January Window (22 page)

‘I reckon.’

‘What about that ref’s son – Jimmy Sharp? What did you find out there?’

‘He’s on the bench, too. He’s applied to Campion Hall at Oxford University. Wants to study theology as soon as he’s out of the Royal Marines. I’m told he wants to go into the priesthood. There was an article about him in the
Daily Telegraph
a few weeks ago.’

‘On the face of it, hardly the type bent on revenge.’

‘Good cover, though. I mean, if you were going to do someone in it wouldn’t half throw them off the scent if they thought you had the hots for Jesus. Don’t forget the Reverend Green in
Cluedo
.’

‘It’s Mr Green these days. He’s considered more PC. Apparently the Yanks who bought the rights to the game objected to the idea of a clergyman being a murderer.’

‘Stupid cunts.’ Maurice laughed. ‘Denis Kampfner, I don’t know about. Not yet. As for that Russian bloke – Semion Mikhailov – he owns a large energy company, not to mention a bank or two and a Russian football club: Dynamo St Petersburg.’

‘That’s interesting. Viktor is buying a player from them. Says they owe him money.’

‘From what I’ve heard, I’m not sure which would be worse: owing Mikhailov money, or having him owe you. He’s seriously bad, that man. But so far all I’ve got are a few sharp intakes of breath. He’s looking for a house in Chelsea, I’ve heard. Best place for him, I reckon. But I can’t imagine he’d actually misbehave while he was trying to set up home here. Wait a minute, Viktor’s not buying the red devil, is he?’

‘That’s what he says. But keep it under your hat.’

‘Good luck to him. They say Bekim Develi liked French grub even less than he liked paying the top rate of French tax. Word is he’s put on thirty pounds since he went back to play in Russia.’

‘Just what we fucking need.’

Phil Hobday appeared in the doorway.

‘How’s it going, Scott?’

‘It’s just beginning to dawn on me how much work I have to do.’

‘For anything worth having you have to pay a price, Scott, and the price is always work and self-sacrifice. More than that if you’re looking for sporting immortality; in that case it’s only necessary that you die a little, maybe twice a week.’

‘You won’t mind if I borrow that for my next team talk, will you?’

‘It’s not exactly
Henry V
, but be my guest. The match on Tuesday night – perhaps we should try to get the FA to have it postponed.’

I thought for a moment. ‘And fuck up the rest of our season? I don’t think so. Maybe we can make Zarco’s death work for us, if that doesn’t sound too cynical. What I mean is, perhaps we can get the best out of the lads as a mark of respect for Zarco. Besides, I’m sure all the fans would like to mark his passing.’

‘Well, you’re the boss now,’ said Phil.

‘That’s what I keep telling myself.’

‘Difficult decisions. That’s what management is all about. Get used to them.’

‘Maurice? Go and see if the law’s finished at the crime scene, will you? I want to go and take a look at the spot where Zarco died a bit later. And close the door on your way out. I need to ask our club chairman an awkward question. Maybe two.’

‘Yes, boss.’

Phil sat down on a sofa arranged along the wall and waited for Maurice to leave my office. Even on a Sunday he wore a well-cut three-piece suit, an Hermès tie and a matching silk handkerchief in his top pocket. Phil was in his early sixties, not very tall with a full head of white hair; he’d started life with a top American law firm called Baker & McKenzie, which, in 1989, became one of the first international law firms in Moscow, and it was there he’d met Viktor during the privatisation of the Volga Automobile Company. Phil had helped turn Volga into the most popular car-maker in Russia. He might have known nothing about football but he knew plenty about mergers and acquisitions and capital market transactions; and – according to Viktor – he spoke perfect Russian.

‘Since you mentioned immortality,’ I said, ‘maybe now’s the time to mention commissioning a statue of Zarco.’

‘So, ask Viktor. You’ll be seeing quite a lot of him from now on, sunshine. More than you know.’

‘Yes, but I figured you were the go-to man for this. After all, there is a statue of you in – where is it now? The Volga factory in Nizhny Novgorod. I mean, who do you go to in order to arrange these things?’

‘Do
you
think we should have a statue of Zarco outside the Crown of Thorns?’

‘Yes. As long as it doesn’t look like the one of Billy Bremner. Especially as that one doesn’t look anything like Billy Bremner.’

‘I’ll mention it to Viktor.’ Phil grinned. ‘But that wasn’t what you wanted to speak to me about in private, was it?’

‘No. You know Viktor has asked me to play in a new position that’s not exactly our usual 4-4-2. He wants me to become a new sort of midfielder; the clean-up-other-people’s- mistakes kind who’s supposed to make sure our back four avoid any defensive duties at all.’

‘I get it. Someone with positional discipline but full of confidence in his own ability. Keeps the ball for long spells. Works out well for everyone. A bit like David Luiz.’

‘I was thinking of it being a bit more like Hercule Poirot.’

‘Who does he play for? Anderlecht?’

‘Come on, Phil. I’m betting this was your idea.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because it’s the smart thing to do.’

‘Viktor’s smart.’

‘If Viktor was really smart he’d get a smaller yacht. One that doesn’t draw attention, like yours. No, you’re smarter. Besides,
The
Times
said so when it interviewed you. You were described as one of the most high-profile lawyers in the UK. But from what you said it was my impression that you’d much prefer to be low profile. That you’re the grey eminence behind this particular cardinal.’

‘You’re pretty smart yourself, Scott. I don’t know many football managers who know books by Aldous Huxley.’

‘There’s me and there’s Roy Hodgson. Only don’t tell anyone. Being smart in football is only one down from being gay. So?’

‘You know, it might have been my idea – I can’t remember for sure. However, if there’s one useful piece of advice I can give you, it’s this: at our football club, if you’ve got a good idea – if there’s something important you want done around here – then it’s usually best to make sure you let Viktor think it was his good idea first.’

‘All right. Was it Viktor’s idea to get Zarco to slag off the World Cup in Qatar, or yours?’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Toyah.’

‘Okay.’ He nodded. ‘It was my idea.’

‘Why?’

‘You know that we still haven’t sold the stadium naming rights. Or acquired a shirt sponsor. But we’d negotiated a deal with a Qatari bank. The Sabara Bank of Qatar. A deal worth about two hundred million pounds.’

‘Yes, I can easily see why you’d want to piss them off – sure.’

‘As a matter of fact that’s exactly what we wanted. To piss them off, big time. We’d agreed a deal with Sabara. And then, just before the deal was announced, Viktor found another willing sponsor. Jintian Niao-3Q Limited.’

‘Catchy. I can see that on a football shirt. But only if we buy a few really fat players – like Bekim Develi.’

‘According to Forbes, Jintian is the largest mobile phone operator in China. Bigger than VimpelCom and worth about thirty billion dollars. And they’re about to launch a new smartphone and a new 4G network in the UK. Jintian was willing to pay us five hundred million pounds for a ten-year deal. So we hit on a scheme that might persuade the Qataris to change their minds and cancel their sponsorship. That’s where Zarco came in with his comments about the 2022 World Cup. It was working, too. The Qataris were royally pissed off with us. And the Doha stadium looked like it was never going to happen.’

‘Until yesterday. When Zarco was killed.’

‘I fear so. Now the only impediment to their completing the deal has been removed.’

‘You know that’s a pretty big motive to kill someone right there, Phil.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought the Qataris had anything to do with it. They were pissed off, sure, but not that pissed off.’

‘Two hundred million pounds being the kind of insignificant sum anyone could overlook.’

‘I know these guys. I’ve had dinner with them. This kind of thing just isn’t their style.’

‘If you say so. Phil, I’m just guessing here, but I assume this is the kind of information we’re hoping to conceal from the law.’

‘Very much so. It’s not that there was anything illegal, mind. It’s just an issue of commercial sensitivity.’

‘I can see what was in it for Viktor. And perhaps for you. But what was in it for Zarco?’

‘Football is becoming more and more expensive, Scott. Three hundred and fifty million quid spent this summer in transfer fees by English football clubs. Another record signing at Real Madrid. That extra sponsorship money from the Chinks would have come in very handy. Even for someone as rich as Viktor Sokolnikov.’

‘Every little helps, eh? I bet he shops at Tesco, too.’

‘You know in five years, I’m betting three hundred million won’t be enough to pay the top transfer fee.’

‘You could be right. Let’s hope it’s us who are doing the selling, eh?’

Phil stood up and walked to the door.

‘Before you go,’ I said, ‘I’ve got a Russian name for you: Semion Mikhailov.’

Phil stopped halfway there. ‘What about him?’

‘He was seen in the stadium yesterday afternoon.’

‘Seen by who?’

‘Someone who works here. I’ve heard he’s dangerous.’

‘Very dangerous. But not dangerous to us. And you can take my word for that. Viktor’s taking Bekim Develi from him in part-payment for a debt when he travels to Russia tomorrow. Mikhailov isn’t about to do anything to spoil that.’

‘You know, if I’m going to find Zarco’s killer before the cops do then it would help if I knew what you know.’

‘Fire away.’

‘Did Zarco have any reason to be afraid of Viktor?’

‘Why would Zarco have been afraid of Viktor?’

‘Not just Viktor, perhaps. You too, Phil.’

‘Me? What on earth makes you say that?’

‘Because Viktor knows some shady people, people like Semion Mikhailov; and so do you.’

‘This is Toyah again, isn’t it? You can tell she used to be an actress – she has a very vivid imagination. Look, Scott, why would Viktor and I ask you to look into Zarco’s death if we had anything to do with it?’

‘Sometimes if you want to stop the other side from scoring, you park the bus in the goal-mouth. Similarly, asking me to look into Zarco’s death just frustrates the police, makes it hard for them to get a result. That’s how it works. If all we want to do is not concede, then we severely reduce their chances of winning.’

‘True. But I think Viktor mentioned bonuses, didn’t he? Maybe I need to mention them again. Thanks to your father, you’re already minted, of course. But I know you well enough to believe that you’re someone who wants to succeed in your own right. This football club is going to be one of the great clubs, Scott. You can achieve great things at London City. Things you weren’t ever able to achieve as a player with Southampton and Arsenal. All you have to do is prove that you really want to manage here.’

Just after eleven o’clock Sarah Crompton appeared in my office to show me a draft of the press release announcing that I was to be the new City manager.

Sarah was a great-looking brunette in her forties, slim and elegant, and always dressed in a two-piece suit from somewhere like Chanel or Max Mara. Before joining London City she’d worked at Wieden + Kennedy in Amsterdam, an American-owned advertising agency responsible for Nike’s ‘Write the Future’ campaign, which hit cinemas before the 2010 World Cup. That’s the one with a bearded Wayne Rooney living in a caravan because Frank Ribery had stopped his shot going in. Sarah was smart and articulate and while I was speaking to her, even with Maurice McShane still in the room, it wasn’t obvious to me what she and he had in common beyond a love of sports; Sarah was an accomplished golfer and with a handicap of just six she could easily beat me. I had a lot of time for this woman. For any woman with a brain like hers. In many ways she reminded me of Sonja.

Since Viktor and Phil had already approved the press release I had little to add to it except the fact that I wasn’t ‘looking forward to the challenge’. I suggested that ‘trying to live up to the example set by one of the great managers of all time’ was a choice of words that suited me rather better – there were quite enough clichés in football reporting without me adding to the already enormous ziggurat.

I also told her I didn’t want to do any interviews until well after Zarco’s funeral.

‘I don’t want to make your job more difficult or anything,’ I said, ‘but I’m upset by what’s happened and I’ll need a little time to get over it. Also, I’ll need a little time to grow into the job before I feel even half comfortable talking about myself as the manager of this club.’

‘There’s a lot of interest from the
Guardian
in you being one of only four black managers in the Football League – you, Chris Hughton, Paul Ince and Chris Powell.’

‘I hadn’t really thought of it like that,’ I said.

‘Maybe you should,’ said Sarah.

‘No,’ I told her. ‘Players get bought because they’re good players, regardless of colour. And managers get hired because they’re good managers. I don’t for a minute believe that some kind of affirmative action programme by the FA is going to fix anything. If we can get a few players on the board of the FA then maybe things will change for the better – any players, not just black ones. Until the FA stops being a club for footloose royals and fat white businessmen then nothing can happen for the good.’

‘So, say that.’

‘Maybe when I’ve got my feet under the table a bit more. When City have won something. Not before.’

‘All right,’ she said. ‘But maybe there’s one interview you should do now. Hugh McIlvanney from the
Sunday Times
. You know him, don’t you?’

I nodded. ‘A little.’

‘He sent me an email. A very nice email, actually. He’s writing a piece for next Sunday’s paper about Zarco and says he’d welcome your input. And let’s not forget that he is the best sports journalist in the country.’