BooksBarbecue
Back The Game
Chapters (68)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. NOW
  4. One
  5. BEFORE
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. NOW
  26. Twenty-One
  27. BEFORE
  28. Twenty-Two
  29. Twenty-Three
  30. Twenty-Four
  31. Twenty-Five
  32. Twenty-Six
  33. Twenty-Seven
  34. Twenty-Eight
  35. Twenty-Nine
  36. Thirty
  37. Thirty-One
  38. Thirty-Two
  39. Thirty-three
  40. Thirty-Four
  41. Thirty-Five
  42. Thirty-Six
  43. Thirty-Seven
  44. Thirty-Eight
  45. NOW
  46. Thirty-Nine
  47. BEFORE
  48. Forty
  49. Forty-One
  50. Forty-Two
  51. Forty-three
  52. Forty-Four
  53. Forty-Five
  54. Forty-Six
  55. Forty-Seven
  56. Forty-Eight
  57. Forty-Nine
  58. Fifty
  59. Fifty-One
  60. NOW
  61. Fifty-Two
  62. Fifty-Three
  63. Fifty-Four
  64. Fifty-Five
  65. AFTER
  66. Fifty-Six
  67. Acknowledgements
  68. About the Author

‘Morning,’ Mark said, wondering if she would give him even a little time before closing the door. His ID was in his hand just in case. ‘I’m Detective Constable Mark Flynn, from the Merseyside Police. I’m looking for John Redwood. Is he home?’

From the look of surprise on her face, he guessed that was the last thing she’d been expecting him to say. She stood open-mouthed for a second, then seemed to find herself again. ‘He’s… he’s in bed, I think.’

‘Can I come in and have a chat with John? It’s important.’

She still didn’t move, so Mark lifted his warrant card, just to slam the point home a little further. He doubted she would remember his name very quickly, but he didn’t let her linger too long on looking at it.

‘Please, come in,’ she said, stepping back and letting the teatowel hang at her side limply. She offered her hand and Mark took it, then wiped it discreetly on his trousers as he moved into the house; her hand was still damp, slick with some kind of cleaning product. Her voice was barely constrained Liverpool – the accent of the upper middle class in the city, just prim and proper enough to be accepted into different circles than the norm. ‘Excuse the mess, but I wasn’t expecting visitors.’

Mark turned to her and smiled. ‘That’s okay. You have a lovely home. He’s upstairs. is he?’

He didn’t wait for a response before stepping onto the stairs, hearing a little noise of agreement, before taking them two at a time. It was as much as he’d been expecting when he’d arrived – the rest of the house immaculate, doors opened, all of them apart from one.

He knocked, then let himself in.

‘John,’ he said, squinting into the darkness. The curtains were drawn, some kind of blackout thing attached to them. ‘Get up.’

There was a lump in the bed, unmoving. Behind him, he could hear the mother climbing the stairs. She was making sounds, but none that sounded like actual words. Mark thought she’d finally woken up to the fact that he’d forced his way in and bounded up the stairs to talk to her son. Probably about to make some kind of complaint. He turned back to the door, waiting for her to appear, but a noise from the bed made him move back around.

‘It’s alright, Mum,’ the lump said, sitting up and perching on the edge of the bed. ‘I know what this is about. It’s all okay.’