by Steve Howell
“He is a beast. Terry wasn’t exaggerating, and a bit thick with it. It felt like he was trying to suck up to me. He made some feeble excuse about the steroids. Like Terry said, something about being injured.”
“Hmm,” Mimi said, twisting to pull a tablet out of a shoulder bag that was dangling from the back of her chair. “I did some research while you were out.” She started tapping the tablet. “I looked up C J Hunter. I was curious because you’d mentioned his name.”
“That was a bit random,” I said, worried where this was leading.
“Maybe, but there are some strange parallels - like how he was doing drugs when he was dating Marion Jones and how she defended him when he first failed a drugs test. You know, at the Sydney Olympics.”
“Of course I know. I was there.”
Mimi threw me a quizzical look, as if to say ‘what’s your problem?’ My problem was hearing her say out loud some of the things I’d been thinking. I wanted to keep them boxed up at the back of my mind. But, as ever, there was no stopping her.
“And he was a beast too. Just look at him.”
“I know, but what’s your point?” I said. “Megan’s another Marion Jones just because they both like big men? It’s history repeating itself? You can’t condemn someone…”
“Yes, yes, of course, but look at this…” Mimi held the tablet up so I could read an article she’d found about Jones.
I scanned it knowing the story already: after leaving prison, Jones set up a charity called ‘Take A Break’, supposedly to help kids avoid making the mistakes she’d made. The piece was full of platitudes about how this project was enabling Jones to ‘give back’ and coach people ‘to live a better life’. She’d even been used as a ‘celebrity’ speaker by the US government in Eastern Europe and was quoted saying ‘the idea of making good decisions is a message that is needed all over the world’. I could feel the chocolate fudge cake churning in my stomach.
“So?” I asked, though it was obvious now where Mimi was going with this.
“Don’t you think some of those phrases are like Meg’s ‘Pillow Talk’ interview? All that stuff about helping kids in trouble and giving something back.”
“They’re just clichés. Everyone uses them.”
“I know, but we have to face facts, Liam.”
“What facts? The trouble is there aren’t any.”
“Will’s a drugs cheat?”
“Okay, but Meg’s never failed a test.”
“Nor had Marion Jones. In fact, she never did. She was only nailed in the end because she was caught trying to cash a dodgy cheque.”
Mimi was animated, her volume one notch below shouting. The Snug had gone quiet. Maybe it was only a lull in the conversations on the tables around us, but it felt like people were listening. I dropped my voice.
“Look, Mimi, I know what you’re saying, and don’t you think the same things have been going through my mind? But I’m her coach, and I just can’t believe I wouldn’t know. There’d be signs. She’d have muscled-up quickly or had outbreaks of ‘roid rage. I’d have noticed something, some change in her.”
“Unless it started before she came to London…”
That hit me in the pit of my stomach.
Mimi paused, and we looked at each other in silence.
“Liam, you have to face that possibility,” she continued. “It could be the Megan you know is the one already shaped by steroids.”
She was right, of course. How could I be sure? Megan could have started using steroids at the same time as Will. Did I know the authentic Megan? Was her determination and her competitive aggression the personality of a champion or a chemical product?
Mimi reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You know much more about all this than I do, but the C J Hunter thing got me thinking, that’s all,” she said softly.
I shrugged and used my free hand to drain the last of coffee. “Yep, it does get you thinking,” I said finally. “But, if nothing else, vanity makes me want to think it was the programme I put her through that made her what she is now.”
Mimi squeezed my hand again. It was out there now, spoken about between us for the first time. And all we could do was wait and watch until the truth emerged.
I paid the bill and asked for a receipt, out of habit. You never know, I thought as I put it in my wallet, this could all turn out okay and I could still send Jackie an expenses claim.
As we walked back up the High Street, Mimi put her arm through mine and leaned her head into my shoulder. The village was busy now with school kids making their way home and tourists mooching around. We stopped outside the local post office, vaguely looking at its display of souvenirs and paintings of the scene around us by local artists.
“You can stay in my room if you want,” Mimi said hesitantly, without looking at me, hurrying to add: “There’s no point wasting money on two rooms.”
I laughed. “I’m still keeping the receipts… hoping the sponsors don’t walk.”
“Yeah, but sponsors aside…”
I looked down and she turned her head, her eyes meeting mine.
“I’d love to,” I said.
We kissed, oblivious to the congestion we were causing as people came in and out of the post office or tried to post letters in the nearby pillar box. After a collision or two, we sidled sideways to get out of the way and stood, again like a pair of 16-year-olds, not quite sure what to say.
“But you’ve no idea how out of practice I am,” I said finally, for want of a better line. “You could be very disappointed.”
“I’m a good coach,” Mimi said with a smile, and gave me a peck on the lips.
I was going to pull her closer, but a muffled phone started playing one of those annoyingly repetitive call tunes. She rummaged in her bag and tapped to answer.
There was a lot of head shaking and nodding and “Yeps,” and a couple of, “he-said-whats?” It wasn’t sounding too good.
“I’ll call you back,” she said, pulling the phone away from her ear and tapping it off.
She didn’t seem in any hurry to explain.
“Well?” I said.
“That was The Mail.”
“And?”
“They’re running a story saying Megan’s avoiding the police. They’ve spoken to the police. They’re saying she still hasn’t been in touch and they want to hear from her as soon as possible – you know, ‘to help them with their inquiries’.”
“Shit. I told her to….”
Mimi put a hand on my shoulder. “And they’ve spoken to Terry – your mate,” she said, with more than a hint of irony, and paused, waiting for me to take this in. “He’s quoted. He’s mentioned you and said ‘even her coach is in the dark’ and something about you being at your wits end because Megan’s disappeared. Liam, they’re making it sound like she’s on the frigging run.”
I looked across the high street at some people leaving one of the pubs, bantering about something I couldn’t hear above the traffic and shielding their eyes from the sun that was drenching that side of the road.
I turned back to Mimi, our eyes meeting and our minds probably thinking much the same thing.
“That’s fucking helpful,” I said. “I thought I could rely on Terry. How did they nobble him?”
“They didn’t. They said he phoned them.”
14
Suspect Or Witness?
“Richards is on his way over,” Mimi said.
“Richards?”
“Inspector Richards. Remember him?”
I rubbed my eyes and looked at the shape of my body mummified by the bedclothes, my feet sticking up, and Mimi towering over them dressed in jeans and an emerald green blouse, no make-up but looking eager to go somewhere.
“I said we’d meet him by reception.”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly seven.”
“While I’m at it, what day is it?”
Mimi started to say Wednesday but decided instead to pick u
p a cushion from the armchair and throw it in my face. She wasn’t a bad shot either.
“Right,” I said, sitting up and swivelling round to drop my legs over the edge of the bed. I was completely naked, and I sensed Mimi looking closely at me. The cuts and bruises on my torso were less inflamed now, but it had been as comical as it was painful earlier when we tried to manoeuvre our way round them to make love for the first time.
Mimi had lived up to her claim to be a good coach – a great one, in fact. I’d felt inhibited and self-conscious by the time we reached the room, over-thinking what was about to happen and wondering if I’d live up to expectations, whatever they were.
But she seemed to have no such inhibitions, undressing almost before the door was closed and then helping me along. I had forgotten how exhilarating sex could be – or possibly I had never known. The anaesthetic and soporific effect was so intense it sent me into the heaviest sleep I’d had for days.
Now, as I sat contemplating where my clothes were and whether I needed a shower before seeing the inspector, my whole body still felt weighed down and sluggish. I stretched, which was probably a mistake because I felt a cracking sensation in my ribs and let out a pathetic shriek.
Mimi had gone into the bathroom. I could see her reflected in the dresser mirror running some lipstick across pouted lips.
“Come on, Liam,” she said, half-turning to see my reflection.
But I didn’t move. I was struggling to recapture the memory of a dream. It was like trying to grab a feather floating in a breeze, each attempt seeming to push it further away. It was something to do with Daniel, something about picking him up from school.
I stared at the wall, my eyes half-closed, hoping the dream would come back, but the only image I had was of a locked glass door and Danny on the other side of it. I remembered an incident when Danny had only just started school and Kelli went to collect him, and the teacher thought she was his nanny and asked for some ID, and how incensed she was about it. She phoned me, so furious and upset she lurched from sobbing to ranting. “He’s my goddam son and that racist bitch wouldn’t let me have him,” she kept saying, and I tried to rise to the occasion but she didn’t think I got it, and I suppose I didn’t entirely.
“Liam!” Mimi sounded irritable now, coming back into the room and staring at me. “What the hell’s up?”
I looked at her, still sitting naked on the edge of the bed, my mind somewhere near a Sussex school.
“What is it?” she said.
“Only a dream,” I replied, and I knew by her look I’d have to explain – not only the dream but about me and Kelli and how our relationship had fallen apart, conceding my neglectfulness but skirting round some of the worst examples.
“What’s brought this on?” she asked, when I’d finished my potted history.
I looked around the room and then settled my eyes on her. “This, I suppose – us,” I said, gesturing in her direction. “And yesterday at Graeme’s, all those photos of Matt were so sad. It made me think of Danny and, you know…”
“I’m beginning to,” Mimi said.
***
Inspector Richards was leaning against the reception desk when I arrived, looking like he had better things to do and wanted me to know it. Mimi had gone on ahead and was buying us all drinks at the bar.
“Good evening, Mr McCarthy – you look like you’re struggling.”
“It’s nothing much,” I said, trying to suppress a wince as I hobbled towards him. “A minor run-in with some local thugs.”
The Inspector raised his eyebrows, and was about to say something, but Mimi arrived with the drinks, and we took them outside. The evening sun was casting long shadows from the trees and umbrellas across the hotel terrace. We sat in an arc around one side of a table to fit the shape of the shade.
The Inspector was wearing a light brown checked jacket with darker brown trousers and gleaming beige shoes. His only concession to the heat was to wear his white shirt without a tie. He put his glass of orange juice down on the table and, looking across at Mimi sipping her white wine, gave me an expectant nod.
“So tell me about these thugs, Mr McCarthy,” he said.
So I told him pretty much the whole thing. Admittedly, I made it sound like I put up more of a fight than was actually the case – which nearly made Mimi laugh out loud – and I didn’t mention that we had seen Megan the same evening. But I told him about my visit to the gym and said I thought the beating was linked to that in some way – that they had called me ‘Jim’ and I had only used that name there when signing-in at the gym.
Richards nodded and tut-tutted in all the right places, but I sensed as the story unfolded that he wasn’t impressed with my amateur detective work.
“Well, to be honest Mr McCarthy, I’ve got to say it’s a very sorry tale,” he said. “What’s a man like you doing going to a gym under a false name?” He paused as if contemplating his own question. “Mind you, I’m not condoning what happened – of course I’m not – but you were asking for trouble.”
This I found annoying. I may have been naïve. I may even have been stupid – but why was that asking for trouble?
“I see,” I said. “If I give a different name because I want to keep a low profile, that warrants a beating, does it, inspector?”
“No, no, no, I wouldn’t suggest that for a minute. What I’m telling you is it’s best to leave the policing to the police.”
“Funny you should say that,” Mimi chipped in. “One of your men was at the gym.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Gary,” I said. “Ginger hair, built like a tank. He turned up at the gym when I was there.”
“And how do you know he’s a police officer?”
Mimi sighed. “Liam recognised him from the night before. He was one of the officers who stopped us in the car.”
“I recognised him and he recognised me,” I added. “And when I was at the gym he came over, and said something about me signing in as Jim.”
“And you’re sure he was one of the officers who stopped you?”
“Yes, of course he’s sure!” Mimi said firmly, her frustration at the inspector’s sceptical questions obviously growing.
“And you say his name’s Gary, ginger hair.” We did some synchronised nodding. “I see, yes. Well, I know who you mean. But I am surprised…” Richards hesitated. “Well, let’s just say he wouldn’t normally be out in a patrol car.”
Now it was synchronised quizzical frowning. The inspector looked uncomfortable.
“He’s CID,” he said. “That’s all. But, to be fair, I’m sure DS Lewis had his reasons.”
Richards pulled out a black notebook and jotted a few things in it, taking his time as if needing to digest the ‘ginger’ angle.
“Be that as it may, Mr McCarthy,” he said finally, “my main concern is Miss Tomos. She still hasn’t made contact with us, and we have no idea where she’s staying – mind you, that’s assuming she’s still in Newport. Perhaps you can help us there?”
I had left Megan out of the story of the beating but I didn’t want to tell any lies. “She was definitely in Newport earlier today,” I said. The inspector raised his eyebrows. “I went with her to see Matt’s father, Graeme Davies.”
“Well, well, well,” Richards said. “Haven’t you been busy on your short visit here, Mr McCarthy? So where can I find Miss Tomos now?”
“I’ve no idea, I’m afraid,” I said to more eyebrow-raising. “Really, I left her in town around lunchtime, and she didn’t say where she was going or where she was staying.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
I shrugged. I wasn’t going to mention her storming off.
“Was she with Driscoll?”
“Not when I left her. But I saw him earlier, before we went to see Graeme.”
“He went with you?”
“No, it was just me and Megan.”
The inspector was making notes of everything I said now, and it was beginnin
g to feel more like an interrogation than a casual chat.
“You are telling me everything, aren’t you Mr McCarthy? There’s nothing you’re holding back?”
Mimi wriggled and reached forward to put her wine glass down on the table. “Inspector,” she said. “He’s been beaten-up – look.” She lifted my T-shirt. “And you’re talking to him like he’s done something wrong.”
Richards put his hand up as if to say he’d never doubted me and didn’t need to see the evidence. “I can arrange for you to make a complaint about that. I’ll get an officer to take a statement. But my primary concern at the moment is the very serious question of Miss Tomos and her whereabouts, and it seems to me, if I may so, that the two of you are not… Well, how can I put it? You’re not moving heaven and earth to ensure Miss Tomos makes herself available to me.”
“That’s not true, inspector,” I said. “I told her she needs to get in touch with you, and she’s promised she will.”
“I’m glad to hear it because I wouldn’t like to have to charge you with obstructing a police inquiry. Let me make it clear, Mr McCarthy, if you know anything that would help me; if you find out where she’s staying, you should tell me immediately.”
“Of course. You do know she’ll be at the university degree ceremony tomorrow?” said Mimi.
“Yes, I do indeed, but I would prefer not to have to confront her there, in public – with the media present. I’m sure you wouldn’t want photographs splashed all over the papers of Britain’s golden girl being arrested.”
“Arrested?” we both said at once.
“What do you mean arrested?” I added.
The inspector closed the notepad, slid it into the inside pocket of his jacket and looked across the hotel gardens towards the field and the amphitheatre beyond.
I was stunned. The thought of Megan being arrested had never occurred to me. Mimi and I exchanged looks, both of us waiting for Richards to answer. I wondered what Mimi was thinking. To me, this didn’t sound like a policeman trying to flaunt his power and importance. Richards seemed old school and understated.
“Look,” he said turning back to face us. “I’ve been treading carefully because of the status Miss Tomos has. I respect the young lady’s achievements. And I’ve been prepared to, well, cut her some slack.” He paused to take in our nods of acknowledgement. “But – and I’m not obliged to tell you this Mr McCarthy, Miss Jacobs, but I will as a courtesy and because you’ll know soon enough anyway – we are going to exhume the body of Matt Davies. The coroner has given the go ahead, and I’ve spoken to both parents this afternoon. And yes, Mr McCarthy, I did know you’d been to see Graeme Davies. He told me, and he appreciated your visit, and was pleased to see Megan. But that isn’t the point. I have an inquiry to conduct, and she is part of it.”