False Nine (18 page)

‘This is a sleepy little place. It helps to keep us awake.’

‘I guess so.’

‘I’ve just been reading about you, as you can see.’ She pointed at her leather-topped partner’s desk where, on a laptop, I saw my Wikipedia entry displayed on screen. ‘It seems that you and I went to the same university.’

‘On an island as small as this that makes us practically related,’ I said.

She laughed again. ‘I think so. And I think we must have overlapped by a year.’

‘I’d like to say I remember something like that, but I don’t.’

What was wrong with the men on Antigua? To let a woman as fine as this one go unclaimed. She wasn’t even wearing an engagement ring.

‘Please. Sit down. Would you like some tea?’

‘English tea?’

‘What else would I offer someone who went to Birmingham University?’ she said.

‘You make it sound like the Old Vicarage, Grantchester.’

‘It was for a girl like me. I loved every minute.’

Mrs Doughty looked at the secretary still hovering in the doorway. ‘Tracy, would you bring us all some tea and biscuits please?’

‘Is that where you got your LLB? At Birmingham?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You didn’t ever want to stay on in England and practise there?’

‘Too cold,’ she said. ‘And too wet.’

‘You got that right.’ I smiled, liking her own smile which matched the string of white pearls around her neck and trying to keep my eyes off the Grand Canyon-deep fissure of cleavage that lay close to it.

‘And the interest in karate? Where did that come from?’

‘Oh that. At Birmingham, too. I was into a lot of sports there. I even played a bit of women’s football. And supported Aston Villa.’

‘Someone’s got to, I suppose.’

‘Hey, just a few years before I started my LLB they finished sixth in the table. If they hadn’t sold Dwight Yorke to Manchester United they might have finished even higher. Somehow the purchase of Paul Merson never quite made up for that. He was good but never as good as Yorkie.’

I made a quick
Question of Sport
guess. ‘That must be the 1998–99 season you’re talking about.’

She nodded.

‘At one point – Christmas – we were top of the Premier League. They’ll come good again, I feel sure of it,’ she said.

We chatted like this until the tea arrived but as soon as it was served I tried to bring her to the point of me being there.

‘So, Miss Doughty, what makes you think you can help me find Jérôme Dumas?’

‘Just so as we’re clear here. You
are
looking for him?’

‘It would seem pointless denying it after you heard everything I said to Inspector White.’

‘And that you’re acting in the interests of FC Barcelona.’

‘Not just them. Paris Saint-Germain, too. Strictly speaking, he’s still their player, on loan to FCB.’

‘Last of all, is it your intention when you’ve found Jérôme Dumas to take him straight back to Europe?’

‘Yes. It is. The season is well under way and he’s needed to bolster their chances of winning the league. There’s an important match coming up against Madrid and they’d like him back well before that so that he’s truly match-fit.’

‘Then I’m certain I can help you to find him.’

‘That’s great. But before I say “you’re hired” can I ask if your certainty is based on something better than just the same kind of optimism that says Aston Villa will come good again?’

‘It is. I can’t be too specific at this stage but I can tell you that the help I’m offering isn’t just from me. It comes from a reliable source. My client. Who wishes to remain anonymous at this stage.’

‘Is this someone who’s looking for a generous payday? Because I should warn you I’m only authorised to pay any kind of reward when Mr Dumas is safely back in Barcelona.’

‘On the contrary. My client asks for no money at all.’

‘I like him already. Do you know where he is? Mr Dumas?’

‘No. I don’t. And nor does my client. But he does know where he might be. To that extent you will still have to go and look for him. But at least now you’ll know that you’re looking in the right place.’

‘I thought I was in the right place.’

‘Not yet, you aren’t. Look, I’m sorry to be so cryptic, Mr Manson. But you really will have to trust me on this.’

‘Perhaps if I knew some more about your client…’

‘And if I gave you a name, how would that help you? In fact, I can promise you that it wouldn’t help you at all. It would only slow you down. And we don’t want that, do we? My understanding is that you want to return to Europe with Jérôme Dumas as quickly as possible and with a minimum of publicity. Am I right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I think you have no option but to put your faith in me and my firm.’

Tracy, the receptionist, arrived back in the office with a tray bearing a teapot and china plates and saucers. Grace Doughty poured and I took a cup from her unringed hand.

‘The tea is good,’ I said. ‘Just like home.’

‘I’m pleased you like it.’

‘Suppose I take your advice and don’t find Jérôme Dumas. I’ll have wasted my time here. Which is limited. Suppose what your client really wants is to sell me a dummy. To put me off the scent. Then where will I be?’

‘But if there was any scent to be found in this case, as you put it, you wouldn’t be sitting in my office drinking tea, would you?’

‘Not yet, perhaps. But I’ve a good nose. And I can generally find my way around.’

‘Oh, I can readily believe that. Thanks to the English tabloids you’ve made quite a name for yourself as something of an amateur detective. The sleuth of Silvertown Dock. Isn’t that what the
Daily Express
called you? This time last year, wasn’t it? But we both know that isn’t going to work here.’

‘Since you studied law in England then you’ll know that the tabloids have a habit of exaggerating almost everything, Miss Doughty. They almost never allow the facts to obscure a good story. You’re right. I’m not a detective. Nor have I ever been. It was more sheer luck than Sherlock that enabled me to solve the murder of João Zarco.’

‘Nevertheless, someone else thought enough of those talents to send you all the way down here to look for a missing person, didn’t they?’

‘I wouldn’t read too much into that, if were you, Miss Doughty. They had to do something. For form’s sake. Not to mention for the sake of Mr Dumas. They’re worried something might have happened to him. Everyone is. That’s why I’m here. To make sure everything possible is being done. But no one is expecting me to work a miracle.’ I paused and sipped my tea. ‘Can you at least assure me that he’s still alive?’

‘He’s alive. I’m certain of that much, anyway.’

‘I see. Well, that’s the best news I’ve had since I came here.’

‘Look, why don’t you give it twenty-four hours? See what happens. If after that you’ve not found Jérôme Dumas you can go back to trusting your own nose. But I don’t think my client will mind me mentioning that his interests are also served by the swift return of Jérôme Dumas to Barcelona.’

‘Now I really am intrigued about your client.’ I knew there were a few famous footballers who had a house on the island – Andriy Shevchenko, for one – but I could see no earthly reason why any of them would have been interested in sheltering Jérôme Dumas. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I agree. So what happens now?’

‘Go back to your hotel and await a phone call.’

‘You sound like Winchester White. I don’t think he liked me.’ I felt my eyes narrow as I looked at her. ‘You two aren’t in cahoots, are you?’

‘Why would you think that?’

‘Because he might have left the door of his office open deliberately? So that you could eavesdrop on our conversation? Because he didn’t strike me as the careless type.’

‘My, you are suspicious. No, he and I are not in cahoots. If you remember I wasn’t actually there when you arrived. I got there after you. And I was there to discuss a quite different matter. In my experience, Inspector White always leaves his door open. Not least because it’s hot and he doesn’t have any air conditioning like my own office. But since you have mentioned him I should also add that my client has not shared any information with him regarding the whereabouts of Jérôme Dumas. This is an exclusive arrangement which hurts no one since Mr Dumas hasn’t committed a crime on the island. So you’re not likely to get into trouble either, if that’s what you were worried about.’

‘It wasn’t. And I don’t mind a certain amount of trouble.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘I was referring to the kind of trouble that comes with being a football manager. When you’re in charge of a squad of twenty-four overpaid, oversexed, overexcited young men, shit happens. That’s the real reason PSG and FCB sent me down here. Because I’ve been a young footballer myself. I know the game. And I know the pressures of the game. I think they thought that if I did manage to find Jérôme Dumas, I could speak his language and persuade him to come home.’

‘Let’s hope so. Okay. That’s it. For now. I’ll be in touch just as soon as I’ve spoken again to my client.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘Soon. I’ll call you tonight. Will you be at your hotel?’

I nodded.

Everton was seated on the wooden steps of the bar where we’d agreed to meet, smoking a roll-up and awaiting my arrival. Seeing me, he quickly stubbed out the cigarette, dropped it into the pocket of his white shorts for later, stood up and enveloped my hand in his own leathery paw as if we’d been ghetto buddies at a barbecue.

I told him about Miss Doughty.

‘What kind of a lawyer is she anyway?’ he asked.

‘The good-looking kind.’

‘No, I meant, what kind of law does she practise?’

‘I dunno. The kind that represents criminals in court, I guess. What other kind is there?’

‘Is she the greedy kind of lawyer? Or just the dishonest kind of lawyer?’

‘That remains to be seen. But she was kind of persuasive.’

‘Oh, that kind of lawyer.’

‘Yes. Exactly.’

‘Well,’ said Everton, ‘it sure couldn’t harm you to go along with what she says. Not for twenty-four hours. Man, it takes people twenty-four hours just to order a bloody taxi on this island. Strikes me you’ll get further with her than I have speaking to local boatmen.’

He handed me back some money.

‘Here, boss. You better have this.’

‘Then you’d better let me buy you a drink.’

We went into the bar, ordered a couple of the local beers and sat in the window. We hadn’t been there very long when I saw Grace Doughty walking up the street. She was carrying her Burberry briefcase.

‘That’s her. That’s the lady lawyer I was talking about.’

‘Man, that is a fine-looking woman.’

‘You think?’

‘When you said she was a lawyer I was thinking of someone playing on a rubber tyre at the end of a chain. But that lady is hot, boss.’

Everton was right. The woman had more curves than a bag full of footballs. If I stayed on Antigua I knew I was going to have to put my hand in that particular bag, regardless of the consequences. If only I knew what she was up to, who her client was, where this was all going. I had to find out more about Grace Doughty.

I handed Everton the money he’d just handed back to me.

‘Look, Everton, why don’t you follow her? See where she goes. Who she knows. It might give me a better idea of what this is all about.’

‘Sure thing, boss. Anything you say. Following pretty girls – I’m an expert.’ Everton stood up and drained his beer bottle. ‘But you know, it strikes me that maybe she can keep you company while you is looking for this guy. You could do worse than her for female company right now. A man needs a bit of female company in the tropics. Maybe you should give her a ring and ask her to dinner at Jumby Bay. Get to know her better. Then maybe you can learn to trust her better, too.’

Everton was right about that too but nevertheless I spent the evening alone, festering with irritation and resentment at my appointed task. I felt as if I’d been left on the bench after an extended Christmas break had left a question mark over my fitness and all I really wanted to do was play football, regardless of the consequences for my hamstrings. Come to think of it, that’s how I feel most of the time. It’s like there’s a football-sized hole in my life which I don’t think anything, not even management, is ever going to be able to fill. Certainly not searching the jungle for some stupid kid who couldn’t handle the pressure. If that’s what had caused him to disappear. After what Grace Doughty had told me in her office I’d stopped believing that anything bad could have happened to Jérôme Dumas. I almost wished that it had.

A brick-faced couple from Birmingham eating dinner at the next table in the softly lit robbery that was being perpetrated in the hotel’s swish restaurant were looking as bored as a pair of Staffordshire dogs on a chimney-less mantelpiece. They must have wondered what the hell they were doing there. I know I did. Meanwhile, an electric piano trio worked its way stolidly through a repertoire that had been inspired by the elevator muzak in an Arndale shopping centre. At that particular moment my world – the world of football – seemed to be more than an ocean away and if the chairman of Tranmere Rovers had called to offer me a job managing the club, I’d have taken his fucking arm off.

18

It sounded good. The part about Tranmere Rovers. But it wasn’t entirely true. Over a swift dinner with my iPad I checked my email and there was one from Qatar offering me a job working with the national side, which must have seemed urgent after their recent exit from the Asian Cup in Canberra. The 4–1 defeat they’d suffered at the hands of their most bitter rivals, the United Arab Emirates, would have been especially hard to bear for the Qataris. But try as I might I couldn’t see myself doing a Don Revie and coaching football in the desert any more than I can see a World Cup being played there in the summer of 2022. Nobody can. They’d have more chance of mounting an ice-hockey tournament. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way all of these Arab countries treated women. I like women. A lot. Paolo Gentile couldn’t have been more on target about my Achilles heel if he’d hit it with an arrow.