by Tim Heath
New players aside though, Tommy knew that there was a lot of work to do with the existing set up at the club and he relished the task. There was already quite a group of late-teens and early twenties at the club who showed some promise and Tommy liked the prospect of working with them. He knew in a short time that at least they would have respect for him. Their loyalty wasn’t as strongly linked with the previous manager, having worked with him for only a small amount of time.
At about mid-afternoon, Brendan called and was put through to Tommy straight away.
“So Tommy, how are things?”
“Very good, thank you, Brendan,” he said, never having addressed Brendan by his first name before but now acting as if his elevation to a football manager had made him more level with him. Brendan was a little taken aback by his arrogance but let it ride, for now.
“I’ve had contact made on all ten of those youngsters I mentioned to you.”
“You don’t hold back, do you!” Tommy said, genuinely impressed that Brendan was following through with things. He continued, “Regarding these players, I was wanting…,” before Brendan cut in.
“It’s not about what you want now, is it! It’s what I want you to do. Is that clear, Mr Lawrence?” Brendan stressed his name strongly, underlining the fact that he was still Tommy’s boss and it was he that called the shots. Tommy held his tongue for a second to work out what he’d say in reply to such a statement. Brendan didn’t give him a chance though, moving things on himself.
“How are the existing players behaving for you?”
“I’ve got everything under control if that’s what you mean.” Tommy now felt he was walking on dodgy ground. “I had the first session with them this morning. One or two of them resent me being around I think, but I’ll just have to work on them or get rid of them. I do have that choice, don’t I?” The question, with all its sting, hung in the silence for a moment.
“Relax, Tommy, you’ll get to play the manager.”
Play the manager, Tommy thought to himself. Who does this guy think he is! Aware what must be going through Tommy’s head, enjoying the fact all this would be making his blood boil a little, Brendan continued.
“See it like I’m just helping you along the way. If any of our existing players don’t fit, then you can sell them, of course. You are the manager, and I will let you do that. As discussed already money will be made available for some transfers, but I can’t underline the fact enough that the way forward is through youth. You aren’t likely to attract any top players to the club anyway while struggling in your division, are you?” Brendan had made his point. Tommy felt entirely put in his place. Remembering about Clint Powers again, he thought he would remind Brendan Charles that he wasn’t entirely hopeless, which is how he now felt.
“Yeah, on that point, sir, I’ve been pulling some strings and think I have a shot at getting one of England’s best young players to join us.” That was a little creative in his description of how far he’d got in the matter, as well as the player’s ability.
“His name is Clint Powers, and currently he is on the books at Manchester United.”
Brendan knew relatively little about football but had heard the name before. Powers hadn’t been on the list which Nigel Gamble had given him, the names that did appear meaning nothing at all to Brendan. Indeed, some of the lads they’d found were only playing pub football at that time, and one wasn’t even in a team at all. Brendan knew he’d have to check about Powers with Nigel.
“I’ll come back to you on that one Tommy, don’t do anything about it yet!”
“Hold on a minute, Mr Charles.” Tommy’s frustration was fully showing now. “I am the manager here, correct? If I want this lad, who I’m quite sure would be happy to play for me again and if I can get him, then I will, OK? I respect you and am grateful that you have given me this opportunity. I’m glad that you have been able to bring in some younger players which I’ll try and get the best out of in the long term. But the bottom line is that you put me here to do a job, isn’t that true? And how am I meant to do my job if I have to run everything through, and I don’t mean to be rude, someone who knows next to nothing about football!” Tommy was fuming, practically spitting out his words now, but even he knew he had maybe gone too far. Brendan was somewhat calmer in his reply than Tommy had feared though.
“You do as I say and show me the respect I deserve and then just maybe I’ll let you get what you want above all other things.”
“And how do you have the slightest idea as to what I want?” Tommy said, shaking his head in disbelief at what he was hearing though somewhat calmer now himself.
“Oh, I know what you want Tommy.”
“Yeah, really? Well, would you mind enlightening me as I’m all ears? What is it you think I need so badly then?”
“I think it’s more a case of who you want than what isn’t it!” Tommy went silent, his pulse slowing, suddenly utterly calm as he waited for Brendan to continue.
“If you toe the line for me and just do your job, then maybe, just maybe, I’ll make everything right for you with the one girl you’ve never been able to forget.”
“Jessica!” Tommy breathed out gently in one sudden rush, the name sounding so precious to him now as if revealing a dark secret which had been locked away deep within his soul.
“Miss Jessica Ponter of course! Your one and only.” With that Brendan ended the conversation, putting the phone down at that moment for a more dramatic effect, leaving Tommy reeling.
‘How the…,’ Tommy started to think but then stopped. Anything seemed possible for Brendan, even something as stupid as that. But Brendan had been right of course. She was the only thing in the world he wanted most. How he’d changed since that moment that he’d first met her. Before that, it was only football. The position he was now in would have been his ultimate desire just four or five years ago, but that had all changed with Jessica. His world had not been the same since he’d got back from that Academy weekend to find that she had gone, out of his life forever without even a goodbye. Brendan had helped him then through the toughest parts, but only now the thought developed that maybe Brendan Charles knew more about things than he’d previously made out. Had Brendan been the snake in the grass who had told Jessica about what had happened? Tommy’s one big stupid mistake for which he’d never forgiven himself. Tommy would have to shelve those new thoughts about Brendan for the time being though. If Brendan really could make things right again and offer him a second chance with Jessica, then he would do anything to make that possible. He’d even be a puppet manager, if that is what it took, having someone else pulling his strings while he tried his best to pick up the pieces and keep things at the club on track.
At the police station, Terry Goldman sat in his processing cell bemused, shocked and puzzled. Not only was Simon Allen dead, but he’d been arrested for his apparent murder. He sat there processing everything. What should he say about the meeting, having already told them he hadn’t seen Simon that morning? It wouldn’t sound good to now admit he’d lied.
Outside in the main investigation room, they were trying to piece things together. A team of five police officers were at Terry’s home where they had been for over two hours looking for clues.
Mary Ingham sat at a table in the attached refreshment area of the police station on the far side of the room, a warm semi-tasty cup of coffee in her hands. She thought of how Simon wouldn’t have approved of the coffee, refusing even to touch it if it came out of a machine like the one sitting there on the side. She was deeply saddened by the loss of Simon, who’d been a good friend over the years, the shock of his death only now just starting to sink in. Even more shocking was the fact that he was murdered and that Terry, the quiet lad from Simon’s department, was now sitting in custody. DCI Jack Derry walked into the room, catching her attention and she put the coffee down on the table. “If you would please come with me, Mrs Ingham, I’d like to ask you some questions,” he said.
Sh
e stood up and followed him out and up a corridor to a much more comfortable room, with new looking soft leather sofas against the wall. They went over and sat down.
“How well did you know Mr Allen?”
“Simon and I go a long way back. We spent many years working together at the Department.”
“And how well did you know Terry?”
“I saw him around but never worked closely with him. He was in Simon’s department, working quite closely with him. He’s been there two or three years I think. I’m not sure where he came from before that, but I think he did have some experience. He fitted right in, kept his head down and quickly worked alongside Simon. Did he really do this?” DCI Jack Derry could see the pain on her face as she asked him.
“That is what we are trying to confirm but don’t concern yourself with those thoughts, Mrs Ingham.” He paused for a moment before asking another question. “Had there been any changes in the behaviour of Simon or Terry that you had noticed in the last few days?” Mary thought for a moment.
“No, nothing that I could tell. Simon stayed at home yesterday, working and now today…,” Mary paused, taking a breath to stop herself from crying.
“And yesterday where was Terry?”
“In the office, I believe. You would need to confirm that with those who sit near Terry because, as I've said, I work in a different area of the building but do oversee the whole department.”
“Thank you, Mrs Ingham. We’ll do that just to make sure and to see what anyone else may have picked up in the relationship between the two of them. We’ll also need to have a look at his office computer. Would that be OK?”
“Of course, whatever you need.”
DCI Jack Derry thanked her and turned to walk out of the room, Mary following behind him, nearly bumping into PC Chambers, who’d been waiting in the doorway, never too far from their conversations.
“I’ll get someone to drop you back if that’s all right. They can then pick up his computer and see if anyone else knows anything that might be helpful. Wait here one minute, please.”
He walked away and five minutes later came back with a young female police officer who would drive her back and collect Terry’s office computer.
At about that same time a call originating from the police station itself was made, going to another one of Brendan Charles’ special voicemail facilities:
“Ingham is leaving now, nothing said that would be a problem, and she’s being taken back to the office. Goldman’s computer is being brought here. Will keep all ears out on him and drop him the moment he breaks, as instructed.”
DCI Jack Derry walked back into the investigation room.
“Anything from the house yet?” he said.
“Just got this in, sir,” said a young officer, putting down the handset and walking over to Jack.
“They’ve found lots of draft letters on his home computer written apparently to Simon Allen in a very threatening and aggressive manner, all left unsigned. Two of them threatened to kill him if he didn’t pay up.”
“So, we have the evidence,” Jack said, smiling.
“OK, let me know if anything further comes in, I’m going to question Goldman now. PC Chambers, please come with me.”
Brendan Charles had just got off the phone with Ted Hague, and he was not a happy man. He paced up and down thinking things through. Hoping that they had some progress to report on the search for this Robert character who had been snooping around, all they’d been able to say was that the trail was cold.
Brendan had kicked his metal waste paper bin halfway across the room making a rather loud crash as it hit the wooden floor, it was heard across the entire office. They all knew not to come in and see what was wrong, regular fits of anger were now commonplace where Mr Charles was concerned.
Ted Hague had insisted they’d continue searching but had reminded Brendan how they’d also been cleaning up elsewhere, on his behalf, referring to Terry Goldman. That hadn’t gone down well, and though Ted hadn’t said the name, Brendan didn’t want any association with that whole situation––which Ted knew only too well. He’d become frustrated that he was always at the dirty end of things. The money was good, but he feared that one day it would end and he’d be left high and dry and entirely at risk of exposure. What Ted wasn’t aware of in Brendan’s anger was that Brendan too was now under increasing pressure from Nigel Gamble to find out who this was. And not having anything to report back to Nigel would be far harder on him than he had been with Ted.
Brendan partly thought that Nigel Gamble was losing his mind, with his desperation to know who Robert was, paranoid maybe about his wealth and no longer able to enjoy it, assuming that everyone was after it. Brendan’s thinking was influenced by the excessive charade he knew Nigel went through whenever he ventured out, which wasn’t often, changing his physical appearance to make himself look like an old man. But in all the years that Brendan had known Nigel, having been taken under his wing, Nigel Gamble had always talked about looking out for anyone who would be after him. Brendan, therefore, needed to take on much of the public face of the company. Nigel had trusted in him and paid well for it, which meant Brendan had been able to give his family everything they needed and wanted, which was his only motivation in the early days and which remained very strong even now. Initially, Brendan too had been taken in by the image of an old wealthy businessman who now wanted to train up a younger man who’d one day take over things. That had been his entry into Nigel’s world, and now he was in too deep to get out, even though he knew he’d never get to run things himself.
Brendan had instructed Jessica to get back to work at the Department of Information where she’d first seen Robert and to report anything immediately if he showed up, which he realised, would be highly unlikely.
Brendan was not in any rush to speak to Nigel at that moment though, so he would put it off until much later. Being informed instead that he had a voicemail message, he stopped pacing around and went over to his phone, dialled the voicemail number and listened to the recording left for him from earlier that day.
DCI Jack Derry had just interviewed Terry Goldman for the first time since his arrest, and he came out, with PC Chambers, to get a drink, collect his thoughts and prepare to talk to him again.
He couldn’t figure the man out. He’d seemed shocked, a little distant and almost surprised by the situation in which he found himself. He’d figured too that Terry must have needed a rest so taking a short break would do them all good. While they drank some tea, a young police constable came to them from the investigation room.
“We have further results back from both his computers,” he said, Jack looking up to hear what they were.
“He was into some sick stuff, sir, mostly on the home computer but even at work it wasn’t good.” He passed him a folder that was full of the printouts, some of which showed children, some rape victims and gang attacks, all indecent and the vast majority illegal.
“Thank you,” Jack said to the young PC, who turned and walked back to the room. Shaking his head at what he was looking at, he turned to PC Chambers and said, “Looks like there’s another side to this young man that we need to press.”
“Indeed, sir. The sick bastard!”
“Come on, let’s go back,” Jack said, ushering with his head.
They walked back into the room with some force and instantly Terry knew the atmosphere had changed. Gone were the smiles, the gentle approach that they had had before. Now they seemed angry, and Terry was afraid. Throwing down the folder of photos in front of Terry, pictures spreading out across the table, DCI Jack Derry bent down over Terry and spoke into his ear calmly.
“You’ve been a sick boy, haven’t you?”
Terry flinched a bit as he glanced at some of the photos and looked away again.
“Look,” he said, finally breaking, “I don’t know what’s going on here but someone has planted those photos. OK, I saw Simon this morning, I took him to a meeting.”
; “Oh, so now you did see him this morning, and yet at your office, you told me that you hadn’t? Why was that, Terry? Why?”
“Look, don’t I get to have my lawyer present? I don’t know what’s going on here, but I didn’t kill Simon, you have to believe me. I just took him to a meeting.” Panic was starting to set in, and PC Chambers glanced up at DCI Derry, and they both realised that his lawyer was needed. Therefore they had better stop and let him calm down. They had got him now anyway, and the evidence was there, there would be no escape, even with the best lawyer in the world. They both went to the door and signalled for someone to come and take him to the cell.
Just the two of them again, PC Chambers whispered to Jack:
“We certainly got a reaction there then! I thought he was going to pass out in fear once you’d revealed his dirty little secret.”
DCI Jack Derry grunted and went to his office. His head was starting to hurt a little, so he reached for a tablet and swallowed some water.
‘Why kill Simon Allen?’ he thought to himself. ‘Maybe he’d discovered what we’ve just found? But then he’d surely have just reported him?’ He shook his head, deciding that he’d let events unfold before drawing any conclusions.
He picked up a packet of biscuits that he had in his top drawer and started eating them while signing some letters that his PA had left on his desk. Ten minutes later, there was a frantic knock at the door, a young female clerk rushing in. “I think you’d better come, sir. The doctor’s been called––it’s Terry Goldman. They think he’s had a heart attack!”
10
PC Chambers, a slim man of medium height with regulation cut short black hair, had worked at that particular police station for about two years and enjoyed his job immensely. He had quickly built up an excellent understanding with his then new DCI, which made him in time usually the preferred choice of back-up for DCI Jack Derry and so they now worked together frequently.