‘No.’

  ‘And there’s something else. They found a pair of trainers – these ones – at your flat.’ Constance walked around to stand in front of him and showed him a photo on her screen. ‘Do you recognise them?’

  He lifted his head to look at the screen and then he looked directly into Constance’s eyes.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ he said.

  Constance took a deep breath. This was going to be even harder than she had envisaged. ‘I didn’t ask that,’ she said. ‘I asked if you recognised these shoes. Are they yours?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Maybe?’

  ‘I got lots of trainers. I get sent trainers to wear, for the show. I can’t be expected to remember them all.’

  ‘Do you often put them in the cupboard under the kitchen sink?’

  ‘Tcha… Maybe.’

  ‘What? You ran out of space in your wardrobe… A pair of these same trainers, in a size 11, were bought using Elizabeth Sullivan’s credit card, from a website called Yeezy UK.’

  ‘So? I can’t help it if she had crap taste.’

  ‘They were bought five hours after she died!’

  Jaden closed his eyes tightly, then opened them wide and rolled them to heaven.

  ‘I don’t know nothing about that. When am I getting out of here?’ he asked.

  ‘I can try for bail, but I doubt you’ll get it. You want me to try?’

  ‘I don’t want to be in here. I shouldn’t be in here.’

  ‘OK. Listen, I will level with you. At the moment, things are not looking great. I’ll follow up the trainers the police found in your kitchen, see if we can show they weren’t the ones Liz bought. And Judith – she’s your barrister, so she’s the one who’ll stand up and talk in court for you, if we get that far – she’s speaking to a pathologist she knows. We may be able to show that Liz just had a heart attack, after all, that it was nothing to do with you. Did she say she felt ill when you were there?’

  ‘What kind of ill?’

  ‘I don’t know. Short of breath, chest pains.’

  ‘Is that what you want me to say?’

  ‘No. I want you to think back and tell me what you remember.’

  ‘I don’t remember no chest pains or nothing. She was just fine.’

  Constance took a deep breath and then sat back in her chair.

  ‘I read a book last year; it was a bestseller; “true crime”. You know what that is?’ she asked.

  ‘Like Ted Bundy shit; I know.’

  ‘This book was about a man convicted of murdering an old man – a musician; a horrible, brutal murder and the only thing connecting him to the killing was that he had used the man’s credit card after his death. He couldn’t deny he took the card; he was caught on CCTV at a cashpoint machine using it; he even changed the PIN on the card over the phone and there was a recording of his voice. His lawyers tried to persuade him to plead guilty to the theft and use of the card. Said it would save him, but he refused and the jury convicted him of everything, including the murder. He was sentenced to life with a minimum of fifteen years. He’s inside now, still maintaining how innocent he is.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this? You think I want to borrow the book?’

  ‘I think you know why. I don’t want you to tell me what you think you should say. Of course not. But you should try very hard to remember everything you can about Liz’s bag and her phone and her credit card and see if anything comes to mind. And, if so, you tell me.’

  ‘Am I allowed visitors?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If I’m not getting out, I’d like to see Nathaniel.’

  ‘It’s usually just family.’

  ‘He’s the closest I have to family.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  16

  ‘Hey, Tom?’

  Tom heard the words through a haze. His head hurt and his eyelids were heavy, when he tried to prise them open. Then his world shifted sideways, as David threw himself down on the next bed and leaned his weight back against the headboard. Tom rolled over and raised himself up on one elbow. Thankfully, David had left the curtains closed.

  ‘Hey, Dave,’ he managed. He rubbed at his eyes and sniffed the air, then pulled at the sleeve of his t-shirt. ‘I need a shower,’ he said.

  ‘I think you probably do,’ David replied.

  The boys sat together in silence, only broken by Tom scratching at his head and yawning widely.

  ‘Why do you do it?’ David asked, after a while.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The gaming. Why do you do it?’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Nothing compares. Not for me, anyway. You must know. It’s not as if you’ve never played. I mean, who doesn’t want to be the last man standing, or save the planet from alien invasion or score the best goal ever with an overhead kick from fifteen metres? Here, in the real world, what am I? A nobody. I’m rubbish at sport, OK at English and maths, but I’m never gonna win any prizes.’

  ‘You play for so long, though. It’s like nothing else matters.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Tom said. ‘There, in there,’ he pointed at his laptop, sitting open on the desk, ‘when I’m playing, I’m a hero, people depending on me, putting their trust in me. I’m Archimonde, Wrathion and Brann all rolled into one.’

  ‘But don’t you get fed up doing it all the time?’

  ‘Never. That’s why it’s so awesome. The more I play, the better I feel and the stronger I get. It’s like anything you train for. You have to have the talent to start with, and I do. I know I do. You know, before…before I had to stop, I’d been accepted by The Wanderers.’

  ‘Who are The Wanderers?’

  ‘A new team being put together by K9 Games. They picked me, out of more than a thousand, but I had to say no. So I know I have the talent. But then, you have to be committed to operate at that level. You think Roger Federer got to be the best tennis player in the world, by just playing a couple of times a week? Or KSI could knock down Logan Paul, if he didn’t train?’

  ‘But it isn’t real, like you said. You’re not winning a real battle, are you?’

  ‘Good thing it isn’t, or I’d have a lot of deaths on my conscience.’

  David laughed and Tom managed a smile.

  ‘Aren’t you lonely sitting in here playing on your own?’

  ‘Lonely? This is what people don’t understand, what Mum never understood.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I have friends, loads of them, and from all over the world. We speak, we compete together, we support each other and this is what we have in common. I’m never alone when I’m playing.’

  ‘What about other stuff; you know, exams?’

  ‘I don’t need them where I’m going. I’m going to play professionally. Listen, can you keep a secret?’

  David squirmed on the bed and his cheeks flushed red, but Tom had already taken his silence for acquiescence and he was speaking again.

  ‘I wrote to them yesterday, to The Wanderers. They’re moving up the league and they’re looking for new blood. I told them I was playing again and they’re watching my progress.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I reckon, two or three more big wins and I’m in with a chance. I got a wild card entry to the Fortnite tournament last year, which I had to give up. I didn’t tell anyone about that. That would have been epic. Ha! Well, really epic, seeing as it was organised by Epic! I told him – the scout from The Wanderers – and he was really impressed. You saw what happened there, at the tournament?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Bugha won the $3million prize.’

  ‘Bugha?’

  ‘Yeah, a kid just like me, aged sixteen, not in any of the big teams, walked away with first prize – and his mum had always nagged him to stop, just like mine did. He said she even threw his console out of the window and stopped all his allowance. But now she understands how skilful her son really is – how this is what he wants to do – and he’s made shedloads of money.’

  ‘Your mum didn’t want you to play, then?’ David fiddled with one corner of his duvet.

  ‘No,’ Tom said. ‘She said I was addicted. She took everything away from me, so I couldn’t play. That’s because that’s what she does…did; treat these hopeless addicts who were sick, because they couldn’t do anything except gaming. And none of them were any good – all losers. That’s not me. I’m not an addict. I could stop, if I wanted. See, I’m not playing now, am I? Anyway, she’s gone now, so I can do what I like.’

  He pushed himself up from the bed and stretched his arms above his head – then wrinkled his nose. ‘Ew!’ he waved his hand in front of his face. ‘I really stink.’ He grabbed a towel from behind his door.

  ‘I’m going for a shower,’ he said. ‘There’s a tournament beginning at 11, which I don’t want to miss. You can stay if you like, and watch me play, as long as you keep really quiet this time.’

  17

  Eric had been in a terrible mood all day. He had arrived late, marched past everyone without speaking and slammed his door so hard that his collection of Mr Valiant-through-the-ages had fallen over, each one knocking into its neighbour, setting them all off domino-style. This had resulted in a run of expletives and a request for Gillian to come in, urgently, and stand them all up again.

  After that, he appeared to spend much of the day on his phone, striding up and down his office and tearing at his hair. No one knew what the problem was.

  ‘Maybe it’s his ex-wife?’ Gillian suggested. ‘He hates her. He always said she bled him dry on their divorce – even took his Spotify account.’

  ‘I hope it’s not the accountant,’ Bill, the artist, said. ‘Last year, when we heard that the profit figures weren’t looking so great, Eric threatened to cut Gerry’s heart out with a spoon. Do you remember that?’

  Gillian nodded solemnly.

  ‘And what happened?’ Luke almost spilled his mochaccino.

  ‘Gerry admitted he’d made a mistake and we met our target. I’m sure it was around this time. Maybe you should take Eric in some coffee, Gill? See if that helps.’

  ‘I’m not going in without being asked. Remember when he had that new dartboard put up and didn’t tell us. He only just missed my eye. Anyway, I was in there this morning. He’ll think it’s strange if I go in again.’

  ‘You go then, Luke. You’re golden boy at the moment. Take him a coffee and see if you can find out what’s got him so wound-up.’

  Luke sauntered down to the coffee kiosk at the foot of the building, deep in thought. If Eric was stressed, then he assessed that machine-manufactured coffee, of the type the office had to offer, may only enrage him more. It also put off the moment at which he would have to go in and face Eric. He only realised once he was in the queue that he had no idea how Eric took his coffee: straight up, black, white, with sprinkles? He should have been more observant; everyone knew how their boss liked their coffee, didn’t they? In the end, he decided that a double espresso suited Eric’s image, so that even if he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t want to admit he didn’t.

  Eric surprised him by smiling broadly, as Luke tapped at the door.

  ‘Luke. Hurray. Just the man I wanted to see. Come and sit down. You’re not too busy for a chat, are you?’

  Everything appeared to be in order, Luke thought, the punch bag neatly tucked in the far corner, no missiles flying around. He staggered forward.

  ‘Now’s good, thanks. I thought you might like a coffee.’

  Eric grinned again and reached out to take the cup from Luke’s hand, sitting it snugly on a coaster. Luke sat down, as instructed, shocked by the warmth of his welcome.

  ‘Oh, do I need to make notes? I didn’t bring…’

  ‘No notes. Just your ears. For now, anyway.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Have you ever been to Nice?’

  ‘Nice? I don’t think so.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful city, in the south of France.’

  ‘I’ve never been.’

  ‘How’d you like to come with me, to Nice?’

  ‘I’d love to, I think. Is there something…’

  ‘The conference. You know, the big one.’

  ‘Oh. The conference. I knew it was in France...’

  ‘Trust me. Nice is a great choice for a venue. And it’s going to be the biggest and best Esports conference yet. Everyone will be there, and we heard, today, that the Olympic Games selection panel finally accepted their invitation. They needed a bit of arm-twisting, a few favours being called in, but they’re coming. It’s just the first step, but let’s not underestimate its importance.’

  ‘No, it sounds…amazing. What…why?’

  ‘I’ve been asked to speak. And, if I remember correctly, you have English ‘A’ level. Am I right?’

  Luke nodded, his face flushing.

  ‘A wordsmith, as well as a master craftsman. So, you’ll help, with my speech. But first thing’s first. Do you watch the Olympics?’

  ‘Sure. Doesn’t everyone?’

  ‘I don’t know they do. I think some young people, these days, they might prefer to be doing other things; the Olympics may not be quite so…relevant to them as it was for, say, their parents. And do you know why that is?’

  Luke hesitated. He could hazard a guess, but he really didn’t want a repeat of the paper around the forehead incident, if he selected the wrong answer. It had been painful enough, last time, peeling off the tape, without simultaneously removing clumps of hair. Fortunately, Eric had decided to answer his question himself.

  ‘It’s because they haven’t accepted gaming as a participating sport. But Esports – it’s the way of the future. It’s the way to get young people engaged in the Olympics. We help them more than they help us, and that is the message we’re going to deliver to them, right between the eyes, in Nice.’

  ‘OK.’ Luke was beginning to share Eric’s excitement.

  ‘That’s why we need to talk about the new game.’

  ‘You still like it?’

  ‘Oh I like it. But, you see, if we get the green light for the Olympics, they’re going to want a game. They’re bound to, they have to choose one. When NBC started showing Esports, they partnered with Psyonix and used Rocket League. The Olympics is no different. They can’t just say “We accept Esports”, they’ll want to be able to show everyone what the players will be playing.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘So…I love your new game. I love your new game. And I know, as a designer, you probably think it’s perfect and you don’t want to change any aspect of it.’

  ‘Well, I…’

  ‘I know I wouldn’t, if it was my game.’

  ‘OK.’ Luke knew he kept repeating himself – he was too scared to say anything more until he knew where the conversation was going. But now Eric was finally getting to what he really wanted to discuss.

  ‘What if your game – the game you imagined, sweated over, brought to market. What if your game was the first game ever to be played in the Olympic Games?’ Eric said. ‘Wouldn’t that be the most awesome achievement?’

  Luke couldn’t help but agree with Eric. It would be a pretty huge head rush, if your game was selected like that.

  ‘We’ve got a chance, you see.’

  ‘We do?’

  ‘They don’t want a big manufacturer. Most of the big guys already have tie-ups with news stations and big corporations and it makes it difficult for the Olympics’ standards guys. You know – it’s for amateur sport and all that, and no politics. They’ve whispered, unofficially of course, that they want an indie. And, like I said, they’re going to be there, in Nice. And we’re going to sell your game to them.’

  Luke suddenly felt nauseous. Eric was right. This was the most fantastic, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity he was being offered. He couldn’t begin to imagine the impact it would have on Valiant’s business and his own career, even to be considered for an international event, let alone one on the scale of the Olympics. But to fail? That would be unbearable, wouldn’t it?

  ‘You know what I said about your game?’ Eric was speaking again.

  ‘That you loved it.’

  ‘And I do. We are going to have to make a few modifications, though. It’s not too late, is it?’

  ‘Bill was going to start the artwork on Monday and Pete is just beginning his work...’

  ‘Not too late then.’

  ‘What kind of modifications were you thinking of?’

  ‘No killing.’ Eric enunciated each word slowly and deliberately, his eyes gleaming.

  ‘No killing? But you said “make killing fun”.’ Luke was now confused as well as queasy, and his hand found its way, involuntarily, to his forehead.

  ‘I know, I know. But that’s when you have killing in a game. If you have killing, it has to be fun. But in this game, your modified game, we’re not going to have any killing at all. We just can’t. You must see that. They’ll never accept it – well, not at first. The first Olympics Esports tournament will have to take place without a single drop of blood being spilt. After that, once they see how amazing it is, how it will drag those dusty old men into the twenty-first century, when they see how many more viewers they get, the extra advertising revenue, then they’ll come cap in hand to us and we can give them anything: hanging, burning, decapitation, suicide bombings. But this time, the first time, we need a game without killing. Can you do that, do you think?’

  ‘You want me to…modify my game, to take out the killing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long do I have?’

  ‘The conference is in early February. We’d only need a trailer by then, not the whole thing. Can you do it?’