23
‘How did that go?’ asked Maurice.
‘As well as could have been expected. Which is to say not well at all. Detective Chief Inspector Jane Byrne is a piece of work, and no mistake. I think you can safely say we already hate each other.’
‘After what happened last night I can’t say I’m surprised. But a friend of mine at the Yard says she’s headed for the top.’
‘The top of what? A pile of shit?’
‘That bad, eh?’
‘Let’s just say she’s not a lover of the game. And right now, she seems to like Ronan Reilly for Zarco’s murder.’
‘I never liked that cunt much myself.’
‘Him, or Sean Barry.’
‘Sean?’ Maurice made a face. ‘Actually, I don’t think it can have been Sean who killed Zarco.’
‘No?’
The phone on my desk rang. It was Simon Page.
‘There are two people from the FA here,’ he said. ‘Apparently they just missed us at Hangman’s Wood.’
‘The FA? What the fuck do they want?’
‘It’s the DCO and the FATSO. They want urine samples from four random players.’
The DCO was the Doping Control Officer from UK Anti-Doping and the FATSO was what we called the Football Association Supervising Officer. They had enormous powers and it was wise to cooperate with them in whatever way they wanted; famously a UK anti-doping team had given the tennis player Andy Murray a drugs test when he was just about to go to Buckingham Palace to collect his OBE.
‘They pick their moments, don’t they? You’d better give them what they need.’ I put the phone down.
‘Who was that?’ asked Maurice.
‘Drug testing. As if having the police here wasn’t enough of a hassle. You were saying. About Sean Barry.’
‘It seems that finding out about Zarco and his missus prompted him to reveal that he’d had a girlfriend himself. More than one, as it happens. So we can rule out jealousy. Apparently he’s more upset about Zarco’s death than his wife is. Thinks it’s going to damage our chances of winning anything this season.’
‘He could be right. I suppose your friend Sarah Crompton told you that, too?’
‘Yes.’
‘So we’re crossing him off our first team list.’
‘I reckon.’
‘What about that ref’s son — Jimmy Sharp? What did you find out there?’
‘He’s on the bench, too. He’s applied to Campion Hall at Oxford University. Wants to study theology as soon as he’s out of the Royal Marines. I’m told he wants to go into the priesthood. There was an article about him in the Daily Telegraph a few weeks ago.’
‘On the face of it, hardly the type bent on revenge.’
‘Good cover, though. I mean, if you were going to do someone in it wouldn’t half throw them off the scent if they thought you had the hots for Jesus. Don’t forget the Reverend Green in Cluedo.’
‘It’s Mr Green these days. He’s considered more PC. Apparently the Yanks who bought the rights to the game objected to the idea of a clergyman being a murderer.’
‘Stupid cunts.’ Maurice laughed. ‘Denis Kampfner, I don’t know about. Not yet. As for that Russian bloke — Semion Mikhailov — he owns a large energy company, not to mention a bank or two and a Russian football club: Dynamo St Petersburg.’
‘That’s interesting. Viktor is buying a player from them. Says they owe him money.’
‘From what I’ve heard, I’m not sure which would be worse: owing Mikhailov money, or having him owe you. He’s seriously bad, that man. But so far all I’ve got are a few sharp intakes of breath. He’s looking for a house in Chelsea, I’ve heard. Best place for him, I reckon. But I can’t imagine he’d actually misbehave while he was trying to set up home here. Wait a minute, Viktor’s not buying the red devil, is he?’
‘That’s what he says. But keep it under your hat.’
‘Good luck to him. They say Bekim Develi liked French grub even less than he liked paying the top rate of French tax. Word is he’s put on thirty pounds since he went back to play in Russia.’
‘Just what we fucking need.’
Phil Hobday appeared in the doorway.
‘How’s it going, Scott?’
‘It’s just beginning to dawn on me how much work I have to do.’
‘For anything worth having you have to pay a price, Scott, and the price is always work and self-sacrifice. More than that if you’re looking for sporting immortality; in that case it’s only necessary that you die a little, maybe twice a week.’
‘You won’t mind if I borrow that for my next team talk, will you?’
‘It’s not exactly Henry V, but be my guest. The match on Tuesday night — perhaps we should try to get the FA to have it postponed.’
I thought for a moment. ‘And fuck up the rest of our season? I don’t think so. Maybe we can make Zarco’s death work for us, if that doesn’t sound too cynical. What I mean is, perhaps we can get the best out of the lads as a mark of respect for Zarco. Besides, I’m sure all the fans would like to mark his passing.’
‘Well, you’re the boss now,’ said Phil.
‘That’s what I keep telling myself.’
‘Difficult decisions. That’s what management is all about. Get used to them.’
‘Maurice? Go and see if the law’s finished at the crime scene, will you? I want to go and take a look at the spot where Zarco died a bit later. And close the door on your way out. I need to ask our club chairman an awkward question. Maybe two.’
‘Yes, boss.’
Phil sat down on a sofa arranged along the wall and waited for Maurice to leave my office. Even on a Sunday he wore a well-cut three-piece suit, an Hermès tie and a matching silk handkerchief in his top pocket. Phil was in his early sixties, not very tall with a full head of white hair; he’d started life with a top American law firm called Baker & McKenzie, which, in 1989, became one of the first international law firms in Moscow, and it was there he’d met Viktor during the privatisation of the Volga Automobile Company. Phil had helped turn Volga into the most popular car-maker in Russia. He might have known nothing about football but he knew plenty about mergers and acquisitions and capital market transactions; and — according to Viktor — he spoke perfect Russian.
‘Since you mentioned immortality,’ I said, ‘maybe now’s the time to mention commissioning a statue of Zarco.’
‘So, ask Viktor. You’ll be seeing quite a lot of him from now on, sunshine. More than you know.’
‘Yes, but I figured you were the go-to man for this. After all, there is a statue of you in — where is it now? The Volga factory in Nizhny Novgorod. I mean, who do you go to in order to arrange these things?’
‘Do you think we should have a statue of Zarco outside the Crown of Thorns?’
‘Yes. As long as it doesn’t look like the one of Billy Bremner. Especially as that one doesn’t look anything like Billy Bremner.’
‘I’ll mention it to Viktor.’ Phil grinned. ‘But that wasn’t what you wanted to speak to me about in private, was it?’
‘No. You know Viktor has asked me to play in a new position that’s not exactly our usual 4-4-2. He wants me to become a new sort of midfielder; the clean-up-other-people’s- mistakes kind who’s supposed to make sure our back four avoid any defensive duties at all.’
‘I get it. Someone with positional discipline but full of confidence in his own ability. Keeps the ball for long spells. Works out well for everyone. A bit like David Luiz.’
‘I was thinking of it being a bit more like Hercule Poirot.’
‘Who does he play for? Anderlecht?’
‘Come on, Phil. I’m betting this was your idea.’