“No. Now give me those keys or I’ll be forced to come and get them.”
“You won’t find them,” she retorted. I stared at this twenty four year old girl-woman and couldn’t help but smile. Even dressed in old clothes and tatty jodhpurs she was as beautiful as any woman I had seen.
“You’re bluffing,” I said. “You haven’t had time to hide them.” As I spoke I moved towards her very slowly until I was within reaching distance. In as quick a movement as I could manage, I jumped forward and held onto my wriggling conquest as she giggled. I wrapped my arms around her in a bear hug and threatened her.
“If you don’t tell me where the keys are I am going to tickle you until you do.” This had always worked with Vicki. The shriek emanating from deep in Sara’s lungs confirmed that I had hit the target with my first salvo. As I tickled her sides she lashed out at me and I had to duck. “Tell me Sara, where are they?” She screamed her refusal to tell me. I tickled again. I didn’t see the elbow coming until it was too late.
I staggered back against the wall after bone crunched on bone and her elbow collided with my temple. Sara came immediately to my aid and examined the minor damage.
“Don’t vets take the Hippocratic oath, like doctors?” I asked sarcastically. “You know, not to inflict unnecessary pain?” She looked at my head and could see no injury. As she did so I put my arms around her again, more gently this time. She shuddered.
“Don’t tickle me again,” she pleaded.
“I wasn’t going to,” I replied with a wide grin on my face. Her clear blue eyes looked puzzled for a moment and then she tilted her head. I moved forward until our lips met and we began to kiss with an urgency and hunger that I had not experienced for a long time.
“Oy! You two.” It was Jimmy, shouting from across the yard. “Stop that. You’ll frighten the hens!”
I didn’t want to let Sara go. Holding her and breathing in the sweet fragrance of her freshly washed auburn hair made me feel so alive, so warm inside. I wanted to tell her how I felt but I didn’t, it was too soon. Instead I said that she could come with me to SportSec the next morning, as long as she stayed in the car. She nodded her agreement without meaning it.
CHAPTER 15
When I left the farm I drove onto the A6 and followed it through Stockport and back home. Remembering my earlier unpleasant experience, I kept a keen eye on the road behind me to make sure that I wasn’t being followed.
Back in my study and safe, for the time being at least, I rang Tanya in Florida. I gave her the bad news about Aaron whilst keeping the worst from her. It saddened me, having to deceive my own daughter about Aaron’s recovery, but I needed her to enjoy herself. There was nothing to be gained by us all worrying.
Tanya told me that she had sent a card to Aaron and then she started babbling on about her holiday and told me how she missed me. We chatted about her return flight and made the arrangements for picking her up at the airport at the weekend. Finally, I mentioned, in passing, that I had met a pleasant young woman called Sara and that we seemed to get on well. I wondered how she would take the news of dad having a prospective girlfriend. I’d heard too many tales of children rejecting, even coming to despise someone new in the family circle, to imagine that it was going to be easy. I needn’t have worried. Tanya whooped down the phone, presumably to her Gran.
“Dad’s got a girlfriend.” The next voice I heard belonged to Stella.
“Alex. I really was beginning to think that you had forgotten how to do it. Who is she? What is she like, this new girlfriend of yours?”
I spent the remainder of the phone call denying any romantic link and found myself deep in the land of cliché when I said that we were ‘just good friends’. This last comment brought howls of derisive laughter from the sunshine state and so I bid them farewell and put the phone down.
I relaxed in my favourite recliner and thought about Sara. I had known her for less than two days and had kissed her once, so why did I feel this way about her? I was acting like some lovelorn teenager. I decided that I would cool things down a little and let my head rule my heart.
************
The phone rang for over a minute before it was answered at the other end by a tired sounding female voice.
“Hello. Lancashire Evening Post.”
“Hi. Len Bailey, please.”
“Hold please, I’m putting you through.” There was another long wait.
“Len Bailey speaking. It’s your money. Start talking.”
“Len. It’s Alex Carter. I need some information.”
“What? You, a high flying TV celebrity, needing help from a humble press hack?”
“Come on, Len. This is serious.”
“Go on son, I’m just winding you up.”
“Do you remember a United keeper by the name of Smith?” I asked.
“We never had a goalie called Smith.”
“We did, but only for a few matches in 1974. When we lost the championship in the last game.” Silence. I took it he was thinking.
“I believe you’re right. There was a young lad stood in for Alistair when he left. He dobbed in Jim Duncan if I recall, then headed off back to Ireland. And good riddance too. He said he threw the match, you know.”
“I know, Len,” I replied. “Is he back playing today?”
“Not to my knowledge. There’s Luke Smith at Crewe and Tony Smith at Rangers but no Mick Smith.”
“What about Michael or Mike Smith?”
“I don’t think so, son. Oh, there was Chris Smith, used to be keeper for the Rovers until the late nineties.”
“No, Len. It was definitely Mick Smith.”
“Sorry, Alex, I can’t help you. The lad is probably back in Ulster working in a shipyard or something and playing for a pub team on Sunday mornings.”
“Yes. I suppose you’re right.” Len was busy and so after a few pleasantries I hung up.
************
Sara’s small saloon car pulled onto the drive at seven the next morning. At least she was punctual. The woman who stepped out of the car was almost unrecognisable as Sara. She was wearing a smart business suit and her makeup had been expertly applied. When I opened the door to her she looked at me through gold rimmed spectacles. Sara could see that I was taken aback.
“For goodness sake, Alex, stop gawping and let me in.” As I stood aside she walked past me into the house.
“This is lovely Alex. Did you choose the colour scheme or was it Vicki?” People usually tried to avoid mentioning Vicki’s name and so it was refreshing to hear someone talk about my late wife in such conversational terms.
“Mostly Vicki, I suppose,” I said still staring.
“She had excellent taste.” Sara paused. “Alex, please stop staring. I am a professional woman. You don’t imagine I walk around in sloppy jumpers and jodhpurs every day, surely?”
“No,” I stammered, “but it’s such a different image. I guess I was a little surprised.”
“Oh, I think I have a few more surprises for you yet,” she said provocatively, adding, “Shall we go, then?” before I could ask her what she meant.
We took Sara’s car, a sporty Ford, in case mine was recognised. Sara drove and I loosened my tie in readiness for the journey to Leeds. The traffic was heavy as commuters travelled from Manchester to Leeds and beyond on the busy M62. After forty five minutes driving we left the motorway and headed towards Halifax on the A629. Shortly after leaving junction 24 we came across the signs for Lowfields Business Park and we followed them. Within a mile we found ourselves nestled amongst modern steel and stone edifices that provided offices to some well known companies, not the least being SportSec Plc.
************
We parked the car in a large car park belonging to a building company and from our vantage point we could see the entrance to the SportSec car park only thirty yards away. It was eight in the morning and the cars were beginning to arrive. As we sat waiting for the familiar four track vehicle from two days
before, Sara sat jotting notes in her Filofax.
“So, Alex. What do we know?” Before I could answer she continued. “Firstly, they probably work for SportSec. Secondly, we know their build and their suits. Thirdly, you have seen one of their faces and finally, one of them is called Norman.”
“And they had Liverpool accents,” I added.
“You haven’t mentioned that before,” Sara said quizzically.
“No. I guess not. For some weird reason it’s just popped into my head.” Sara carefully wrote against number five; Merseyside accents.
By eight thirty the car park was almost full and people were streaming into the attractively styled building with its arched roof. We were beginning to wonder if my attackers actually worked regular office hours, when I caught sight of their off road vehicle turning into the car park. I shuddered involuntarily. Sara saw my reaction and squeezed my hand comfortingly. Norman alighted from the car first and walked around to the driver’s side. They were only a few yards away and they appeared to be looking straight at us. The driver closed the door and the lights flashed as he locked the doors with his remote control. My fears of being spotted were unfounded as the men, one limping heavily, made their way to reception.
“Well, what do we do now?” I asked as Sara started the car.
“We go into the lion’s den, Alex. That’s what we do.” I paled at the thought but she was serious and determined.
We drove into the SportSec car park, parked close to the off-roader and got out. As we passed the big car we looked inside to see if there were any obvious links to my attack. Nothing much was visible through the tinted windows. We walked into the bright steel and glass atrium that served as the reception area for SportSec Plc. There was no sign of my attackers and so we approached the desk. Sitting behind a high shelf were two pretty, but over made up, receptionists. One looked up and smiled at me. I was about to speak when she took the initiative from me.
“I know you,” she said, and then turning to her colleague she continued. “This is Alex Carter, the England football captain.” Her friend smiled, feigning interest.
“Can I help you Mr. Carter?” She proffered the visitors book for me to sign. I was the first signatory of the day. My erstwhile friends had not signed in and so plan A was out of the window. I thought quickly as I signed my name.
“Yes. But before we get down to business, wasn’t that Norman and his friend that came in just now?”
“Oh. You mean Mr Betts and Mr Holden. Yes, they work as physical security advisers.” I could see Sara making a mental note of the names. I tried to find out more.
“I knew them years ago in Liverpool when we worked out at the same gym.” I bent over and whispered to the receptionist conspiratorially. “We used to call them the ugly sisters.” She laughed and confided.
“We call them Tweedledee and Tweedledum. They don’t have much to say and when they do speak it’s usually to complain. But you never see them apart.”
“Who do they work for here at SportSec?”
“At the moment they are attached to the football section.”
“They don’t look comfortable in suits, do they?” I quipped. The receptionist laughed.
“Who is it you would like to see, Mr Carter?” she asked.
“Well, I wanted to make an appointment to see the head of the football security section.”
“I’m not sure that Mr Smith is in yet.” At the mention of the name my blood ran cold.
************
The middle aged secretary showed us to a meeting room and took our orders for coffee. Mr Smith would be with us shortly, she assured us. Sara and I stared at one another, afraid to speak in this clinical, modernist office furnished, as it was, with a large whitewood table and matching chromium framed chairs. I heard a familiar voice in the corridor and turned towards the door.
“Alex Carter. Darling of the terraces and scourge of goalkeepers everywhere. How the devil are you?” Chris Smith extended his hand and as I took it he pulled me towards him and put his left arm around my shoulders. Looking directly at Sara he said,
“Alex Carter has made goalkeepers like me look foolish more times than any other striker, but I can forgive him because he’s a nice guy.” He squeezed my shoulder before releasing it. I was both relieved and disappointed that it was Chris and not Mick Smith we were meeting.
“Chris. This is my assistant at Sky. Sara.” The two made eye contact, smiled and shook hands.
Chris Smith sat down opposite us and leaned forward on the table. His hair was peppered with grey and his famous tan made him a dead ringer for the American actor, George Hamilton. Only the vague remnants of an Irish Brogue told you that he was not related to the well known film star.
“Well Alex. It seems that we’re both moving on. I’m at SportSec and you’re at Sky. Who’d have thought it a few years ago?” I was warming to this man. I’d quite forgotten how charismatic he was.
“You are still coaching with Rovers though?” I asked. He nodded and I continued. “How do you fit it all in?”
“I rarely miss a game these days, Alex. My backside is sore from continually sitting on cold wooden benches. I still coach the young goalkeepers on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Then on my free days I do marketing for SportSec. But its not like being a player, even after fifteen years I still miss it. How about you?”
“I’m doing a few shows for Sky until we see how the knee heals.”
“Yes. I’m sorry about that. They should warn Dean Butler off. He’s not fit to be on a football field with the likes of you, Alex.” I blushed at the compliment. “Now, what can I do for you?” he asked.
I trotted out Sara’s script as rehearsed. The gist of it was; Sky wanted to do a piece on ground security and where better to start than SportSec. Nothing was certain yet but if the football producer liked the research I was confident that the programme would be aired.
Chris said that he would help and he asked me to put a request in writing, for the approval of his directors. For the next twenty minutes we reminisced shamelessly about our early days in the game. When we had exhausted the topic and bored Sara half to death, we rose and shook hands. We were about to leave when Sara spoke.
“I like the cufflinks you’re wearing. Were they expensive?”
“These? No, not really, they are corporate gifts. We give thousands of them away every year. They look nice but cost peanuts.” His answer was more defensive than an innocent question would usually have warranted, and Sara had found out more in a single question than I had discovered in the whole of the previous hour.
************
We climbed into Sara’s car and drove nonchalantly out of the car park, just in case we were being watched. As we drove by we saw the offensive off-roader sitting quietly in its parking space, unoccupied. From her studied expression, I could tell that there was something on Sara’s mind and so I asked what it was.
“Alex. You are a lovely person, but you are so gullible.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, hurt at the implication.
“I don’t mean to sound harsh but as soon as Chris Smith switched on the charm you succumbed.”
“I didn’t.” I lied.
“Yes you did.” Sara was adamant. “I saw it in your expression. You were thinking that he was so pleasant that he couldn’t possibly have ordered your beating.”
“Nonsense.” I interrupted. She continued as if she hadn’t heard me.
“You were contemplating the likelihood of it all being some enormous coincidence. Your footballing buddy might just happen to work with Liverpool’s answer to the Kray twins by chance!
Alex, I have news for you. The bad guys don’t wear black hats anymore, it makes them too easy to spot. You have to suspect everyone, and trust no-one, until they prove themselves worthy of it.” I recognised my weaknesses as she spoke.
“To a point, I guess you’re right. But only to a point,” I emphasised.
“Alex. I’m beginning to car
e for you. If you are going to see this thing through and still be around for me to care for, you will have to start using your head and stop following your heart. Otherwise..” She let the unspoken consequences hang in the air between us, but we both knew that I was a target for vicious and unscrupulous men.
“Sara, I think you know how I feel about you.” She smiled at me and nodded. I went on, “and working on this together, as a team, I think we could get to the bottom of it all. Will you help?”
“I think that perhaps I had better. After all, can we afford to lose the England Captain just a year before the European Nations Cup?” We both laughed and I ran my fingers over her fine hair.
************
We ate a light lunch in my kitchen and talked about our respective careers. Sara was about to take up a position at a local veterinary practice and she intended to work with large animals, horses mainly. Until then she was keeping busy by helping out around the farm. I was pleased that she had time on her hands because I needed help. The girl I had first thought of as scatty and easily influenced was, apparently, anything but.
Retiring to the lounge we sat on the sofa and Sara started making notes on a yellow lined pad.
“So, what do we know so far?” The question was rhetorical because she responded to it herself by listing the answers on the pad. She wrote:
1) Roy Bennett was killed deliberately.
2) Roy Bennett was involved in match rigging.
3) Conclusion - His death resulted from his failure to fix matches properly.
- His death was arranged by the match fixers.
- A professional hit man did the bombing, Irish?
4) Aaron was beaten by professionals-not muggers. Tweedledee/Tweedledum?
Final Whistle Page 18
