Lethal Game, page 16
‘So what is this, round one? We have to work to that for sure.’
‘Jesus,’ DS Rose breathed.
‘So tonight then. I’ll go get this game, maybe pick up a pizza on the way back. I could play it myself but I think we all need to know what we might be up against.’
‘Well, actually …’ Eileen began, and both officers fixed on her. ‘I do have plans this evening, sir. There’s a crossword that simply won’t do itself … I’ll have to call my neighbour, get my cat fed, and I can catch up on my soaps …’ Her excitement was increasing. Joel thought it was the realisation kicking in that she was being asked to stay late to play her part in working a murder investigation and preventing more lives lost, but then she said: ‘And I do love a boardgame!’
Joel shook his head then aimed a questioning look at his sergeant. ‘Of course,’ she responded instantly, ‘I like Hawaiian.’
Eileen was back working her screen, the clicks on her mouse seeming firmer and faster as she moved back to Facebook’s marketplace page. Joel moved to peer over her shoulder. She brought up the profile of the seller. A number of Escape!-related items were shown. One stood out. Another figurine, but different. It looked larger than the runner – wider certainly and in this case expertly painted, right down to tiny poppers on the navy blue overalls and a lighter shade of blue on the turnups over black rubber boots. The face was covered by a yellow hood that flared out to meet the shoulders, with a rectangle on the front to look like safety goggles stitched into it. In its right hand it held a lit welding torch, in the other a bronzed cattle bell.
‘What the hell is that?’ Joel said.
‘That is The Captor.’ Eileen’s reply was instant.
‘What does he do?’
‘He’s the main character, the one you have to defeat.’
‘How do you defeat him?’
Eileen stopped her clicking to peer over the top of those damned glasses. ‘You stay alive.’
Chapter 26
Bradley was aware of the voices, shrill, slightly panicked – familiar. His two children in the back, talking to him.
‘What!’ he bellowed and instantly felt bad. It wasn’t their fault he was distracted, that his anxiety was such that he was having to focus to breathe at all, his grip on the steering wheel so tight that his hands were flushed white, while he squinted out at a quickly sinking sun, desperate to find his way before dark.
It wasn’t their fault that an old-style Land Rover Defender was right up his chuff either. It must be a local, someone far more used to these roads and heading home for dinner. There was nowhere to pull over and he didn’t want to speed up in case he missed a landmark. He was hopelessly lost.
‘Where are we going, Daddy?’ Bradley didn’t know. Not really. He had hurriedly booked somewhere, a holiday cottage, the first one he had found that looked remote. But his reasons were nothing to do with taking a family break. It had been a reaction after what he had done, what he had been forced to do. He had killed a man. It hadn’t been easy either, not like the movies might have you believe. His victim was barely a man, a baby-face with soft skin, but he had fought hard, even when his arm had snapped under the blow of a baseball bat. Even when Bradley had stabbed him in the neck he had still lashed out, still twisted under the blade like he might get away. None of it had been what he might have expected; it wasn’t soft, there weren’t the sudden wide eyes and a few seconds of clutching at his neck before his victim went limp – nothing like it. There was gristle, spurting blood, hands getting in the way as he tried to push the scissor blade deeper. The blood was thick and slippery; he had even resorted to a sawing motion. In the end he had pulled the blade away and just started stabbing, striking the hands and fingers that were in the way first so he could get to the neck. But the pain didn’t seem to register; the hands didn’t move. There was so much fight. Bradley had even started to wonder if you could kill a man with a pair of scissors.
But you can.
The resistance seemed to leave all at once. The man’s hands finally fell out of the way and he had continued stabbing at the mess that was revealed. Soon the skin of his neck was nothing but jagged tears of flesh, open wounds flushing white for an instant before erupting in deep red. The more he stabbed the less the blood. The first good blows had been like popping a balloon; the last one barely did anything at all. The man died in his arms.
Alan.
He wished now that he hadn’t asked for his name. Maybe it would be easier to dismiss a nameless victim – or at least to shake him from his mind just long enough to follow directions.
He glanced at his mirror to glimpse his children, the very reason he had reacted the way he had. He couldn’t lose them. They couldn’t lose him. They had barely started being a family.
‘I told you, a fun place in the woods. That’s all.’
‘But I have school, Daddy. Am I still going to school?’
‘No, Tommy, you’re not going to school, OK, mate? I’ve spoken to them, you don’t have to. Your teacher’s fine with it. Your brother’s nursery the same.’
‘Where’s Mummy?’
‘She’ll be there too, OK? She just had some things to sort at work. Oh FOR GOD’S SAKE!’ Bradley roared. The Defender was now flashing its lights, snaking across the road to fill each mirror in turn. There was a passing place just ahead under a canopy of trees. He slowed, pulling over to let the local past, and looked into his side mirror, his fist already raised in a wanker gesture against the driver’s window. Then Bradley quickly snatched it back.
It had pulled out to go round, but it didn’t look like it had pulled out enough. Sure enough, the Defender hit, its nearside front pushing into his rear quarter panel. It was slow moving, and his car leant away from the impact as it scraped up the side. He heard an engine surge as the scraping got closer; it seemed to turn harder into the side, now reaching the driver’s-side door. He leant away. The plastic housing under the window popped out, the wing mirror was dragged from its housing to hang down and thump against the side on a wire as the Defender continued past. Then it veered over to block the way, the brake lights dim through a layer of mud.
Bradley swore. He pushed his door open but was able to control his rage enough to turn back and take in the faces in the back. ‘Everyone OK?’ he said and got hurried nods in reply.
He spun away, stepping round his door to take in the fresh scrapes and dents. The wing mirror bounced against the door once more as he slammed it shut. The front wing had damage too. The sight of his car, those terrified eyes in the back, it all fuelled his rage as he strode towards the Defender. Its reverse lights flickered like the driver had put it in neutral while the engine still ticked over.
‘NOT LIKE I DIDN’T GIVE YOU PLENTY OF ROOM!’ he bellowed towards the car, approaching from the side where he could see the windows were smoked almost black but the driver’s window was down. There was no reaction, which only served to make him angrier. He made it to the driver’s window. ‘WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH—’
He stopped dead.
The yellow hood was the first thing he saw, then the blue overalls. Then his eyes dropped to the weapon held in a loose grip on his lap. He recognised it from when it had been pushed into his face at the start of his nightmare just a few days earlier.
‘You cheated.’ That same growled voice – he’d only used it for a few words, most of the time he’d communicated through a tinny recording. ‘You remember what I told you? It would be your children first.’ The door opened. Rubber boots dropped to the floor and Bradley found himself stepping backwards.
‘No!’ Bradley threw his hands up, side-stepping to block the man’s way back to his car and his children in it. ‘Listen to me, listen to me! I didn’t cheat, I didn’t know that was cheating. You said the first one there and I … I was first!’
The man stepped in, close enough for the scent of the leather hood to flood Bradley’s nostrils. The barrel of the blunted shotgun dug him in the chest. ‘You don’t take the life. I take the life. Everyone plays their role. Yours was to run.’
‘I didn’t know! You said first one to the phone, a race, I knew that. You didn’t say I couldn’t hurt anyone else. You think I wanted to? I had to make it, I had to be the winner, I’ve got two kids … Come on, you know that. I just did what I could! Please!’
‘You will play again.’
‘What …? No! No, come on, I did what you asked, that was all—’
‘You will play again or you will all die here. Now. Kids first.’ The man took a side-step like he might be going round him.
‘OK! OK, I’ll do it again. I’ll play by the rules, by your rules, OK? I’ll do that. Just don’t hurt them.’ The man stopped in his tracks. He seemed to hesitate; at least, he stayed still. When he did move again it was towards the back of his own car. The boot door was large and hinged on the side. Bradley had to step back so he could open it.
‘Get in.’
‘I can’t! My boys are in—’
‘Get in!’
‘I’m not leaving my boys!’ Bradley stood still. The man with the hood moved to the side of the Defender. He pulled open the back door this time, leaning in for just a moment. There was another voice now, a muffled scream then a whimper. ‘Jesus, Julie!’ His wife stumbled to stay upright as she was wrenched from the car. Her hands were bound, her mouth gagged tight with material that looked like a torn-up towel. The man threw a pair of scissors at her feet. Bradley recognised them instantly. He could still see the red staining on the blade. He had first seen them when he had pulled them out of that sandpit.
‘Get IN!’ The growl had a higher pitch when it was louder. His wife glanced around and saw their car. Their oldest boy had got out to stand beside it, his eyes filled with fear and confusion. Julie was shaking her head vigorously, the gag starting to come away as she did. The man raised his shotgun again, this time resting it against the side of Julie’s head to stop her movement. She stared over at Bradley, her eyes pleading, her chest heaving.
Bradley stepped up into the boot, talking to her as he went. ‘Don’t worry! I’ll sort this—’ The boot door slammed into his hip. He felt another shove where it hadn’t closed, and this time the blow pushed him off balance and he rolled onto his side. He heard the front door pull open and slam shut, and felt it too – then the movement of someone getting into the car.
‘Just do as he says!’ His wife’s voice, her words screamed. She must have been free of the gag, maybe using those scissors that had been dropped onto the floor, still stained with the blood of the man he had killed. She shouted something else too, but he couldn’t make it out over the sound of the engine revving. He made it back onto his knees only for a sudden surge forward to send him sprawling again, his head banging against something solid. He curled into a foetal position, doing the best he could to protect himself as he hurtled away from his family, already muttering his promises that he would do whatever it took to get back to them.
Chapter 27
The pizzas were barely touched. When Joel had picked them up the scent was full of promise as it flooded the car for the short journey back to the nick, but for all of them it seemed, their appetite diminished with every item unpacked from the box labelled Escape!
The tagline on the front of the box was the first thing to grab Joel’s attention. Under the game’s title was a strapline: You Have To Win. It was written across the midriff of the character that seemed to be central to the whole thing: The Captor. He was shown as a cartoonish welder in blue overalls, his face concealed behind a leather hood. ‘Cartoonish’ was a good way to describe the tone overall. The set Eileen had secured for them was part painted, which meant the plastic pitchfork was finished with blood droplets, as was the glass hammer. Everything seemed to be covered in gore of some sort: all part of the fun.
But it didn’t seem funny now.
They played a condensed version of the game, just using the Abandoned Farm as its backdrop. You could fit all of the zones together, four squares to form an area large enough to challenge the dimensions of most dining-room tables, but they didn’t have the time to play out the full thing. Joel just wanted an idea of what they might be up against and the Decrepit Fort, Abandoned Lorry Park and Abandon Ship! zones stayed in the box.
The game was essentially a dice game in which you took turns to throw five at a time, needing one of them to be a six to get out of your chains and start your Escape! Once out, your score across the dice determined your options and you could use this score to search for tools or weapons or to move towards the final goal of the payphone. At times your path could cross with your opponent’s or, if the circumstances were right, The Captor could catch you up – hence the need for weapons to repel a threat, and tools to gain access to the phone box at the end. The tools and weapons were in two piles of playing cards, both face-down so you couldn’t know what you might get next. The backs of the cards displayed the cartoonish welder and his blowtorch staring out with Escape! written across him.
If Joel could have forgotten for a minute the fact that two young women had been forced to play this out as part of a terrifying reality, then he might have been able to see the game’s appeal and how it could be a fun way to spend an evening. But it was far from it. Cards were turned over, more and more grisly-looking weapon options were revealed, and all the time The Captor was in close pursuit.
The game ended for Joel when Eileen overturned the Death Card. A simple skull and crossbones image that had them scampering for the rule book and accepting that its reveal meant that all of them had to lose a life. Joel didn’t have another one to lose as he’d already been damaged from an attack by The Captor that had left him wounded.
He couldn’t say he appreciated the irony.
Day 4
Chapter 28
The images of cartoon weapons dripping with blood were no doubt part of the reason that Joel slept so poorly. He woke up with a start, his bedside clock telling him it was just after 5 a.m., but his mind clicked in, seemingly unconcerned about his lack of sleep and forcing him to abandon any attempts to get any more.
He crept downstairs to hunt for his running shoes. If he had to be awake, he might as well try and make something positive out of it.
He ran into the sunrise for as long as he could, his eyes half closed, enjoying the sensation on his face. Too soon it was snuffed out by tall trees that lined most of a loop that touched the outskirts of the medieval city of Canterbury before bringing him back to the rural setting of Elham and his home in the centre of the village.
His wife was there to witness him stumbling back through his front door. She sat halfway up the stairs, wearing a dressing gown wrapped tight.
‘I was hoping not to wake you.’
‘You didn’t,’ she said.
‘Are you going back to bed? It’s early.’
‘It’s gone six, it won’t be long before the kids start making their demands,’ she said with a shrug.
‘Is it? I went a little further. I can sort the kids out this morning if you want another half hour. I’ll bring a tea up.’
‘That’s OK. But I’ll still take that tea.’ She smiled and stood up, pulling her gown at the hem to straighten it. He walked through to the kitchen to fill the kettle and Michelle moved to lean on the counter opposite him. ‘I’m sorry, I know I was supposed to be making the kids’ dinner last night, to be making you dinner—’
‘We don’t care about dinner, you can’t cook for shit, Joel. We just want you here spending time with us. That’s all.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s partly my fault. I guess I got used to seeing you for regular hours. I’m happy for you, I know you wanted a good job to do, to be working again and I know if you’re late off it will be for something important.’ There was a smile but the eyes above it were questioning.
‘We were playing boardgames,’ Joel said, deliberately not saying anymore.
‘You missed time with your family to play a boardgame with your workmates?’ He was going to need to explain himself.
‘There’s an strategy boardgame for adults, it’s called Escape! You have to roll a dice, make moves, get tools and weapons, and the aim of the game is to stay alive from some evil captor character. This killer that we’re looking for might be playing it for real – and I know how that sounds – but he has two people up against each other, forcing them to search for whatever they can use, then making them run for their lives. Literally. The person who makes it first is cut loose to find their way home, barefoot, lost and half-starved. The person who loses the race …’
‘What?’ Michelle said, disbelief now thick in her voice.
‘Game over,’ Joel said. ‘And now we think it might happen all over again if we can’t stop it.’
‘Jesus, Joel, what the hell is wrong with people?’
‘The old TSG days, I saw a lot of violence, dealt with a lot of violence. Pub fights, gang fights, stabbings over drugs … There was always a reason that someone was a victim.’ Joel shook his head. ‘If you’re being stabbed by a drug dealer you’re probably a rival dealer, or an enforcer, or just part of that world. I can almost accept someone getting hurt because they made some wrong life choices, because they went after the easy money. But this girl, she could have been someone this sicko just walked past in the street – wrong place, wrong time – totally random. I can’t get past that. I think about our girls, I think about keeping them safe, bringing them up right so they stay the hell away from drug dealers or any world where violence is normal. But how do I keep them away from someone like this?’
Michelle stepped in to take hold of his shoulders. ‘You find him and you put him away. That’s what you do, that’s your job now. Think how important that is. Those drug dealers you talk about, you used to tell me how you would arrest one and two others would pop up somewhere else in the same town – whack-a-mole, right? This guy, he has to be seriously unwell, he has to be unique. Stop him and no one takes his place and our girls are safe, the whole world’s a safer place.’
