Bloodstream: A gripping, unpredictable and shocking thriller

The video appeared on his timeline with little fanfare. A minute and a half of darkness, waiting to be clicked on and played. Retweeted by someone he didn’t know, but who must have followed him at some point, prompting a follow back instead of an actual reply. An unknown Twitter account, forcing the video into his world.

He clicked on it, of course. Scrolling through hundreds of boring tweets, reading an Echo article, which had talked about two more people found dead earlier that morning. He hadn’t been surprised that there was some kind of link to those two celebs who’d been murdered. He had his own theory about those two. Drugs deal gone bad or something like that. Good riddance, he thought. Like the world would miss those two oxygen stealers. Famous for doing fuck all, whilst people like him struggled along in life. Sod them.

He had gone back to Twitter, when something had caught his eye.

The video was titled ‘The Third Couple – Why They Died’. Enough for him to stop and check it out.

It wasn’t like he was some kind of weirdo who trawled the web for disgusting videos to watch. He hadn’t Googled beheadings or sought out anything equally shocking. He thought he was normal. Just a bloke called Andy, on a bus, on the way to work for an afternoon shift at a fast-food place in town. Making minimum wage, which barely covered the contract for the new smartphone he was holding.

He almost closed the video after a few seconds. If he hadn’t had his headphones plugged into his phone, he probably would have done. The screen remained black, no sound or movement. His finger moved towards the back button on his phone screen.

Then the noise started. Crying, shouts. An argument of some sort. Begging. The video cut ahead: he was now able to make out two figures facing each other, sitting in chairs.

No, he thought, not just sitting. Tied to the chairs.

The words they were saying didn’t make much sense. Some garbled noises, the bloke shouting, ‘Tell me,’ at one point. It was becoming boring. Andy’s finger hovered over the button again.

Then the view changed to a close-up of the girl’s face. Streaked with tears and fear. Marked, slashed on one side. Good special effects, Andy thought, although the lighting guy needed shooting. Could barely make her out most of the time.

‘Millie isn’t yours . . . I slept with someone else . . . I’m . . . I’m sorry.’

Andy clicked off the video, bored. He expanded the original tweet, to see what other people had commented. Then looked out the window and realised his stop was coming up soon.

@LiverpoolVids1 @themaninblack80

What is this? Don’t get it.

@ScouseLad1983 @themaninblack80

Dunno, just got sent to me and I shared.

@LiverpoolVids1 @ScouseLad1983 @themaninblack80

That bloke looks like that fat one who does the impressions of footballers.

@LiverpoolVids1 @ScouseLad1983 @themaninblack80

It’s those two people who were killed in Tuebrook. Bet ya any money.

Andy locked his phone, grabbed his bag and shifted across the seat. He waited until the bus turned the corner into Liverpool One bus station and then walked down the stairs.

He forgot about the video and how he came to watch it until later that day.

When everyone was talking about it.

*     *     *

Sarah Murphy was driving as the video was shared around – oblivious as Heart FM blared from the radio. The same songs repeated over and over.

She was barely listening, travelling down the East Lancs Road, heading towards the M62, and Manchester which lay at its end. Every now and again, she considered turning off and going back home, but shook the thought away each time.

She needed to do this.

There was a little voice in her head, telling her it was a mistake. That if David found out about her visit, he would never forgive her. There was a louder voice, though, which remembered everything that had happened all those years ago, a voice that wouldn’t be silenced. She needed to know, to find out why.

Why did he do it?

Why them?

Why her?

She’d phoned the school that morning, feigning sickness, something that she’d never done before. She hoped it would be worth it.

Sarah’s hands began to shake as she got closer, the signs on the motorway starting to include her destination. The reality of what she was doing beginning to hit. The thought of the man she had known so well, and everything he had done, turning her stomach.

Still she drove forward. The hour-long journey from Liverpool dragging out, but almost at an end.

Sarah thought about David, and what he was currently investigating. More death, as if he hadn’t already had enough of it. She glanced at the mobile in its holder on the dashboard as it came to life, cutting over the radio. She hoped for a second it would be David, telling her to come home, that everything was finished and she had him back properly again.

‘Hi, Jess,’ she said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. ‘Just driving at the moment.’

‘You decided to go then?’

‘Yeah,’ Sarah replied, slowing as she took the exit from the motorway. ‘Just something I’ve got to do.’

‘Did you tell him?’

Sarah knew she meant David and not the other him. ‘No. I don’t think he needs to know. Yet.’

Jess’s huff echoed round the car as it came through the speakers. ‘The pair of you need your heads banging together. Well . . . take care of yourself, okay?’

Sarah said she would and then ended the call. Within a few minutes she was pulling into the car park.

She passed the silver sign which filled her with dread. The dread of things that had happened years before, and of what lay behind those gates.

HMP MANCHESTER

*     *     *

Murphy was trying to get his head round what was being explained to him. The world of social media was an alien one to him; he had missed the whole explosion in the previous years, preferring instead to stay out of it all.

‘Look, just tell me how we get rid of it.’

‘It’s not that easy,’ Rossi said, rolling her eyes at DC Harris, who was struggling to keep a serious look on his face. ‘Once it’s out there and goes viral, we can’t just stop it. That’s just the way these things work.’

‘Well, get in touch with the website. Tell them to take it down. And find out who posted it in the first place. Surely we can do that.’

‘We can try, but this could have come from anywhere.’

Murphy rubbed a hand across his forehead. ‘Just do something. We can’t have this out there.’

Rossi turned back to DC Harris and began talking through options, leaving Murphy to work out how he was going to explain the latest development to DCI Stephens.

‘The video appeared an hour ago,’ Murphy said, once he was in her office. The harassed look on her face had increased in the time since their meeting with the higher-ups. ‘One of the media team drew our attention to it when the Merseyside Police Twitter account was linked to it or something. The Echo have been on the phone non-stop since, but have been talked out of posting it on their site. Won’t be long until national press link it to the Chloe and Joe murders.’

‘This is a mess, David,’ DCI Stephens said, removing her glasses and pinching her nose. ‘Are we in the process of removing the video?’

‘Well, that’s the plan. It’s not easy, I’ve been told, but they’re working on it.’

‘This is the last thing we need right now. There’s already enough pressure on us from the media without this type of thing getting out there. What’s on the video?’

Murphy hesitated. ‘Do you want to see it for yourself?’

‘Just give me the gist for now,’ DCI Stephens said, placing her glasses back on. ‘I’ll watch it later.’

Murphy knew she was putting it off. It was all well and good sitting behind a desk and coordinating things but actually witnessing the things her detectives had seen was something she quite plainly wanted to avoid. ‘We think it’s the couple found this morning – Greg and Hannah – taken last night. Greg is asking Hannah to tell him something, tell him the truth. Then it cuts to a closer view of Hannah . . .’

‘Does she have the facial injuries at this point?’

‘Yes,’ Murphy said, trying not to think of the nasty gashes across her face. ‘She then admits to Greg the same information her mother provided us with earlier. That the daughter wasn’t his, she’d had a one-night stand, etc., etc. The video then goes back to Greg . . .’

‘And?’

‘He . . . It sounds as if he’s saying he wants her to be hurt. To be killed. He calls her some names and says she deserves all she gets. Then the video ends.’

DCI Stephens steepled her fingers and bowed her head. ‘Well, that’ll do wonders for public sympathy.’

Murphy said nothing, still remembering the venom in Greg’s voice. He wondered if there was anything Sarah could say that could provoke the same reaction from him. He hoped he would never have to find out.

‘We’ll get this taken down, even if we have to go to a higher level to do so,’ DCI Stephens said, placing her hands flat on her desk. ‘I’m sure it’ll still be out there, if you look hard enough, but we’ll make sure it becomes a lot more difficult to find. Have we found out the first account who shared it yet?’

‘Anonymous account called “themaninblack80”. We’re getting more detail on that as well.’

‘Good. Let’s hope he’s made his first mistake.’

Murphy left the office, eschewing his normal path back to his desk and walking out through the incident room to the corridors. His phone had been buzzing away in his pocket for the previous few minutes, vibrating against his leg.

He pulled out his phone once he was in the quiet of the empty corridor by the lift area. Four missed calls and a message.

‘Call me. Need to talk.’

DS Ayris from Liverpool South. His heart began to race a little as he thumbed the screen to dial the number.

‘Just give me a minute,’ Ayris said, the noise in the background growing quieter as Murphy heard him move away. ‘Thanks for calling me back.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s just a courtesy call about the Amy Maguire case,’ Ayris said. ‘We’ve cleared Keith Hudson for now. Nothing else we could do but release him.’

Murphy’s grip on his phone grew tighter. ‘Did you get anything more out of him at least? The little bastard knows something.’

‘Nothing, sorry. I’m not sure he knows anything. The guy has some mental health issues and is known for making false claims. Probably heard the story about Amy from someone and got lucky with some details.’

‘What’s next then? Do you have anything else?’

‘We’ll keep going, but you know the score, Murphy. Mispers are the bloody worst cases to try and get info on. Far too many of them for us to make a dent. We’ll keep her name out there, but she’s eighteen. Could have had a secret boyfriend and buggered off somewhere with him. Not much else we can do really. If anything comes up, I’ll let you know.’

‘Yeah, cheers,’ Murphy said, ending the call and catching himself before he launched the phone down the corridor. He settled on saying, ‘Fucking idiots,’ under his breath and instead finding another number in his contacts.

‘Hey, it’s David Murphy from Liverpool North. I need a favour . . . just an address, please . . . yeah, it’s Keith Hudson. Lives in Speke. He was questioned in Admiral Street station by Liverpool South division this week, if that narrows it down some? Cheers . . .’