Touch

by Robert Innes

  Hattie gave a small smile. “The afternoon of the final, I received a phone call from Scott. We became quite close all things considered and he knew that he could rely on me to help him out. He’d become rather in debt with his dealer, I’m afraid I don’t know who it is. I doubt it’s that important. Anyway, I’m sure you of all people know that drug dealers are not the sort of people to be in debt with. They get angry and Scott’s dealer was no different.”

  “His dealer stabbed him?”

  Hattie nodded. “I found him near the field where that fight you were talking about was going to take place. He was lying on the ground, clutching his side and was bleeding quite heavily. I told him that we needed to get him to the hospital, but he refused. I swear to you, I tried to get him professional help, honestly I tried.”

  “I believe you,” said Blake.

  “But he insisted that he was not going to miss the match. I examined his wound and I could see that while it was deep, it looked a lot worse than it actually was. He was lucky, really, which I know sounds ironic given what ended up happening, but I could have found him dead there and then. He kept badgering me about not missing the match, and he point blank refused to be put on the sub bench. Steroids are dangerous, Detective. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that. They make you feel invincible. In his normal state of mind, I’m sure he would have agreed that he was in no fit state to be anywhere near that pitch, but he got angry and eventually I agreed to do what I could. I am first aid trained, not brilliantly, but I know the basics. I stitched him up and wrapped the wound in bandages. When he dropped down on the pitch, I knew that if any of the police saw the bandages, it would not take long for you to put the pieces together and then my career would be on the line. I’ve worked too hard to lose everything.”

  “So, when you rushed onto the pitch and removed his top, you weren’t there to try and make everything easier for the medics?” Blake clarified. “You pulled his top up and got rid of the bandages too?”

  Hattie nodded.

  “Which is what you were disposing of in the bin when me and Peter Simpkins found you outside the fire exit?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a long pause. Hattie leant back in her chair and the dignity and grace that she had been trying to exude began to fall away.

  “Competitiveness has always been my strength and my weakness,” she murmured. “It clouds my judgment more than any drug ever could.”

  “I have just one more thing to ask you,” Blake said. “Do you believe that Scott overdosed on steroids?”

  Hattie pulled out a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose loudly. Blake suspected this was the closest she had come to displaying emotion for a long time.

  “No, I don’t,” she replied. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. I admit Scott would push himself pretty close to the line, but I got him to show me once just how much he was taking. It was enough, I grant you, but not enough to kill him. If he had taken any more, then perhaps he would have been in trouble. Even the smallest of injections would probably have pushed him over the edge.”

  “I see,” Blake replied. “Okay, I think we’re…”

  Then, his voice trailed off. A sudden memory flashed in his mind’s eye. Suddenly, everything made sense.

  “A small injection,” he muttered.

  “I’m sorry?” Hattie asked, looking confused.

  “Lisa, charge her and put her in the cell.”

  Fox spun around in her chair as Blake suddenly rose to his feet.

  “Of course,” she said, “Are you going somewhere?”

  “I’ve just worked out who killed Scott. I’m sure of it.”

  Before Fox or Hattie could say anything else, Blake hurried out of the room.

  11

  Peter stepped out of the interview room and took a deep breath. He felt numb and hollow. It felt impossible to him that he had begun his day performing an activity as banal as playing on his PlayStation. He felt a huge pang of regret and sadness that Ashley had even come around his house to talk to him, that he had even spoken to Ashley about any of his suspicions regarding Hattie. The unsurmountable guilt he felt at this moment felt like it would never disappear.

  As he leaned against the wall, Constable Patil followed him out of the interview room and patted him tenderly on the arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” Peter replied. I’m alright.” It was a complete lie, but he knew that there was nothing Patil could say to him to make him feel any better. There was only one person he wanted to see at this moment, the only person who could have any chance of healing any of his internal pain at this moment. He had called her when he had been waiting to be interviewed and as he stepped outside, his heart lifted slightly as he saw her.

  Sarah walked towards him and gave him a huge, tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I really am. I don’t even know what to say.”

  “I think it’s probably the same situation as I found myself in yesterday,” Peter replied, shrugging. “There’s nothing to say, really.”

  Sarah nodded. “I’ve got us a lift. You can stay at mine tonight, if you want to. I know I said I wanted to be on my own last night, but when I got back, I was so glad that my flatmate was there to listen to me cry and rant at her. It did help in a small way.”

  The dull ache inside Peter lessened slightly. “That’d be great, thank you.”

  “I can’t believe Ashley’s gone,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “Even Scott liked Ashley. He was probably the only person on that team who Scott respected. I was saying the same to Paul. He’s got his car just here. Come on.”

  Peter looked up as Paul climbed out of the driver’s seat and walked towards him.

  “Peter, mate. I’m sorry.” He pulled Peter in and hugged him tightly. “I can’t believe this has happened. Our team has just been blown apart. First Scott, now Hattie and Ashley. God only knows what we’re going to do now.”

  Peter groaned. “Trust me, the team is the last thing on my mind at the minute. I just want to forget about it all. It’s not that easy though really, is it?”

  “Nah. Course not,” Paul replied, slapping Peter on the arm. “Come on then. I bought some beers, they’re chilling in Sarah’s fridge. Scott always said that the answer to everything was at the bottom of a beer bottle. I don’t reckon he was far wrong tonight, do you?”

  “Sounds great,” Peter said, nodding.

  They all turned to walk back towards the car.

  “Just a minute,” said a voice behind them.

  Blake Harte was running down the station and striding towards them.

  “Is that the policeman in charge of the investigation?” whispered Sarah.

  “Yeah,” Peter muttered. “He’s alright. He’s been quite nice to me so far. Mind you, he doesn’t look happy now, does he?”

  Blake reached the three of them and narrowed his eyes. “Peter, I’m sorry about what’s happened to you today. I know it’s not the same thing, but we lost a good officer at this station not so long ago. He was a great man and the team’s not really been the same since.”

  Peter nodded. “Thanks.”

  “For you to lose two people, especially in this sort of quick succession, it’s not fair,” Blake went on. “And to you, Sarah. I’m sorry about Scott.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said, smiling.

  Then Blake turned to Paul and his expression suddenly darkened. “Why? Why do it?”

  Paul stared at Blake looking stunned. “I’m sorry?”

  “I mean, weirdly, somebody like Scott with plenty of enemies, the way he treated people, you can sort of understand it,” Blake continued, “but you? You were supposed to be his best mate, weren’t you? That’s all I ever heard of anybody at the start of the investigation. How you were the only one who could calm Scott down. The steroids turned him into a bit of a monster when all is said and done. And you seemed to always manage to get through to him.”

  Paul’s mouth fell open, but no words came out.


  Sarah stared at Blake. “Sorry, what are you talking about? Steroids? Scott?”

  “I know it was you, Paul,” Blake replied. “When you realised that Scott had been stabbed, I bet you thought all your Christmases had come at once. Nobody would ever suspect what you did to him. The problem was forensics can tell. He didn’t die from that stab wound, he overdosed on the drugs that he was on, but he didn’t personally inject everything that was in his body, did he? You gave him that last little bit that pushed him over the edge.”

  Paul shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what you think you’re on about, mate, but you’ve got this all wrong. Scott was my best mate, why would I do anything like that to him?”

  “Look at Sarah,” Blake told him. “Did you see her face when I mentioned steroids? She had no idea. And she was his girlfriend. You didn’t look in the slightest bit surprised.”

  “Yeah,” Paul mumbled. “I knew he was on them, but I-”

  “I can get hold of your football kit,” Blake told him. “And forensics will be able to determine where you injected him, now they know what they’re looking for and where to look for the entry wound.”

  Paul’s expression went from shocked to serious in just a few moments.

  “Come on, Paul,” Blake said. “The game’s up. I know you did it and you know I know you did it. Make it easier for yourself.”

  Sarah turned to Paul looking horrified. “Paul? What is he on about? What did you do?”

  Paul closed his eyes and sighed. He had gone incredibly pale.

  “Do you know what it’s like being mates with someone like Scott?” he said quietly, his voice threatening to crack. “Mates do things for one another. Not Scott. Once he started putting that poison into himself, he just lost it. The guy I’d drank beers with and pulled girls with on the town, the guy I’d made a promise with to always have his back and he’d always have mine, that guy was long gone. He became cruel and heartless. Every time we left the pitch, I’d tell him how great he’d done and how much he’d done the team proud and all I ever got back was disdain. It was like he’d lost interest. I tried to be a good mate to him throughout the steroid thing. He promised that he’d come off them, but I knew he never would. As far as he was concerned, the drugs were the only thing he ever needed.”

  He turned to Sarah, a single tear falling down his cheek. “The way he used to talk about you, talking about how you were in bed, how you were his property, how he didn’t like that we were mates. You never saw any of that, did you?”

  Sarah appeared too stunned to speak. Instinctively, Peter put his arm around her and she huddled closer to him, backing away from Paul.

  “So, you decided that he needed to be taught a lesson?” Blake asked. “It was a clever little trick, Paul, I’ll give you that. And it happened so quickly right in front of my eyes and I never even gave it a second thought. Putting a needle in your football boot. Risky, but you’re a goal keeper. Out of everybody on that pitch, you do the least amount of running. Except when you have to save a goal, which is why two went past your head isn’t it? Because you had to be careful on your feet.”

  Paul glanced at Peter and Sarah, looking utterly crestfallen. “I was replacing my studs last week when I thought of it. We’d just finished practice and Scott was banging on about this fight he wanted to arrange with the Clackton lads. I could see what he was becoming, he was unhinged. Sarah, like it or not, it was only going to be a matter of time before he started turning on you. I was worried. I only wanted to put him in the hospital for a bit, make him realise how dangerous the drugs were but on the day on the final I put a bit too much in. I know Scott’s dealer. He was getting pissed off enough that Scott was late paying him and Scott being the invincible superhero that he was just thought he’d get away with it.

  “The dealer set me up with a smaller needle, one I could fit into one of the studs in my boot. Like you said, I had to be careful but it all worked out to the letter. The first half finished, I’d let two goals in, but I knew that couldn’t be helped. Compared to what I was about to do, the match was the last thing on my mind. I’d covered the needle with a bit of glass. It was okay on the pitch but as soon as I was standing on concrete, I could smash it and then the needle would be exposed.

  “When Alan and Scott were fighting, I knew the moment was right. I smashed the glass against the ground and just stood on his foot. He didn’t like that, but I figured that he wouldn’t remember much about it.”

  “’Ow, that was my foot, you idiot,’ I think were the words, weren’t they?” Blake asked.

  “Something like that,” Paul mused. “Classic Scott.”

  “And from there, it took a few minutes for the drugs to work their magic,” Blake concluded. “It just so happened that Scott was standing on his own in the middle of the pitch with nobody near him, which made the whole thing look absolutely crazy. There was just so much else going on, your subtle little trick nearly went completely unnoticed.”

  Sarah stepped back in horror. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” she whispered. “You. You killed him?”

  “I’m sorry,” Paul replied. “I don’t know what else to say.” He looked up at Sarah and stared at her as if he was trying to absorb the image of her. “You know, old Petey boy here is crazy about you.”

  Peter immediately removed his arm from around Sarah’s shoulder. “I dunno what you mean.”

  “And he’s not the only one,” finished Paul. “You’re one of the most stunning girls I’ve ever met, inside and out. You could do worse than Peter. Better than Scott or me put together.”

  “Come on,” Blake said, leading him towards the station. “Let’s me and you go and talk some more.”

  Paul nodded and walked with Blake a little way towards the station. Peter and Sarah stood routed to the spot, unable to believe what they had just heard.

  As Paul reached the top of the station steps, he turned again to face them. He was now crying freely and mouthed “I’m sorry,” at Sarah.

  She turned away, grasping Peter by the hand and they set off down the street together. Peter said nothing. He just clutched onto her hand tightly. As much as he was shocked and appalled by what Paul had done, one thing he could relate to was the feeling of being head over heels about the beautiful woman by his side.

  Two Months Later

  Blake fumbled with the keys to Juniper Cottage and pushed the door open, fully aware that he was going to fall forwards a second before the door opened.

  “Whoops!” he exclaimed as he landed face first on the floor, giggling inanely.

  Harrison spluttered with laughter and leant down to pick him up.

  “You’re an idiot. A drunken sport-loving idiot.”

  “Hey now,” Blake replied as he felt himself being picked up off the floor. “I am not sport-loving. I dislike sport a huge amount.”

  “Yes,” Harrison said, grinning. “If you say so.” He manoeuvred Blake to the sofa and dropped him on it. “Although, even you can’t deny you got excited watching that final today. That started before you had that fifth pint.”

  “Yeah, well.” Blake chuckled. “It didn’t last as long as normal football, plus I know the striker. Oh yeah, me and the footie lads, we get on very well.”

  The final between Harmschapel and Clackton had finally been arranged for that afternoon and the FA had agreed that the game only needed to be played from the second half onwards. Nobody in Harmschapel had held out much hope of their team being able to score three goals in the space of half an hour, but somehow, Peter Simpkins had led the team to victory, scoring them two goals out of three, the final one being in the last minute of gameplay. Harmschapel had won the country cup for the first time in decades and the mood around the village was jubilant.

  “I bet you’re thankful I dragged you there with me now,” Harrison said as he sat down next to Blake. “I’m going to tell everybody I know that you were the loudest fan there, the one who cheered the loudest and, if you don’t bring me a cup
of tea in bed for the next week, I will shout from the rooftops that you actually cried when Peter scored that final goal.”

  Blake stared at his boyfriend outraged. “I did not!”

  “You so did.”

  Blake sunk into the sofa and stuck his tongue out. “Yeah, well. You get yourself caught in the moment. Plus, like I say, Peter Simpkins deserved that victory today, especially after everything he went through to get it. I even heard a rumour that they were going to make him the next manager.”

  “Really?” Harrison said, looking delighted. “That’s awesome. He’ll be brilliant. Not bad for a team with two dead players and a goalkeeper in prison.”

  “Turns out subs are there for a reason,” Blake said, sucking gratefully on his ecig.

  “Hey,” Harrison said softly, taking hold of Blake’s hand. “How are you feeling about going to bed tonight?”

  Blake’s mood immediately deflated. “Worried, if I’m honest. I don’t want to dream about it tonight. I really don’t.”

  “I know,” Harrison said. “Look, I know you’re drunk and I know you’re feeling boisterous to say the least, but when we wake up tomorrow, let’s maybe look into getting you to see somebody. We’ll book you in with the doctors and see how we go from there, yeah?”

  Blake nodded. The dreams of the old woman in the house had continued with gusto the past few months and he was starting to fear going to bed at night. He had battled internally with the idea that he needed to seek counselling again, mainly because he had no idea why the dreams had returned after so long, but it was getting to the point where he had been falling asleep at work and enough was enough.

  “We’ll sort it,” Harrison said, leaning in and kissing him. “Whatever’s causing it, we’ll get to the bottom of it. I promise.”

  “I know,” Blake said. “Still though, beds are great for sleep. And other things.”

  Harrison grinned. “Oh, yes? And what other things might they be?”