by Tim Heath
Encouraged by a voicemail message that he’d just listened to on his mobile, Tommy was looking at his diary to see when he could arrange for Powers to come down for a medical. Then a second message played, this one from Brendan, which confirmed the arrival of three new youth players due to arrive the following morning.
“All in a day’s work,” he said to himself. “All in a day’s work!”
At the morgue, the doctor went back to re-check the body of Terry Goldman, which he’d promised DCI Jack Derry he’d do. Having caught up on things, he decided to do it before it got busy again. Walking into the room where the body had been, he was a little frustrated to find that it had been moved. Turning to an attendant who was working just outside the room he asked, “Can you tell me where Goldman has been moved to, please?”
“Just a moment…,” the attendant said, thumbing through a pile of papers before picking up a folder. “Yes, taken to the Crematorium three hours ago as requested. Signed off by DCI Derry at their end following your results from the post-mortem. Is there a problem?”
“No,” he said, a little confused. “Was there no request for the body to be released to the relatives?”
“No, sir, there wasn’t. Maybe there were none? Or maybe since the guy just killed a man they didn’t want anything to do with him. Anyway, he is ash by now. Considering some of the people we have through these doors, he’s hardly a loss to society is he, with all due respect.”
“Yes, thank you.”
The doctor walked back to his office and picked up Jack’s card again, dialling the number on his office phone. Getting through to the DCI, he said, “Jack, so you came to the same conclusion then about Goldman and closed the book?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow?”
“Well, you asked me to have another look, and before I even get back to you, you have him taken away.”
“To where?”
“To the Crematorium, of course! You signed off on it a few hours ago.”
“The hell I did!” Jack said, jumping up out of his seat.
DCI Jack Derry was fuming, angry that someone had done this and now more aware than ever that something just didn’t smell right. What if there had been someone in Goldman’s cell before his death and the things Goldman had started to suggest were true? And what if there had been something on the body which was now lost, what did it all mean? What was being covered up, if indeed these were not just unfortunate coincidences? But to fake his own approval for the body to be destroyed must only have meant the instruction came from the station, where all the other events had also occurred. Being sure that something was wrong, Jack started pacing around his office, thinking things through some more. He wasn’t sure at first what it all meant. Goldman’s profile didn’t fit that of someone into organised crime. Yes, he was into some depraved sexual preferences, but this was different. But then he thought, what if the key wasn’t Goldman but Simon Allen? What if Goldman was used to get to Allen and then the trail was just covered up? But Jack had seen the file on Allen. A quiet man who kept himself to himself. It didn’t fit that he’d have something running much deeper either, something that would have thrown him into the sort of troubled waters that leads to bodies in dark passageways and corpses going missing. But then what if Allen had just stumbled across something himself unexpectedly, which had, in turn, led to swift action against him before his revelations could be disclosed? Yes, he thought to himself, maybe that was it. I need to speak to Mary Ingham to see what he was working on, and picking up his phone he was back into things, thinking again and freshly invigorated for the battle ahead.
11
The following day Tommy had arrived at the stadium before seven because he knew things were just starting to happen and he wanted to get on with it all––he just could not wait. Having had confirmation from Brendan yesterday that there would be three of the new younger players arriving today, he’d partly got in early to prepare for this and read through their background reports, which Brendan had promised would be sitting on his fax machine first thing. Accurate enough, as he walked into his dark but warm office, switching all the lights on, there on the fax sat some sheets of paper.
Placing his cup of tea on the desk and laying the newspaper in his tray, he went over eagerly to pick up the fax and read about his new players. The cover sheet had their three names––Jim Tinger, Jack Dime and Robbie Smith––together with their ages, dates of birth and current club, if indeed they played for a team. Noticing they were all only seventeen years old, Jack Dime only by three weeks, he read the two sheets eagerly on each that he had been sent. These detailed where they lived, what experience they had, their position and notes on their personalities, especially the things that made them tick, as well as the areas on which Tommy would need to work. Finishing them, he sat back in his chair, picking up his tea, which was now starting to get cold, and downed it, while thinking through what he had just read. Thirty minutes later, having busied himself with paperwork and planning, Tommy was aware of a knock at the door and his head coach, Chris Phillips, walked in as scheduled for a meeting ahead of the imminent arrivals.
“Chris mate, good to see you.”
Tommy was always very informal, and a lot of the players and staff still did not know how to address him which made them feel a little awkward. Tommy was unaware of this and didn’t mind how people spoke to him, as long as there were respect and honesty. Chris took a seat and sat there listening.
“I’ve got three new lads lined up today to join us,” Tommy said, making sure he gave the impression that he was the one who had been doing all the hard work.
“Jim Tinger––seventeen years four months––Centre Half playing up in Doncaster, at the moment working part-time in a pub. Next, we have Jack Dime, just turned seventeen, midfield player who’s just coming through the Wycombe Wanderers’ academy. A pacy lad who’s good in the air and can hold his own. He did three months in a young offenders’ institute a year back after he knocked out two guys in a bar fight. One he said had been eyeing his girl and when he went over to him, the other guy and his mate jumped him, but soon they were down on the floor with bloodied heads. We may have to keep this lad’s temper in check! Finally, we have Robbie Smith. Three months away from his eighteenth birthday. He had been part of the England Under-15s and 16s set-up but slipped under the radar lately. Holds the record for the most goals in the Cheshire Schools’ league and there’s been plenty of pros who started way back at that level. He had one and a half years at the Arsenal academy, but his home life fell apart during that time, and they released him last summer. Since then he’s been working at the family shop in Timperley, Cheshire, but keeping his hand in the game occasionally.”
Chris Phillips sat there for a moment taking things in a bit. Tommy watched to try and gauge what his reaction was. After all, in Chris’ eyes, these were the players that Tommy was bringing in, and in many ways, Tommy knew that his reputation, regardless of how well it may have grown in such a short time, was under threat if these lads turned out to be flops. But Brendan had been so confident, and Tommy, knowing his boss as he did, knew Brendan didn’t do things lightly. But Tommy also had to keep up the impression that it was he that pulled strings for fear that everything he was working for would otherwise just fall around him.
“That’s quite a mixture there, Tommy,” Chris said after thinking about his response. “Only one lad, if I’m correct, actually currently plays the game and he’s the one with the criminal record because he has a short fuse!”
“Look, Chris,” Tommy said, preparing to go out on a limb in the hope that his faith would be rewarded in time with his expert hand on them, “you’ll have to trust me with these lads and the ones that will follow, and do as I ask. I’m not just looking for success now but am building for the future.”
“So there will be others then?” Chris said, his tone giving away the fact that clearly, this was the talk of the club, rumours flying around as to who would come––and who would
go.
“Chris, these are new days we are in. We’re here to win promotion, and we need to strengthen.” It was not anything that Chris wasn’t aware of having worked there for over a decade, but it was the way Tommy said the ‘we’re’ here that made him wonder to whom he was referring.
“Do you mind me asking, Tommy, if there will be any players going?”
“Is that what the fear is, in the dressing room?”
“To be honest, yes, of course. Quite a few of the lads are the wrong side of thirty with contracts nearly over, and for them, they see the threat. They wouldn’t get taken on elsewhere really, so they fear their days are numbered. Most of the younger lads aren’t too fazed, though they do fear that their careers could be sidelined if an influx of experienced players come in to guarantee short-term success.”
“That’s the kind of short-term thinking that has left most of the established clubs stuck between the need to look to the future and the need to keep shareholders happy with quick fixes. And the terrible fate of some of the teams that have recently been bought only goes to prove the point further. No, the money behind all this is to establish something for the future. Of course, there will be more competition for places which in itself should only improve those players already here. If you’re good enough, you’ll always find a way through. None of the new players that come here will get an automatic place in the team. No, each player will be in the team on merit. Make sure they all know this, Chris.”
Chris sat there with a smile of relief on his face and was nodding in agreement.
Tommy continued; “I need you to be onside, on my side in all this, Chris, to help me understand the mood in the dressing room and to help back up what I want with supportive words and actions.”
“Of course, you don’t need to ask, it is just that…,” Tommy put his hands up to stop him and calm his fears.
“I know, Chris, I know. You’ve been working with these players for a while, some for over ten years. I, on the other hand, have just arrived, and, before you say it, from nowhere, so of course you’re going to have these mixed feelings. But I need you, Chris. I don’t want to do this on my own. We have to be a united front when it comes to helping some of the lads through this time. Look, you go away and have a read through these sheets I’ve had prepared for each of our new arrivals coming later this morning. Keep them to yourself but get familiar with the information so that you can help all parties settle in. There are going to be a few more, and hopefully this week. I’m also working on something special personally. You’ve heard of Clint Powers I take?”
“Of course! Are you trying to get him? He’d never come here!” Chris had a smirk on his face as if he knew something Tommy didn’t, but not in a positive way, more in the way that seemed to imply that because the club was so insignificant they couldn’t attract such a top player, neither could the manager. Tommy put that thought to one side and pressed on.
“I know the lad, and I’ve known his agent for a while as well. Clint is coming here sometime for a look around. I’ll get him to sign.”
In his time in football Chris Phillips had heard many such things so had grown used to hearing ambitious sentiments but still, he changed his expression and shuffled a little uncomfortably in his chair. In truth, he knew that he would never be a coach at the highest level of things and therefore with a lot of fresh, promising talent on the way he would surely soon be saying goodbye to his job because when the time came, they would undoubtedly get someone in more qualified.
Chris picked up the print-outs on the three lads, said his goodbye and made the short trip down the hall and a flight of stairs to his small room that was his office on the ground floor.
DCI Jack Derry sat alone and quietly in his office, having just finished speaking to Mary Ingham on the telephone, which had taken the best part of an hour. Initially, she hadn’t known what to say, and they’d discussed entirely irrelevant things before she mentioned what had come up out of the last week or so and what she’d asked Simon Allen to look into for her. She’d suddenly felt responsible for it all, picking up in Jack’s tone that maybe this might be a clue, and this made her worried. Jack had done his best to calm her, and they chatted more in detail about what and who they were looking at, what he’d shown Mary already and how Terry Goldman might have been involved. He asked her about Terry’s background employment which had resulted in a lengthy delay while she spoke to Human Resources, only to come back and confirm very little. While their records did show that Goldman had been working for them for just over three years and that his CV at the time had meant he’d been suitably experienced and qualified for the job, neither the CV nor his previous employer appeared on file, which was most unusual. She had confirmed to Jack that she would have it investigated and would let him know as soon as she found out.
Standing up now, Jack stretched, feeling that he was getting somewhere. He needed another coffee so opened the door, nearly knocking into PC Chambers who appeared to have been about to enter the office. They chatted a little while they walked, but about nothing in particular and he had left Jack before he’d made it to the kitchen. Thinking it a bit odd, Jack brushed the feeling to one side for the moment; he already had far too much on his plate. He poured himself a large coffee from the freshly made batch that sat now keeping warm on the side. Jack planned to do a lot more digging before he’d close this particular case.
Robert Sandle intended to keep his head down for a little while, having realised that he might have got a bit too close for comfort with his activities of the last week. It didn’t make sense to risk too much, too early on and while he waited for any more relevant information, he would stay where he was and do further study.
What he wanted to get his head around and to break new ground with was the detailed history of the Wentworth family, whose house he was currently living in. He knew quite a bit from detailed studies over the last few years but there were significant gaps in places, and surely crucial pieces of information were yet to be known.
The lounge he now sat in, which in its day had been the focal point of this grand house before it fell into relative disrepair, must have heard a thousand secrets, all long hidden in its oak clad walls. The house had been the family home of Ernest and Betty Wentworth for nearly forty years, and the children had been raised there. The two sons had grown to be world-renowned scientists and their theories and inventions made rapid progress that brought a Nobel prize to each of them, in time, and made them household names. All of this had happened after the sons had moved out of the house, having both been given scholarships for Oxford University, where most of their successes were first recognised. They had been quiet men, brilliantly intelligent but rarely interviewed and they never spoke about their childhood or time in the family home in the country. Robert knew that the brothers had been in their twenties before they moved out. Christopher had been about twenty-four when he’d gone to Oxford, his brother Nathan benefiting from his going and following him there two years later aged twenty.
The six-year age gap that there had been between them had meant they had never been too close, though in time they grew to enjoy each other’s company, few other people ever really got to know them. The world soon saw their minds at work, and it was clear, as far as the distant observer could discern, that the original thinking was coming from the older brother Christopher and that much of Nathan’s work followed on from his older brother’s starting point. Neither of them ever discussed this in public and they were never interviewed regarding it, but it was clear to most who was following who.
Robert Sandle, however, was not always so convinced. He knew he could never think to the level that these two great men had imagined but he was very perceptive at picking up on anomalies that others would either not see, or brush to one side ignoring them. When considering both careers of either brother and all their achievements, significant jumps had been made, primarily by Nathan, that just didn’t fit within the tight framework the science world had place
d around them. And while other people, if even aware of these gaps, could skip over them, Robert couldn’t. And this is what drove Robert forward into more in-depth research. But any significant study was so hard to do on two people who were so reclusive, and it had proved a problem. It was by chance that Robert had stumbled upon the location of the family home, but it felt right for him to start his search there. Within the tight and long-established community that lived and worked in this idyllic location, Robert had begun to build a bit more of a picture for himself.
Ernest Wentworth had moved from London to stay with his ageing uncle and aunt when he was about twenty-five and had grown attached to the place. When at thirty-five he met Elizabeth Clegg, an eighteen-year-old maid working in the neighbouring farm, they fell in love and married the following year. When his uncle and aunt died in the space of three months of each other, Ernest and Betty, as she had become known, inherited the house and decided to settle there. She’d fallen pregnant within a few months, but complications had meant she’d lost the baby after ten weeks. Needing rest to recover they had put things on hold for a while but within a few years did have their first child, Christopher, named after the great explorer and one of Ernest’s heroes, Columbus. Nathan followed on after this, but Robert knew very little of the details apart from the odd diary entry from Betty that remained. No particular mention was made of further children though it always expressed her desire to have a little girl one day. It was not known whether she ever did.