‘It’s a rather delicate matter, so we felt it should be handled by the professionals at this stage. I would advise you to secure some professional advice for yourself … legally, I mean.’

Bloom’s shock gave way to anger. ‘Who made this complaint? What exactly is it about?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t say any more over the telephone.’

‘You can summon me to a tribunal but you can’t tell me why? That’s ridiculous. I demand to know.’

‘The HCPTS will be in touch to talk you through the process and provide the necessary details. This is simply a courtesy call.’

‘A courtesy call?’

‘Like I say, the HCPTS will be in touch,’ said Dr Claude Fallon and then he was gone.

This made no sense. Who had she worked with recently? Who might have an issue with her advice? Who would hold such a grudge?

Each question led to one answer: Dave Jones, the man who had accused asexual Jamie Bolton of grooming his twelve-year-old daughter, Amy. This was all she needed.

29

Lana hated to admit it, but her latest opponent was out of her league. PV had already posted evidence of his latest triumph, pictures of an old lady he’d defrauded asleep with a large purple bruise across her eye. He’d also attached evidence of the cash she’d handed over for whatever fake job he’d promised to do, and a bank statement showing a transfer of £42,300 from her legitimate account to his ghost account. Lana hadn’t even identified a target. She was going to drop down the league table – again – and have a lower-level opponent assigned, someone who, like PV, would walk all over her. Why couldn’t she stop drinking? She had lost thirteen of the last twenty-four hours to the bottle.

The answer came to her with total clarity.

She couldn’t do it alone. She couldn’t stay sober alone. She needed help.

Jameson was standing outside Fork trying to access the game. One hundred and nine confirmed players, he thought as he followed the link and instructions sent over by DC Logan. He downloaded the Tor browser bundle needed to access encrypted websites via his phone. The site opened with a bright white screen and three boxes requesting your full name, date of birth and unique user reference. The only other content was three lines of silver writing at the bottom of the page that read:

HAPPY 1ST BIRTHDAY.

YOUR GIFT IS THE GAME.

DARE TO PLAY?

YOU HAVE ONE CHANCE AND ONE CHANCE ONLY.

THE GAME MUST START TODAY.

‘Good morning.’

Jameson looked up to see Dr Sarah Something standing in front of him.

‘Dr Sarah Something.’

Her laugh was low and husky. Jameson liked it. A lot.

He shrugged. ‘That’s how Steph introduced you.’

‘I see.’

‘It makes you sound like a comic-strip sidekick.’ Why was he saying these ridiculous things?

‘You looked engrossed,’ she said, nodding to his phone.