Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  Shaking his head, Simon started to stand up, having had enough of the verbal abuse that was coming his way. Ted reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun, its long silencer making it even more menacing.

  “Not so fast, Mr Allen,” Ted said, Simon turning and suddenly noticing the gun pointed at him.

  “Wait a minute, what is this? Who are you people? I knew you weren’t...”

  Two rounds were fired quickly, accurately and of course silently into the chest of Simon and he fell to the floor with a crash, dead before he hit the ground. Collecting up all his papers, Ted threw them in a bag ready to be destroyed later. Two men came into the room, having been waiting outside and now called in by Ted, and they wrapped the body up and carried it out through a fire escape on the far side. Ted took the silencer off the gun, wiped it all down and then proceeded to pull two strips of tape from his pocket. Once a small film had been removed, he stuck the material onto the handle of the gun leaving someone else’s fingerprints on and then he followed the two men out to a van that was parked outside. They drove just a short way along the street and reversed into a passageway, unloading the body and laying him against the side of a wall, behind a bin. Taking the gun out, he threw it over a fence. This way it wouldn’t be noticeable and would look as if the culprit had flung it there before leaving, but the police would soon find it, as it was one of the prominent places to look.

  They got back in the van and drove off. Ted turned to the driver and said:

  “Did everything go smoothly this morning?”

  “Yes, sir, as soon as he ran out and got into the taxi we went in and worked in his apartment. Plenty of evidence there now as well as the computer records to screw him up. Why didn’t we just put a bullet in him and make it look like suicide?”

  “Well, the boss wants it this way. But from experience a suicide leads to further investigations. This way there’s a murder and there’s a culprit. Case closed. We can soon silence him once he’s sentenced. A perverted man like him wouldn’t last long inside anyway...all sorts of trouble there!” Ted said.

  Tommy Lawrence drove into work with a massive grin on his face, he’d woken up with it, and it hadn’t left him. The last few days had been like a dream, and yet there he was, in his late thirties and on his way to work––but not the old office job, now he was a football manager.

  And today would be a big day as he would get to meet the players of whom he was the boss. With all the press attention when things were first announced and then the radical changes in his home life that meant he spent a day buying up most of a local designer shop’s clothing range, he hadn’t been able to see his new employees face to face. As a football fan he was, of course, aware of the names and some of the more prominent personalities, but now he would get to meet the man whereas before he’d just known the player. Yesterday he’d finished his spending by trading in his modest Vauxhall Vectra for a Jaguar XK8 which was his new pride and joy. He felt important just driving it, which he enjoyed doing immensely. It was all financed by an outstanding new contract that Brendan had made him sign just after the press conference. Quite low by even the most average manager’s wages, for him (and with zero experience in the professional game) this pay jump was over six times that of his previous level. Being a three-year contract, even if they sacked him, he would still be a very wealthy man for a long time to come.

  But within himself he knew he could do this. It seemed his destiny that he’d be a football manager, ever since he’d played the game at sixteen and got into computer management games. He’d enjoyed his former life, as he referred to it, such was the change either side of first laying eyes on Jessica on that now fateful Sunday morning. He could have seen himself getting more involved then. Opportunities had been presenting themselves, and he’d always slightly regretted not having pursued some of them sooner. But then, he knew, he might not have met Jessica. And as much as he’d tried to say she didn’t mean anything to him he just couldn’t do it. He never stopped thinking about her and every woman he’d met and dated since; each compared merely back to her, and none of them came close. Bitterly regretting that night at the Academy weekend when he slept with Sophie, or more to the point was caught for doing so, there was an empty void in his heart that no one had filled since then. Slowing down as he drove through the grand but somewhat decaying looking main gates, he pulled the car into an empty spot before realising that as manager he had his own place right by the door. Hoping that no one had seen his little mistake, he quickly pulled into his personal space and jumped out eager to get on with things. There were one or two other cars in the car park that would have belonged to players, but by the look of the rest of the vehicles, it was just the backroom staff that were in at that time, a little after nine. The rest would follow soon, he hoped. He had no idea, of course, when they were due in but he would quickly get on top of things. Walking in through the main doors everyone who saw him gave warm smiles and polite greetings. He walked over to one of the girls in the office.

  “Who would you need to speak to so as get those main gates sorted? I want this place to look like a palace, and they make it look more like a run-down cemetery.”

  “I’ll be right on it, sir. I’ll get some quotes,” she said.

  “Please, call me Tommy. What’s your name?”

  “Sarah, sir.” Tommy smiled, catching her eyes and nodding his head. He always had a way with people, getting them on board so that they’d do what he wanted––but not under compulsion, it was as if they’d suggested the idea in the first place. This left them feeling empowered and valued and helped Tommy get on with other things while earning the trust and respect of those around him.

  Tommy bounded up the steps to his first-floor office two at a time. It was still quiet up there, and he turned the hall light on himself. The rooms, walls, doors and ceilings, he’d noticed, all had the same feel as those gates––past their best. Just like the team which had to look back a long time to remember the glory it once had. Well, he was now there to change all that, he said to himself. Getting to his office door, which swung open sluggishly with an all too characteristic squeak, he stopped and stood there, his name already displayed prominently on the edge of the desk.

  “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” he said, chuckling away to himself. He sat down proudly in his big leather swivel chair, spinning around three times just like any young boy would when let loose in a grown-up’s office. And yet this was his office. He was the manager. Come Saturday he’d be on the sidelines––he’d be calling the shots. The thought gave him a rush of excitement, a buzz of natural ecstasy followed all too quickly by life’s natural defence mechanism. What if I fail? he thought to himself. What if I make a mess of it and the players don’t perform for me? Everyone must be waiting for me to fail. I have so much to do!

  He sat up a lot straighter and started to look through the papers that Brendan had discussed with him the other day, but with the events of that day all too absorbing, he had hardly taken in a word that Brendan had said.

  Simon Allen’s body was found by a passer-by about three hours after it was dumped in the passageway and the police were on the scene within ten minutes. The whole area had been sectioned off, and the crime scene investigators had got to work. The body was then loaded into a black transit and taken to the morgue for the post-mortem. No reporters had made it to the scene before the body had been taken so that the ones who did arrive were only told that a crime had been committed and that a criminal investigation was now underway.

  As expected, the police discovered the weapon quickly, later proved as the murder weapon. It was carefully dropped into an evidence bag and taken off to be tested for prints. Aware that it hadn’t been a robbery as the victim's wallet was still in the jacket’s inside pocket, they had quickly been able to identify him from his driving licence, and that helped them find out that he was also a government employee.

  With the crime scene now swept for evidence and the police satisfied that they’d got all t
hat they needed, the tape that had sectioned off the area was taken down, and the police started to leave. Within just over an hour of first receiving the call from the shocked passer-by, DCI Jack Derry was on his way back to the station when the call came over that the prints found on the gun matched those of someone on the database. Pulling into the compound car park, Jack said he’d be right onto it.

  “What do we have?” said Jack, walking at speed through the open door, always the man on a mission.

  “Prints matched to a Mr Terrance Goldman,” came the reply from the young uniformed man behind his desk. “Nothing on him lately but he’s on the database because as a juvenile he’d been charged with a few indecency offences and sexual harassment. He spent some time in a Young Offenders Institute, but charges couldn’t be pressed through because of his age at the time. The record shows he was a general nuisance through college, but things had gone quiet over the last few years. I’ve got someone finding out what he’s doing now, though we think he’s still in the city.”

  “Very good, keep me informed,” Jack said and walked off into his office. The day and week, in general, had been quite quiet but now there was a murder.

  It was only about twenty minutes later that DCI Derry’s intercom crackled out:

  “You will want to see this, sir.” Getting up straight away, he walked back into the main investigation room. “He lives in London. Works at the Department of Trade and Industry which just happens to be the same place as the victim.”

  “OK, I’ll take PC Chambers and get over there straight away. Send a van as well in case he’s there. Get someone to his home as well.”

  “Already onto it, sir.”

  Jack went back to his desk, picking up his mobile and putting on his jacket. He left in a hurry, taking PC Chambers with him and they got into his car and raced the short three miles to the offices of the Department of Trade and Industry, though with the London traffic working against them, it still took a while.

  Pulling up in front of the main doors, they got out of the car and trotted through the entrance and up to the reception desk, pulling out their identification as they came, which reassured the slightly concerned girl sitting behind the counter, who’d watched their whole approach.

  “Hello, can you tell us if Mr Terrance Goldman has come in today?” DCI Derry said, looking at the receptionist but turning when he heard a female voice behind him.

  “Yes, follow me. I’ll show you. I’m Mary Ingham, and I’m in charge of his section. Is there anything wrong?”

  “At this moment we just need to talk to Terrance.” DCI Derry didn’t want to say anything more as yet. “Please lead the way.”

  “Please, call him Terry,” Mary said. “Simon, his boss, once made that mistake and Terry was not at all happy, went round grumpy all day. He’s a strange man.”

  “Would that be Simon Allen, by any chance?” said DCI Derry, taking the lead as always.

  “Yes, do you know him?” Mary said as they got into the lift and headed for the second floor.

  “No. Can you tell me if Terry came in to work his usual self today?”

  “Yes, seemed happy. Why, what is this about?”

  Just then the lift reached the floor, the distraction enough for DCI Jack Derry to say nothing. Getting out of the lift, Mary led them around to Simon’s department, pointing out Terry who sat on the left, doughnut in hand with a coffee on his desk. Terry watched them walking over, not the least bit alarmed at the sight of Mary with two strangers who were walking towards him. DCI Jack Derry put it down to the fact that the fat guy knew he couldn’t outrun them so was just playing it cool like they all tended to do.

  “Terry, these men have come to see you,” Mary said, standing back out of the way a little but apparently wanting to know what all the fuss was about. The office was still relatively quiet at that moment, but those who were there were all listening. Not that much excitement happened around there very often.

  “I’m DCI Jack Derry, and this is PC Chambers. We’ve come to ask you about Simon Allen. Have you seen him today?”

  Mary looked a little alarmed, concerned about her friend Simon.

  “Erm…,” Terry started, thinking in his mind about the reason why he’d taken Simon to the meeting...the lies, his own history, Brendan Charles...he couldn’t tell the truth, it was just easier to say, “No, I haven’t. Is there a problem, officer? Is Simon OK?”

  But DCI Jack Derry had noticed that slight pause for thought, that moment when the eyes give away the fact you are thinking hard about the answer, not because you are trying to remember but because you are thinking through the consequences of each possible response. He’d seen it a hundred times, and it always proved there was something they were hiding. In this case, it was the fact that Terry had murdered his boss. Why he had, DCI Derry wasn’t yet sure but knew that they would find out soon enough. Reaching for the handcuffs in his right pocket he said:

  “Terry Goldman, I’m arresting you for the murder of Simon Allen. You do not have to say anything but what you do say may be used in evidence against you.” There was a gasp from Mary to their right, who stood with her hand to her mouth, shock setting in.

  Terry looked startled, completely caught off-guard. PC Chambers helped to put the cuffs on, and he started to lead him away.

  “I think you’d better come with us as well, please,” DCI Jack Derry said to Mary, who followed on slowly behind, as all eyes in the quiet office suddenly focused on Terry, all stunned at what they’d just witnessed.

  9

  Tommy had just finished his first training session with his new set of players. He had been introduced to them earlier, going around to each player, in turn, shaking their hand and spending a couple of minutes getting to know them a little, it had seemed to break down their resistance somewhat. Having done so, Tommy could feel the atmosphere change, it was more fun and relaxed, whereas before there had been some hesitancy, almost tension in the air. For the players themselves, the last week had been a difficult one. The previous manager, though unsuccessful, was still well liked. Therefore just coming in fresh, his inexperience aside, at first made him an unwelcome commodity. The fact was that no one, especially professional football players, liked change. Tommy was aware that one or two of the more experienced players, who had worked with the former manager for longer, would take much more winning over. Tommy knew that if this were not possible, they would have to go, being sold to another team to finish their career. He wouldn’t want this to happen too quickly though; it would only unsettle the rest of the team.

  Sitting twelfth in the English Championship, the second tier of English football, Nottingham Forest had a long way to go if they were to push hard for promotion that year, which was what was now expected of them, not only by the owners but also the supporters and media experts. Tommy hoped to be able to persuade several players to join them and not restrained by a transfer window, he expected that the money now flowing could be put to good use, as long as he was able to convince the player that a noticeable step down in level was the best career move for them. Tommy felt if he talked openly about this it would only further unsettle the squad, so he kept it to himself. He was keen to build much stronger relationships with the current players as well, to have a real handle on the dressing room and this would be something he’d work hard on over his first few weeks.

  Leaving the lads to get changed ready for lunch he walked back to the building. Getting back to his office, he was glad that things had gone reasonably well, with the existing coaching staff having taken most of the morning’s session. Tommy sat down at his desk and continued to work through the papers which Brendan had given him. There had been some very young players Brendan told him that he was going to sign for the club and each of these players was finely detailed, in what he was now reading. Tommy was still feeling quite put out by what he saw as Brendan’s intrusion, but he studied the reports anyway with some interest, trying to see what he could find out. Getting to the end of the in
formation, he dropped the sheets onto his desk and sat back deep in his chair, looking at the ceiling, the revolving fan spinning away above him.

  So what’s the big deal? he thought, standing up now and pacing around his office, something he always liked to do when he was thinking things through. What do these sixteen, seventeen and eighteen-year-old kids have that I couldn’t go out and buy from any division? Why do they seemingly only want to go this way anyway, taking the long-term route? Surely there needs to be immediate success here and promotion to the Premiership in order to satisfy the owners? Outside, work had started on the main gates, which Tommy now spotted from his window, smiling to himself for a moment. A fresh thought came to mind that made him pace around even faster. If I’m meant to go down the youngsters route then I want to get Clint Powers, referring to a lad that had been about fifteen when Tommy had last seen him playing at his old team which he’d been managing. Powers had been a real talent then, Tommy had loved taking him under his wing and Clint had really valued the input. Now nearly twenty, Powers was on the books of Manchester United but was still awaiting their full-time professional contract offer, though this wouldn’t be far away. Powers had had some games for the England Under 19’s side but a few unfortunate injuries had delayed any further progress for the time being as well as the deal with Manchester United.

  Tommy was an impulsive man and fresh from the reminder about Powers he was back at his desk, picking up the phone. He struggled to remember the number at first for a former contact, finally tapping it out on the phone at the third attempt. Tommy left a somewhat garbled message stating that he wanted to speak to Powers’ agent and could they have him contact him at the earliest opportunity. Now smiling to himself as he sat back down, he was proud of his own piece of good work. As good as any of Brendan’s potentials might be, when it came to players, Tommy knew Clint Powers was going to be right up there at the top one day and getting one in there without the aid of Brendan would make it even more satisfying for him.