Philip Kerr - January Window

‘Would I like to comment?’ Maurice uttered a nervous laugh. ‘No, I fucking wouldn’t. Not particularly. Nor is it a conversation I’d feel comfortable about having with Viktor Sokolnikov. Especially as he’s suing the BBC because of what was said on Panorama . Isn’t that right?’

‘That’s what he told me.’

I put a couple of pieces of Orbit in my mouth and started chewing fiercely as if I were about to do my imitation of Sir Alex Ferguson, which had become a very popular turn of mine on the team bus.

‘But I do think Viktor should know about this as soon as possible,’ said Maurice. ‘So he can respond to it in whatever way he thinks appropriate. You know him better than I do, Scott. And I’d prefer it if you or Zarco were to tell him what’s happened here. This is well above my pay-grade.’

‘Yes, I see your point.’ I glanced back at Detective Inspector Neville. ‘By the way, who brought him along and said he and his size fucking twelves could come here and walk on our grass?’

‘I’m afraid that was me,’ admitted Colin. ‘Sorry, Scott. I was so upset when I saw that hole. But it is criminal damage, so I thought I should tell them. I mean, we do want to catch the bastards who did this, right?’

‘Never ever bring the filth into this club without speaking to me, to Zarco, or to Phil Hobday first. Got that, Colin? Once you involve the filth in this club’s affairs it’s as good as sending an email to Fleet Street. Undoubtedly it was a copper who texted a mate on the Sun or the Daily Mail about this. Hey, guess what? Someone’s only gone and dug a fucking grave on the pitch at Silvertown Dock. That’s a two-hundred-quid tip. Maybe more if it’s a front page. If it wasn’t for them being here with their fucking cameras we could have put out that it was just a hole and not a grave at all. We might still do that if we can get that rozzer in the duffel coat to cooperate.’

‘Yes, I see that now.’

‘No worries. Can’t be helped. Look, here’s what we’re all going to say. We’re going to say it looks like the work of some disgruntled fans. Kids, probably. And we’re going to piss on that Sicilian message stuff from an enormous height. The last thing Mr Sokolnikov needs right now is more wild speculation about who and what he is. The people who committed this outrage probably couldn’t even spell Sicilian. Got that?’

Maurice and Colin nodded.

‘More importantly, Colin, I want you to start thinking about if and how and when we can repair the pitch. We’re at home again to Newcastle in ten days.’

‘Believe me, I hadn’t forgotten.’

‘Right then. Let’s talk to that rozzer.’

I walked towards the policeman.

‘I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, Inspector,’ I said. ‘Especially at this late hour. But I really think we’ve wasted your time. Apologies for that, too. It seems obvious to me that this is the work of yobs. Disgruntled fans, so called. That’s nothing we’re not used to at a football club. I can’t imagine you’ll be surprised when I tell you that we get threats all the time and that very occasionally they manifest as vandalism. It’s regrettable but not uncommon.’

‘What kind of threats?’ asked the inspector.

‘Emails. Tweets. The occasional poison-pen letter. Boxes of shit in the post. You name it, we get it.’

‘I’d like to see some of these, if I may.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. We have a policy of not keeping anything like that. Especially the gift-wrapped turds.’

‘May I ask why, sir?’

‘Yesterday’s shit smells bad, Inspector.’

‘I meant the letters and the emails, of course.’

Detective Inspector Neville was thin with a hooked nose that made him look like he had a permanent sneer on his face. To my keen but cold ear his sounded like a Yorkshire accent.

I shrugged. ‘We don’t keep that kind of thing because frankly there’s so much of it. Really it’s simpler just to erase or destroy anything that’s threatening or insulting. Just in case a player who’s been threatened or abused sees it and is disturbed by what he’s read.’

‘I’d have thought anyone would have a right to know if he’s been threatened, sir.’

‘You might very well think that. But we take a different attitude. Some of these lads are very highly strung, Inspector. And one or two of them are none too bright. Even threats that are patently absurd can exercise a strongly negative effect on a weaker-minded player at a Premier League football club. And we wouldn’t want that, would we? Not with a third round FA Cup tie against Leeds on Sunday.’

‘Nevertheless, a crime has been committed here.’

‘A hole in the ground? That’s not exactly seven-seven, now, is it?’

‘No, but with all due respect, sir, that’s no ordinary hole in the ground. For a start, there’s the shape. And then there’s the obvious financial loss. As holes in the ground go, I imagine this is an extremely expensive one. Wouldn’t you say so, Mr Evans?’

The detective inspector obviously knew the kind of person he was speaking to. What groundsman doesn’t moan about the state of a pitch? But even before he started to answer I wished I’d told Colin to play down the cost of the damage to the police. His being Welsh only seemed to make this worse as Colin’s manner was very considered and deliberate.

‘A hole like that?’ Colin shook his head. ‘Let’s see now. The whole pitch cost nearly a million quid to lay down. So, frankly this is nothing short of a bloody disaster. In an ideal world we’d rip the whole surface up and start again. But halfway through the season we’ll have to make do with patching it up as best we can, I suppose. Of course, even before you think about the grass there’s the under-soil heating system that stops the pitch from freezing at this time of year. That’s been damaged and will have to be repaired. And the grass — well, it’s not just grass, you see. Artificial fibres will have to be sewn into the pitch alongside the grass so that the roots can wrap themselves around the nylon fibres. Then there’s the fact that at this time of year it’s not easy getting new grass to take hold. So we’ll need to run the grow lights around the clock. That’s expensive as well. I wouldn’t think there would be a lot of change from fifty grand to repair this. Seriously. The damage might be even more than that if the pitch still remains unplayable in ten days’ time. What with the gate ’n’ all. An average ticket price of sixty-two quid means that the total match day income is around six million pounds.’

‘So the cost of the damage might be anything between fifty grand and six million?’ said Detective Inspector Neville.

‘That’s about the size of it, yes,’ agreed Colin.

Neville looked at me and shook his head. ‘Well, sir, I’d say this is as clear a case of criminal damage as I’ve come across in a long time. And since a crime has clearly been committed here then I’m bound to investigate it. Which is what the insurance company would insist on, I’m sure, if Mr Sokolnikov were to make a claim for this. They always do, you know.’

‘Those figures might seem like a lot to you and me, Inspector,’ I said. ‘But it’s not a lot to someone like Viktor Sokolnikov. I’m sure he’d much prefer just to pay for the repairs himself and avoid as much embarrassing publicity as possible. Which, if things had been done properly, ought to have been avoided. You know, it’s a mystery to me how the press managed to get here before the police. I’m sure no one here would have given them the heads-up.’

‘Are you suggesting that someone from Royal Hill station told them?’

‘I’m suggesting that if it transpires that the press were tipped off by someone from your station then Mr Sokolnikov will want to know why. Especially since it has been drawn to my attention that the press is already suggesting there might be some link with organised crime back in Mr Sokolnikov’s home country of Ukraine. That’s the kind of sensational reporting that we’d much prefer to avoid. Which we could still avoid, I think. Look, why don’t I just arrange for an executive box to be made available for our next home match so that a dozen of your officers from Royal Hill can come along and enjoy the game? You’ll be our guests and you’ll have a nice day. I’ll make sure of it.’