White Lines

by Mel Stein

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Just answer the question. We’re on the record now.’

  ‘You sound just like a copper.’

  ‘I am a copper.’

  Mark rose to refill his cup although it was still three-quarters full. He just wanted to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts, to try to ascertain exactly why someone he regarded as a friend should be at his house at the crack of dawn to interrogate him. In the thirty seconds he had, he came to the conclusion he had no idea and if he had no idea then his conscience must be clean and there was no reason not to cooperate.

  ‘I’ve known Jenny for a while,’ he said, trying to remember just how long a while was.

  ‘In what capacity?’

  ‘Sort of a friend. And lately as a media contact.’

  ‘What sort of friend?’

  ‘What sorts are there? Not best friend, that’s for sure. Just a friend, someone I’d speak to from time to time.’

  ‘Nothing more?’

  ‘Not from my side.’

  ‘But from hers?’

  ‘Maybe she wanted something more.’ It was the first half-lie he’d told and he could see that Davies had seized upon the intonation in his reply like a terrier being tossed a bone.

  ‘Did you give her that something more?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When did you last see her?’

  ‘Bogota. A week or so ago. She was with the England party.’

  ‘Did you talk to her?’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘I thought you just told me you were friends. Don’t friends talk?’

  ‘She was busy. So was I.’

  Davies looked up from his notebook.

  ‘Mark, don’t play silly buggers with me. You’re probably not in trouble at the moment, but if you don’t tell me the truth I could make sure you are.’

  ‘Are you threatening me, Rob?’

  ‘’No, I’m trying to help you. What are friends for? What was Jenny Cooper all about?’

  Mark took a deep breath and decided to go for it.

  ‘OK. She was a bit upset with me. That’s why we didn’t talk too much in Colombia.’

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ Davies said with obvious satisfaction. ‘Tell me why she was upset with you.’

  ‘She’d come on to me pretty strongly at the team hotel in England before they flew out. She’d had a bit too much to drink and I didn’t respond. Hell hath no fury …’

  ‘Attractive woman. Not many men would refuse if they were offered it on a plate.’

  ‘Well, I did. I don’t know why. Maybe it was altruistic and I didn’t want to take advantage of her. Maybe I didn’t fancy her and maybe it was because I was thinking of Patti. Either way I didn’t screw her. Now, come on, Rob. I’ve come clean with you, so tell me what this is all about.’

  ‘It’s about murder. She’s dead, Mark. Killed in her own home.’

  Mark put down his cup and examined his trembling hands as if to find them blood-stained.

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘You’d better. Once we release the body after the post-mortem and the inquest she’s going to be buried. Generally speaking the police aren’t party to burying people alive.’

  There was a slightly lighter tone in his voice now. He’d got what he thought to be the truth and he could revert to type.

  ‘Who’d want to kill Jenny?’ Mark asked.

  ‘I was hoping you’d be able to tell me that.’

  ‘Why on earth should I know? I’ve already told you she was only a friend. Now I come to think of it, not much more than an acquaintance.’

  ‘Mark, honestly I don’t think for one minute that you’re involved. But I have to produce some paperwork to eliminate you from our inquiries.’

  Mark looked puzzled.

  ‘Why should I be in your inquiries in the first place? As far as I’m aware nobody knew about our little confrontation. I’ve said nothing and I doubt if Jenny wanted to blab about a drunken seduction scene where there were no takers.’

  ‘Well, we’ve checked her telephone records, you see. You were the last person she tried to call before she died.’

  Mark shook his head in bewilderment.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Nor do we. Did she speak to you last night?’

  ‘No. Nobody did. I was with Patti. I left the answerphone on, but there were no messages.’

  ‘Mark, you’re lucky this is me here. I took it upon myself to come and talk to you. If my bosses think I’m going soft on you then they may put somebody more brutal on the case. There’ll be none of this cosy chat over a cuppa. Now don’t be defensive. Just think. You’ve been on my side of the fence in a way, so imagine you’re conducting an investigation.’

  Mark got to his feet and stood by the window as if looking for inspiration.

  ‘Poor Jenny. She never seemed to be a happy lady. How did she die?’

  ‘I was hoping you’d ask.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To encourage me to believe that you don’t know.’

  ‘Come on, Rob. You can’t seriously think I had anything to do with it.’

  ‘I don’t think you did, but I don’t make all the decisions.’

  ‘So you have to eliminate me from your inquiries, as you put a moment ago.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Well, speak to Patti. She’ll confirm …’ Mark hesitated over the next couple of words, they sounded so absurd, ‘… my alibi.’

  ‘I’m sure she will.’

  Mark looked carefully at Davies.

  ‘Are you being sarcastic?’

  ‘No, just relieved. Now think, Mark, think. Who’d want to kill Jenny Cooper and why?’

  Mark continued to stare out of the window. It was beginning to rain, a steady drizzle that looked set for the day. He hated the period between autumn and winter, the knowledge that there’d be no real warmth for about six months. He felt tired, regretted ever getting up and wished Rob Davies would just go away and leave him alone with his thoughts. He would have liked to have gone for a run to help him clear his head. Despite the crippling knee injury that had finished off what the false accusations against him had begun, he could still jog around the park. It was one of the pleasures of his life to go around the artificial lake once at least, twice if he felt really fit, taking on the dogs and their owners who seemed to regard him as an intruder into their domain. But that would have to wait. Inspector Rob Davies was clearly going nowhere until he had the answers to his questions. The only problem was that Mark didn’t think he had the answers. He took a deep breath and made a valiant attempt.

  ‘She was drinking, Rob. If she was drinking she was talking. Maybe she was talking too much about something she knew.’

  ‘Or somebody?’ Davies prompted.

  ‘She was screwing as well, if her efforts to get me into bed are anything to go by. Perhaps she slept with the wrong person …’

  ‘And talked about it? Or was going to talk about it? Hardly an excuse for murder in this day and age. Still you reckon that she was probably indiscreet. And the phone call to you?’

  ‘I suppose it had to be about someone I knew, otherwise why bother? The way I’d left her, the way she reacted in Colombia, I’d be the last person she’d phone unless I was the only person she could phone.’

  ‘You were the last person she phoned,’ Davies said grimly. ‘I think you might be selling yourself short. You have to look at yourself the way others see you. Maybe she came to terms with the fact that you acted honourably towards her. You didn’t take advantage so she figures she can trust you. She tries to get hold of you, fails and then poof she’s dead.’

  ‘You make it sound very simple, Rob.’

  Davies shook his head.

  ‘Death is always very simple. It’s what leads up to it that’s complicated. If you’re right and I’m wrong then we’ve reduced the list of suspects to people who knew you both. You’d better be careful, Mark.
I know she didn’t reach you, but if the person who killed her doesn’t know that, if he was able to tell who’d she’d last spoken to, then it could be that you’re in danger too.’

  ‘I’d rather be in danger than under suspicion,’ Mark replied with a weak smile.

  ‘Wish granted. Watch your back. Oh and Mark, don’t try any one-man heroics. You’ve been lucky in the past, so don’t push it.’

  When Davies had gone the flat seemed empty. He’d wanted him to leave, but now he wanted someone to replace him. He realised that he’d had no calls that morning. He lifted the receiver and dialled 1471.

  ‘You were called at 22.15. The caller withheld their number.’

  He thought about it. The police had logged a call from Jenny to him. But why should she have withheld her number if she was going to talk to him? And could it be that there had been two calls? He had to ask Davies about that. An icy shiver ran down his spine as he reconstructed the scene. Jenny calling him. A ring at the door, she opens it to meet her killer. He’s curious as to who she’s talking to. He checks the number, maybe it’s showing on the phone, maybe he presses redial. Then he blocks the number by dialling 141 and calls again. Is he calling from Jenny’s place, standing by her body, or has he left and called from his home?

  He suddenly realised that Davies had told him neither the time of death nor how she died. But he had warned him he might be in danger and now Mark could see why. Somehow he now felt certain that he knew whoever it was who had killed Jenny Cooper. But, even if his instinct was wrong, of one thing he felt terribly sure. That they knew him.

  CHAPTER 31

  It was a relief to get back to the world of English football and the familiar territory of Hertsmere’s little stadium. It was also a relief just to be able to watch the football without the added responsibility of commentating on it. Pleasure was added to the relief as Hertsmere had just taken three points from bottom of the table Redstone Athletic. The pleasure was somewhat muted as the manner of victory had been hardly convincing. A single scrambled goal five minutes from the end claimed by both Aled Williams and Darren Braithwaite, who’d collided with each other whilst at the same time deflecting the ball into the net. Ray Fowler, the manager, had looked displeased despite the result, and Mark could just imagine the rollicking that he was bestowing on the players in their changing room.

  David Sinclair had gone through the usual ritual with his opposite number, the Redstone chairman, and now found time to stand quietly in the corner with Mark.

  ‘Don’t say a word, Mark.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to,’ he replied. Unusually, Sinclair was one businessman in control of a club who could actually appreciate the finer points of the game. If he had any criticism to make of his team, then Mark was quite happy to listen to what he had to say.

  ‘There’s nothing up front, nothing at all. And Dimitri limping off after half an hour didn’t exactly help.’

  ‘I hear Murganev’s been playing really well,’ Mark said referring to the Russian player who had experienced such a traumatic time when he first came to the club.

  ‘That’s more than can be said for the rest of the team. I really thought this was going to be our year for the title. And Barry Reed getting into the England team was the icing on the cake. It makes life easier to get class players to the club if you can show that being with little old unfashionable us won’t stand in the way of international recognition.’

  ‘Whose decision was it not to play him tonight?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Just about everybody’s. Ray didn’t think it was fair to put more pressure on the kid. I didn’t think his mind was going to be on the task in hand, and the media have convicted him already. Believe me I got no pleasure from leaving him out. He’s probably the best prospect I’ve seen in all my years here, present company excepted, of course,’ Sinclair said, with a weak smile.

  ‘What did Barry feel about it all?’ Mark said, his voice deadly serious.

  ‘You know, Mark, I’m not at all sure that anybody bothered to ask him. What time’s the disciplinary hearing tomorrow?’

  ‘I have to say, David, that I’m a bit disappointed you don’t know that. Isn’t the club sending anybody along to give him a character reference?’

  ‘Hold on a second, Mark. Don’t put the guilt trip on my head. We offered him the services of our lawyers, the PFA said they’d represent him as well and all he’s done is say that you’re dealing with everything and, as he put it in his quaint Geordie manner, you’re the “top man” and you’ve got him the “best fucking brief” in England.’

  ‘Blind faith, I’m afraid,’ Mark said, concerned that David Sinclair had put into words the sort of responsibility that Barry Reed had placed upon his shoulders. He’d been good to his word and had introduced him to his solicitor, Stanley Golding. Stanley had not been optimistic and the leading counsel he’d instructed at Mark’s expense to represent Barry at the hearing was even less enthusiastic about the outcome.

  The three of them, Mark, Barry and Golding, had sat in his chambers the previous day and listened to his concise analysis of the problem and his prognosis as to the outcome. George Ramsden QC was a man who had got himself a reputation of doing the impossible in cases that involved any aspect of sport. He’d got the FA to return six points deducted from Thamesmead for an alleged illegal approach, he’d arranged for a suspension to be lifted on a player to enable him to appear in a Wembley Cup Final, and he’d even taken FIFA through the European courts over a bizarre decision in relation to an international match between England and Albania where they’d ordered a replay after armed rebels had brought a match to an end with England 6-0 in the lead. As Mark had told Barry, if there was any man who could get a result for him then it was George Ramsden. However, the longer the conference continued the less likely it seemed that there was any man who could get Barry Reed off the hook.

  ‘It’s exceedingly hard for us to fly in the face of the evidence. My advice is to plead guilty, try and come up with some convincing mitigation and in any event undertake to undergo some treatment both of a psychiatric and clinical nature. That might just persuade them to go lightly.’

  ‘What do you mean by lightly?’ Mark asked as Barry looked too confused to phrase any coherent question.

  ‘Well, the unfortunate thing is that all this occurred at international rather than club level. They may therefore feel the need to make the punishment fit how they perceive the crime.’

  Barry could stand it no longer.

  ‘I can’t believe all this. I’m not a fucking criminal. And I’m not mad neither, so you can stop all this talk of head doctors. I’m not going to take the rap for something I didn’t do and there’s an end of it.’

  There had been little more to say after that and they’d left Ramsden scratching his head and wondering not just what he was going to say in Reed’s defence, but how he was going to preserve his reputation.

  ‘So have you?’ Sinclair asked, jerking Mark back to the boardroom.

  ‘Have I what?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Got him the best effing brief in England?’

  ‘I think so. The only problem is that he can’t walk on water or turn it into wine.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like the best brief to me, but I suppose you know what you’re doing. We’ll have Helen go down and keep an eye on things. If you need anybody from the club to speak on Barry’s behalf, then she’s as good as anybody.’

  ‘Thanks, David. I have to tell you you’re being a sight more supportive than the England camp. Kenny Cunningham has refused point blank to come out on the player’s side.’

  ‘Can you blame him? He’s got to send a message to the public, to the youngsters in particular, that there’ll be no messing with drugs. Look, Mark, I’m not unsympathetic to Barry. We’ve had him here since he was a kid, but if he gets a hefty ban we’re going to be the biggest losers. We lose out on him as a player and an investment. And as you’ve seen tonight if we want to be in there challenging at the end
of the season then we need every quality player we can get. Which leads me on to my next point. I appreciate you don’t have the kindest memories of Colombia, but I assume you must have developed some contacts there either through your work or in trying to sort out Patti. Ray and I rather liked that striker who scored the goal, Ferrera. The last thing we want is to start dealing through agents. I hear the South Americans are even worse than our home-grown variety. Do you think you could put out a few feelers and, if you get anything positive, go out and try and put a deal together for us? We don’t expect you to do it for nothing, of course. We’d put it on a proper business footing.’

  Mark made to say no, then stopped himself. He had very little to do at Jet until the ink was dry on the detailed contract for the ESL rights and he certainly wanted to do something to fill his time. Although the last thing in the world he wanted to do was to return to Colombia, he felt that was where all the answers lay, to Patti’s problem, to Barry’s nightmare. And rightly or wrongly it seemed to him that he was the only one who could seek out those answers. The only thing that troubled him as he told David Sinclair he would do what he asked, was that he had a nagging feeling that those answers could not be bought cheaply.

  CHAPTER 32

  It was not often that the Halid family sat down for a meal together. Tonight was the exception. The dining room was anything but homely. A long polished oak table, dark oil paintings on the walls, heavy draped curtains, concealed lighting casting a dim glow over the whole proceedings making them look like a reconstruction of a baronial hall in a National Trust property.

  Mo sat at one end of the table, Susie to the left of him, the baby, Jason, to his right in a high-chair. He’d refused to settle down in his cot, but now that he was in company seemed far more cheerful as he stuffed piece after piece of a soggy bread roll into his gummy mouth. At the far end of the table was Nabil, seeming to want to put as much distance between himself and his father as possible, whilst Dominique positioned herself on the same side as Susie, but with an empty seat in between. She didn’t know how long she could conceal her condition from her father, although it was now clear that her stepmother had respected her secret at least until now. In the very near future she would have to make a decision as to whether or not she actually had the baby. She wanted that to be a joint decision, the only problem being that she was none too sure if the father was in any position to be involved in that process. Meanwhile she just toyed with the food on her plate. She’d heard all about morning sickness, but she seemed to feel nauseous all day long. She even felt sick in bed, but whether that was her pregnancy or the nerves caused by the charges levelled against her that still had to be resolved, she did not know.