only when Karen Holt was out of the picture. Instead, it was time to bring to life his back-up plan. He wanted to commission this plan a few days from now, but Holt had forced his hand. She had manipulated his Game, and it was time to make her understand once and for all she wasn’t special. She was just the same as everyone else and she would be the next Player.
They say every single person in the world is connected to everyone else within six degrees of separation. In a small city like Peterborough, it was likely to be only three. But his research had showed him that for him and Karen Holt, it was just one person. One that linked them both. And it was that one person that would now make Karen Holt play.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
9.21 p.m.
Thirty-nine minutes until the next Game
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I was surprised to see it was Sam. Until then, I hadn’t realised how much I needed to hear her voice. I excused myself from Jake, and stepped into another room.
‘Hi, Sam, I’m so glad you’ve—’
‘Karen Holt.’ A voice came back, metallic, robotic. The shock of hearing him made my legs give and I fell into a nearby desk.
‘No, please. Don’t…’
‘Hurt her? That’s up to you now, isn’t it? You are just a piece in my Game.’
‘OK, all right, just, please. Don’t do anything to her,’ I begged.
‘That all depends on you, now doesn’t it? You see a runaway train, DI Holt. What do you do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Interesting, I would have thought you’d be someone who would act. Soon we’ll know, won’t we?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come to your lovely wife’s school. We’ll be waiting. And DI Holt, I don’t need to tell you to come alone, and tell no one, do I?’
‘Wait, I need to know she is…’ Before I could ask if Sam was unhurt, the line went dead. I lost the ability to move. My mind tried to catch up with what just happened. I was preparing myself for The Host being arrested, and now, I was the next Player in his Game. And the woman to whom I owed my happiness and stability was caught up in it. My chest began to feel tight, and my hands started to burn once more. I fought like hell to push the torture down, but I was failing, I couldn’t catch my breath. I stumbled into a wall, and before I fell, Jake caught me under the arm.
‘DI Holt, are you OK?’
Push it down, Karen, you cannot let slip, he’ll kill her.’
‘DI Holt?’
‘I’m fine, it’s just a lack of sleep.’
‘Sit down, let me get you some water.’
You don’t have time to sit.
‘Jake, I just need to splash my face and drink more coffee. Could you…?’
‘Of course. You sure you’re all right?’
‘Yes. Fine,’ I said. I had no time for my anxiety or grief. Sam was being held, and I needed to act. As Jake walked towards the kitchen to make a coffee, I waited until he was out of sight, and once he was, I moved.
Going into Bradshaw’s office, I searched for his car keys. He’d climbed into a patrol car when he left earlier, and so his was still in the basement car park. I searched his desk and thankfully, there they were.
I walked as quietly and a quickly as I could towards the basement. As I pulled out of the station’s underground car park – no sign of Jake behind me – every fibre in my body told me to drive as fast as I could to Sam’s school, but I forced myself not to. I couldn’t attract attention. I had to do as he said, knowing, if I deviated, he would kill Sam and post her all over the internet.
As I joined the A15, heading north, the roads were as quiet as they might be at three in the morning. Most people were scared to be out, and rightly so. No one knew where he would strike. Not even Bradshaw and the team who were waiting at the river to catch someone who would never arrive. Ahead,
there were around a dozen people standing on the bridge that Jim Weston had jumped from. Another vigil, another peaceful demonstration. Most were fearful, a few were still defiant. I tried to drive as quietly and steadily as I could, but it didn’t matter if I was silent or not, The Host knew I would come.
After all, it was his Game. His rules.
Chapter Seventy
The Host
9.27 p.m.
Thirty-three minutes until the next Game
At first, when he was digging into the life of Karen Holt, he struggled to believe it. And yet, here she was. In her classroom. Bound and gagged. She had been a teacher in his school for years. The woman who had tried to help him at his lowest was connected to Karen Holt.
It was beautiful.
He liked Miss Clarence, but he was being forced to play the hand he didn’t want to play. It was a game he had started, Karen Holt had changed the rules, interrupted the flow. She left him no choice. He knew Miss Clarence would want to help a desperate student. So when he called her on the number she gave him and begged her to come see him outside of the school, he knew she couldn’t say no – even though it meant she’d have to give the young officer in her house the slip. He didn’t know how she managed that but she had, because she cared.
She was just like Jim and Richard and Alexandru and Maggie and the rest of them, too kind for her own good.
Miss Clarence tried to say something behind her gag. But now was not the time to listen. Now was the time to reflect. To plan. Unzipping his rucksack, he pulled out the figurine and put Karen on the desk beside her wife. Then, turning up the music in his headphones, he allowed himself to be wrapped up in the moment. He let the music take over as he left the room and began to lay the trail for his next Player.
Soon she would come, soon Karen Holt would die. She had become the beacon of hope. The world had started to look to her to be its saviour. For this Game, there would be yet another twist in the rules – and it would be just for her. It would start in a similar way to the brothers’ game: if she didn’t hurt her wife, she would die. She could only kill herself once Miss Clarence was badly injured. So in his video, he would make the world see Karen Holt attacking her wife. And then they’d see Karen Holt’s dead body, and they would all think she had lost The Game. That final thread of hope would turn to ashes. Karen Holt had become a thorn in his side, but now, she would be the one to ensure his message would be delivered. After her, he might not ever need to play again.
Chapter Seventy-One
9.39 p.m.
Twenty-one minutes until the next Game
Outside the school entrance I turned off the engine and stepped out into the cold night. As I reached the main reception, there was a crudely drawn arrow on lined paper Sellotaped to the door. I followed the directions and turned down the side of the huge building. There was another arrow telling me to turn left, so I did, and noticed that the gate that led to the playground was ajar. The hinges squeaked angrily when I opened it wider, and I froze, listening to hear if anyone approached. All was quiet.
Walking into the playground, the place felt haunted for the lack of children. I saw another piece of paper stuck to one of the basketball posts. Following the instruction led me to an open door. I expected to see a light source from within but the endless corridor before me was dark, lifeless. A handful of steps took me inside, then another arrow told me to keep going. As I descended into the darkness of the school corridor, a spark flickered in the back of my mind. The Game was his, and his rules were precise. For the city, for me, it was all so horrific, but to him it was only a game.
But what if I stopped playing by his rules?
He was scared; he had tried to push me away by calling me out, knowing I’d be removed from the case. But realising I wouldn’t ever back down, he had grown desperate. Sam was a lure to get me to come to him, and he was smart enough to know I would die before hurting my wife. I knew in that moment he wouldn’t hurt Sam. He wanted me to hurt her or, more likely, he wanted me to die in her place.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I dialled Sam’s number. The phone connected, rang twice and The Host answered.
‘Are you lost, DI Holt? I thought I’d made my directions clear.’
‘No, I’m not lost. I’m in the school.’
‘So why the phone call?’ he asked, and even through the voice manipulator, I could tell he was smirking. ‘Begging me to reconsider?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘If you want me, if you want Sam and me to play your Game, you’re going to need to find me first.’
Chapter Seventy-Two
The Host
9.42 p.m.
Eighteen minutes until the next Game
The Host stood stunned for a few seconds. This was not part of his plan. This was not the way it was supposed to go. He threw the mobile, screaming in frustration. The voice-altering software struggled to adapt to the sudden outburst and decibel level. As the phone exploded on impact with the wall above Sam’s head, she jolted. The Host grabbed the nearest school table and flipped it, sending it clattering into chairs and knocking them over like skittles. Sam screamed behind her gag, and in doing so, she distracted him so that his focus splintered.
This was going to be a fuck up, just like the bridge, if he didn’t control himself. He had planned this all for so long; he’d withdrawn from his friends and sacrificed everything just to make sure the world understood what he had lost. Karen Fucking Holt was not going to screw it up.
Turning to face Miss Clarence, his chest rising and falling like a caged animal primed to kill, he stepped towards her and grabbed her face in his hand. Her tears ran over his dirty fingernails. He began to squeeze, his fingers digging into her cheek so hard he could feel her teeth through her thin flesh. One of his fingers was close to her eye; it took every ounce of energy not to squeeze until it popped out. Shouting in her face, he released her and stepped back, taking a moment to collect himself. She looked so small, so fragile, bound with cable ties to the cast iron radiator that was from when the school was built in the 1960s. The commanding head of year that she had been to him was all but lost. He felt sorry for her, she wasn’t supposed to play, and yet, here she was, sobbing incoherently. Fear had crippled her ability to think or act.
Removing the motorbike helmet, he considered her for a moment, then tore off the tape that held her mouth shut.
‘There has been a slight change to the plan,’ he said.
‘Theo? No, no,’ Sam sobbed, shock desiccated her features, making her look old and haggard. ‘Theo, what are you doing? Please, you have to stop this.’
‘We are way beyond that, Miss Clarence.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she cried.
‘You of all people surely must understand,’ he said, genuinely hurt. ‘I’ve told you everything, you know everything about that day. About what happened. You must understand why I need to do this.’
‘Theo, please.’
‘Tell me you understand.’
‘I can’t.’
‘They let her die, they let her die and then they were called heroes, like she didn’t matter.’
‘She did matter, as do you.’
‘No one matters if she doesn’t, and no one is good if she can die and people can be praised for it.’
‘Theo, you don’t have to do this.’
‘Why can’t anyone see? Michelle Reed, Milly Hallam, Richard Mullis, Maggie Stroud, the brothers Nistor and Rusu, all “good people” – all could and did kill.’
‘Theo, this has to stop. You cannot kill good, it exists in everyone. Including you.’
‘The good in me drowned with my mum.’
‘Theo, that’s not true.’
‘I’m so disappointed, Miss Clarence.’
‘Theo…’
‘Sit tight. We will play soon enough; I just need to go and collect your wife.’
Chapter Seventy-Three
9.44 p.m.
Sixteen min
utes until the next Game
I heard footsteps on the floor bounding in my direction. He wasn’t trying to mask his approach. Arrogance, or perhaps panic obviated the need to tread carefully. I sidestepped into a recess under a flight of stairs that led to the upper floor and hid in the dark corner. I watched him barrel past me and was shocked to see he wasn’t wearing the motorbike helmet. As he pushed open a set of double doors and disappeared away, shouting my name, I felt the hope that my wife wasn’t dead collapse. The Host had managed to hide his identity from all of the victims and survivors. But Sam could ID him, and I would be able to as well. He wanted us to play, and he wanted us both to die.
Crawling out from under the stairs, my shoulder sticky with cobwebs, I kept low and ran in the direction The Host had come from. I looked into every classroom window, hoping I would see Sam behind the glass, and with each empty window I peered into my fear grew.
As I opened a fire door and continued down the corridor, I saw light coming from one of the rooms ahead. Breaking into a run, I drew level and looked through the glass. The light was faint, but I could see enough to make out the shape of Sam on the floor by the window. I covered my mouth with my hands to stifle my sobs. She was tied up, like the Hofer brothers had been, but she was alive. I stepped inside, and Sam panicked – began to scream, so I moved quickly, placing my hand on her mouth to trap in her terror.
‘Sam, it’s me. Take a breath, I need you to be silent.’
Sam nodded, her fear melting into relief, and I removed my hand.
‘Karen—’
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No.’
‘We need to get you out of here,’ I said.
‘It’s Theo, The Host, it’s Theo, my student.’
‘Sam, you have to be quiet. We need to get you out of here,’ I said in hushed tones as I worked on the cable ties. She nodded.
‘You’re coming with me, right?’
The Players Page 27