Philip Kerr - January Window

‘Some information.’

‘Perhaps I can help you. But let’s be quite clear. It’s you I’m speaking to, right? Not the police.’

‘You know about me and the police, Paolo. We’re not really on speaking terms. Haven’t been for a while.’

‘Yes, I thought that was still the situation. I just wanted to hear you say it. In Italy we have a different attitude to the police than you do in England. You make jokes about the law-abiding Germans but I think no one in Europe is quite as law-abiding as the English.’

‘You’re forgetting I’m half German, half Scots.’

‘That’s true. So then, let’s talk. What do you want to know?’

‘I know about the insider share deal with SSAG. And to be fair I should inform you that so does Viktor Sokolnikov.’

‘That’s a pity. Is he going to inform the Financial Services Authority?’

‘Probably not if he can avoid it. Viktor likes to keep a low profile where he can. He’s going to speak to his lawyer before he does anything. But even if he did speak to the FSA you can probably blame what happened on Zarco.’

‘Thanks for that, Scott. I appreciate the heads-up.’

‘Look, the only thing I don’t know about is the cash part of the bung. What he wanted it for. And what the urgency was. So, tell me about Saturday morning.’

‘Are you turning detective at the same time as you become the new City boss? I’ve heard of total football. What’s this? Total football management?’

‘You might say I’m playmaking here, yes. Making space for the truth, perhaps. I figure it’s my job to sort things out here as quickly as possible. Not just the football, but the rest of it, too. The unsolved murder of a club manager is very bad for player morale.’

‘True.’ Gentile paused long enough to light a cigarette and inhale sharply. ‘So then. We’d done business like this before, Zarco and I. He would use an executive box when he knew it wasn’t going to be occupied. It was convenient for him and convenient for me, too. I went to the box, as instructed. I left the bung in the icebox, as instructed. Zarco wasn’t there when I got there; and he wasn’t there when I left. That’s all I know about Saturday morning.’

‘And why did he want the cash? I mean, he seemed to be in a hurry for it. In his texts he said he wanted it for the weekend.’

‘That’s true, he was. But I don’t know why. Look, why does anyone want cash, Scott? Paper is nice to have around. You put it in your safe and you use it for holiday expenses, to pay the babysitter, to give to your mama at Christmas. Lots of managers like a bit of cash in hand. Literally. They’re old-fashioned like that. You’d be surprised who else likes a bung; it’s not just the usual suspects. It’s like drugs and sport. Nobody takes drugs until they get caught and even then it’s a mistake, someone else’s fault, a cold remedy that turned out to be something bad. It’s the same with bungs. Everyone is against it until they get one. And is it any wonder with all the money that’s sloshing around football right now? BT pays out nine hundred million pounds for broadcast rights to the Champions League and right the way down the food chain there are people saying, dov’è la mia parte? Where’s my slice of the big pizza? That’s just economics, Scott. The law of supply and demand. Except that Adam Smith forgot about the law of television sport and the law of two hundred grand a week and the law of insatiable greed. You can’t change that. All you can do is take advantage of it.’

‘Did Zarco mention he was scared of anyone? I’m wondering if he wanted the fifty grand to pay someone off. Someone who’d threatened him, perhaps. I take it you heard about the grave that was dug in our pitch, with Zarco’s photograph at the bottom of it?’

‘He said something about it, yes. But it didn’t seem to have scared him. He thought it was just hooligans. Frankly he was rather more alarmed that Sokolnikov might discover the fact that he’d bought shares in SSAG. That he’d get fired, or worse.’

‘What did he say? Can you remember?’

‘Most of our communication was done by text, you understand. For reasons of confidentiality. But he did say something about it in a conversation we had. On Saturday morning. He called me from Hangman’s Wood and said something to the effect that he wouldn’t be surprised if he was found floating in the Thames when Viktor found out what he’d been up to.’

‘He actually said that?’

‘I thought he was joking. And to be fair he was laughing when he said it. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was fear making him laugh, yes? On the other hand, if Viktor Sokolnikov was going to take him out I can’t imagine he’d have done it at the dock. With his money and connections he could surely have arranged something a little more discreet. His kind of money buys you a lot of discretion.’

‘So it would seem. What about the room itself? Suite 123.’

‘An Arab’s idea of luxury. A bit like a cabin on a luxury yacht. What can I say?’

‘No, I meant was there anything unusual about it that you noticed?’

‘Unusual? No. Well, maybe a couple of things, yes. The dishwasher was on. That struck me as odd, for a suite that wasn’t supposed to be in much use. And there was a pair of sunglasses on the floor. I assumed they were Zarco’s and I put them on the worktop.’

‘So he’d been there already when you turned up.’

‘Yes. Just to make absolutely sure the room was empty, probably. His leather bag was on the sofa.’

‘Anything else?’

He paused. ‘That really is everything I can remember.’

‘All right.’ I thought for a moment. ‘By the way, what have you heard about Bekim Develi? He’s coming here.’

‘The red devil? It’s news to me. But if he is moving to London I’m not surprised. At a match against Zenit a couple of weeks ago, one of Dynamo’s black players was getting abuse from the crowd and Develi made a citizen’s arrest during the game. He went into the crowd and hauled a fan out — a man he claimed had been one of the ringleaders. He was pretty rough with him, too. Almost started a riot. The fan was sent to prison and Develi’s had death threats ever since.’

‘He should fit in very well around here. Getting death threats is par for the course at Silvertown Dock.’

After my call with Gentile was concluded I stepped into the kitchen, placed Zarco’s Oakley sunglasses on the tiled floor and opened the curious-looking window — like one of the awkward rhombus-shaped windows in that talking shop for the awkward-squad that is the Scottish Parliament. Several pigeons flew away in a loud flurry of wings that made my heart leap in my chest for a moment. There was talk of employing a hawk or a falcon to control the pigeons at the dock; apparently they were very effective and, as far as I was concerned, it couldn’t happen soon enough. If only we could control players as easily. Then I walked back to the kitchen door and turned to face the room. You might say I was trying to see things just as Paolo Gentile and Zarco had seen them. I’d watched Inspector Morse do something vaguely similar on the telly and figured it certainly couldn’t do any harm. I checked the bin but it was empty; what’s more it looked clean as a whistle.

In a framed colour photograph hanging on the wall the former Emir of Qatar, Sheikh Hamad, and his glamorous wife, Sheika Mozad, were pictured holding the World Cup under the proud eyes of FIFA’s diminutive president, Sepp Blatter, a man whose knowledge of football was doubtless enhanced by his having been the former General Secretary of the Swiss Ice Hockey Federation. Mr and Mrs Rich were smiling proudly and looked like two cats that had got all the cream. It was always nice to remember that the future of football was in such safe hands as these.