“Good morning sleepy head,” Stella said, smiling. She was sitting on my bed with her legs tucked under her. I came around slowly and greeted her as I sat up in bed.
“Where’s Tanya?” I asked, fully expecting her to be in the pool again.
“Oh, she’s all right. She’s playing one on one with the young American boy opposite.” Stella could see the look of concern on my face and laughed as she explained. “Basketball, Alex. They are playing basketball on his front yard.” I relaxed. “I’m really proud of you,” my mother in law said somewhat unexpectedly. I didn’t know what to say. It was a little early in the morning for such an intense conversation.
“Why?” was the best response I could come up with.
“Lots of things,” she continued. “The way you looked after Vicki when she was ill, the way you accept me as I am and don’t judge me.” I interrupted her.
“I just did what I did because I loved Vicki and believe it or not, despite your efforts to continually embarrass me, I love you too.” Stella took my hand and squeezed it.
“Most of all,” she said softly, “I admire the way you have taken Tanya on board and raised her even though she is another man’s daughter. It took real courage, Alex, and I love you for that.” I looked at my mother in law and saw something deep in her eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. I wondered if it was some misguided feeling of guilt at spending so little time with her only grandchild.
“Stella. I had no choice. Fatherhood isn’t biological, its something you feel.” I paused. This was quite difficult for me to explain. “I loved Tanya from the moment we met. We are kindred spirits. As far as I am concerned she is my daughter every bit as much as if I had taken part in her conception. And I know that she feels the same way. To Tanya, I am Dad. Plain and simple. Of course we see Jerry regularly, but to Tanya Jerry is Jerry, she doesn’t even think of him as dad anymore.” There were tears in Stella’s eyes. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.
“I’m glad you feel that way because she’s growing up fast, Alex. She’ll soon be a fully developed woman and women have certain needs, certain desires.”
“I know. Tanya is, despite the temperamental outbursts of adolescence, a sensible girl. Together we sort out most things. At the moment boys are not that important to her but I know that they will be at some stage and we have had long discussions about the roles of responsibility and love in relationships.” Stella slid off the bed and walked over to the window. Pulling the vertical blinds apart slightly, to watch Tanya at play she spoke with a slight tremor in her voice.
“I’m coming home, Alex. Once the season is over I’m coming home, to stay. I’m missing too much.” She turned to look at me. “Is that OK with you?” I clambered out of bed, cast first, and hugged Stella in response to her question.
************
When Aaron and Judy didn’t arrive on their scheduled flight I was unconcerned but when I failed to contact either them or my aunt, back in England, I began to worry. Stella, Tanya and myself spent the day at Universal Studios riding the Simpsons Ride, Earthquake, Jurassic Park and the other attractions. Tanya and Stella had their photographs taken with the Scooby Doo and then they forced me to sit for a cartoonist, who proceeded to lampoon me in coloured paints. But every now and again in amongst the fun came an unwelcome feeling of trepidation. I sensed that something was wrong and promised myself that I would track down Aaron and Judy, and find out why they had delayed their trip.
An explosive fireworks spectacular finale sent us back to the villa exhilarated but worn out. I tried ringing Aaron and Judy again. There was still no reply and the answering machine had not been switched on. I was very worried. Who could I ring? Who might know where they were? I rang the people I could think of but either they weren’t at home or they knew nothing.
I slept fitfully with my concerns nagging at my tired brain. The phone rang in long bursts. I woke up. It was four in the morning. I struggled to the phone and got there just as Stella and Tanya emerged from their bedrooms. I picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” My voice was hoarse.
“Alex. Is that you?” I recognised the voice. It was Ben at Sky Sports. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had half expected bad news about Aaron and Judy.
“Ben! Do you know what time it is over here?” I asked, a little more harshly than I intended.
“Yes. I do know. But I thought it best to phone anyway.” Ben sounded suitably repentant.
“Why? What is so urgent that I need to be disturbed at this time of the morning?.” By now Stella and Tanya were standing beside me.”
“Alex. Sky News just asked me for some footage of Aaron Morgensen in action in the FA Cup Final and when I asked why they told me it was for an urgent news item. Alex. Aaron has been taken to hospital. He is badly hurt.” I was stunned and I reproached myself for not trying hard enough to contact Judy.
“What happened? How bad is he?” I asked. the reply was shocking and sickening.
“He was mugged and very badly beaten. He is in intensive care.” Ben went quiet as I absorbed the information. then he continued very cautiously. “Alex. They say he may not make it.”
CHAPTER 12
I sank heavily into the big armchair and put my head in my hands. My two companions wanted to console me but as yet I had been unable to tell them the outcome of the phone call. All they knew was that Aaron was in hospital and I had promised to fly back to the UK as soon as possible.
“What’s the matter, Dad? Is Uncle Aaron going to be all right?” Tanya was as worried about me as she was about Aaron. Stella sat on the arm of the chair and cradled my head against her chest. I was despairing but I would not let the tears flow, not in front of these two.
After a few minutes we all sat on the sofa and I explained what had happened. Tanya immediately broke down and had to be comforted by Stella, who barely knew my best friend. It was strange really, Tanya rarely took to strangers but with Aaron she had been open and friendly immediately. Thinking back, I believe she may have had a crush on him. I remembered days at the beach when Judy would joke that she had better keep her eye on Tanya, as my daughter and Aaron walked along the beach, paddling in the shallows, laughing and giggling over some silly joke. Aaron would splash Tanya then Tanya would splash Aaron and in minutes they would be submerged in the water, fighting and splashing each other, much to the annoyance of the other bathers.
I held Tanya close for a long time as Stella made some hot sweet tea. Eventually Tanya settled down and she asked me if Aaron would recover. I told her that he was big and strong with a will to live and that was usually enough to bring people through crises like this. But even as I said it I thought of the analogy of Vicki, who had all of those attributes and yet still slipped away from us. Tanya was comforted by our little talk and we sat drinking tea and watching the dark sky lighten into day.
************
At six o clock, I hugged my daughter and asked her to remember Aaron in her prayers. She said that she would and resigned herself to the fact that I would not let her return home in such sad circumstances. The truth of the matter was that if Aaron died I didn’t want Tanya to witness it. Stella had taken my side and promised Tanya that she would accompany her back to England if circumstances demanded it. Stella stepped forward and kissed me. She pushed my unkempt hair into place and told me to take care. On the surface Stella might appear to be air headed and flighty but in reality she was bright and shrewd. She guessed the significance of Aaron’s situation and issued a warning.
“Alex. I know how much you like Aaron but if there’s something going on I don’t want you to get involved. Roy was killed and now Aaron is...well, let’s just say Aaron has been badly beaten up. The people doing these things aren’t from our world, Alex. They are from a vicious little world of their own and they wouldn’t think twice about hurting you.” Stella released me from a bear hug and held my hands loosely as she looked at me. “Alex. I’ve lost a daughter, don’t have me lose a son too.” I lifted her right h
and to my lips and kissed it before breaking away.
“Stella. I know when I’m out of my depth.”
“I only wish you did, Alex. Please be careful.” I nodded and waved as I walked towards Gate Ninety Five.
************
I sat in the hospital day room whilst the uniformed constable sought permission for me to see Aaron. I had been awake for almost thirty hours and prior to that I had only enjoyed a brief four hour sleep. The plane had arrived at dawn and I recovered my car from the secure lot before seven. At nine thirty I arrived at the hospital, tired and hungry.
The white coated consultant told me that Judy had been sent home after a forty eight hour vigil at Aaron’s side. Aaron had been beaten so badly that his ribs were broken and one had punctured his lung. There had been massive haemorrhaging and an emergency operation had only served to halt his rapid decline. More surgery would be needed before they could expect his condition to measurably improve. Unfortunately this was impossible in his current weakened state. Aaron was dying and only a miracle would save him now. I had to place my trust in the medical staff and hope for that miracle.
After forty minutes of kicking my heels I was allowed to gown and mask up for seeing my friend. Aaron had been put in a side ward in the intensive care suite and was under constant observation via a window to the nurse’s station. I followed the nurse into the room and saw Aaron lying in the bed. At least they told me it was Aaron. I wouldn’t have recognised him otherwise. His blond hair was matted with blood and his face was so bruised and swollen that It was unrecognisable. At that moment I felt rage welling up inside me, knotting my stomach. There were tubes, drips and monitors everywhere and there was a distressing wheezing noise every time the young goalkeeper struggled for breath. I studied his heavily bandaged hands and the nurse explained that they had been broken by some heavy blunt object, possibly a baseball bat. I promised myself that one day I would find the men that did this and make them pay.
I was allowed to sit with my friend for about thirty minutes before I was asked to leave. In a way, I was glad to go. I found it hard to listen to the agonised moans of a man I cared about. He was clearly suffering, even under heavy sedation. I was terribly sad, very tired and rabidly angry. Despite all of my promises to Stella, I knew that I couldn’t just sit back and let the bastards who had done this get away with it. I was pondering what I could do when the police constable joined me again.
“I realise that this is a bad time sir, but do you feel up to speaking to one of our senior officers?” I didn’t feel up to it but said that I would anyway. The constable called in on his radio and within a few minutes a car was sent for me. Leaving my own car at the hospital, I travelled the fifteen minutes it took to get to County Police Headquarters in the back of an unmarked police Volvo.
************
The walnut panelled room was designated as the office of Assistant Chief Constable Mark Lister-Ward. His name was on the door. I sat with a coffee that had been served in a bone china cup with matching saucer. The room was quiet and a bit stuffy. I felt a bit scruffy but at least I’d had the opportunity to wash, shave and change on the plane.
The door closed behind me and I began to stand up.
“Please stay where you are, Mr Carter, you’ve had a long journey. Just give your legs a rest.” My new associate was dressed in full uniform bedecked with enough silver to keep a small pawnbrokers shop in business. I looked from the plain clothes officers to the Assistant Chief Constable as we shook hands and knew that I had seen him before. He proceeded with the usual pleasantries as I tried to remember where we had met. When he paused to sit down in the leather chair I spoke out.
“We have met before, haven’t we?”
“I don’t believe so,” he replied. But then I remembered. Grey hair, tired grey/blue eyes and a brightly coloured lumberjack shirt.
“You were in the Police station in London the night Roy Bennett was killed.” He was obviously surprised that I remembered him.
“You have a remarkable memory, Mr Carter. You could have only seen me for a second or two.”
“I’ll never forget that night,” I said. “I can still replay every minute of it, if I shut my eyes.”
“Then I should keep your eyes open, Mr Carter.” He seemed less than friendly.
For ten minutes we sparred verbally, answering questions with questions, neither of us really imparting any important information. The meeting seemed doomed to be a wasteful exercise until Lister- Ward satisfied himself that I was trustworthy and opened up. In the next hour I was drawn inexorably and irrevocably into the most dangerous period of my life.
************
‘Operation Ballgame’, they had explained, was a national taskforce using officers seconded from a number of police forces around the country. Working from an operational headquarters in central London, its task was to find and prosecute those shadowy individuals who attempted to improperly, or illegally, influence the results of the main professional ball sports, namely football, rugby and cricket. To date their primary task had been tracking down illegal inducements in cricket.
The taskforce was headed up by Mark Lister-Ward, who had been seconded from the Lancastrian County Constabulary. To date they had dealt with cases of match rigging, illegal payments to players and improper inducements made to managers to encourage them to buy foreign players, bungs as they were known in the game. Some of the evidence collected by ‘Operation Ballgame’ had resulted in successful legal proceedings. Less serious matters were referred to the governing bodies and they held their own disciplinary hearings. As a result some very familiar names were now either serving prison sentences or were barred from working in the professional game.
It soon became apparent that the task force had known about Roy Bennett’s antics long before his demise. The thick file that carried his name contained photographs, photocopies of bank statements and letters that had been intercepted and copied before being delivered. The detective assigned to Roy’s case was quite adamant that Roy was completely unaware that he was being watched. I found that concept easy to believe. One of the main complaints Roy’s wife had against him, was that he was so wrapped up in himself that he rarely noticed what went on around him. I recalled one occasion when he had singularly failed to notice that his wife had changed her hair colour from blonde to auburn, only realising when I complemented her on the change, two days later.
Lister-Ward confessed that they had deliberately misled me and the press. He accepted that he had given misleading information about Roy’s murder. Without any hint of an apology he claimed that it was a necessary deception which would prevent Roy’s paymasters from running for cover. I wondered what the official line would be on the motive for Aaron’s assault.
I listened as the policemen in the room explained how bribery and blackmail had corrupted soccer in the Seventies. I heard about the wall of silence that was only now, thirty years later, being penetrated. They told me that even now the only reason ex footballers were speaking up was that many of the alleged match fixers were either dead or no longer connected with football.
Corruption was apparently on the rise again in the twenty first century. The police said that they had found evidence to suggest that important matches in the Premiership and the FA Cup were being influenced by a Far Eastern gambling syndicate. The syndicate would place hefty bets against expected results. They would then ‘invest’ significant sums with players and/or managers, to ensure that the result did not come about. Their initial stake would then be recouped many times over.
A Singapore based businessman, known only as Mr Po, had been seen entering and leaving the country on a regular basis. Because of his shadowy history his bank account was being monitored by Interpol. Immediately after every visit to the UK he would be credited with a significant cash sum drawn on the account of an Isle of Man Holding Company. The police believed that this was the betting stake. A short time later much larger sums would flow in the other direction; the
winnings.
“The conclusion we draw is this.” Lister- Ward spoke as he stepped over to a flip chart and flipped the cover over. Underneath was a complex diagram with coloured lines going to and from a box titled ‘UK Organiser’. The assistant chief constable explained the chart for my benefit.
“Someone in the UK is providing the stakes for the offshore betting syndicate. The same person then ensures the results by placing money in the hands of those who are in a position to sway games. The winnings are sent back to the UK and the process begins all over again.” The senior policeman stopped speaking, returned to his place and relaxed back into his chair. He steepled his fingers under his chin and stared at me awaiting a response.
“I know that there is a good deal of money at stake here,” I began, “but as a footballer I can’t see how anyone could guarantee the outcome of a match.” The policemen could see that I was not convinced by their suppositions. Lister- Ward was determined to make his point.
“Mr Carter, I applaud your loyalty to your fellow professionals but it really is quite simple. A goalkeeper misses an easy catch, a defender allows himself to wander out of position, a striker allows the ball to run a little too far, a manager fields an unbalanced team. Simple for them to do, but very difficult for us to prove. Even with video evidence a clever defending counsel will argue that it was just one of those days. After all, everyone has an off day now and again.”
Memories of shock defeats where premiership teams had fallen foul of giant killing teams came flooding into my mind. I thought of Aaron and how his brilliance had often kept us in a match. If he hadn’t tried quite so hard.... The thought was left hanging when Lister- Ward spoke again.
Final Whistle Page 14
