Philip Kerr - False Nine

‘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.