CHAPTER 19
I wanted to struggle but my assailant was clearly a professional. I couldn’t move. He whispered into my ear.
“If you want to know who killed Roy Bennett you’ll keep quiet until we get outside.” The accent was pure Eton. The hand came off my mouth and the grip that held me was relaxed. I turned to look at the intruder. He was tall and rangy, his clothes fell somewhere between casual and scruffy. He looked tough. At his beckoning we stepped out into the garden at the back of the house. He picked a place where we could not be overlooked and pulled up two patio chairs. I sat down.
He turned the chair around, sat down legs astride the chair, arms resting on the back. For a brief moment his jacket opened sufficiently for me to catch a glimpse of a gun in a leather holster. This was bizarre. I considered looking around for the hidden cameras. It had to be a wind up. My new companion smiled and extended his hand.
“I’m Lance, pleased to meet you.” I shook his hand because I didn’t know what else to do. “I’m sorry about the melodramatics but its better to be safe than sorry,” he said.
“What is this all about? And what has it got to do with Roy’s death?” I was still unsure as to his motives.
“Look, Alex. You don’t mind me calling you Alex, do you?” He paused, I shook my head. I wasn’t overly keen on being kidnapped in my own home but I didn’t mind people calling me Alex.
“I’m afraid I had to get you out of the house because it may well be bugged.”
“Bugged? You’re joking!”
“No. I’m serious. Someone has been watching you. I followed him this morning as he tailed you to the newsagent’s shop and back. Now he’s sitting over the road in a dark blue Vauxhall Cavalier.”
“Police?” I asked quizzically.
“Definitely not. He wasn’t very good. I got as close as five yards behind him this morning and he didn’t have a clue. I would guess that he’s a private investigator.”
“But why would he be watching me?”
“After the events of the past few days I would have thought that was obvious.” He seemed quite well informed. “I believe that Roy Bennett’s killers are watching you to make sure that you don’t go near the police.”
“But I did. Yesterday.”
“I know,” he said, “and they would have known too if the man in the blue Cavalier hadn’t had the misfortune to run over a nail as he started to follow you.” He grinned widely.
“You?” I asked. He nodded.
“As I said he’s not very good. I reckon I could have stolen his hub caps too if I’d wanted to. But seriously, if they are following you they will almost certainly have bugged your phone and possibly the house as well.”
“What should I do?” I was aware of becoming dependant on his expertise without really knowing who or what he was.
“Nothing,” he responded firmly. “Don’t let them know that you know. I’ll bring some kit if you want and I’ll sweep the house. Then at least you’ll know where the devices are. But until this is sorted out I suggest you leave them in place. You’re safer if they think they are still in control.”
“Why are you doing this? Are you from the police?" He pondered on my question and answered carefully.
"If you give me your word that it will go no further I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” I figured that Lance was a good guy to have on my side and so I agreed to his conditions.
************
Lance wasn’t his real name but it was the only name he would give. He had served in the forces in Germany before being selected for special operations in Northern Ireland. After a brutal training period he joined 14 Intelligence Company, sometimes nicknamed ‘The Operators’. Working undercover, these operatives supported the police and carried out covert operations against the paramilitary organisations on both sides of the conflict. Always heavily armed, they concentrated on taking the terrorists, and their arms suppliers, out of circulation. In constant danger they learned that there was safety in secrecy and isolation. Hence his unwillingness to give me his name.
Lance had been to the province many times and had never lost a colleague until four years ago. They had been following suspected couriers, who were believed to be carrying Armalite rifles in a sports bag, for delivery to the Belfast cell of one of the paramilitaries. Lance and another operative were dressed as joggers with Browning 9mm High-Power pistols concealed in their loose clothes. As the two couriers approached the exit to the park, Lance and his companion drew their weapons and instructed them to lie face down on the floor. The two young Irishmen were terrified and gladly gave up their bag. Lance radioed for back up and a minute later Sadie, a fellow operative, arrived on the scene closely followed by the police. Lance reported to the senior officer that they had recovered two longs and a short (two rifles and a pistol) before sliding away as unobtrusively as possible.
Sadie unlocked the red Astra and climbed in. Lance and his colleague headed for the second back up car, where Cliff already had the engine running ready for a rapid departure. On operations like this the ‘operators’ had their faces uncovered and so the fewer people that saw them the better. The two cars pulled away in unison, one fifty yards ahead of the other. Lance heard a loud thud and the red Astra lifted off the road before settling down again. Lance raced to the red car while the others gave cover with their weapons drawn. It was too late. Sadie had been dismembered by the bomb crammed under her seat and remotely triggered from across the road somewhere.
Lance spoke about Sadie in tones that denied his assertion that she was just another colleague. He talked about the isolation, the loneliness and the constant stress in his job in the province. I guessed that he and Sadie had ignored their standing orders and found some semblance of comfort in each other’s arms.
By the time he had finished relating the story I understood the connection. Roy and Sadie had both met their deaths as a result of a bomb placed under the driver’s seat of their cars. Lance explained that because of the unusual modus operandi, it was his belief that the same man placed both bombs.
For the first time I heard the name of Roy’s killer spoken out loud. Liam Watt.
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As Lance had been entirely frank with me I explained the whole story to him, even the photos. We both came to the conclusion that Liam Watt must have been working as an independent contractor for the matchfixers.
“When you suspected that Watt was behind the killing of Roy did you tell the police?” I asked. “They have a special taskforce looking into his death.”
“Operation Ballgame, I know. When I heard about the bomb I contacted a friend in Ulster and he faxed details of Liam Watt to the Metropolitan Police. He told me, off the record, that someone from Ballgame had contacted him for further information. The trouble is that there has been a points of entry watch for Watt for over three years, but he has never been seen coming in or out of England. He probably flies to Schiphol and comes into Dover on a ferry. They never pick anyone up at Dover, its just too busy.”
Lance was determined to track down the bomb- happy Watt and if he could help me along the way he would do so. I promised to keep him informed of events by sending messages over the internet to his email address. He explained how this could be done securely and I made a mental note of his instructions.
“You can go in now,” Lance said as he stood up. “I’m going to follow your shadow and see what I can find out about him.” At that he ran to the bottom of the garden and was over my six foot fence in a second. Without looking back he disappeared into the wood behind the house.
************
Lance had been right. The telephone was bugged but there were no listening devices in the house. That came as a great relief. I hadn’t heard from my new protector for a while and so I assumed that he must be busy. I found plenty to do in preparing for the court case which was due to start the following month.
The new football season was now underway and I was again in demand as a guest su
mmariser for local radio and for the occasional Sky match. Danny was back in his usual slot on a Monday evening after his eye operations and as I watched I was mildly envious. I had enjoyed the few weeks spent sitting in his chair. United got off to a good start with three straight wins in the Premiership, only to be taken apart by the Yorkshire based new boys at home. I sat on the bench and watched four goals stream in past Aaron’s replacement. The new stand was almost complete and I looked forward to the prospect of playing in front of five thousand more people. My mobile phone sounded as I signed autographs outside the ground.
“Dad. You have to go to the hospital immediately. Aunt Judy needs you.” Tanya was flustered and I could get no sense out of her and so I set off in the direction of the Infirmary.
When you are in your twenties and thirties death seems so far away, and even though I had seen Roy die just a few months ago I hadn’t considered that Aaron might follow him. At least, not until that moment. Dread filled my soul as I walked up to the intensive care unit. I looked through the window of Aaron’s room and my heart sank. His bed was empty. For weeks I had sat at that bedside and talked to Aaron about my plans, the team, what had been going on. Every day he had looked a little better. Bones had set, bruises faded, swelling subsided. Apart from the fact that he was unconscious, he was back to looking like his old self. And now this. I wondered how Judy would take it. I didn’t have long to wait. My cousin appeared at the end of the corridor. What to say I just couldn’t think, and then she was beside me. She threw her arms around my neck and cried freely into my collar.
“Oh, Alex.” she sobbed. “Isn’t it wonderful?” I pushed her away and stared into her wet eyes.
“What? What’s happened?” I was careful not to jump to conclusions.
“Its Aaron. He’s woken up. They think he’s going to be all right again.”
************
I could hardly believe it, but there it was, that Scando-Mancunian accent, a bit slurred admittedly but wonderful to my ears all the same. The consultant who had once warned me to expect the worst, was now explaining that apart from some muscle wastage, due in large part to long periods in bed, Aaron appeared to well on the way to recovery.
The next few weeks passed in a blur as Tanya, Judy and myself worked with Aaron, filling him in on all of the news and encouraging him to eat and exercise. At first his stomach had contracted so much that any morsel of food filled him up but now he was back on full meals and his body tone was improving by the day. On the day they allowed him home every United player lined up outside the front door of his house to welcome him home. I was moved myself as I drew up to the house with Aaron in the back of my car. Judy smiled, glad that her surprise had been such a success, and Aaron swallowed hard to avoid crying.
My court case was due to begin on Tuesday and I was sorry that I would miss Aaron’s return to training. He was stronger now and the muscle definition was back. Carrying well over a stone less than normal he was lean and menacing looking. There wasn’t an ounce of excess fat on his body. I guessed that he would be back playing before Christmas.
The case was listed for eight days, which was two weeks of court time at four days a week, and so I made the necessary domestic arrangements for my absence in London. My shadow had disappeared for the time being and Lance was now able to come in through the front door. But he still waited until after dark. In the past few weeks Lance had provided a good deal of information which he imparted to me. I then had Sara correlate it on the computer before passing it on to Mark Lister- Ward and the ‘Ballgame’ team. Lister- Ward was curious as to where the information was coming from but after the burgling catastrophe he decided it was best not to know too much.
Late on Friday night Lance appeared at the front door and he, myself and Sara sat down to confer in advance of my meeting with Lister- Ward in the morning.
My shadow was one Leonard Bray, consulting detective of High Street, Warrington. We had his address, telephone number and bank account details, thanks to Lance visiting when Lenny was out. The ‘Ballgame’ team had been able to get hold of the investigator's cancelled cheques, only to confirm what we all suspected. He was being paid on a consultancy basis by Sportsec Plc. One of the cheques they found was countersigned by no less a person than Chris Smith.
Unfortunately Aaron had been unable to identify either of his attackers, though he did vaguely remember the fourtrack driven by Tweedledee and Tweedledum. There was still no sign of Liam Watt but Lance was persistent and he wouldn’t give up until all hope of catching the bomber was gone. He owed that much to Sadie, he said.
I had grown quite close to Lance over the weeks and Sara had given him her seal of approval, after first being suspicious of his motives. Before he went that night he shook my hand and gripping it tightly he warned,
“Be careful, Alex. Once the police start to swoop the bad guys will know you are involved and they’ll come gunning for you.” I really needed that bit of reassurance just before the trial.
************
Mark Lister- Ward was disappointed that they hadn’t managed to get to the top man but he felt that to delay any longer would be counter-productive. They were going to wait until Mr Po showed up and then launch a simultaneous operation to pick up Chris Smith, his hirelings and all the footballers on the lists. I was disappointed in some of my fellow players but the bank account evidence that had been gathered in the last few months made it clear that match fixing was a reality Either that or someone enjoyed giving money away to footballers.
As I left Lister- Ward told me to be careful. Suddenly everyone was concerned about my welfare.
On Monday morning I kissed Tanya goodbye as the taxi waited. Sara was coming to stay for the week to keep an eye on her. I hadn’t yet persuaded Sara to stay overnight with me but I was still hopeful.
The train journey passed quickly and I found myself in counsel’s chambers by mid morning. We spent the morning going over the video evidence that had been disclosed to the other side.
“Why are the other side persisting with the referee as a witness when they know that he didn’t even see the tackle?” It seemed silly to me.
“Because they don’t know that he didn’t see it, is the answer to that one.” Christopher Byron explained.
“But I thought that we had to disclose all of our evidence to the defendant.” I remembered that point being made very clear to me in the early conferences with counsel. Byron was thinking of a way to explain a complex legal principle to me in simple terms. Eventually he said,
“Normally we do have a duty to disclose. But where a defendant’s witness makes a statement in court we are permitted to introduce rebuttal evidence, without disclosure. Of course we have to obtain the Judge’s permission but that should present no problem. In this case the Referee will say that he saw the tackle and we will rebut that evidence with the video clips. Obviously I will give the Referee every opportunity to concede the point in court but if he insists on perjuring himself, then so be it. Now let’s sort out the agenda for tomorrow.”
I was more nervous than I thought possible as I stepped from the taxi onto the Strand. There waiting for me at the Aldwych was Simon Moreton. I braced myself as we crossed the road and headed towards the main entrance of the Royal Courts of Justice. The building was awesome and magnificent, and the newly cleaned stonework shone in the sunlight. As we crossed the road a band of photographers, reporters and TV cameramen looked over.
“He’s here,” one of the gathered horde shouted and suddenly we were mobbed and we found ourselves in the middle of a media crush. Microphones and video cameras were thrust in my face as comments were sought. I stuck to the agreed line and said,
“Obviously I am very confident. I’m sorry that it has to come to this but whilst I feel no personal animosity towards Dean Butler, I think that it is time that we allowed people the freedom to play the game skilfully. That’s why I am here today. Thank you.” There was a rush of questions but I just smiled and walked under t
he portico that led into the cavernous entrance hall. Thirty minutes later we had congregated in the old courtroom. The barristers were joking with one another in loud whispers whilst those of us sitting behind them sat in silence. I looked across at Dean Butler but he wouldn’t look at me. He looked more nervous than I felt. A moment later we all rose to our feet on the instructions of the court clerk who announced the arrival of Lord Justice Breckman, our judge. He sat and we sat.
After some archaic language that invited those with a case to hear to draw forth, Christopher Byron stood to introduce himself as counsel for the plaintiff whilst noting that Patrick Webb was acting for the defence. The remainder of the morning was taken up by opening statements. First was Christopher Byron explaining how he would show that the action was a proper response to a vicious and disabling tackle that fell outside the rules of the game. This being the case I was entitled to damages, the amount of which would be argued but which would ultimately be at his Lordship’s discretion. This all took well over an hour.
Next Patrick Webb rose to his feet. He was well over six feet tall and though he was a relatively young man he had a stoop. He outlined the case for the defence, which was that the injury arose from a fair tackle and that I had simply been unlucky. It had been an unfortunate accident for which I enjoyed his deep sympathy, but it was not for the courts to punish his client when only fate was to blame.
We adjourned for lunch and delicate sandwiches were provided in a small room set aside for our team.
************
The afternoon began with the first of our three witnesses being sworn in. Gareth Evans held the Bible in his hand and swore his oath in a booming tenor voice, so reminiscent of his Welsh valley roots. Christopher Byron had him introduce himself and state his background. Gareth spoke of his training as a football referee, his league career and his time as a FIFA official in the World Cup. Video footage of the Butler tackle was shown for the first time in the court room. Those few seconds of action would be repeated a hundred times before the trial was over. Counsel asked the witness for his opinion of the tackle.
Final Whistle Page 23