Touch

by Robert Innes

  “Even as a kid, eh?” Harrison asked, smiling at Blake. “You were just always meant to be surrounded by this sort of thing, weren’t you?”

  Blake let out a little chuckle. “Maybe.”

  “When was the last time you had this dream?” Harrison asked him, settling back next to Blake in the bed and pulling the sheets up to his chin.

  “God knows,” Blake replied. “It went on for a long time. I think my last one was when I was at university. That was my own fault though. I’d been to see one of the Saw movies. I think I also dreamt there was a puppet standing over her telling me that it wanted to play a game that night. But since then, nothing. I don’t know why I’ve had it tonight. I’ve not even thought about that woman for years.”

  Blake took a slow deep breath in to get his heart back to its normal pace.

  “Maybe it’s just your job,” suggested Harrison as ran his hand gently down Blake’s back. “I mean come on, you’ve not exactly been short of murder since you arrived in Harmschapel. Shootings, stabbings, weird events that make no sense to anybody apart from you. You’re not made of Teflon.”

  “I know, I know,” Blake murmured. “Maybe I’ll see if I can get some time off soon.” He scoffed as he remembered the amount he had been working recently. “Fat chance till this bloody tournament finishes though.”

  Harrison’s laugh instantly lifted Blake. Something about the sound of Harrison’s laughter left him feeling safer and more content, though he could not put his finger on what it actually was.

  “Three more days, Blake. That’s all,” Harrison said. “You’ve got to give Harmschapel the credit it’s due. This is the furthest we’ve got since this tournament began.”

  “So I keep hearing,” Blake replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s all I get out of work. Matti’s obsessed, Gardiner won’t stop regaling anyone who will listen about details of each match that’s been played since the start of tournament. I take it we won today then?”

  Harrison nodded. “Yep. Easily. Now it’s just us verses Clackton.”

  “Two teams that can’t stand the sight of each other,” Blake said, shaking his head in disbelief. “All the trouble we’ve had to deal with between them and now they’re going against each other in a final?”

  “It’s a county cup,” Harrison replied, clearly amused at Blake’s irritation. “I hardly think you’re going to be having to deal with rioters and petrol bombs.”

  “You forget, I’m from Manchester,” Blake reminded him. “I know what angry football fans look like and how it can descend into chaos, especially when there’s drink involved.”

  “Then you better get some sleep,” Harrison replied, yawning deeply. “Are you feeling alright now?”

  Blake nodded and kissed Harrison goodnight. He smiled as he watched his boyfriend settle back down and close his eyes. He did feel slightly better, though he was still confused as to why the screaming woman should suddenly start plaguing his dreams now.

  As Harrison began snoring softly beside him, Blake sank down into the bed and stared up at the ceiling, his eyes starting to feel heavy. Soon, he was fast asleep, and his dreams were sparse but thankfully free of the woman from his nightmares.

  2

  “It’s coming home, it’s coming home, it’s coming, football’s coming…”

  Without looking up from his work, Blake placed his hand firmly around his colleague’s mouth. “Matti, if I hear one more football chant out of you, just one, I shall personally see to it that you spend the rest of the week putting out traffic cones on the motorway.”

  Police Constable Mini Patil groaned and rolled her eyes as she glanced at her silenced boyfriend over the top of her computer. “Oh, Sir. You haven’t even heard the worst of it. Football this, football that, I think I’m probably going to end up either throttling him or going mad by the end of this week. Possibly both.”

  “Well, I won’t arrest you.”

  Billy Mattison held his hands up in surrender as Blake released him. “Alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just excited.”

  “Really?” Blake replied dryly. “I couldn’t tell.”

  Mattison grinned and returned to his desk. “I just can’t believe we’ve reached the final. Do you realise how many years it’s been since Harmschapel FC has got this far in the competition?”

  “No, Matti,” Blake said wearily. “You haven’t mentioned that. Apart from the several hundred times a day that you bring it up.”

  “Forty-five years,” Mattison went on, apparently ignoring how disinterested his audience were. “Forty-five years of defeats, and last year we got knocked out first. This year though, this year is going to be different.”

  “Ah, yes,” Sergeant Michael Gardiner said from the other side of the room. “Scott Jennings.”

  Mattison grinned again and nodded keenly. “Best young striker football has seen since Kane if you ask me.” He turned to Blake excitedly. “Do you know how many goals he scored in the last match?”

  “No, Matti,” Blake said. “But that could be because you could write what I know, or care, about football on a gnat’s toenail.”

  “Four,” enthused Mattison. “Four in one match! Gosworld Town were left in the dust, they didn’t have a chance!”

  Patil shook her head in disbelief. “I’m actually worried, Sir. I genuinely think he might leave me for Scott Jennings.”

  “He could do a lot worse,” Gardiner replied wryly. “I’ve been a keen follower of Harmschapel’s efforts for as long as I can remember. Scott Jennings has a bright future ahead of him. Give it a few years and I bet playing for Harmschapel will be a distant memory.”

  Blake sighed and shook his head. It was fair to say that football fever had well and truly taken the village of Harmschapel in a firm grip. The annual county cup competition was an event that usually went by without much fanfare, but this year was different. Even Blake, who was completely ignorant to any sporting event that went on, was all too aware of how much of an impact Harmschapel FC’s newest player, Scott Jennings, had had on the team’s success rate this year. Normally, Harmschapel would have been out of the running no later than around the fourth round, but now there was a real chance that the team could take their first victory since, according to Mattison, the competition had begun, fifty years ago. It did seem that Jennings’ skill had spurred on the rest of his team to step up their own game, and now Harmschapel was finally making itself known as something other than just ‘the village team.’ The final match was the next day and it felt like it was all the village was capable of talking about.

  “Mind you,” Gardiner continued. “Up against Clackton, they won’t have it easy.”

  “Scott will nail it,” Mattison replied firmly. “If anyone can finally knock Clackton off their perch, it’ll be him. I can’t wait for the final.”

  “Me neither,” Blake replied. “At least then this will all be over, and we can talk about something I actually know something about.”

  As if to illustrate his point, they heard a group of men passing the station through the open window. They were singing what sounded like an extremely drunk version of a chant that seemed to have been conceived in the opening matches of the competition, once it started to become clear that Harmschapel had a chance of doing well. It was, for some reason, performed to the melody of When The Saints Go Marching In. It was loud, raucous, and demonstrated the sort of rivalry that had been established between Harmschapel FC and Clackton United.

  “Oh, it’s Jennings,

  Oh, It’s Jennings,

  Here comes Jennings to save the day

  Harmschapel’s heading to the final

  Cause Jennings’ here to save the day!”

  Loud raucous cheering followed the song. Blake glanced at Mattison who was mouthing along to the chant as the singing faded away.

  “What?” he said, grinning cheekily. “I didn’t sing it.”

  Before Blake could reply, the door to the office of Inspector Angel opened. A second later, Ange
l stepped out, still as tall and as skeletal as ever. He was carrying a folder underneath his arm and had what appeared to be something dangerously close to a smile on his face. Jacob Angel was a steely, calm and icy man, though no matter how sharp and caustic he appeared to be, and often was, Blake could never forget how Angel had saved his life mere months ago from a man holding a gun at him. Since that day, Blake had always been slightly more forgiving with Angel’s passive aggressive remarks, though there had certainly been times when it had been a struggle.

  “Attention please, everyone,” Angel announced to the already quiet room. “I’d like to introduce you all to somebody. We have a new addition to our team.”

  “Somebody new?” Mattison repeated, turning his head towards Blake. “You never said, Sir.”

  Blake raised his eyebrows and shrugged. It was certainly news to him.

  A slim, blonde-haired woman who looked to be in her early twenties stepped out of Angel’s office. She had flawless skin, subtle makeup and her uniform looked pristine. Her thick blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail at the back of her head and as she smiled Blake sensed a mixture of shyness but resoluteness. Altogether, she was a very attractive young woman. Blake could not help but notice Mattison subtly smacking his lips together as if his mouth had suddenly gone incredibly dry. The action had not been unnoticed by Patil either, who narrowed her eyes at her boyfriend looking deeply suspicious.

  “I’d like you to meet Police Constable Lisa Fox. She’ll be joining us from today.”

  Blake remembered being introduced to the rest of Harmschapel police station on his first day, though his introductions had been done by their old boss, Inspector Royale. He could not help but feel Royale would have been able to stop Fox looking so nervous, as opposed to Angel who possessed none of his predecessor’s warmth.

  “Hi everyone,” Fox said, the strength of her voice betraying her slightly meek looking exterior.

  “Hi!” Mattison said, louder than everybody else’s polite greetings. Patil glanced at him with a withering look which silenced Mattison before he had a chance to say anything else.

  “That’s Police Constables Mattison and Patil,” Angel continued, pointing to them. “Over here we have Sergeant Michael Gardiner.”

  Gardiner gave her a curt nod, very similar to the one he had given Blake when they had first met. “Good morning.”

  “And over here we have Detective Sergeant Blake Harte.”

  Blake stood up as Angel moved forward and smiled at Fox. “Nice to meet you.”

  Fox took a strong grip of his arm and shook it. Again, Blake was surprised by her strength. “And you, Sir.”

  “Oh, that makes a change,” Gardiner drawled, idly shuffling through paperwork on his desk. “Normally when somebody in the force meets him for the first time they tell him how they’ve heard of his work and that brilliant brain of his. It’s nice to know he’s not completely world famous yet.”

  “I’m not famous,” Blake argued, suddenly incredibly conscious of the fact that everything Gardiner had just said was completely true. He turned back to Fox who was looking at him with an expression of confusion. “Just some of the cases we’ve worked on have become a little high profile in the aftermath, that’s all.”

  “Credit where credit is due,” Angel said, performing a facial expression that again looked dangerously close to a smile. “DS Harte has been the officer in charge of some very intriguing crimes and each one he has managed to find a logical answer for. I hope he is a good influence around you.”

  “I haven’t actually heard of you,” Fox said apologetically. “It all sounds impressive though. I’m really looking forward to working with you all.”

  “Yeah, us too,” Mattison said from behind them, nodding enthusiastically.

  Fox laughed bashfully and flicked her hair behind her ear. Blake could almost feel the heat exuding from the glare Patil was giving her.

  “If you need anything, just let me, well I mean, just let us know. Any of us. We’re all just a big friendly station,” Mattison said, his voice trailing off slightly as he perhaps realised he was babbling.

  Fox nodded, smiling at Mattison. “I will. Thank you.”

  Angel, perhaps sensing that his newest officer was at risk of having the pen Patil was holding thrust up her nose, cleared his throat. “Well, if you’ll just follow me Constable Fox, I shall take you through to reception. Come this way.”

  “Nice meeting all of you,” Fox said as she followed Angel out of the meeting room. She turned back towards the room and Blake was sure she threw a small smile at Mattison as she left.

  When she was gone, the room was silent for a few moments.

  “Well,” Mattison said at last, watching the door Fox had just disappeared through. “I think she seems nice.” His eyes darted around the room and at then at the unimpressed face of his girlfriend. “What?”

  Before anyone could reply, the door opened again and Sergeant Mandy Darnwood walked in the room.

  “I’ve just had a call from your other half,” she said to Blake.

  “Harrison?” Blake asked, raising his eyebrows. “Why? Is he alright?”

  “Apparently there’s a fight kicking off in the shop,” Darnwood replied, reading through what she had written down on the paper as if she was incapable of remembering a conversation she must have only just had.

  Blake groaned. “About what?”

  “You’ll have to ask Harrison,” Darnwood said in a voice that suggested she was attempting sympathy to what Blake was about to have to deal with. “My guess is that it’s more football related stuff. You know what these fans are like. They sink a few in the pub, bump into each other and all hell breaks loose when they realise that they support different teams. It’s ridiculous, honestly. My fella knows better than to bring it up. I can’t stand it.”

  Blake sighed and pulled his coat on. “Come on, Michael,” he said. “Let’s go and sort them out.”

  Ignoring Gardiner’s grumbling, Blake strolled out of the meeting room, vaguely aware of bickering starting behind him from Mattison and Patil as he left.

  When they arrived at Harrison’s shop, it did not take long for them to identify where the trouble was coming from. The shop was empty, aside from Harrison and his boss Jai Sinha, who were both standing behind the counter watching two young lads facing off with each other by the newspapers.

  The tallest one reminded Blake of the boys in PE he had despised at school. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with broad shoulders and short brown hair. His muscles were visible in his arms as he flexed them at his rival, a shorter, blonde haired man of a similar age wearing black framed glasses. Both were glaring furiously at each other and neither looked away from the other’s eyes as Blake and Gardiner walked in.

  “What’s going on here?” Blake asked Harrison, who was watching the two men with a concerned look in his eyes.

  “The shorter one followed Scott in,” Harrison told him. “Started shouting about something or other and then the next thing they were pushing each other about. Now they’re refusing to leave.”

  “Scott?” Blake asked, frowning. “You know one of them?”

  “Detective,” Gardiner interjected. “Even you must know Scott Jennings when he’s in front of you. He’s only what all the village is going on about of late.”

  Blake turned in surprise to stare at the object of Harmschapel’s affections. “That’s Scott Jennings?”

  Scott seemed completely unaware of his name being spoken, even though Blake was not talking quietly. He merely looked down at the shorter man with what looked like a snarl forming in the corner of his mouth.

  “That’s what she said, Peter, so back off!” He threw his arms back and then pushed the man he had called Peter away from him. Peter stumbled backwards, landing in a pile of crisp boxes that had been stacked in the corner. He was immediately on his feet again and began charging towards Scott, before Blake stepped in and swiftly took hold of his shoulders.

  “That�
��s enough,” he said sharply. “What is going on? Do you have to do this in the middle of a shop?”

  “He’s nuts,” Scott said sharply. “He just followed me in here and started shouting.”

  “Yeah, and you know why!” Peter replied angrily. “Substitute? You’ve had me taken off the pitch!”

  “Like it was anything to do with me!” Scott shouted. “You know Hattie, she makes her own decisions!”

  “Yeah, when pushed by you!”

  “That’s enough,” Blake thundered. “Now, we can do this quickly and nicely or we can do it the hard way. And considering I have just been pulled away from my work, which is a lot more important than dealing with whatever you two are arguing about, the hard way is fine with me!” He moved Peter towards the door. “Alternatively, you can go this way and go somewhere and cool off, and you, Scott, can go about your business. Well?”

  “I want them arrested, Mr Detective!” Jai Sinha proclaimed from behind the counter. “They come in here, causing trouble, frightening away my customers! I’m losing business while this is going on!”

  “It’s true,” Harrison replied, looking more confident now Blake was here to deal with the situation. “Old Mrs Featherstone was in here buying her knitting magazine. She left it behind when these two started.”

  “I’m not arresting anyone for Mrs Featherstone not being able to buy her bloody knitting magazine,” Blake replied curtly. He moved Peter towards the door. “C’mon, go. Take a walk, calm yourself down.”

  “And just stay out of my way at practice tonight,” Scott called from over Blake’s shoulder. “Not that you’re really needed. I doubt there’s a lot of point in a substitute turning up to a practice. It’s not like we’ll be needing you in the match.”

  “I said button it,” Blake told him as he stepped in to stop Peter from charging at him again. “Just go.”

  Peter threw one last furious glare at his adversary then stormed off down the street. As he marched past the window, Blake watched to ensure he did not try and turn back for another round. When he was out of sight, he turned his attention back to Scott.