Bloom watched Leeds come into view, Bridgewater Tower rising above the other buildings like a ship’s sail. For every step forward, they fell back five. She made a list of all the things they knew. Someone, probably a well-funded group or organization, had designed a way to identify psychopaths. They had then invited them to play a game, probably with a range of challenges, for some unknown purpose. Most of the hundred or so players were still playing, but a handful – three to be exact – had returned home and resumed their lives as if nothing had happened. As Bloom had anticipated, DS Green had elicited no further insight from interviewing the other two returnees. Llewellyn was bound to have tipped them off, making them more than capable of running rings around the police. But where were the rest? Some had been missing for over a year. Were they still playing or …? How long would the game hold their attention? A few weeks, maybe months – but a year? Surely not.

Bloom stepped on to Platform 1b and wheeled her case to the ticket barriers. She’d abandoned her trip to London. The tribunal would have to wait. She’d call later and invent a family emergency. They wouldn’t buy it, and it would make things worse, but that was the least of her worries.

She abandoned her suitcase in Left Luggage and headed towards Browns. The old bank had a dark bar, floor-to-ceiling windows and wooden table sets straight out of a Paris cafe. There were business diners and ladies lunching, chatting and clinking cutlery. It reminded Bloom of her days as a waitress. Jameson sat at the far end of the bar on his phone. He didn’t look surprised to see her. He was leaving a message for Sarah, asking her to call him as soon as she could.

‘I take it they’re not here?’ said Bloom, shaking her head at the barman coming their way.

‘I’ve walked round the place twice and waited near the ladies’ just in case. No sign.’

‘And the PA at the hospital can’t get hold of her boss?’

Jameson shook his head. ‘They either have their phones off or are out of signal or …’ He scanned the room again.

Bloom’s phone buzzed in her jacket pocket as Jameson’s vibrated against the bar. Their eyes met, then they both checked their screens: there was a new message in the ‘Dare to Play?’ WhatsApp group.

Blocked

Dr Bloom, how are you enjoying the game so far? I want to see what you’re made of, so here is your first challenge. A choice.

1:32pm

They stood motionless in the midst of all the laughter and conversation, both staring at their phones. The next message arrived a few seconds later.

Blocked

Would you like me to return Mr Jameson’s girlfriend?

Or …

1:33pm

‘Yes,’ said Jameson. ‘Crap! Yes … whatever the or is, we want Sarah back.’