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

He didn’t want to reveal the full extent of The Game. Not now.

It was almost fun, in a delirious sort of way, watching them try to work out what was sitting in front of them.

Perhaps he really was losing his mind. Perhaps he’d already lost it. They would believe that, quite easily. Someone rocks up and confesses to killing eight people, over an extended period of time – it doesn’t look sane.

Maybe it would be easier if they believed he was mad and that would be that. Lock him up in a secure hospital and never worry about him again.

Maybe that would be for the best.

‘You do something bad and you have to try and atone for your lies. Butyou never realise you’re playing with a loaded dice. And no one has won yet. Charge me with eight counts of murder and it’ll be over. Until then, it goes on.’

He knew on some level that wouldn’t be the outcome. That soon, the house of cards he’d tried to construct would come tumbling down. He didn’t know how to stop it. Didn’t know what he should do.

He wasn’t sure of anything. Only that the story hadn’t finished yet.

BEFORE

Twenty-Two

Mark suppressed a yawn as he left his car and made his way up the path the next morning. He rang the bell. The house seemed like any other in the area. Small, a decade or so old, with that new-build brick colour. To him, they’ve always looked like a strong wind could blow them over. He knew this was what would soon be the norm – that every house in the country would look like these at some point. Smaller, less weathered. Communities changing before his eyes. As more investment came into the city, this was how the future would look.

He shook his head and checked his notes again.

Chris Jackson. One of the names that had stood out when he’d gone through all the messages to Emily again that morning. The most vitriolic, the most threatening. Mark was standing on the doorstep, about to ring the bell again, when the door opened. A lad of about twenty stood before him, arms bulging from a tight white V-neck, showing the tufts of dark chest hair poking out. Tattoos fighting for freedom from the sleeves. Skin the colour of a burnt orange. Hair swept over his head in a manner that probably took hours to perfect.

‘Yeah?’

‘Chris Jackson?’

The lad slouched, one hand still holding on to the door. ‘Yeah, who are you?’

Mark produced his identification. ‘Detective Constable Mark Flynn. I was wondering if you’d be able to answer a few questions, related to a current investigation.’