by Robert Innes
“Of course, darling,” Jacqueline replied. Now Blake was closer, he could see that she did indeed look like she had drunk a couple of brandies. “Come on, Tom. Let’s go home.”
“Coming, Mum,” Tom replied. “See you later, Harrison.”
Harrison gave him a curt nod. “Bye, Tom.”
They watched as Tom helped Jacqueline across the road. She fumbled with her keys, giggling to herself and then eventually managed to open the door. Tom allowed her to go in first, then turned around briefly to look at Blake before following his mother inside their cottage and closed the door behind him.
Harrison folded his arms. “So, are you going to tell me what that was really about? Don’t tell me you were just discussing the weather, I know that look of yours.”
“I know you do.” Blake smiled. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to him since he tried to kiss you. I was trying to be a big old butch alpha male.”
Harrison snorted with laughter. “Oh, right. And how did that work out for you?”
“I think he’s terrified of me now.”
“Oh, I’m sure he is.”
They both laughed and then kissed and then went inside the cottage. As Blake turned to close the door behind him, he was sure he saw a twitching from a curtain from an upstairs window from Jacqueline’s cottage opposite, but as he stared at it, the light went from behind the curtain went out and all was still.
8
The next morning, Blake stood in front of the officers of Harmschapel police station with a much fresher perspective than he had possessed the previous day. The screaming woman had not entered his consciousness all night and Blake had woken up feeling like he had had the best night’s sleep he could remember.
As he looked at the other officers however, it was clear they did not all share Blake’s good spirits. Gardiner was looking his usual miserable self, but the typically cheerful Patil and Mattison had expressions that suggested that a reconciliation had not happened between them. Patil had moved her chair so that she was as far away from her boyfriend as possible and Mattison was slouched in his chair looking extremely sulky. Constable Fox, on the other hand, was looking perfectly cheerful. She seemed entirely unaware of the chaos she was causing to Mattison and Patil’s relationship. Indeed, when Patil glanced over at her, she gave her a cheery wave and merely looked confused when Patil returned it with a death stare.
“Okay,” said Blake loudly before the situation escalated. “Let’s get started, shall we?” He turned towards the white board and began writing on it. “We have Scott Jennings, twenty-eight years old, found murdered by apparent stabbing during the final between Harmschapel and Clackton.” He opened a folder and retrieved the forensic photographs of Scott’s body. “The entry wound is approximately three millimetres wide, suggesting that it was performed by a small blade, maybe a penknife or something, and was deep enough to kill him, though we’re going to obviously have to wait for the post-mortem for the final clarification.
“Now, the problem we have is that at the time of his death, Scott was standing in the middle of the football pitch with absolutely no way of anybody getting to him. We’ve got video evidence of him standing alone while a corner was taking place at the other end of the field. Nobody was anywhere near enough to be able to touch him, never mind stab him.”
“And he had hundreds of witnesses all around him in the stands and nobody is claiming to have seen a thing,” finished Fox.
“Exactly, Lisa, thank you.”
Patil rolled her eyes, so Blake came to her next. “Mini – anything you were able to get from any of the witness statements about what could have happened?”
Patil slammed her notebook open and studied it. On the other side of the room, Blake spotted Mattison shake his head at what he clearly saw as her being overly dramatic.
“Not really,” Patil replied at last. “Nobody we spoke to on either team, any of the medics, the referee, or anybody in the crowd seemed to have a clue what had happened. Most of the crowd didn’t even know he’d been stabbed. I think they just thought he collapsed.”
“Let’s be realistic here though,” Gardiner said from his desk at the back of the room. “Nobody’s going to come forward and admit to murdering him, are they? And seeing as the situation doesn’t even seem possible, that means that our invisible man could have been absolutely anybody. There wasn’t anyone close enough to even throw up as a potential suspect. Anybody in the crowd could have done it by that logic.”
Blake stared at Gardiner and checked his folder notes. “So, by that analogy, with two hundred and twelve people in the crowd, four medics, two managers, and eleven players on each team, we’re looking in the region of around two hundred and forty potential suspects?”
“At least,” Gardiner replied with a firm nod. “You can’t underestimate the power of a crazed fan. Maybe Jennings turned one of them down and they plotted some elaborate revenge theory.”
“Oh, you think they might not have even been in the stadium in the first place?” Blake asked wearily. “Taking our suspect number up into the tens of millions?”
“I don’t think anything,” Gardiner replied. “I’m just saying that it’s not going to be easy to narrow it down to any particular motive.”
“Well, maybe for the moment we should stick to having the people on the pitch as the suspects and then perhaps work our way out from there?” Fox suggested. “Otherwise we could be here all day.”
“If you like,” Gardiner said airily.
Blake shook his head wearily and continued. “As I was saying. We have discovered that Scott was taking performance enhancing drugs, more specifically steroids, and by the fact that we discovered a needle in his locker, I think it’s fairly safe to say that he wasn’t taking them for medical purposes. Now, this immediately leads me to wonder why Scott was allowed to play for so long without it being discovered that he was taking steroids. Surely he wouldn’t have been allowed to play if it was discovered?”
“I’ve been looking into that, Sir,” Mattison announced. “From what I could gather online, it can actually be a bit of a lottery as to whether players get tested or not. There’s reports that some players in even the Premier Leagues could go whole seasons without being tested once and then there are some that found themselves being tested multiple times.”
“Interesting,” Blake said thoughtfully, staring at the board. “I think what we need to do in that case is find out when, if ever, the Harmschapel team were tested. I mean, a county cup is an official football competition isn’t it?”
“Approved by the FA,” confirmed Gardiner.
“And if Scott was using needles, then he’s been doing it for a while, surely? I mean this isn’t amateur stuff we’re talking here. It’s not like taking a tablet and then he’s Superman for a few hours. If there was a test, then something isn’t right.”
“You don’t trust that manager, Hattie, do you, Sir?” Patil asked.
“No, not really,” Blake said, writing Hattie’s name on the board. “I got the impression that she was the sort of person who would want her team to win above anything. It might be interesting to speak to her again and ask her about her views on steroids. Anyway, let’s get back to the stabbing. Shot in the dark, but does anybody have any ideas?”
“I take it we don’t have a murder weapon,” Gardiner asked.
“No, of course we bloody haven’t, that would be far too simple,” Blake replied. “Essentially, what we’re being asked to believe here is that somebody ran across the field, stabbed him in the side and then vanished with the knife in front of hundreds of witnesses.”
“It’s not possible,” said Fox.
“Exactly,” Blake replied. “So, let’s start thinking about what is possible. Remember, people. If something is improbable, that still means it’s possible.”
The room went silent for a few moments.
“Anything? No matter how out there it might seem?” Mattison asked.
“Go for it, Matti,”
Blake replied, smiling. “Hit me with your best shot.”
Mattison scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. “Is it possible for the knife to have somehow been thrown at him from a distance and then retracted?”
Blake raised his eyebrows. “What, like some sort of knife shaped boomerang?
“Or on some sort of fishing line or something,” Mattison continued. “Somebody with good aim could have launched it at him and then pulled it back and then left the stadium with the murder weapon.”
Again, there was silence.
“It’s not beyond the realms of possibility,” Blake began.
“Isn’t it?” grunted Gardiner. “Sounds pretty ludicrous to me.”
“And yet it’s more than what you’ve come up with, Sergeant,” retorted Mattison.
“Alright, alright, don’t start,” Blake interjected. “I tell you what, let’s take a look at the footage from that camera. We might see something we missed.”
The lights were quickly turned off and the projector was switched on. Mattison loaded up the video on the computer and the footage of the final few moments of Scott Jennings began to play out in front of them.
“Oh, God,” Fox said, looking embarrassed as the back of her head appeared briefly on the screen. “My hair looks terrible there. What was I thinking?”
“I can’t see a difference, to be honest,” Patil said sweetly.
Blake glanced at her and Patil gave him an innocent smile. Fox did not seem to have grasped that it was not a compliment.
“Thanks, Mini,” she said. “I do try and keep it nice, but you know what a nightmare it can be, especially when it’s windy.”
“Yes, thank you,” Blake said over his shoulder. “You can talk hairdressing in your own time, ladies.”
“Sorry, Sir,” Fox replied, looking abashed.
They continued watching the footage until it got to the point where Scott sank to his knees before collapsing to the ground.
Blake leant across Mattison’s computer and rewound the footage before playing it again.
“I know that the shot isn’t exactly focussed on him,” he said slowly, “but I can’t help but think there’s something a bit weird about the way Scott falls to the ground there.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mattison, frowning.
They watched again as the goal for Clackton was scored and Scott landed on the ground from his knees.
“Does that look like the normal way to die from a stab wound to anybody else?” Blake wondered aloud.
“I wouldn’t know,” Gardiner replied. “Very common is it, down your road?”
Blake rolled his eyes. “I mean he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. I know there are stories about people being stabbed without even realising it, but he doesn’t seem to actually be in any pain. Considering where the wound is and the fact that his football shirt was sodden with blood by the time they got it off him, you’d think he would have, I dunno, held onto his side or something or at the very least shown some sort of indication that he was in pain.”
“The man sank down to his knees and then died,” Gardiner said, looking at Blake as if he was quite mad. “What more did you want from him? An operatic aria?”
“Shut up, Michael,” Blake said flatly. “I simply meant that he isn’t acting like he was just stabbed.”
They continued watching the footage. By now, the referee had noticed Scott on the ground and had blown his whistle. Soon, the medic team ran onto the pitch, followed by Hattie. Blake narrowed his eyes and watched her carefully. Then, he watched himself on the screen as he ran across the pitch to get to Scott. By the time he had arrived by Scott’s side, the footage showed that Hattie had pulled off Scott’s football shirt and the medic team quickly got to work.
“I’ve got it!” Mattison said loudly. “One of them must have stabbed him! Just before you got there, Sir, one of the medic team or Hattie Atkins must have quickly stabbed him.”
Blake leant back on the desk as the footage came to an end. “His shirt was already soaked with blood by the time we got there though. Something weird is definitely going on there, you’re right, Matti, but I’m not sure if it was the stabbing itself. And even if it was, why did he collapse?”
“It’s not unknown for football players to have heart attacks on the pitch,” suggested Gardiner. “Maybe, with a combination of the drugs, his heart gave out.”
“Maybe,” Blake conceded. “It still doesn’t explain where his stab wound came from though. If only the footage was closer, we might actually be able to see what is going on. Is it normal for a manager to rush on to the pitch in a situation like that?”
“I don’t think there’s a strict procedure for a manager to do anything when their star player has just died,” Gardiner said. “If she cared as much about his wellbeing as you think she did, then I suppose it would be perfectly natural.”
Blake shook his head and turned the lights back on. “I think we’re getting there, people. We’re on the cusp of landing on something. We just need a bit more information, and I think Hattie Atkins is the person to give it to us.”
9
Without the added pressure of football practice and matches in his immediate schedule, Peter was surprised by just how bored he was, considering that no less than a week ago he had been looking forward to getting some time to himself.
He was lying on his bed playing a football game on his PlayStation, but his mind was as far from the game as it was possible to be. He had been unable to stop thinking about Sarah since they had shared what he greatly considered to be a ‘moment’ on the wall and his stomach still flipped whenever he thought about her kissing him.
What was troubling him more than anything else was the bloodied bandages he had discovered in the bin. He could not shake off the notion that Hattie must have put them there, but he could not work out why or the reason she would want to hide them. Bandages were designed to help people, so why would she want to hide that?
He gave up on his game and threw the remote onto the bed, before lying back and staring at the ceiling, trying to play out the events of the match in his mind.
Scott had certainly appeared in rude health up until the moment he had died, even though his game had been a lot weaker than usual. Not ten minutes before hand, he had been throwing his weight around as usual, getting into yet another fight with Alan Messing and he had even yelled at Paul who had been trying to prevent Scott from getting himself sent off. The argument he had seen between Hattie and Paul was also bothering him. He knew that they were hiding something about Scott’s death, but he could not work out why either of them would want to kill him.
A knock at the front door broke into his thoughts. For one delightful, crazy moment he thought that it might be Sarah, but when he poked his head around his bedroom door to see, he had to hide his disappointment when he saw Ashley Pharaoh staring at him through the glass.
“Hey, man,” Ashley said as he opened the door. “You alright?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Peter replied. “Yesterday’s still bothering me though. Did you get much sleep?”
“Not much,” Ashley replied, shrugging. “I was thinking about what you said last night though. Can I come in?”
A few minutes later, they were back in Peter’s room, both with a can of beer in their hands. Peter switched off his television so that he could give Ashley his full attention.
“Those bandages you found last night,” Ashley began. “Did you go to the police?”
“The police? No. To be honest, I didn’t think about it. I mean, what could it matter? Maybe one of the medics put it around Scott to try and staunch the flow of blood or whatever, but it was just too late.”
Ashley took a sip of his beer and looked thoughtful. “Don’t you think there’s something weird going on though? Why was Hattie looking so shifty when you and that policeman walked out of the fire exit last night?”
“Why would bandages be something to hide though?” Peter asked.
“It
’s not just that,” Ashley continued. “Do you remember that drugs test we had a couple of months back?”
Peter shuddered. He remembered it all too well. “Of course. You don’t forget having to piss in a cup in a hurry.”
“Do you remember us all doing it?”
Peter thought back. “I dunno. I wasn’t paying much attention to the other lads having to do it, funnily enough.”
“Exactly. The police found drugs in Scott’s locker. I heard them talking about it last night when I went to get my wallet back. Why was he allowed to play?”
Peter stared at Ashley in surprise. “Drugs? Really?”
“I promise you. I heard one of the forensics people discussing it. So, why was he allowed to play?”
“Maybe he wasn’t taking them when we did the test?”
“Maybe. Or there’s something else going on.” He suddenly leaned forward and lowered his voice, even though there was nobody about to hear what he was saying. “I don’t trust Hattie. Her and Scott were like that.” He held his hand up and crossed his fingers together. “She worshipped the ground he walked on. Come on, she took you off the pitch and replaced you with him.”
“She said it was about my ankle.”
“Yeah, and to be fair, you should have got that sorted sooner, but you were still alright to play yesterday, weren’t you? I’m telling you, Hattie is hiding something and if that argument you heard her having with Paul is anything to go by, I think it might have something to do with Scott’s death.”
He leaned back impressively and allowed his words to sink in. Peter stared at him dumbfounded.
“Wow. You weren’t kidding when you said you’d been thinking about it. Well, what do we do then? You think Hattie killed Scott?”
“I don’t know,” Ashley said. “Answer me this though. Do you think she’s a good manager?”
Peter shrugged. “I dunno. I guess. If she likes you.”