‘It’s boring.’

  ‘Yes, but sometimes humans like boring. When’s that?’ Eric’s eyes were as wide as saucers.

  ‘When they choose it.’

  ‘You’re good at this. You did listen. That’s why I don’t understand how you’ve fucked up so monumentally on this one.’ Eric’s fist came down onto his desk with a thud, on top of the drawings Luke had placed there early this morning.

  Luke swallowed. For a second, he had wallowed in his boss’s praise, but it had been short-lived. Now he was in virgin territory.

  ‘OK, I’ll give you a clue, what we’re talking ’bout here,’ Eric was speaking again. ‘What’s the sixth commandment, in the Bible? Any idea?’

  Luke was flailing around a bit. Religious studies wasn’t his thing and he had only been in a church twice – his brother’s wedding and nephew’s christening – and the Ten Commandments had not been mentioned on either occasion.

  ‘Numbers one to five – no interest for us. All that shit about “I am the Lord, your God” and “keep the sabbath day”. That’s not important. Although don’t tell my mother I said that. Number six, however, is key, crucial, fundamental. Numero Uno. Well, it’s not, cos it’s number six, like I said. But numero uno in significance. No? You give up?’

  Luke still didn’t speak. But if it was number six, it couldn’t be that important. It could be the adultery one. He knew that was in the Bible somewhere and it was forbidden. That was why Jesus had to step in to save the prostitute. ‘Numero uno’, ‘gigolo’, ‘flamenco’. He almost giggled.

  ‘Thou shalt not murder. Do you remember now?’ Eric answered for him.

  ‘Yes.’ Luke could hardly make the shape with his mouth.

  ‘But what’s Valiant’s take on that? What’s our take on that?’ Eric prodded Major Valiant Numero Uno, one last time.

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘You don’t remember.’ Eric prowled around the desk and stood over Luke, his hands making fists, his eyes as enormous as dinner plates. ‘After we’ve finished here, I want you to go back to your desk and watch that video again, the beginners’ video. I want you to watch it as many times as it takes for you to learn those commandments, Valiant’s commandments and you’re fucking lucky I’m not taking a knife, Aldo Raine-style, and carving this one across your fucking face. Make killing fun.’

  He tapped Luke on the forehead with his finger at each word. ‘Aggro’, ‘lay low’, ‘let go’.

  ‘I remember now,’ Luke said.

  ‘Too fucking late. If you’re gonna kill someone in a Valiant game, we don’t want nondescript, grey, tiny, scrabbling rodents to exterminate and, when we’ve done it, hundreds more just pop up in their place, zombie-style. Where’s the pleasure in that?

  ‘Or to be handed a bullshit weapon; no one defends their country with a monkey wrench, when they could have a Samurai sword or an AK47. And, even worse breach of the rules, when you use that weapon, it has to have impact; blood spray, limbs spurting, heads rolling. You can’t slash a guy across the face and he looks like Captain America straight after.’

  Eric picked up an empty glass bottle from his desk and waved it over Luke’s head.

  ‘What are you feeling now, tell me?’

  ‘Scared,’ Luke mumbled, cowering back into the chair.

  ‘Good. And if I were to smash this bottle over your head, it would hurt, there’d be blood, you might lose an eye. Right? That’s impact. That’s what gives players satisfaction. If there’s nothing, you just carry on sitting there and everything’s just fine, shirt tucked in, hair neatly combed – well, yours isn’t, but you get my drift – then what’s the fucking point? Give the players the pleasure of killing with style, with flair, with panache!’

  ‘I was just trying to start slow, build up gradually.’

  ‘No! No! No! No!’ Eric returned the bottle to the table. ‘Is my message clear?’

  ‘Torpedo’, ‘staccato’, ‘gung-ho’, ‘psycho,’ Luke thought. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Look, there’s loads of good stuff in your proposal; loads. Some of your characters are awesome and I love the backstory. But what you gave me; it needs a major re-think. Talk to Mikey, he’s a great researcher. Talk to Bill about the artwork, but until then, you know what? Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.’

  He grabbed a piece of paper from his desk drawer and took out a marker pen and some Sellotape. In large, uneven letters he wrote ‘Make Killing Fun!’ and taped the message around Luke’s head. ‘You wear that all day, until it’s sunk in. Now get out.’

  5

  Constance sat in Judith Burton’s flat, her laptop open on the table. Judith was an eminent criminal barrister and Constance had instructed her on a number of cases over the last few years. Even when they weren’t actively working together, she valued Judith’s views and advice. And, partly because Judith didn’t have to work – she had been left a significant sum by her husband on his sudden death eight years ago – she was generous with her time and tended to be an objective sounding board for most tricky issues.

  Judith brought over two large glasses of white wine and Constance pressed play on her laptop. Immediately, a whirring noise and repetitive thudding began and the screen filled with a stylised desert scene, the camera flitting at speed over its undulating landscape. Then, the barrel of a gun appeared in the centre, moving from side to side. The soundtrack was still punctuated by those gunshots, now with the overplay of breathing and a male voice talking. Judith watched for a while without speaking.

  ‘Let me get this straight,’ she said, eventually. ‘This is the boy, Jaden,’ Judith pointed to a figure, wearing headphones, in the bottom left corner of the screen. Constance paused the action.

  ‘Yes. This is a year or so back, when he was still filming from the family home.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘He has his own place, well, shares with a friend, Nathaniel, another YouTuber.’

  ‘And what’s the rest of the screen?’

  ‘So, although you can’t see his hands in the shot, Jaden is actually playing the game. And the rifle moving around – he’s controlling it. This is a version of a game called Call of Duty, a kind of army mission with lots of shooting. What you see in the main picture is what Jaden can see himself and he’s talking you through his moves as he completes them: what he’s doing and why, everything he’s anticipating, what his aim is. This number, at the top, is his score, going up.’

  Judith took a sip of her wine. ‘And what is this moving feed, here, down the side,’ she asked, ‘in all these different colours?’

  ‘Ah, so that’s the chat. This is where people who are watching, the “subscribers” – they pay to subscribe – they are all talking. The colours… I don’t know. They just make it look nice. If you watch carefully, you’ll see some of the same names coming up more than once.’

  ‘But it moves so fast. Do they talk to each other?’

  ‘Sometimes it’s slower. And you’ll see, every now and again, Jaden will read and register something from the chat and he’ll answer. See, a minute ago, someone said “I love that gun” and, just now, he said “it’s a custom skin”, so he’s replying. “Skins” are coverings you can buy online to customise your weapons or your characters.’

  ‘And this?’

  ‘Subscribers also make donations. This person “GentlMan” flashed up a couple of minutes ago, as a new subscriber and now this message is telling Jaden he’s donated a hundred pounds.Jaden should say something to acknowledge that, any second.’ Constance pressed play again.

  As they watched, Jaden grinned, looked out to his viewing public and said ‘Hey man… Mister Gentle Man. That’s so appreciated. Tell me, which is your favourite game and I’ll be giving you some tips later on.’

  ‘And how long does this go on for?’

  ‘Jaden has a show, most nights, at 9.30, for an hour, together with Nathaniel, but he also has other slots online, for example, if he was playing in a particular game, it could be scheduled any time, night or day. And on top of this live stream, he records some of his show, usually the best bits and posts it on YouTube, where he has more followers.’

  ‘And how do they pay the rent, Jaden and Nathaniel?’

  ‘They get a good income from their subscribers and, when he uploads material to YouTube, he gets advertising revenue as well, sometimes even more than he makes from the original streaming, if he gets enough views.’

  ‘So he doesn’t have a job?’

  ‘This is his job.’

  ‘This is the full extent of what he does, play a video game, while everyone watches?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘And this makes him rich and famous?’

  ‘Jaden is just starting out, but he’s hoping to emulate some of the others who’ve gone on to huge success – become major celebrities. Some of them move into music videos or sport, depending on their talents.’

  ‘Turn it off, will you? It’s hurting my eyes and my ears.’

  Judith sat back and Constance laughed, as she paused the recording again.

  ‘Am I the only one in the world who didn’t know any of this existed until now?’ Judith said.

  ‘It’s an enormous industry, worth billions. Fortnite, that was one of the biggest games of 2018, made its manufacturers four billion dollars. At one point, they said seventy-eight million people were playing the game at any one time, all over the world.’

  Judith took a larger gulp of wine. ‘And what do the players get out of it?’

  ‘The satisfaction of winning. And they don’t play alone, like a few years back. They interact with loads of other players, compete against them, so it becomes a community.’

  ‘A community of people you’ve never met, who are all trying to kill you in horrible ways.’

  ‘It’s just another form of leisure. I mean, you might choose to go to the theatre for your night out. That might set you back, what, £100? Even going for a drink can be expensive. Or you could stay in and play this game with your friends, for a few pounds. In fact, most of the games are free; it’s the extras that cost, like the customised items, special clothes for your avatar or the subscriptions to people like Jaden.’

  Judith played the video again for a few minutes more, without the sound, her eyes darting around the screen, before finally switching it off, with a shrug.

  ‘Perhaps I can understand the game, the competitive element,’ she said, ‘but why spend real money on a costume for your character, if you don’t need it? I assume they don’t come cheap.’

  ‘Because if this is how you like to spend your time, in this virtual world, then you want to make your characters look good. It gives them status and that gives you status among other players. And I don’t blame kids like Jaden for wanting to cash in on what’s popular, make an income from it. They have to plan their show, make it entertaining enough, or the viewers go elsewhere.’

  Judith sighed and finished her wine. She worked her fingers up and down the stem of her glass.

  ‘What’ve they got on him?’ she asked.

  ‘Fingerprints, including in Elizabeth Sullivan’s bedroom. He says he “carried her shopping” into the flat, but there must be more. Her bag was stolen, containing purse and mobile phone and it hasn’t been found, so that’s why they’re suspicious that someone else was involved. And they’re waiting for the post-mortem.’

  ‘And what’s he like?’

  ‘Jaden?’ Constance found herself smiling, as she recalled her interaction with him. Judith tutted loudly. ‘What?’ Constance was immediately defensive.

  ‘I think your response speaks for itself.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Constance recovered her composure. ‘He’s just not like most of the others I see. He’s… What’s the word for when you’re older than your years?’

  ‘Precocious?’

  ‘No, that’s not Jaden. Not if it’s a criticism. He just has an inner confidence, but not brash, a quiet confidence in himself. Then his clothes are the opposite, really loud and…expressive. He has these designer yellow shoes…’

  ‘Business must be good.’

  ‘I suppose it must be.’

  ‘He’ll be a good witness, then? I mean, if we get that far.’

  Constance was silent. She wasn’t sure that Jaden’s assured manner would generate credibility. It was as if he was so certain he had done nothing wrong that he expected everyone to just believe it, without him having to say anything.

  On top of that, Jaden had already encroached on Constance’s private thoughts, on her own time and that was even less usual. Last night, after their short meeting and her follow-up with Dawson, she had dreamed of him. She had been navigating her way through some dusty, subterranean tunnel leading to a cavernous chamber. At the far side, among the intricate rock formations, Jaden was sitting on an ornate throne, a garland of roses around his head, his feet swinging manically, those distinctive, yellow shoes blaring out their message.

  As she approached him, the throne had changed to the electric chair and Jaden was screaming ‘Help me! Get me out of here!’ Flames were leaping all around him. And a paralysed Constance had stood and watched, powerless to help, as they engulfed him, until only the shoes were left.

  Constance took a sip of wine and swallowed it slowly, trying to force the unsettling image down and away, at the same time. Fortunately, Judith was moving on.

  ‘What about her – Dr Sullivan?’ Judith said.

  ‘Consultant psychiatrist at Hackney Hospital, also ran a private clinic once a week, specialised in addictive behaviour.’

  ‘And Jaden accepts he knew her.’

  ‘He says he didn’t know she was a doctor, just a friendly neighbour.’

  ‘Her family?’

  ‘One son at boarding school. Her husband died some years back. A sister travelling in Nepal. The police are trying to get hold of her. Parents dead. That’s it.’

  ‘When are you going back there?’

  ‘Dawson’s asked me to go over at four; thinks he’ll have everything from the pathologist by then. After that, if they’re charging Jaden and I can’t persuade them otherwise, I’ll head to the hospital, speak to one or more of her colleagues. See where that leads.’

  Judith stood up and headed for the kitchen, returning with the half-full bottle of wine and filling her own glass for a second time.

  ‘Have you heard from Greg at all lately?’ Constance asked, taking advantage of the break in the conversation.

  They had been together, Judith and Greg Winter, for six months or so. He had even moved in for a while, though they had never called it ‘living together’. But he’d resurfaced in the last case she’d worked on with Judith. He’d helped unlock a secret folder on the victim’s laptop – the kind of work on which Greg thrived – and Constance had let on that she’d been out with him, that he’d assisted more than Judith had appreciated, that he’d frequently asked Constance how Judith was. Of course, Judith was grateful for Greg’s expertise, but what Constance really wanted to know, was whether he and Judith had resurrected their relationship.

  ‘The odd message,’ Judith deliberately kept her response casual.

  ‘I thought you were going to catch up, after Debbie’s trial?’

  ‘I’ve been so busy,’ Judith waved her hand in the air and then motioned to Constance to drink up, but Constance pushed her glass to one side. It was too early in the day to risk a fuzzy head.

  ‘That’s just not true,’ Constance said.

  ‘All right. I couldn’t face it.’

  ‘He cares about you, a lot.’

  ‘And my feelings don’t come into this? Anyway, you can talk.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have you even been out with anyone since you broke up with Mike, the actor?’

  ‘Why are you making this about me?’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘I’ve been…too busy,’ Constance giggled now and she reclaimed her glass, tapped it gently against Judith’s and took a sip.

  ‘What a pair we are,’ Judith joked. ‘We always find time for this stuff though, the Elizabeth Sullivans and Jaden Dodds of this world. It’s funny, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Part of me, the inquisitive, constantly dissatisfied part, is hoping it was a murder. I mean, I know it’s only been a few months since our last double act, but there are only so many times I can read Wolf Hall or grate beetroot. And the other part, the more content part, admittedly frequently overshadowed, wishes the poor woman had met a peaceful end.

  ‘I can tell you that’s how I feel,’ Judith added, ‘without feeling ashamed or without you judging me. Anyone else would call me heartless, don’t you think?’

  6

  Tom sat with his fingers resting lightly on his laptop, his chest rising and falling. He reached for a glass of water and drank it down in one go. Then, tentatively, he sought out the site forbidden to him for a while now. He knew the exact date and time of his last visit: Sunday April 21st, 6.02pm.

  It was funny; at first his fingers were stiff, reluctant, holding him back. Then, as he began to navigate the familiar pathways, his joints began to ease, to loosen up, his digits finding their own way to his destination. He gasped. He was there. So easy. 201 days since he had last set eyes on the sweeping backdrop, populated by garish characters with expressive faces, but the intervening time dissolved away as if it had been only 201 seconds. He switched to full-screen mode and the glory of World of Warcraft was spread out before him. Who to choose? Titan or Elf, Goblin or Orc?

  His eyes darted quickly around, drinking in every aspect, firing up the frontal lobes of his brain, releasing the dopamine and oxytocin into his blood, activating the body’s pleasure circuits.

  ‘Welcome Back Sully!’ flashed across his screen. ‘We’ve missed you!’ His own cry of excitement rang out and the sound pulled him back from the brink.