Touch

by Robert Innes

  “And you were in here all the time?” Blake asked. “Right till the moment Scott died?”

  “Yes!”

  Blake narrowed his eyes. He was not entirely convinced Alan was telling the truth, but he was also finding it difficult to argue with the logic of Alan being nowhere near the pitch at the time of Scott’s death.

  “Tell me about last night. What was going on?”

  Alan shrugged again. “Scott wanted some of us to meet up.”

  “For what?”

  “We wanted to get this rivalry sorted once and for all,” Alan said smirking. “Harmschapel and Clackton have always been against each other. We’re close enough for us to play against each other all the time, we hate them and they hate us. It was alright till Scott got on the team. Then he started causing trouble for us. I don’t suppose you remember a few months ago when Thomas Edwards, one of our strikers, got jumped in the street?”

  “Did you report it?”

  “Course we did, but nothing got done about it,” Alan said moodily, as if Blake had been personally responsible for the lack of action in the case. “Thomas is a decent bloke, he wouldn’t hurt a fly, he’s soft. Maybe a bit too soft because it made him an easy target. He was in hospital for a week and missed some really important matches. When he came out of hospital, he wasn’t interested in playing anymore. I know that Scott had something to do with it.”

  “You don’t know that. Your friend might just have been mugged. It’s a terrible thing, but it happens.”

  “He wasn’t the only one. A few of Clackton United have been attacked by lads and one of them saw Scott’s face. He was trying to hide it underneath his hoody, but we knew it was him. So when this meet up got arranged, we had an idea what it was going to be about so we came prepared.”

  “With baseball bats?” Blake said in disbelief. “What were you going to do?”

  “We weren’t going to do anything,” Alan replied, rolling his eyes. “We thought turning up with something to defend ourselves would scare them off. But that, Scott, man. He was a nutcase. He had the worst temper of anyone I’ve ever met, and I’ve met some pretty angry blokes. We didn’t think you were going to turn up though.”

  “We got a tip off,” said Blake. “Someone rang us to report the fact that there was going to be this big fight.”

  “We didn’t want to fight anybody,” Alan insisted. “But you can’t expect us not to defend ourselves.”

  Blake rubbed between his eyes. His lack of sleep from the night before was starting to take its toll.

  “What started the fight before the second half?”

  “He did,” Alan said simply. “He started laying into me, calling me a joke, how I was an embarrassment to the team. He said he didn’t know how I could show my face around Clackton when I was such a bad player and then started slagging off my family. I lost it.”

  “And then you pushed him?”

  “Yeah and got sent off. He provoked me and yet I get sent off? That referee was crap. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

  Blake sensed he was not going to get any useful information out of Alan.

  “Alright, that’ll do for now,” he sighed. “I’m going to need to talk to you again though so make sure you stay where I can get in contact with you.”

  Alan huffed moodily and stood up. “Where else am I going to be? I’ve got to wait and find out when the match is going to be started again. Whatever happens though, we’re two-nil up. Clackton have got this in the bag.”

  He smirked at Mattison and then strode out of the room. Mattison looked like he wanted to retort with something but a quick glare from Blake silenced him.

  “Now what?” Patil asked.

  Blake shrugged. “We have two football teams worth of potential witnesses and suspects to interview. First, I want to talk to that manager.”

  “Which manager?” Mattison asked as they sidled out of the changing room. “Alan’s manager?”

  “No,” murmured Blake. “I want to speak to Hattie Atkins.”

  The corridor to Hattie’s office reminded Blake of the cold and stark entrance to the headmistresses’ office at school, even down to the pictures of the highest achieving students on the wall. As he walked down the corridor and towards the office door, a brief flash of one of the dark and endless corridors of the old house swept through his mind. Blake closed his eyes and steadied himself against the wall.

  “Enough,” he muttered to himself. “Get a grip.”

  “Hello?” said a voice behind him.

  Blake opened his eyes and turned to see Peter Simpkins walking towards him.

  “Are you looking for Hattie?” Peter asked, gazing at Blake with trepidation. “Is she not in there?”

  “I haven’t actually tried yet,” Blake said.

  Peter reached past him and knocked sharply on the door.

  “Hattie?” he called. There was no response.

  Blake frowned. “Where would she be? She was told not to go anywhere, everyone was.”

  “She might be outside having a smoke,” Peter replied, shrugging. “She normally goes out the fire exit. I can take you to her if you like. I need to talk to her myself anyway.”

  “That’d be great, thanks,” Blake replied as they set off back down the corridor together. “While I’ve got you, can I ask you some questions about your relationship with Scott?”

  Peter looked up at Blake nervously. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “I didn’t say you did,” Blake replied cheerfully as he held the door at the end of the corridor open. “You didn’t get on very well with him though, did you?”

  “No, not really,” Peter said, still looking nervous. “Can you blame me though? The guy was a bully. Sorry, but I’m not exactly sorry that’s he’s dead.”

  “That’s alright,” Blake replied. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that. Even from the people who had nothing to do with the murder.”

  Peter appeared to mellow slightly. “I guess.”

  “The problem I have though is that it seems that there aren’t that many people who are sorry that he’s dead,” Blake continued. “Do you happen to know if Scott had many more enemies?”

  “Anybody on the Clackton team,” Peter said as they pushed their way through another door. “Scott wasn’t the sort of person to have many friends. I mean he had Paul, his best mate, and then of course there’s Sarah.”

  “Who’s Sarah?”

  “His girlfriend.”

  “Was she at the match today?”

  “Probably,” Peter replied with a shrug. “She’s going to be devastated. I think she saw something in Scott that nobody else did. God knows what.”

  “You said that Scott was a bully. Did he bully you?”

  Peter’s expression turned dark. “Yeah. You could say that. I’ve never known anybody with a temper like his. He just liked throwing his weight around and intimidating people. It was like he just had to be top dog. He first joined the team about six months after I did.”

  “And when he started, you were the striker? You’ll have to forgive me, I don’t really follow football.”

  Peter gave Blake a small smile. “It’s nice to talk to somebody who doesn’t care how far Harmschapel gets in the competition. It feels like all I’ve had for the past few months is people going on about how important it is for Harmschapel to win.”

  “Nope, couldn’t care less,” Blake said cheerfully. “I bet it puts a lot of pressure on you guys though. Everyone you know wanting you to win?”

  Peter raised his eyebrows. “I wish it was just everybody I knew. I’ve had complete strangers yelling at me in the street telling me that we have to win. Even people who don’t live in Harmschapel.”

  Blake was surprised. “Really? Why would anybody who doesn’t live here care if Harmschapel win or not?”

  “I guess people like the underdog,” Peter replied. “Clackton has won the county cup so many times. This is the fire exit.”

  They arrived at a large gre
en door with an emergency handle across it. Peter pushed the door open and they were suddenly face to face with Hattie Atkins. She was standing next to a wheelie bin and had the lid held open having just dropped something inside it. When she saw Blake and Peter she slammed the lid shut and turned around quickly to face them.

  “Simpkins!” she exclaimed. “What do you want? I thought you were all being questioned.”

  “We are,” Peter replied. “I think the officer wants to talk to you though and you weren’t in your office. I was looking for you too though. I was wondering if you knew whether the match was going to be rescheduled?”

  “You mean you were wondering if you would be back on the pitch now that Scott’s dead?” Hattie said coldly. “And my answer to that is how the hell should I know? I may have decades worth of sporting experience behind me, but this is the first time I’ve ever had a player murdered in the middle of a game! You’ll forgive me if I don’t know what the procedure is. Now if there’s nothing else?”

  Peter glanced up at Blake, looking slightly stung by Hattie’s words.

  “I may well have to speak to you again, Peter,” Blake said kindly. “Don’t go anywhere exotic for the next few days.”

  Peter nodded and then gave Hattie a final nervous glance before walking off around the corner.

  Hattie seemed completely unconcerned by the admonishment she had just given him. She merely lit a cigarette. Blake stared for a moment at the dark brown roll up and immediately felt his cravings kicking in. Quitting smoking had become the bane of his life since arriving in Harmschapel.

  “And what can I do for you?” Hattie asked him sharply.

  “Detective Sergeant Blake Harte,” Blake said, holding up his ID. “I was wondering what you could tell me about Scott. Have you been his manager since he joined the team?”

  “I have,” Hattie replied. “In fact, I was the one who selected him. I’ve been in this game long enough to know raw talent when I see it. The minute I saw how Scott played, I knew we needed him on the team.”

  “And how did he get on with the rest of the team?”

  Hattie inhaled on her roll up and blew the smoke out, taking very little care in not blowing it in Blake’s face.

  “I won’t deny he ruffled a few feathers,” she said airily. “But they also respected him. I’ve always installed in any team I’ve ever managed that learning from your peers is vital. If you see a player performing better than you, you need to be asking yourself ‘why? What are they doing that I’m failing at?’”

  “Sounds like an interesting way to encourage a team,” Blake said, raising an eyebrow. “Surely you want to be installing confidence in them?”

  “Have you ever managed a football team?”

  “No.”

  “And I have never been a police officer, which is why I wouldn’t dream in trying to tell you how to do your job. I would appreciate the same curtesy.”

  “I see. Were you aware that six members of the team met up with some of Clackton United to fight them?”

  Hattie stared at Blake. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Last night, my officers and I were called to that field over there.” Blake pointed behind Hattie. “We received a report that there was an arranged fight taking place. When we got there, we found six members of your team about to start a punch up with some of the Clackton lads.”

  Hattie threw her rollup on the floor and stubbed it out with her foot. “You must be mistaken.”

  “I don’t think so. From what I can gather, Scott was the instigator.”

  Hattie shook her head. “Utter nonsense. I take it I’m not in custody?”

  “No.”

  “Then if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. I have some phone calls to make about today’s events. I am also rather expecting the media will be in touch with me and I need to prepare a statement.”

  “I will need to speak to you again,” Blake said as she pushed past him and yanked the door open.

  “Feel free,” she replied. “I have nothing to hide.”

  She slammed the door in Blake’s face leaving him alone to consider what she had said. He was sure she certainly did have something to hide. Even the way she had slammed down the lid of the wheelie bin had aroused Blake’s suspicions. He turned to the bin and put his hand on the handle.

  “Sir!”

  Blake turned to see Mattison running towards him.

  “There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

  “What’s wrong, Matti?” Blake asked him, his hand still hovering over the handle of the bin.

  “We’ve just opened Scott’s locker. You’re going to want to see this.”

  Blake nodded and then followed Mattison to the changing rooms, leaving the contents of the bin unchecked.

  6

  Considering that the man he hated more than anybody else was now dead and the chances of him being put back on the pitch had now risen greatly, Peter was a little surprised by how unhappy he was feeling.

  The lateness of the match meant that it was now starting to get dark and the streetlights around him were beginning to flicker on. Peter was sitting on a wall facing the stadium, attempting to digest the magnitude of everything that had happened that day. Compared to how busy it had been only a couple of hours ago, the stadium now looked almost eerie, even though he knew it was still a hive of activity inside, what with all the police he had seen wandering around.

  Scott Jennings was dead. The sentence kept repeating itself in his mind and it still was not making any sense. Peter had been standing on the side of the pitch watching everything and he could not work out how it was possible for anybody to get to Scott from his position. None of it made any sense.

  He thought about what Blake had said about Scott having enemies. Certainly, Scott had not been an easy man to play with. He was aggressive, arrogant, and unpredictable and had tried to intimidate anybody who questioned the authority he clearly felt he had over the rest of the team. In the past few months, Peter had seen team members he had once gotten on very well with become little more than sheep, following Scott around to do his bidding. Even Paul Wainthropp had been a good friend to Peter before Scott had joined the team and he certainly would not have been the sort of person to join in an arranged fight.

  At that moment, Peter spotted Sarah walking away from the stadium. As he had predicted, she looked incredibly upset. She was walking quickly in his direction, her heels clicking on the ground.

  “Sarah!” he called.

  Sarah looked up at him. Even with the dimming light, he could see that she had been crying. Her makeup was smeared on her face and as she approached, her eyes were red, and her cheeks were wet.

  “Peter,” she murmured. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Are you okay? Stupid question I know.”

  Sarah sniffed loudly, perhaps in an attempt to stop herself bursting into tears again. “I just can’t believe it. I mean I know Scott could be an arsehole sometimes, of course I did, but why would anybody want to murder him? He wasn’t that bad, was he?”

  Peter could not think of anything to say to defend Scott so merely shrugged and said, “I’m sure the police will find whoever did this.”

  “They’ve just been questioning me,” Sarah replied quietly. “Asking me all sorts about Scott and who might have wanted to hurt him. I told them I didn’t have a clue.” Her lip wobbled as she sat down next to him on the wall. “What am I supposed to do without him?”

  Peter placed a cautious arm around her shoulder, trying to ignore the feeling of his stomach somersaulting. “I know it’s hard. I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but I promise it will get easier. You’re just in shock at the minute and to be honest nobody could blame you for that.”

  “I just wish I hadn’t…” her voice trailed off as she wiped away tears from her eyes.

  “What?”

  She glanced at him nervously. “No, nothing.”

  Peter frowned. “No, go on. You can
talk to me, I promise.”

  Sarah took a deep breath. “Were you involved in that fight last night?”

  “The one with Clackton? No. I mean, I was there, but I didn’t know what I was walking in on. I heard Scott and Paul discussing it and I followed them there and ended up nearly getting arrested.

  “Why?”

  Sarah looked at him fearfully. “It was me.”

  “What was you?”

  “I called the police,” Sarah said nervously. “I reported the fight. You know when you sent me flying yesterday and I then went to meet Scott and Paul? They were talking about it then. I tried to put them off the idea, but you know Scott. He wasn’t having any of it. I know what some of those Clackton lads are like though. There’s no way they would have just turned up and let themselves get beaten up, but Scott just seemed to think that there was no way he could possibly lose. It was the only way I could think of to stop it from happening. Please don’t tell anyone.”

  Peter’s eyes were wide. He had been racking his brains trying to work out who might have called the police, but the last person he had expected it to be was Sarah. He suddenly admired her even more.

  “I won’t. I think you did the right thing though.”

  “Really?”

  “For sure. Did he tell you the Clackton lads turned up with baseball bats? If the police hadn’t shown up when they did, I don’t even know what would have happened.”

  Sarah shook her head as she wiped her eyes again. “Scott told me that he had two of them on the floor.”

  Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding.”

  “He actually said that the cops turning up probably saved the Clackton lads. He really thought he was invincible sometimes.”

  Peter was struggling to understand what Sarah could possibly have ever seen in Scott, though he also sensed that it was not the right moment to broach the subject.

  Sarah rested her head on Peter’s shoulder and for a few moments they sat in silence looking up at the stadium. If the situation had been in different circumstances, it would have almost been rather romantic, but Peter was fully aware that Sarah was feeling fragile and he was not the sort of man to take advantage.