by Leon, Taylor
‘Christ, it’s a league table,’ I whispered.
‘And you were right, Marcus Simms wasn’t acting alone.’
I glanced at her and she smiled. ‘Everyone knows you called it.’
I shook my head and looked back at the screen. ‘This is not one of those occasions when I wanted to be right. BABYFACE must be Marcus Simms. His one kill was Melissa Fairweather. The other four victims are divided between FRIGHT-NIGHT and THE CHAMELEON. One of them strangles his victims, the other stabs them.’
But if the man who had originally attacked Oriane was the same person Frankie had seen strangling Amy Harper, why was Oriane later found stabbed to death and not strangled?
Unless one killer failed, and so the other stepped in.
But, why?
Unless…
Oh God, no.
‘It’s a game,’ I whispered. ‘They are being assigned targets which they have to eliminate. They’re competing against one another. If one of them fails to eliminate his target, then one of the others steps in.’
I stared hard at the screen as my thoughts revolved inside my head, pulling together the different strands. Slowly, it was starting to make a horrible sense.
‘That’s why the numbers are carved into the victims and why they’re on display,’ I continued. ‘It’s to prove they have killed the target. They’re probably photographing the victims and sending the pictures to whoever is managing this, so they can claim the points.’
‘But why?’ Indira asked. ‘Is there a reward for the winner?’
‘Must be,’ I mused. ‘But Arnie was right, they must be communicating with one another.’
‘There was nothing on the phone,’ she said. ‘As for this computer. Well, I’d say we’re dealing with someone who knows what they are doing. This program was extremely hard to break into. There could be something else in there, but if there is then I’m afraid I can’t find it.’
I reached for the landline phone so I could call Arnie, but the line was dead.
I held the phone away from my ear. ‘That’s odd-’, I started saying.
The laptop’s screen suddenly changed appearance with a loud electronic groan. It went lime green, and a digital image of a clown’s face popped up, smiling malevolently at us. There was circus music in the background. It started speaking over the music, in a high-pitched comic voice. ‘You lookin’ for me? You lookin’ for me? You must be lookin’ for me, or else why would you be here?’
Wills appeared in the doorway, red-faced and breathless because he’d run downstairs. ‘All the systems have gone down, Indira,’ he said. ‘Any reason why?’
He frowned when he heard the sounds coming from the laptop.
‘I am THE GAMES-MASTER,’ the clown continued. ‘I can’t say it’s been nice meeting you. I’m leaving you a present for snooping and I hope you learn your lesson. Ta-rah!’
And the laptop immediately powered down.
****
It was late and we’d been working through the evening. The teams had come back to the station after they’d finished their interviews. We’d all mucked in, sifting through the details, collating everything on bits of paper because our network was down thanks to the virus that had been unleashed from Simms’s computer.
I had a half-eaten pizza on my desk getting cold as I read through some of the reports, when Arnie came through and stopped at our bank of desks.
‘The Superintendent wants to buy himself some time before he has to speak to the press about Oriane Law,’ he said.
Vranch and Cade both looked across at me to gauge my reaction. They knew I had strong views about what we were telling the press.
‘The press aren’t idiots,’ I said. ‘It won’t take long before they piece it together. The key is trying to find out who THE GAMES-MASTER is. He’s the one who sent out the computer virus, and as the name suggests, he is probably the same person who’s co-ordinating the players.’
‘Could it have been Marcus Simms?’ Arnie suggested.
‘No,’ Vranch said. ‘Everything we’ve learned about him suggests he barely had any interest in computers, so could never have set up a program that complex, let alone create a virus like this one.’
‘And he was a poor student so he couldn’t afford to pay someone else to do it,’ Cade added.
‘Gregson’s team are taking the laptop from us,’ Arnie said. ‘If our network has been breached by a virus sent from that machine, then it becomes a matter of national security. Erin, you’ll need to deliver it to them in the morning.’
I groaned at the mention of Alan Gregson’s name. He and I had crossed swords when I discovered he was protecting the figurehead of a terror group we were investigating.
‘Gregson,’ I said. ‘Really?’
‘Who’s Gregson?’ Vranch asked.
‘A really close friend of ours,’ Cade said sarcastically. ‘Can’t you tell?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Arnie said. ‘You won’t see Gregson. You’ll be meeting someone from his team.’ I knew Arnie didn’t like Gregson any more than I did. Those two had a history, but I didn’t know what it was. ‘They’ll call you to arrange the meet.’
‘Very cloak and dagger,’ I said.
‘That’s the Security Service for you,’ Arnie replied. ‘Remember to grab the laptop from downstairs before you go home.’
He wished everyone goodnight, leaving the three of us together.
After he had gone Vranch turned to me. ‘Despite my many years of experience,’ he said. ‘I’ve never had to deal with the Security Service.’
‘Believe me,’ I said, ‘you’re not missing much. They have their heads up their arses most of the time.’
‘And this Gregson?’
‘His head is pushed up the furthest.’
They both grinned and Vranch stood up with his empty mug. ‘Anyone else for a last cuppa?’
I said no as I was heading off home. He looked at Cade who shook his head.
After he had gone, Cade watched as I tidied my desk and stood up, ready to make a move.
‘Are we good?’ he asked.
I looked over at him and felt guilty. I was a jealous bitch. He was entitled to sleep with whoever he wanted. It wasn’t my business. Besides, I’d always maintained I wouldn’t have an affair with anyone I worked with, so I’d ruled myself out anyway. Of course, that pre-supposed he felt something for me. All I was getting from him were mixed messages. One minute he seemed to be pressing me into declaring my feelings, and the next he was telling me I was just another work-partner to him.
‘We’re good,’ I said, a little weakly.
‘Maybe the three of us should grab a drink tonight?’ he asked.
I hoped he meant with Vranch, and not Meredith.
‘I can’t,’ I said.
‘Other commitments?’
‘Something like that,’ I said.
Truth was, I’d just had a thought. There was one person who could hack back into the laptop and the PLAYTIME program. But I’d have to get the laptop over to her tonight before I gave it up to MI5, in the morning.
36
‘YOU’VE GOT A tricky one here, that’s for sure,’ Jessie said to me after she had been working on the laptop for over twenty minutes.
We were the only ones in the office at this late hour, inside The Coven’s Camden HQ.
‘And you say this brought your network down?’ She was typing a lot of code that I couldn’t begin to understand.
‘We think so,’ I said. ‘But we have one of the best protected networks in the country. How the hell can some serial-killers have the know-how to unleash a virus like that? You be careful, Jessie, it might take all this down.’
She smiled at the screen. ‘Don’t you worry about -’ Then she suddenly jerked away from the screen. ‘Whoa!’
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, staring at a black screen full of meaningless green script.
She leaned in and whispered, ‘Impossible.’
She shook her head, r
emoved her thick specs and folded her arms across her chest.
‘What is it?’ I pushed.
‘There’s only one person in the world who writes like this.’
My eyes narrowed as I looked at the words on the screen, trying to understand what she was talking about.
‘Everyone writes a program in a unique way,’ Jessie explained. ‘It’s like how you once described different bombmakers to me. They all have a signature, so you can often tell who’s responsible. This is no different.’
‘Okay,’ I said hesitantly. ‘So, you know who did this. That’s good news, isn’t it?’
Jessie replaced her glasses and looked up at me. Plain-Jane-Jessica-Lane.
‘You won’t find this guy,’ she said. ‘His name is Drax. That’s not his real name. No-one knows what that is, but it’s the pseudonym everyone uses.’
I shrugged. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’
‘You won’t have done,’ she said. ‘But your friends in MI5 will. Drax creates programs that can’t be broken into, or if they are, then they unleash a nasty virus. But I can’t believe he is the ring-master here. It would be a real left-turn if he got into the business of serial killing.’
‘So, someone paid him a lot of money to create the program?’
‘You aren’t dealing with run-of-the-mill serial killers here. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to set this up. You have a group of people playing a game for someone who has a plan mapped out, and is willing to pay whatever it takes to get the job done.’
‘And if there’s an agenda then the victims are not random,’ I breathed.
‘See, I just knew there was a reason you were a detective,’ Jessie smirked, toying with the mouse, so the cursor on the screen was going round in circles.
‘Are you able to get right into the PLAYTIME program, or not?’ I asked her.
She stared at the screen as she decided what to do next. ‘I can try,’ she said.
‘If Drax is the best, then I understand-’
And just as I expected, Jessie who hates being beaten by anybody, took the bait.
‘He’s the best right now,’ she said. ‘But I’m coming up fast behind.’
37
THE GAMES-MASTER couldn’t believe it. This was impossible. He’d been hacked into twice in a matter of hours.
The first time was understandable, he’d even been expecting it. The police were always going to examine BABYFACE’S laptop and phone. That was why he had warned all three of his players to delete any incriminating photos off their hardware, just in case.
He had hoped that if the police believed Marcus Simms had killed himself then they might only give his laptop a cursory glance, but someone had looked a little deeper. He couldn’t understand why they would have done that. However, unless a specific password was entered, then they wouldn’t get very far, and the program itself would automatically unleash a virus.
This second time was different though. They hadn’t just broken into the front screen, they had squirmed all the way into the program. They had actually made it through to BABYFACE’S posting page, although thankfully, his history had been deleted.
At least now THE GAMES-MASTER could view the perpetrators in the corner of his screen. A young fair-haired girl that he hadn’t seen before, and next to her…
Detective Dark!
She just wouldn’t go away. Like a damn leech clinging onto him.
The blonde girl passed the laptop over so the detective could type.
-I AM READY TO PLAY, Detective Dark wrote.
THE GAME-MASTER’S hand hovered over the keyboard, as he debated whether to reply or stay silent.
How much did they know? They had managed to get back into the program and onto this page, which was unexpected. He could shut the whole thing down manually. He had set up half-a-dozen alternative gateways to escape through. It was a pain in the ass as it would take hours to set everything up again. But now, he was left with no choice.
Before he did that though, he wanted to send a message out to this detective who thought she could waltz in here and play him.
Him!
THE GAMES-MASTER.
Who did she think she was?
This was his game.
His game!
He was God, and these infiltrators needed to understand their place.
-WHAT DO YOU WANT TO PLAY? he typed back.
He watched them confer. Detective Dark was definitely the one in charge, he could tell by her posture and hand gestures when they interacted.
-OPTIONS? she replied.
He smiled. -DO YOU LIKE A CHALLENGE?
-ALWAYS
-WHO ARE YOU?
-I AM BABYFACE, she typed.
-IF YOU ARE THEN IT’S GAME-OVER I’M AFRAID
-WHY?
Ego got in the way. -BECAUSE I AM THE GAMES-MASTER AND I SAY SO
-WHO IS THE GAMES-MASTER?
-HE IS IN CHARGE, AND THAT’S HOW I KNOW YOU ARE NOT BABYFACE.
-BUT CAN I STILL PLAY?
-YOU DON’T HAVE THE REQUIRED SKILLS
-I MADE IT THIS FAR, DIDN’T I? DO I NEED TO SUBMIT A CV?
He glanced at the top corner and saw the detective smiling at her own sense of humour, unaware she was being watched.
-THERE’S NO NEED FOR THAT
-SO, CAN I PLAY?
-IT’S VERY COMPETITIVE. EVERYONE WANTS TO WIN
-WHAT’S THE PRIZE?
-ONE MILLION POUNDS FOR THE WINNER
-WINNER OF WHAT?
-THE GAME
-HOW DO YOU PLAY?
-I SELECT TARGETS FOR YOU TO ELIMINATE AND THEREBY WIN POINTS. THE PERSON WITH THE MOST POINTS AT THE END, WINS
-WHEN DOES THE GAME END?
-WHEN I SAY SO
-I WANT TO PLAY
He typed in the necessary codes that would delete the program and allow him to set it up elsewhere. Then he pulled up FRIGHT-NIGHT and THE CHAMELEON onto a split screen so he could send the same message to them all at once.
‘You want to play my game, Detective Dark?’ he said to the screen. ‘Then let’s play.’
FOR YOUR NEXT CHALLENGE I AM SELECTING ONE TARGET. NUMBER 6. THE FIRST ONE OF YOU TO ELIMINATE THE TARGET AND PROVIDE ME WITH PROOF WILL GAIN SIX POINTS AND PROCEED TO THE FINAL
He watched as they all drew in closer.
TARGET NUMBER 6 IS DETECTIVE ERIN DARK
He hit enter, and the screens went dark.
Part Three
IN PLAIN SIGHT
38
WE AGREED TO meet in the basement floor of a shopping centre car-park. I was told what specific parking bay to use. There were already several cars around me, all of them appeared to be empty.
Marcus Simms’s laptop rested on the seat next to me. Jessie had managed to restore it back to how it was when I brought it to her. Then we had spent the rest of the night drinking coffee and thinking about the implications of me being target number six.
Unsurprisingly, I barely slept. I couldn’t tell Cade or Arnie that I was a target, nor was there anything the girls could do to help me. I asked Jessie to keep it to herself and not tell the others. I didn’t want them to worry when there was nothing they could do.
A car, opposite mine and three along, flashed its headlights.
That was my signal.
I carried the laptop across to the car, keeping an eye out for any movement around me.
The car that flashed me was a silver Vauxhall, with nothing stand-out about it, which I guess was the point. The only thing that struck me were the darkened windows. The one on the front passenger’s side slid down as I approached. A middle-aged man was sitting inside. He was wearing a thick coat, a flat cap and shades, and he had an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. There was a younger, suited, black guy next to him in the driver’s seat who stared fixedly ahead when I leaned in.
‘Miss Dark?’ Cigar-Man asked.
‘Detective Sergeant,’ I corrected him, as part of the agreed identifying dialogue. ‘And you
are?’
‘You don’t need to know,’ he smiled, his lips stretching around the cigar, revealing yellow-stained teeth. ‘But you can call me Bob.’
I passed him the lap-top which he took with both hands.
‘This is like the movies,’ I joked.
He placed the computer on his lap and then removed his cigar, with a gloved hand.
‘We have to do things this way,’ he said seriously, ‘to make sure amateurs like you aren’t followed and drop us all in the shit.’
‘Well, it’s a good job I’m not an amateur,’ I replied tersely.
He looked at his driver and then back at me. ‘You didn’t see the car following you in here, did you?’
I’m sure my jaw dropped and slammed against the concrete floor.
‘No way,’ I said, glancing around.
‘Subtle,’ he said. ‘Real subtle.’
‘Which car?’ I asked, leaning in through the window.
‘Two rows behind you. Red Fiesta. Couldn’t make out the registration or we would have called it in.’
‘How do you know it’s following me?’
‘We don’t. But it missed all the spaces on the way in, and then went right around the floor missing all the spaces on the far side as well. Finally, it parked in a bay that looks right across at your car.’
I can’t tell him that I am target number six. I have a bounty on my head with two serial killers competing to murder me.
I was desperate to look over, and realised I was gripping the window frame to stop myself.