Dead Ball

by Tom Palmer

  Danny reached the top of the stairs. He went along a corridor, taking the third door on the left. He passed three desks – two journalists said hello – and knocked on a hollow wooden door at the end of the large office.

  ‘Come in, Danny.’

  Danny opened the door and closed it quietly behind him.

  Anton Holt was at his desk, frowning at his laptop screen. He held his hand up, then pointed at a pile of newspapers. That meant he was in the middle of writing, still finishing his match report, maybe; and that Danny should have a seat and read the day’s papers.

  So Danny started work, smiling. There were all the day’s papers, plus FourFourTwo, World Soccer and Match of the Day magazines.

  Work?

  Reading about football was about as good as work could get.

  The reason Danny had got such a good work placement was because he knew Anton Holt.

  They’d met four months before. First at a City press conference. Then in a hail of bullets at the football stadium.

  It had started when Danny witnessed the kidnap of England’s leading scorer, Sam Roberts. City’s chairman, Sir Richard Gawthorpe, claimed a terrorist group had kidnapped Roberts. Danny and Holt had solved the mystery and rescued the player. They had been in touch ever since.

  Sir Richard, the real kidnapper, however, had disappeared, despite a Europe-wide hunt. Most people assumed he was dead.

  Danny read several headlines in that morning’s papers.

  ALEX FINN-ISHES RUSSIANS ALEXANDER THE GREAT THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING GOING

  Alex Finn had been awarded nine out of ten in some papers.

  But the big news for Danny was Sam Roberts. A broken shin, shattered against the goalpost after he’d scored the winner. Danny looked at the photo: Roberts being carried off on a stretcher, his face twisted in agony. But still raising his arm to wave at the crowd, eighty thousand people standing to applaud him.

  ‘He’ll be out for months,’ Anton Holt said, shutting the lid of his laptop.

  ‘How bad is it?’ Danny asked.

  ‘A clean break. He’ll be three months in a pot. Then three – at least three – building his leg up again. Then his fitness. He’ll miss most of the season.’

  Danny put his head in his hands. This was terrible. Roberts wasn’t only England’s leading scorer. He was City’s. Without him, their chances of a decent run in the Champions’ League were poor.

  ‘Good game, though,’ Holt said.

  ‘Yeah.’ Danny nodded. That moment when he turned to stare at his sister after Roberts had scored would stay with him for a long time.

  ‘Anyway,’ Holt said, ‘to work.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘Join me. Down the pub.’

  Danny frowned.

  ‘Three o’clock this afternoon,’ Holt smiled. ‘You, me and the newspaper’s editor, a nice country pub, interviewing… Alex Finn. He’s giving us an exclusive interview about his performance last night.’

  Danny grinned. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

  ‘How did you manage that?’ he said to Holt.

  ‘It wasn’t me,’ Holt said, looking sheepish. ‘The editor of the paper is in the same golf club as Finn’s dad. That’s how.’

  After Danny had phoned his dad to check it was OK to be home late, he got to work. If he was going to meet Alex Finn he wanted to know as much about him as he could.

  He typed ‘Alex Finn’ into the Internet browser on Holt’s laptop, while the journalist was busy elsewhere.

  This was the sort of thing Danny did in his spare time anyway. At home Danny’s bedroom was not so much a bedroom, but an office. A private detective’s office. He had a desk, a swivel chair – and a huge map of his city on the wall.

  From his office he would track crimes. He’d scour the local paper, following them from their first reports in the news section to the court cases. He even went to watch the court cases sometimes. Gathering information to see if he could work out the clues to solve the crimes.

  He read the results on Alex Finn:

  Alex Finn keeps England World Cup hopes alive

  The England keeper, Alex Finn… series of saves against Russia… frustrated Russians… one of the great goalkeeping performances in an England shirt in modern times…

  www.soccerdaily.co.uk

  Finn signs for City

  Alex Finn, United’s long-time keeper, has switched to City… twelve-million-pound deal… three-year contract… ‘I am thrilled to be at City. I’ve supported them since I was a…’

  www.footballnews.co.uk

  Alex Finn-ishes books

  Alex Finn launched a literacy programme, helping boys to enjoy reading… about football. His favourite book is a novel called Keeper by Mal Peet…

  www.literacyengland.org.uk

  McGee in counterfeit scandal

  Understudy to England keeper Alex Finn, Matt McGee was fined £500 for handling counterfeit money at City Court on 20 August. Found to be handling the money, he refused to say… Although McGee is not thought to be a counterfeiter himself, he is alleged to have connections with organized crime… He was defended by his sister, Ruth McGee, the famous ballet dancer…

  www.footballtittletattle.com

  Danny was transfixed.

  It was very interesting that Finn enjoyed books. Danny thought he’d ask him about what books he’d read, whether he liked crime books.

  Danny was into crime books as well as crime. Well into them. That was why he’d got involved in the Sam Roberts kidnap. And that was why he wanted to be a detective.

  Danny had read crime stories to his dad and had since become obsessed with crime. And, although he was enjoying the work experience at the newspaper, pretending that he was a journalist, what he really wanted to be was a detective. He wanted to know about crimes, find out all the details, then solve them. Like he had with Sam Roberts.

  Reading up on Alex Finn to help with the interview was a bit like finding out details about a crime, so he could be better informed to solve it. The more facts he had for either job, the better prepared he’d be.

  But Danny knew that Matt McGee was a much more interesting character than Alex Finn. All the stuff about McGee and the counterfeit money was no surprise. In fact, Danny had known there was something different about McGee since the moment he’d seen him. A few weeks ago.

  Danny had been watching a trial at the courts. A well-known criminal from a neighbouring town was on trial for being involved in selling drugs. Gavin Barnes. He’d got off like he always did, because no one would ever dare to testify against him. But, during the lunch break of the trial, Danny had gone for a sandwich in a small park quite a way from the court house. Just to clear his mind. And there – to his disbelief – he’d seen the criminal who was on trial. With Matt McGee. Talking. Laughing. Then shaking hands.

  Danny had done nothing with the information. It meant nothing. Not yet.

  LUNCH BREAK

  Danny was nervous going into the café. It was full of adults. White shirts. Black jackets slung over the backs of their chairs. Three people tapping away on laptops. Others talking about their lives in loud voices. All with a background soundtrack of jazz music.

  Danny wished he was somewhere else. He hated jazz music.

  But he changed his mind when he saw who he’d come to meet. Her hair was a bit longer now, falling down to her shoulders.

  Charlotte Duncan. Her mouth wrapped round a panini.

  Danny got himself a sandwich and a cup of tea. He liked coffee too. But listening to all the people in the queue asking for decaf skinny lattes with extra shots of blah-blah-blah made him want to ask for tea. No fuss. Just a mug of tea.

  He was pleased Charlotte had bagged a corner table. Somewhere relatively quiet. And comfy seats too. He put his tea and sandwich down and perched on the seat opposite her. His heart was beating fast. He could feel his face going pink.

  ‘How’s it going at the paper?’ Charlotte asked, smiling.

&nbs
p; Danny grimaced.

  ‘What?’ Charlotte said, bemused.

  ‘This is just weird, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Like we’ve got jobs or something.’

  ‘But we have.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s still weird.’

  That was what had been bothering Danny coming in here. Why he was feeling so uncomfortable. It wasn’t the jazz music or the white shirts or the hundred kinds of coffee. It was that they were here on their lunch break. Like they really worked in the centre of town.

  ‘So how is it?’ Charlotte said, still with a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The paper. You and Anton what’s-his-name?’

  ‘Great.’ Danny leaned forward. ‘And guess what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re only going to interview Alex Finn this afternoon. In a pub in the countryside!’

  Charlotte nodded.

  ‘Who’s Alex Finn?’ she said.

  Danny and Charlotte went to the same school. Four months ago they had become friends. Around the time the Sam Roberts stuff was going on. Danny had wanted them to be more than friends, but so far nothing had happened.

  They’d been to the cinema. They hung out with a group of friends after school sometimes. But that was it. In fact, they’d seen less of each other recently.

  But Danny had asked to meet her today for a reason. A good reason. Charlotte’s work experience was with the police and Danny wanted to know what it was like. At least, that’s what he told himself.

  ‘So,’ he asked casually, ‘what have they had you doing today? The police, I mean.’

  Charlotte looked at each of the tables around them, then turned to Danny and lowered her voice. ‘We’ve been doing surveillance,’ she said.

  Danny’s eyes widened. ‘What? Who?’

  ‘There’s a criminal gang operating out of the market in town. We’re watching them from a tower block. They’re expecting a delivery today.’ Charlotte looked around again. ‘Class A drugs,’ she whispered.

  Danny was spellbound, watching Charlotte’s mouth.

  Now he felt envy. Pure envy. Would he rather be meeting international footballers with Anton Holt or observing major drug deals with Charlotte Duncan?

  Both.

  He wanted both.

  He saw Charlotte’s mouth open out into a smile. And then she was laughing. Loudly.

  ‘What?’ Danny said.

  He noticed men looking over and he blushed again.

  ‘You believed me,’ Charlotte said. ‘You think they’d have me doing that? You’re such a mug. They’ve had me putting stuff on to computers.’

  Danny frowned.

  ‘Inputting data.’ Charlotte went on. ‘Typing. It’s about as exciting as one of Mr Hinchliffe’s English lessons.’

  Danny tried to look like he didn’t care that Charlotte had called him a mug. If Paul had said it, he’d not have been bothered. But there was something different about Charlotte saying it.

  ‘So you’ve not got anything for me?’ he said in a hard voice.

  ‘What?’ Now it was Charlotte’s turn to frown.

  But Danny had to go on.

  ‘Nothing about CID? Anything going on?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Charlotte said, looking away.

  And Danny felt small. Really small. Maybe Charlotte thought he had only asked her for a coffee because he wanted to know about the police.

  And the worst thing was – it was partly true.

  ‘How’s your mum and dad?’ Danny said, trying to change the subject.

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘And your mum and dad? How are they?’

  She was taking the mick now. How could he get out of this situation? Be honest. That’s what his dad always said. Be straightforward with people.

  ‘I didn’t just want to meet you to ask about the police,’ Danny said. ‘I like meeting you. And we haven’t seen each other for a bit.’

  Charlotte sat back in her chair. She smiled. ‘Actually, I have read some interesting things in the stuff I’m inputting.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Danny tried to sound only slightly interested. But he leaned forward – ready to listen.

  APPOINTMENT WITH ALEX FINN

  3 p.m. Danny sat outside the pub at a wooden table – that was on the edge of the car park and a lawn – while Anton Holt and his boss, Giles Forshaw, the newspaper’s editor, went inside.

  Danny was feeling deeply envious. All the way from the newspaper offices, Holt and Forshaw had talked only about their travelling to Moscow on Sunday. On the players’ flight. He wished he could go. Imagine going to Russia to watch the football. With the team!

  Danny stared across fields that sloped down to a river. Further up the river there was a ruin. An abbey. Danny remembered his dad bringing him here years ago. They used to come a lot. And eat here sometimes. When his dad still had his sight. He smiled at the memory.

  But it didn’t allay his nerves. His big worry was that Alex Finn would arrive before Holt and his boss came back. Then he’d have to talk to Finn. Alone.

  What do you say to England’s number one if he comes and sits on the seat next to you the night after he’s played a blinder for his country? Well played last night, Alex. Something like that?

  Danny smiled.

  Until he saw a silver Mercedes move slowly into the car park. It crunched on the gravel as its driver edged it backwards into a parking space next to a Porsche.

  Danny shivered. He had a thing about Mercedes cars. Ever since the madman and former football chairman Sir Richard Gawthorpe had tried to run him over in his Mercedes.

  Danny watched as the driver got out.

  It was Alex Finn, his pair of sunglasses not disguising him. He looked around the car park for a long time before he shut the door and moved away from his car. He appeared hesitant, like he was trying to avoid someone.

  Danny was surprised to see how tall Finn was. He knew he was six-four. He had it on a trading card. But seeing him was different. He was huge. Massive shoulders. Long legs and arms. Like a statue of a man made bigger than a real man should be.

  He practised his line: Well played last night, Alex. Or should he call him Mr Finn?

  Finn walked towards Danny.

  This was it.

  ‘Alex? Over here.’

  Danny watched as Finn turned towards Giles Forshaw by the door to the pub. He saw Finn wave, then head over to the newspaper’s editor, who had been joined by Holt. The three men stood in a triangle.

  Danny took in the scene: three men at a pub, surrounded by trees and posh cars, a hill sloping up behind them. After a few moments they came over to Danny, Holt carrying a tray of coffees and a Coke for Danny.

  ‘And this is Danny,’ Forshaw said. ‘He’s doing work experience with Anton. Just for a couple of weeks.’

  Danny put out his hand. Finn shook it. The hand was enormous. Really enormous. Danny had wanted to be like one of the adults, but seeing his hand dwarfed by the keeper’s, he felt even more like a child.

  The three men sat down with Danny.

  ‘First of all, Alex,’ Forshaw said. ‘You played a great game last night. Those saves – wonderful.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Finn said. His voice was quiet. Muted. He wasn’t what Danny had expected. And Danny noticed he kept glancing at the car park entrance every time a car came by on the main road.

  ‘We’d like to do a piece on how you feel about the World Cup campaign,’ Forshaw went on. ‘If you have dreams of being the first England keeper to have a decent chance of winning it since Gordon Banks, etc. What do you think?’

  Finn smiled and raised his hand. ‘I could dream it,’ he said. ‘But it’s a bit early to be thinking that way. We need to qualify first. One game at a time and all that. Plus, I should say that I don’t assume I’ll be the first-choice keeper in eighteen months’ time, when the tournament’s on. There’re two more great keepers in the squad. Skatie. And McGee.’

  ‘McGee?’ Forshaw said. ‘He’s never going to get a ga
me ahead of you. And he’s – well – not the best role model in the world.’ As he said this Forshaw glanced at Danny.

  There it was again. Someone else talking about Matt McGee, England’s second- or third-choice keeper, like there was something bad about him. Danny was interested. Especially because the person was the editor of a major newspaper: if anyone should know stuff like that, he should. Danny wished he could ask questions. All these rumours. Was there any truth in them?

  ‘Matt McGee’s straight,’ Finn said. ‘And a good mate. If you don’t mind, Giles, I’d rather we didn’t add to the speculation.’

  Danny noticed Giles Forshaw blush bright red as Anton Holt took over seamlessly.

  ‘Tell us a bit about the game last night, Alex. What would you say was the key point of the match?’

  The men talked about the game. In detail. But Danny’s mind was whirring. Matt McGee. Professional footballer. Had a difficult youth. Involved in crime, possibly. He certainly spent time with criminals: Danny knew that. A gambler. Debts. Danny decided he would fill in a few pages about McGee. Back at his desk in his bedroom.

  After they’d talked about the game, Anton turned to Danny and said, ‘Have you got any questions, Danny?’

  Danny’s mind froze. Say something intelligent. Quick! he thought.

  ‘Errrrm… Are you worried about the away game?’ Danny said. ‘In Russia, on Wednesday. They play on a synthetic surface. Do you think that’ll be a disadvantage?’

  Finn smiled at Danny. ‘Good question,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to watch this lad, Giles. One for the future?’

  Forshaw nodded enthusiastically, glad that Finn wasn’t cross with him for his question about McGee.

  ‘I think it’ll be harder,’ Finn said to Danny. ‘A lot harder. But the Luzhniki is a great stadium. I’ve played there with City.’

  ‘Spartak away,’ Danny said quickly. ‘I remember. You kept a clean sheet.’

  ‘That’s right. Spot on. And the plastic pitch was difficult that night. But we’ve trained for it. We should be OK. And – like you say – I have good memories of the stadium. We got through to the semis there, didn’t we?’