Only a Game

 

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DUSTY DEATH

TO KILL A WIFE

THE LANCASHIRE LEOPARD

A LITTLE LEARNING

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ONLY A GAME

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REMAINS TO BE SEEN

A TURBULENT PRIEST

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WHO SAW HIM DIE?

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TOO MUCH OF WATER

AN UNSUITABLE DEATH

First world edition published 2010

in Great Britain and in the USA by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

Copyright © 2010 by J. M. Gregson.

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Gregson, J. M.

Only a Game. – (DCI Percy Peach mystery)

1. Peach, Percy (Fictitious character) – Fiction.

2. Police – England – Lancashire – Fiction. 3. Soccer

teams – England – Lancashire – Fiction. 4. Soccer –

Management – Fiction. 5. Detective and mystery stories.

I. Title II. Series

823.9'14-dc22

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-252-8 (ePub)

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6859-6 (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-210-9 (trade paper)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

To Rose,

who reads, advises and improves

as only a wife can.

ONE

‘
O
f course, it's only a game. It's not a matter of life and death,' said Edward Lanchester.

He looked round the table, assessing the reactions of his listeners, trying to time the pay-off line perfectly. Then he said, ‘Football's much more important than that!'

They all laughed, dutifully rather than convincingly, because they'd all heard the quotation before and had known what was coming. A little deference which cost them nothing was surely due to the oldest man in the room. Lanchester didn't notice the hollowness of the mirth. He grinned at his audience delightedly and said, ‘Bill Shankly said that, you know!'

They did, and they knew two or three other of the great man's sayings, not only because Lanchester often quoted them but because this was a board meeting at Brunton Rovers Football Club. Everyone around the big boardroom table was a football man.

There was a little pause before the chairman said, ‘A great man, Shankly.'

‘The greatest football manager of all, in my opinion,' said Edward Lanchester reverently. ‘Just what we could do with now, to get the enthusiasm back on the terraces.'

Jim Capstick glanced sideways at Robbie Black, the present manager of Brunton Rovers. He was gazing down at his agenda sheet with a fixed half-smile and didn't seem to have taken any offence. The chairman cleared his throat and said, ‘As you say, Edward, fixing the prices for the cup tie replay is not a matter of life and death. Can we have suggestions, please?'

Black nodded, then spoke in his soft, Anglo-adjusted, Edinburgh accent. ‘I'd like to fill the terraces for this match, to give my lads a bit of support and enthusiasm. I wouldn't say it in front of their directors, but Carlisle United aren't the biggest draw in the country. They'll bring a few supporters with them, because playing a Premiership team is a big night for them, but probably not more than a couple of thousand for a midweek evening match. I'd like to see us let people in for a tenner on that night!'

There was a shocked silence, as he had known there would be. Then the chairman said, ‘We'd make a loss on the match.'

Black was ready for this. He said in his soft Scottish accent, ‘Not if we had twenty-five thousand, rather than the ten thousand we might get at regular prices. What I don't want is a thin crowd and players not up for it and perhaps even a damaging defeat. We might draw Manchester United away in the next round, if we get through, and get our share of a huge gate at Old Trafford.'

The old argument that was dangled in front of small clubs throughout the land. The Theatre of Dreams, they called Old Trafford, and it was certainly the stuff of dreams for many an impoverished club and its desperate treasurer.

It was the chief executive of Brunton Rovers, still often referred to as a secretary in the old-fashioned world of football, who now provided their manager with an unexpected ally. Darren Pearson pursed his lips and took the plunge. ‘It might get us some publicity. Good publicity, for a change.' He shot a challenging look at Black, who had recently condoned some strong-arm tactics on the field which had led to sendings-off and press headlines about ‘Ruthless Rovers'. ‘Cut-price seats will be a story for them, if we make the cuts dramatic enough. We could sell them the idea that it was still the people's game round here, the way it used to be in the days of Bill Shankly.'

‘The days when we got regular crowds of thirty thousand and more. When we didn't need hundreds of policemen and scores of our own stewards to control them,' said Edward Lanchester, predictably.

‘We should charge what the market will bear,' persisted Pearson. ‘I agree with our manager. It's better to have the ground full or even two-thirds full than to have long rows of empty seats filling the television pictures. Get through this one and look for the pickings in subsequent rounds, that's my view.'

‘I think we should defer to our chief executive and our manager on this one,' said the chairman. ‘Let's face it, we're only talking about a thousand pounds or two either way. Scarcely a day's wages for an average striker, nowadays.' He held up his hand at Edward Lanchester, preventing the former chairman from coming in with his well-worn diatribe on how the abolition of the maximum wage forty-odd years earlier had ruined football and been the beginning of the end for the smaller clubs up and down the land. ‘Are we agreed on a ten pound entry fee for this one night, then?'

They were, of course. Football clubs still have their boards, still pay lip service to democracy and consensus. But the reality in most cases is that chairmen are increasingly powerful. They usually have heavy financial stakes in the club, for a start, and any suggestion that they might walk away is usually enough to bring opponents scurrying into line. Today's chairmen are usually business men like Jim Capstick, who are used to power and unused to handling opposition. This dominance is both a strength and a weakness: it gives such men the dictator's power to achieve quick results, but if megalomania sets in it can blind them to any ideas other than their own.

Jim Capstick was a modern chairman, very different from the one Lanchester had been a generation earlier. He owned most of the shares in what was still a private company and the board would oppose his formidable will at its peril. Most of them recognized that reality.

The discussion now moved on to what should have been the most interesting part of the meeting, the one everyone in the room had been anticipating during the last hour's brisk despatch of more routine items. Even the chairman could not keep a little excitement out of his practised tones as he said, ‘Item six on your agenda. Summer transfer activity.' He studied his sheet for a moment, revolving his silver ball pen slowly between his fingers. ‘Perhaps I should reiterate what I'm sure we all think should be taken as read. On this item in particular, not a word of what is said within this room tonight should be repeated outside it. It should be obvious to all of us that any mention of either our financial situation or any particular targets we may have should not be leaked to the press or to anyone else. Any such leaks can only damage our manager's position in any dealings he may choose to initiate.'

There were murmurs of assent round the table, the murmurs he had known would come. The need for secrecy here was self-evident: the press and the rest of the media were expert at turning the merest whiff of smoke into tongues of flame. Capstick deliberately did not look at the manager himself: Robbie Black had been known to ferment dissent among the supporters and sympathy for himself by thinly veiled suggestions that he could not bid for the players he wanted because his hands were tied by a miserly board. Chairman and manager worked well together on the whole, but there was only room for one ego in the overall direction of the club.

Black now aired three of his targets for the summer close season, the only time when deals could now be done, except for a brief ‘transfer window' in January. Two of them had already been mentioned as possibilities by a press that fed on rumour and transformed intelligent guesses into rumours when there were none to be had. The third player was a surprise and would present a major coup for a club which was very small in terms of the Premier league. The possibility surprised and delighted even the experienced heads around the table. If he could be prised away from Newcastle United, that would be an achievement in itself.

There was excitement at the thought of Brunton Rovers going for all three of these players. Everyone in this all-male gathering had football in his blood. Although their very presence here implied that they should be hard-headed realists, they knew that everything came back to what was achieved on the pitch. When eleven very fit young men from all over the world trotted out to represent the old cotton town, they might know little of the hundred and thirty years of history behind the proud old club, but they were well aware that the points they won or lost in the most competitive league in the world would settle its immediate destiny. Highly successful businessmen might be ruthless and clear-sighted in the rest of their dealings, but there had to be a strong streak of romanticism underlying any deep involvement with a team like Brunton Rovers.

There were limits, of course, and Darren Pearson saw it as his duty as secretary to keep feet on the ground and heads out of clouds and any other cliché which would prevent financial disaster. He now said reluctantly, ‘We may need to sell before we can buy.'