Philip Kerr - January Window

‘At home now. Avoiding the newspapers and the newspapermen who are camped out at the bottom of her drive.’

‘I tried calling her, but...’

‘She’s not answering the phone. Now, I appreciate that this might be difficult for you, but I need to ask you some questions about exactly what happened when Drennan was here. After all, you were one of the last people to speak to him before he killed himself. At least according to Maurice McShane you were. It was on your behalf that he contacted us, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. It was. I wanted to help with your enquiries.’

‘Of course.’

‘And I think I was, probably, one of the last people to see Matt.’

I told her precisely what had happened.

‘So he was drunk and he was depressed,’ she said.

I nodded. ‘Definitely. I even offered to drive him to the Priory. I could see he was in a bad way. But he wouldn’t let me. I mean he was pissed, but he wasn’t that pissed. Not by his standards. I mean he wasn’t legless. Besides, he’d been before — to the Priory — and it didn’t work.’

‘Did he say what he was depressed about?’

‘How long have you got? The fight with his wife would have depressed him. He’d lost his diamond stud, from his ear — like I told you. He told me she’d thrown a boot at him but he didn’t say he’d assaulted her. I suppose that might have resulted in a custodial sentence because he’d assaulted her before. That would have depressed him, too.’ I shrugged. ‘What else? Not being able to play football any more. Getting older. His health. Drinking again. Being broke. Life in general. It’s a typical football story, I’m afraid. Look, he certainly didn’t mention that he was going to kill himself. But if he had I’m not sure what I could have done about it.’

‘You could have kept him here and talked him out of it, perhaps.’

‘Clearly you didn’t know Matt Drennan. You couldn’t talk him out of an off-licence or a last game of bar-billiards, let alone what you’re suggesting, Miss Considine.’

‘So he didn’t say anything to you about his best friend from Glasgow, Tommy MacDonald.’

‘Mackie? No, nothing at all.’

‘You know he was in the army. In Afghanistan.’

‘Kind of. Hey, has something happened to Mackie?’

‘Sergeant Thomas MacDonald was blown up on patrol in Helmand Province last Tuesday.’

‘Christ.’

‘He died later on, in hospital.’

‘No, I didn’t know that.’ I nodded. ‘But it certainly explains a great deal about Drenno’s mood. He never really talked all that much about Mackie. At least not to me. But I know he and Mackie were close. You might even say they were partners in crime, since they were always in trouble for one thing or another: fighting, vandalism, practical jokes that went too far, general bad behaviour. It was nearly always drink-related. When Mackie joined the army I think my old club Arsenal were more than a little bit relieved. They figured he was a bad influence on Drenno. But actually I’m sure it was the other way round. Mackie joined the army to get away from Drenno and the drinking. At least that’s what Drenno always said.’

‘Did you know Sergeant MacDonald?’

‘I met him a few times. I couldn’t say that we were friends, though. We weren’t. I didn’t like him, to be honest. I’m sorry he’s dead. He served his country and you have to respect anyone for that.’

‘Why didn’t you like him? Any particular reason?’

I shrugged. ‘Like I said, I thought he was a bad influence. Frankly I was very surprised when he went into the army. He’d spent a lifetime sponging off Drenno and he was the most ill-disciplined sod you could hope to meet. A typically belligerent Scot. It was hard to see why he should suddenly have decided he wanted to do something like join the army. Unless it was just to get away from Drenno.’

‘Tell me, what was Matt Drennan wearing when he came to see you?’

‘You mean was he wearing an England shirt?’

‘No, I mean what was he wearing?’

‘Leather jacket. Jeans. Trainers. Plain white shirt. There was blood on the collar. And on his earlobe. I already explained that. Was he wearing an England shirt when he hanged himself?’

‘I’m really not at liberty to say.’

‘It was in the Daily Mail .’

‘Then it must be true.’

‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not being straight with me, Miss Considine?’

‘One: you don’t like the police — you said so yourself, Mr Manson. And two: I’m not being straight with you because I’m here to ask questions, not to provide you with answers. Sorry. This is a police inquiry into a man’s death. Even if it looks for all the world like a suicide, there are still rules of evidence I have to observe. As a police officer I operate to a different standard than the Daily Mail . Look, all I’m trying to do is build a picture of Matt Drennan’s last few hours so that there’s no room for any doubt that he killed himself. And in case that seems a rather laborious matter of dotting the “i”s and crossing the “t”s, it is; however, we live in an age of conspiracies and it won’t be long before someone who read a book called Who Killed Kurt Cobain? Or Who Killed Princess Diana? Or Who Killed Michael Jackson? is tempted to write a book called Who Really Killed Matt Drennan? That’s what I’m hoping to avoid. For his sake. For the sake of his family and friends.’

‘Fair enough. And I appreciate you saying so.’

‘I’m glad you think so. I certainly wouldn’t like you to sue the Met again because of my incompetence or dishonesty.’

I nodded. ‘I’m beginning to see why they sent you to see me.’

‘Oh, good. Then we’re making progress.’

‘You are. I’m not sure about the Met.’

‘Do you mind if I ask you a question you might find a little insensitive?’

‘You mean the comments about Drenno being a waste of space weren’t?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

I shrugged. ‘Be my guest.’

‘Thank you. Well then, it’s this. I’m puzzled. You have a university degree. You speak several languages. You live in a fifteen-million-pound apartment in Chelsea. Why would someone as obviously successful as you, Mr Manson, still have a friend who was as big a loser as Matt Drennan?’

‘That’s not insensitive. It’s just a little ignorant of what football is about, Miss Considine. You see football is an international club, a fraternity — a bit like the Freemasons. Wherever you go it’s almost inevitable that you’ll run into someone you once played with, or against. Matt Drennan was my team mate. What’s more, he was the only team mate who came to see me when I was in prison. He came even though he’d been advised by the people who were trying to manage his image not to come. At that time it was me who was the loser, not him. I was scum. A rapist. That picture by Peter Howson. That’s what people thought of when they thought of me. Everyone but Drenno. Not many people know it, but Drenno lost a sponsorship deal with a pharmaceutical company because he came to see me in the nick. So, for all his faults, he had a good heart and I loved him for it.’

She nodded and placed her coffee cup on the low table in front of her.

‘Thanks for your help,’ she said. ‘And thanks for the excellent coffee. By the way, did you win yesterday?’

‘Yes. We won. 8–0.’ I smiled. ‘That’s good, by the way. Very good. In case you were wondering.’

In the week leading up to the Newcastle match, Kenny Traynor arrived at the club and gave his first interview on the Press Bureau TV Sports Channel. Our new goalkeeper was a big fair-haired lad with an easy smile and an accent that was as thick as the head on a pint of heavy. When he spoke it was like listening to Spud in Trainspotting . As a result Zarco insisted on my appearing with them in front of the invited newsmen, to translate , which added a usefully comic touch to these dull proceedings. Otherwise it was the usual bullshit about how Traynor was ‘really looking forward to the challenge of the Premier League and working with a world-class manager like João Zarco’. Asked why he had decided to join City instead of another club like MUFC, Traynor made no mention of fifty thousand quid a week, but instead talked about the quality of the squad and the attractions of living in a great city like London. Asked what he thought he could achieve at a club like London City — which is more or less the same question, when you think about it — Traynor declared he wanted to keep a clean sheet for as long as possible and to help City to win the Premier League. Champions League... FA Cup... Zzzzz.