Endgame

  Contents

  NOW one. Tobey

  two. Libby

  THEN: Dan’s Dinner Party three. Place Names

  four. Isabella Monroe

  five. Kellan Bruemann

  NOW six. Libby

  THEN: Dan’s Sinner Party seven. Patrix Ellerman

  eight. Tobey Durbridge

  nine. Circulating

  NOW ten. Troy

  THEN: Dan’s Winner Party eleven. Owen Dowd

  twelve. Eva Foxton

  thirteen. Tom Jeavons

  NOW

  THEN: Dan’s Inner Party fourteen. Sephy Ealing

  fifteen. The Night That Would Never End

  NOW sixteen. Sephy

  seventeen. Libby

  eighteen. Sephy

  nineteen. Tobey

  twenty. Sephy

  twenty-one. Libby

  twenty-two. Troy

  twenty-three. Libby

  twenty-four. Tobey

  twenty-five. Troy

  twenty-six. Callie

  twenty-seven. Tobey

  twenty-eight. Troy

  twenty-nine. Callie

  thirty. Sephy

  thirty-one. Libby

  thirty-two. Sephy

  thirty-three. Tobey

  thirty-four. Sephy

  thirty-five. Troy

  thirty-six. Callie

  thirty-seven. Tobey

  thirty-eight. Callie

  thirty-nine. Sephy

  forty. Tobey

  forty-one. Sephy

  forty-two. Troy

  forty-three. Callie

  forty-four. Sephy

  forty-five. Libby

  forty-six. Sephy

  forty-seven. Troy

  forty-eight. Tobey

  forty-nine. Sephy

  fifty. Libby

  fifty-one. Sephy

  fifty-two. Callie

  fifty-three. Tobey

  fifty-four. Sephy

  fifty-five. Troy

  fifty-six. Libby

  fifty-seven. Callie

  fifty-eight. Sephy

  fifty-nine. Tobey

  sixty. Callie

  sixty-one. Sephy

  sixty-two. Tobey

  sixty-three. Sephy

  sixty-four. Tobey

  sixty-five. Troy

  sixty-six. Callie

  THREE MONTHS LATER sixty-seven. Tobey

  sixty-eight. Troy

  sixty-nine. Callie

  seventy. Libby

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Malorie Blackman has written over seventy books for children and young adults, including the Noughts & Crosses series, Boys Don’t Cry, Thief!, Cloud Busting and a science-fiction thriller, Chasing the Stars. Many of her books have also been adapted for stage and television, including a BAFTA-award-winning BBC production of Pig-Heart Boy and a Pilot Theatre stage adaptation by Sabrina Mahfouz of Noughts & Crosses. There is also a major two-series BBC production of Noughts & Crosses.

  In 2005 Malorie was honoured with the Eleanor Farjeon Award in recognition of her distinguished contribution to the world of children’s books. In 2008 she received an OBE for her services to children’s literature, and between 2013 and 2015 she was the Children’s Laureate. More recently, Malorie co-wrote the Doctor Who episode ‘Rosa’ on BBC One.

  You can find Malorie online:

  www.malorieblackman.co.uk

  @malorieblackman

  Praise for Malorie Blackman’s books

  ‘The Noughts & Crosses series are still my favourite books of all time and they showed me just how amazing storytelling could be’

  Stormzy

  ‘Flawlessly paced’

  The Times

  ‘Unforgettable’

  Independent

  ‘A work of art’

  Benjamin Zephaniah

  ‘A book which will linger in the mind long after it has been read’

  Observer

  ‘A gritty read’

  The Bookseller

  Also available by Malorie Blackman for young adult readers

  The Noughts & Crosses sequence

  NOUGHTS & CROSSES

  KNIFE EDGE

  CHECKMATE

  DOUBLE CROSS

  CROSSFIRE

  ENDGAME

  CHASING THE STARS

  BOYS DON’T CRY

  NOBLE CONFLICT

  THE STUFF OF NIGHTMARES

  Anthologies

  LOVE HURTS

  An anthology of love against the odds from the very best teen writers, edited by Malorie Blackman

  UNHEARD VOICES

  An anthology of stories and poems to commemorate the bicentennial anniversary of the abolition of the slave trade

  For a full list of Malorie’s books for readers of all ages

  visit malorieblackman.co.uk

  For Neil and Liz,

  with love as always

  And a huge thank you to all those who have come with me on this journey into the lives of the Hadleys and the McGregors

  Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak

  Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.

  MACBETH 4.3

  NOW

  * * *

  one. Tobey

  * * *

  29 October 02:29

  To Sephy Ealing:

  We have Troy Ealing and Liberty Jackman. This is not a joke or a hoax. Follow the instructions below to the letter or you will never see your loved ones again. If you involve the police we will know and you’ll never see your loved ones again. Keep your daughter Callie in line. Make sure she doesn’t get any unfortunate ideas – like going straight to the police.

  This will be our only communication.

  Send the following messages to Callie Rose Hadley and Tobias Durbridge.

  TOBIAS DURBRIDGE, you will do the following within the next twenty-four hours:

  – Plead guilty in court to the murder of Dan Jeavons.

  – Go public with the admission of your guilt.

  If you fail to do either of the above, you will never see your daughter Liberty again. This is NOT a bluff.

  CALLIE ROSE HADLEY, you will do the following within the next twenty-four hours:

  – Remove the super-injunction forbidding the press from reporting on Tobias Durbridge and his forthcoming court case.

  – Remove yourself as Tobias’s lawyer.

  If you fail to do either of the above, you will receive your brother Troy back in pieces. This is NOT a bluff.

  So many unanswered questions. I reread the text message forwarded to me by Callie, who had received it from Sephy, her mother. A man – who claimed to be working on behalf of Dan Jeavons – had called Sephy, using her son Troy’s mobile phone, to state his list of demands. He had followed this up in writing.

  Working on behalf of Dan Jeavons … There was just one problem with that – Dan was dead. He’d been murdered and I was on the hook for it. Someone out there was desperate to see me spend the rest of my natural existence rotting in prison.

  On behalf of Dan Jeavons …

  What did that even mean? Had someone from within ‘the Outfit’ decided to branch out for themselves and this was a way of proving their worth? Or were they doing it to avenge Dan’s death? Maybe this whole thing had been orchestrated by Owen Dowd, head of a rival set-up, in an attempt to cause real problems for the opposition.

  Whoever it was who’d spoken to Sephy had backed up his verbal threat with this text message spelling out all the kidnappers’ demands. And now Troy’s phone was untraceable. On my instructions, my personal executive assistant, Jade Habari, had already tried to find out the location of Libby’s and Troy’s phones, but they’d been switched off – or smashed. The last recorded location of bo
th was Heathcroft High School, the last place they were seen. No help there then.

  Where was my daughter?

  Had her kidnappers tied her up? Were they looking after her as the goose that was about to lay them a golden egg, or were they … abusing her? Perhaps they’d already got rid of her? Dark thoughts were knitting my insides together. I read the text message for the umpteenth time.

  Plead guilty in court to the murder of Dan Jeavons.

  None of the kidnappers’ demands had been met. In court yesterday, I had entered a plea of not guilty. Callie hadn’t recused herself as my lawyer, nor had she removed the super-injunction. In their text, they referred to themselves as ‘we’, so I had to work on the assumption that there was more than one.

  Now I stood at my bedroom window in the dark. A black hole was opening in my gut and trying to suck me into it. I was officially, if covertly due to the press injunction my blackmailers clearly knew about, on trial for Dan’s murder. I confess, a large part of me had thought the case would be thrown out by Judge Okafor on the grounds of insufficient evidence – or because I am now PM – ha! No such luck. I was in the fight of my life. Not just for my political career, but my freedom. My Liberty. There was a very real chance that after this trial I’d never look up at the sky from outside prison walls again.

  I’d pleaded not guilty, rationalizing that it was the best way to try and keep my daughter alive. If I immediately gave in to the kidnappers’ demands, what reason would they have to keep her in good health, knowing that if she was freed she could identify them? Pleading my innocence in court meant that her abductors had to keep her around to try to coerce me into doing what they wanted – at least that had been my frenetic thinking. I was doing this for my daughter. But was I really?

  Liberty … If anything happened to her because of me …

  I hated this. Patience was not one of my virtues.

  Having refused to submit to the kidnappers’ demands, Callie and I now had to wait for them to make the next move. But I was no good at waiting for the ball to be batted back to me. It was time to set wheels in motion. As Dan used to say, ‘Some people have a plan A and possibly a plan B as backup. You, Tobey, use at least half the alphabet to work out your alternatives.’

  I wasn’t about to apologize for that. There was nothing wrong in believing in the seven Ps – Prior Proper Preparation Prevents Piss-Poor Performance. That way Callie and I stood half a chance of making it through this and getting our loved ones back home safe and sound. And, once I had my daughter back, I intended to send a very clear message.

  By the time I’d finished, no one, and I mean no one, would dare come after me and mine again.

  Ever.

  two. Libby

  * * *

  The silence in the basement after the last nail had been hammered home was deafening. I stared at the now boarded-up door, unable to look away. Troy and I had escaped; we’d even made it all the way to the harbour wall, but then I’d spoiled everything by not jumping into the river when we had the chance. And Troy had refused to jump in and escape without me. So stupid. If he’d left me behind and swum for the opposite bank, he could’ve escaped. He could’ve been miles away by now and getting help. But I can’t swim and was too terrified to leap into the murky, dark water. Thanks to me, we’d both been recaptured and brought back to this hellhole basement.

  And we were going to turn into dust down here.

  Troy launched himself at the door, bouncing off it like a tennis ball to ricochet off the banister handrail behind him at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Oof!’ He rubbed his shoulder, then his back, before he tried again.

  Surprise, surprise! The same thing happened, except this time it looked like it hurt much more.

  ‘Troy, you’re wasting your time,’ I said.

  For heaven’s sake, if we couldn’t open the door before it was boarded up, what on earth made him think he could burst through it now? He glared at the door and leaned forward, slightly side-on, head down like some kind of demented charging bull. He flung himself at the door yet again, shoulder first. This time the rebound threw him backwards onto the handrail behind him again, except the rail cracked and snapped, and, with a startled cry, Troy fell through it, his arms flailing like a fledgling’s wings.

  I rushed forward, thinking I could catch him and break his fall or something. But I was too late. Troy hit the ground with a sickening thud, crumpling up like a concertina.

  ‘TROY!’ I rushed to his side, kneeling beside his motionless body. He lay half on his side, half on his back. I took his hand in mine and fumbled around on his wrist for a pulse, but I couldn’t feel one.

  I couldn’t find one.

  TROY—

  Serves me right.

  This is not what I had planned. Not even close. It is, however, what I get for relying on other people. People always – and I mean always – mess up. I have yet to meet one who hasn’t let me down sooner or later. Usually sooner. This was supposed to be an easy job, a means to an end – nothing more. A way to pay off some serious debts owed to some ruthless people and to make a very healthy profit on the side too. I should’ve guessed that Misty, Liberty’s mother, and Pete, her equally worthless boyfriend, would muck things up. For God’s sake, all they had to do was hold on to her daughter for a couple of days until Tobias Durbridge proved to the world, but mostly to himself, how much he loved his secret daughter by paying the ransom. It should’ve been a piece of Makeda sponge cake. But no. Misty and her shit-for-brains boyfriend decide to bring in his brother, Oliver, who had even larger quantities of shit for brains.

  I first met Pete drinking alone in a pub while he was waiting for Misty to turn up. We got to talking and Pete lowered his voice to inform me that Misty claimed her daughter, Liberty, was also the daughter of Tobias Durbridge, the politician. Pete had laughed it off, not believing a word of it. Me? I wasn’t so sure that it was all a fantasy. I mean, why claim something that would be so easy to disprove? DNA tests were now cheaper than a restaurant meal for two. So maybe there was something in it after all.

  I hung around until Misty arrived and insinuated myself into their night out, laughing and joking and making sure I kept the drinks flowing. We all went for a meal, which I insisted on paying for. By the end of the night, I was their new best friend. I checked with the General Records Office, and Tobias Durbridge was indeed listed as the father of Liberty Alba Jackman. That’s when I began to plant the idea of tapping him for money. After all, it was what Misty and Pete deserved. If Tobey had money and they didn’t, surely it was only fair that they did what was necessary to balance those scales. Pete was all for it. Misty took a little more persuading – but not much. After a few weeks, I shared with them the plan that I’d taken great care to work out. It was foolproof. Or so I thought. I didn’t count on the three biggest cretins on the planet ruining it.

  Instead of grabbing Liberty off the street to keep it real, like we’d agreed, and just securing her for a couple of days, what did they do instead? They grabbed Libby’s friend Troy Ealing as well. Troy Ealing, for God’s sake. Just my damned luck. What was Misty thinking? Company for Libby? There was no other earthly reason to bring him along. For Shaka’s sake, he’s just a teenage boy. One punch and they could’ve knocked him on his arse and out cold, left him on the pavement and fled with Libby. Sweet as a honey-roasted peanut. But no – they just had to take Troy along for the ride as well. And who is Troy’s sister? Callie Rose Hadley. I mean, you couldn’t make it up!

  Just my damned luck.

  Oliver must’ve persuaded the other two that, though greed was good, to cut me out of the deal and go it alone would be even better. Well, look where that got them. Weighed down and feeding the fishes in the River Thames. The word is out that they breathe no more. Where does that leave me? Precisely nowhere – for now.

  Liberty Jackman, or rather her father’s money, was supposed to be my all-expenses-paid ticket out of here to a stress-free, very comfortable existenc
e. Damn it, it’s my due. Now all my plans have been shot to hell. So I have no choice but to play a waiting game.

  What I need to do now is keep my mouth shut, my eyes open, and watch and learn. Then maybe, just maybe, there can still be a pay day at the end of all this for me. Perhaps there’s even a way to turn this fiasco to my advantage. After all, who knows of my involvement? Damn few and they’re all dead – or they soon will be. The first thing I need to do is get to Liberty and Troy before they can be interrogated by anyone else.

  Lord knows what Misty might’ve revealed about me before she was killed. Did she tell Liberty that I was the one who masterminded the whole plan in the first place? If Liberty and Troy know enough about me to spill the tea before I get to them, then I’ll be up to my bottom lip in churning-crap creek with my mouth wide open. The bullets in my gun have their names on them and the choice is simple – it’s them or me. And it sure as hell isn’t going to be me.

  I wish it hadn’t turned out like this, but it is what it is. I’ve come too far now to turn back. I can’t and won’t let anyone get in my way.

  There’s an unexpected vampire bite to the chill late October night air. Car horns blare. The laughter and chatter of late-nighters competes with the cacophony of too much traffic, even at this late hour. The residual smell of burgers, diesel and urine wafts round me. City smells – I love them. That’s why I’m driving with my car window halfway down. When I depart for pastures new, I shall miss this. The constant noise, the city aromas and, the cherry on top, all the people intent on minding their own business.

  There it is, Ava’s – what used to be Dan Jeavons’ old nightclub. Now it belongs to Eva Foxton, Dan’s successor.

  Hedda, my eyes within Eva’s organization, is inside. Almost three years ago, when I’d been trying to track down a missing bouncer who worked at the nightclub, I’d spotted Hedda entering the place. She was going to work in the kitchen as a sous-chef. I’d recognized her at once. Her husband, an ex-cop, had been banged up on corruption charges – not the sort of news Hedda had wanted to become common knowledge. It’d been a fraught negotiation, but I’d persuaded Hedda to provide me with info on Eva and her exploits as and when required – plus there would be a generous fee for services rendered. Although reluctant, she’d finally agreed. Even way back then, I knew Eva was one to watch.