Page 105 of A Game of Lies

‘Then where is she?’ Leo says. He pulls out the chair from under Miles’s desk and motions for Caleb to take the other. ‘Since you’re here, you can make yourself useful and show me how to use this.’

For a work experience lad, Caleb certainly knows his way around, Leo thinks.

‘This is from Saturday.’ Caleb points to the date stamp in the corner. ‘And that reference in the bottom left tells us it’s raw footage. It’s whatever was streamed from camera three on day six ofExposure, before any editing was done.’

‘Why would Ffion be watching that?’ George says. ‘It’s a blank screen – there’s nothing there.’

‘Not now,’ Caleb says. He toggles swiftly to an activity menu, scanning the times there. ‘Someone pressedplayon this section of footage eleven minutes ago.’

‘Can you take the footage back eleven minutes?’ Leo says, but Caleb’s already on it, and now they’re watching Henry windmilling his arms in an attempt to brush off a spider.

‘Get off me!’ Henry’s yell is followed by a series of anguished cries.

‘Imagine being that scared of a spider,’ Caleb says. ‘I’d be mortified if everyone saw me screaming like a girl just because—’

But Leo and George are no longer listening to him. They’re staring at each other in horror, as the implications of what they’ve just seen sink in. Henry. The only contestant who never applied to be on the show. A plant. A fake.

A murderer.

FORTY-ONE

TUESDAY | FFION

It’s no more than a mile from Carreg Plas to camp, but it’s all uphill and Ffion’s out of breath as she reaches the enclosure. Dammit, maybe she really should give up smoking. Not right away, though, otherwise Huw will think she’s taking his advice.

The door to the confession pod closes behind her as she steps down into its depths and slides into the throne-like seat. The space is even smaller than it looks on screen and the chair is narrow despite its high back and arms. It’s dark, the only sources of light a sliver of sun coming through the narrow band of glass right at the top, and a red glow coming from one side of the now defunct camera.

A digital clock.

Ffion grins. Being right never gets old. Henry had looked into the pod to check the time, then clearly decided it was too early. He’d come back later for his mammoth session, giving himself the perfect alibi.

Or so he’d thought.

Suddenly cold after her burst of energy, Ffion shivers as she remembers the rats swarming over Pam, the snakes that writhed around Lucas’s neck. Cold sweat prickles across the small of her back.

Ffion should call this in. Notify DCI Boccacci or DI Malik, or at least let Leo and George know what she’s discovered.

Only, she isn’t going to.

Fuck Malik, for taking her off the job. Fuck Leo, for grassing her up to the boss. And fuck George, for … Ffion feels for the door handle in the dark, grappling for a reason to hate her erstwhile partner. Fuck George, for …working with Leo when you’re not, finishes the voice in her head.

No, she’s not going to tell anyone what she’s worked out. She’ll run back to the farmhouse – easier on the return journey – and arrest Henry, and once he’s safely in handcuffs she’ll casually call up and fill in the rest of the team.

Except it seems she can’t do that.

Because the confession pod door won’t open.

Ffion is locked in.

FORTY-TWO

TUESDAY | LEO

‘I don’t get it.’ Caleb looks to Leo for an explanation. ‘How can it be Henry? He was in the confession pod when Miles was murdered.’

But Leo’s heading for the courtyard, where pockets of people cluster nervously.

‘Is anyone hurt?’ Aliyah says.

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