‘That’s a great result, Scott, and many congratulations on the win, but the bigger talking point today, I’m sure you’ll admit, is the absence of João Gonzales Zarco from the City dugout for the whole of the match. Can you end the speculation about exactly where your team manager was this afternoon, Scott? And perhaps where he is now?’
‘I’d love to, but I’m afraid I can’t, Geoff, as I have absolutely no idea myself. It’s a mystery. The fact is I haven’t seen him since eleven o’clock this morning.’
‘There’s a strong rumour going around the Crown of Thorns that he and Viktor Sokolnikov have had another major falling-out and that João has walked out of the club. Would you like to comment on that?’
‘I’d much prefer to comment on today’s win, Geoff; I’m delighted with the way we played today. From being a goal behind to 4–1 is a bigger story, if you’ll permit me to talk about that for a moment.’
‘But João Zarco is a mercurial, not to say controversial character. And it would be entirely typical for him to do something like that, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I disagree, it wouldn’t be typical at all. João Zarco has always been totally professional in the way he’s managed this club. Look, Geoff, I would dearly like to tell you where João is right now. The fact is that no one seems to know. Now, as far as I’m aware there has been no disagreement between João and Mr Sokolnikov. I’d go so far as to say that relations between them are excellent, right now. I think I should also say that we’re a little worried that something might have happened to João Zarco, which is why we’re conducting a search of the whole ground. So if anyone does have information about his whereabouts, we’d appreciate it if you could get in touch. And perhaps you’ll let me know if you hear anything, Geoff.’
‘Of course, Scott.’
Finally we managed to talk about the game, but my mind wasn’t on Kenny Traynor’s cock-up and the magnificent save with which the Scotsman had redeemed himself, the goals we’d scored, or the sending off; all the time I was thinking about Zarco and wondering if his disappearance might be connected with the photograph of him that Colin had found at the bottom of the grave dug in the pitch.
And I don’t mind admitting it, I was worried.
15
In spite of our 4–1 victory and the fact that London City had gone sixth in the table, the atmosphere in the dressing room was a little subdued after the match as the lads sensed that something bad was happening.
Either we’d lost a great manager or we were about to lose one — nobody was quite sure which it was.
But we still got back on the coach as usual and went back to Hangman’s Wood so the players could receive treatment on tired and injured limbs. Xavier Pepe had two enormous bruises on his calves from where Aaron Abimbole had tackled him, and Kwame Botchwey had a thigh strain that looked like it was going to keep him on the bench for a couple of weeks. As the bus drove away from Silvertown Dock I could see all these illuminated faces staring at their little smartphone screens like bees in a hive and I thought it best to issue a firm policy about Twitter.
‘Listen, there’s enough speculation as it is about where Zarco has got to without your bloody tweets. So how about giving your thumbs a rest tonight, eh, lads? We’ll know what’s happened to the gaffer soon enough. What we don’t need are any fucking conspiracy theories for tomorrow’s back pages.’
Back at Hangman’s Wood the club physio told Pepe, Botchwey and several others to soak in an ice bath. I’d read a new study which said that ice baths after exercise may not be effective in aiding recovery; all our own anecdotal evidence suggests that they are and until we receive proof that they don’t work our players will continue to take them, but they are hard-core and players taking ice baths need carefully monitoring as spending too long in one can cause a variety of health risks including anaphylactic shock and an abnormal heart rate.
I might not have had an ice bath at Hangman’s Wood but I did feel a profound sense of shock and experienced an uncomfortable sensation in my chest when Phil Hobday telephoned me on my mobile at about seven thirty that same evening with some really bad news.
‘Scott? I think you should prepare yourself for a shock. João Zarco was found dead at Silvertown Dock about half an hour ago.’
‘Jesus Christ’s arsehole. What was it? A heart attack?’
‘It’s rather hard to say exactly what killed him. But definitely not a heart attack, I’ll say that much. He looked like he’d been pretty badly beaten up.’
‘You’ve seen the body?’
‘Oh yes. His head was bashed in and — it was awful. Anyway he’s dead.’
‘Where was he found?’
‘One of our own security men discovered the body in a sort of maintenance yard inside the outer steel structure — the actual crown of thorns part of the stadium. It’s pretty out of the way, which is why we didn’t find him sooner. The uniformed police were here already, of course, but a scene of crimes unit and some detectives are on their way here as well. It’s now a murder inquiry.’
‘Does Toyah know?’
‘Yes. And I just called Viktor at home. He was pretty shocked about it, I can tell you.’
‘I’ll bet. Jesus Christ. So am I.’
‘Scott, I’d like you to tell the players, if you would. And I think it would be best if all of them stayed home tonight as a mark of respect to João. The press have got wind that something serious has happened here and I don’t want any of our lads out on the piss and getting himself in the Daily Mail.’
‘Of course. I’ll tell them and read them the riot act.’
‘And they’d better cancel whatever plans they may have had for tomorrow as well. I know it’s a Sunday but I’m sure the police will want to question everyone who spoke to Zarco today.’
I thought for a moment.
‘Phil, there’s something I need to tell you. Look, perhaps I’d better come into Silvertown Dock and do it.’
‘Tell me now and let me decide that. There’s no point in you being here unless you have to be.’
I told Phil about the photograph of Zarco we’d found in the grave, and how Zarco had asked Colin and me to keep it quiet.
‘How come the police didn’t see it when they were here?’
‘Because the police are the police. Their hands are usually dirty enough without getting mud on them, too.’
‘You’re right, Scott,’ said Phil. ‘I think you’d better come in and tell the police about this yourself. Under the circumstances I think perhaps Ronnie Leishmann should be here as well.’
Ronnie Leishmann was the London City Football Club lawyer.
‘What circumstances are those?’
‘You, of course. And you saying things like what you just said about policemen with dirty hands. I think it would be best if you could learn to moderate your dislike of the police while they’re investigating what happened to Zarco.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘By the way, where is the picture now?’ asked Phil.
‘In Colin’s office. João told him he could keep it as a souvenir.’
‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can, Phil.’
As I ended my call with the club chairman I got a message from Didier Cassell’s wife: our French goalkeeper had recovered consciousness at last. This was good to know but it wasn’t enough to sugarcoat a bitter pill like the one I was about to give the team. Nothing was going to be enough for that.