The Footballer's Wife (20 page)

The door at the far end of the room opened and Len looked up, hoping to see Marge or one of the other women who worked in the club but instead saw a small figure wearing a cap pulled down over their eyes. He couldn't work out if it was a man or a woman from where he was standing. Len finished replacing the bottle of gin he was dusting and watched the stranger walk towards him.

‘Dad,' she said, stepping up to the bar.

‘Charly! I've tried calling. I was going to come to the house, but my lawyer said I'd . . .'

‘Your lawyer?' Charly interrupted him angrily. ‘Your
lawyer
? Is that what we've come down to? My husband gets knifed to death and you don't come and see me because your
lawyer
says you can't?'

Len stepped from round the bar and went to hug his daughter. She stepped back from him and said sternly, ‘Don't.' Len backed away.

‘I didn't do anything, Charly.'

She couldn't look at him. ‘Where were you on Friday night?'

‘I was with your mum.'

‘Tell the police what you want, Dad,' Charly said, pulling her cap off and placing it on the bar. She looked drawn. ‘But tell me the truth. If Mum had just turned up out of the blue in the middle of the night, you wouldn't even have heard her knocking on the door.'

‘I never said she turned up in the middle of the night.'

‘So go on,' Charly said angrily, ‘guide me through it. After you left me at the hospital you came home and put your feet up.' Charly looked at her dad. He didn't need goading on this subject.

‘Did I buggery. I went looking for that bloody Joel. The state of you. No man should ever treat a woman the way he treated you. He could have killed you.'

‘So you killed him, is that right?' Charly's eyes sparked with hatred. As close as he and his daughter had always been, right now he felt like he was speaking with a stranger.

‘No, I did not,' Len said angrily. Then added, ‘Someone should've, but I didn't.' Charly looked at her father in horror as he continued. ‘What? It's the truth, isn't it? What sort of father would I be to find my daughter beaten up like that and think that the lad that did it deserved a second chance?
Or fifth chance, or however many chances he was on.'

‘The papers say that your car was spotted in Manchester at 3am.'

‘I didn't kill him, Charly,' Len said again.

Charly suddenly flew at her dad. He caught her arms before she could do anything. She struggled to get free but he pulled at her wrists, trying to get her to stop struggling and make her calm down. ‘I don't believe you!' she shouted.

‘There's not a lot I can do about that.'

‘You wanted him dead. I hate you!' Len looked around to make sure that no one else was party to this family rift.

‘Don't say that, love. You're angry.'

‘And you're a murderer,' Charly said, taking the opportunity of Len's shocked reaction to pull her wrists free. She ran out of the room crying.

Len looked on after her for a second, hoping that all of this was just shock and she would come round and realise that he was nothing of the sort. He hurried to the main entrance of the club, just in time to see Charly jump into the back of a smart black car, as a few photographers took her picture. Seeing a startled Len at the door they turned their attentions away from the blacked-out windows of
the vehicle. Len quickly slammed the door and headed back inside.

*

Markie slid his shades on and slumped into the driver's seat of his Range Rover. A lone photographer was at the passenger window taking shots of him as he drove away from the police station. Markie didn't have the energy to get out and insert the camera somewhere painful as he would have liked to. He needed to get to the office and change cars. The previous day had been interminable. The police had arrested him at 6am. Markie could never understand why they couldn't wait until a sociable hour; it wasn't like he was going anywhere. He had then spent the next day and night being held for questioning. It wasn't like on the TV, where a suspect was held and constantly questioned until they went mad and cracked under the pressure, demanding to sign anything if the police would just give them a few moments' sleep. It was the opposite. Red tape saw to that. So Markie had been at the hands of officers who had to make sure all of the correct forms were filled out, that they weren't making any cock-ups in their line of questioning
that could, in future, lead to the case being thrown out of court and that Markie got the right amount of breaks due to him. Markie would have preferred one of the old IRA internment-type grillings; at least they gathered some momentum.

The police had got nowhere with him. Markie knew exactly what to say. And what he kept saying over and over again was that on the night of Joel Baldy's murder he hadn't been anywhere near the footballer or the hotel he was staying in, or his sister Jodie for that matter.

Then the police produced what they considered to be damning evidence to suggest that Markie might have a motive for Joel's murder. Markie had looked at the file, Joel's loan file, with several missed payments, and been truly gobsmacked. He genuinely hadn't realised that what the police were suggesting had been anything to do with him. Mac looked after all of that. And he'd gone away for the week claiming to need to attend to business in the north-east. The last thing Markie had wanted to do was drop Mac in it and admit that he knew nothing about what he was being shown. But that would have shown a weakness and a lack of control over his own affairs. He felt that he had offered them enough to get himself off the hook but not
implicate Mac for the moment. The police had informed him that they wished to question Mac. But Mac had flown out of the country on Friday afternoon, according to their records, meaning he wasn't a suspect in the case.

The only thing was, Markie was fairly sure that Mac had been in the country until Saturday. Not that he was about to tell the police.

Markie pulled up in front of his mum's house. It was lunchtime and she was working in the Bolingbroke area all week so chances were she'd nipped home for lunch. He walked to the front door and let himself in.

‘Don't bloody knock then,' Tracy said, clutching her chest to indicate that Markie's arrival had surprised her. When she saw that it was Markie she asked angrily, ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?'

‘In the nick.'

‘What?'

‘You heard.'

‘What about your one phone call. Could've let me know.'

‘“How are you son?” I'm fine, Mum, bit sleep deprived but thanks for asking.'

‘Don't give me that. Mac's rolling around in his ex-missus's ashes, you'd gone AWOL, what do you
want me to say? I'm left holding the fort and it's hardly like I know what I'm doing – I even had to speak to that Tammy. And anyway, I only started working for you to help you out.'

Markie sneered. ‘You only started working for us because you knew you could get paid to be on a power trip. Busman's holiday for you, that, isn't it?'

His mother glared at him. ‘What they haul you in for, anyway?'

‘What do you think? They thought I'd killed him, didn't they?'

‘You? Joel Baldy? Why would you do that?'

‘Well, they've got a few reasons up their sleeves, haven't they, Tracy?' Markie glared at his mother. She cut her look away from him. He wasn't going to put words in her mouth. He wanted her to come clean and say what they both knew. Markie stood in deafening silence, staring at his mother. The silence was broken as Kent entered the room.

‘Markie Mark and the Funky Bunch!' Kent exclaimed.

Markie ignored Kent and looked at his mother. ‘Am I meant to be in the fucking mood for him now as well?' Kent slunk past Markie and Tracy. Tracy allowed her eyes to momentarily meet her son's. She was giving nothing away – he could have strangled
her.
Why couldn't she just come clean for once in her life?
he thought.

‘You want a drink?' Tracy asked, trying to diffuse the situation.

Markie didn't respond; he couldn't be bothered. He turned on his heel and slammed out of the house. He wasn't in the mood for his mum; there was someone else he needed to see.

*

Terry pulled the car into the driveway. ‘She might be sleeping. If it were me that's what I'd do. Sleep through it all and hope when I woke up that it was just some terrible nightmare.'

‘Thanks for the lift,' Markie said gratefully, patting Terry on the shoulder. He had parked his own car near an old building that he once owned and had arranged for Terry to pick him up so that he wasn't followed.

Markie walked into the lounge and looked around. He'd never been to the sprawling Hale Barns residence before. ‘Hello,' he shouted through into the dining room. There was no answer. Markie pushed the door open to the large oak hallway and shouted again. ‘Hello!'

Charly came out of a room dressed in pyjamas and a dressing gown. She looked tiny to him. He walked towards her and pulled her close briefly. ‘How are you?'

She waited a moment as if the question was taking its time to register. ‘Shit,' she said finally. ‘And you?'

‘I've been better. Spent the last God knows how long being questioned.'

‘Oh no, Markie, why?' Charly asked, putting her hand to her mouth.

‘They know about us.'

Charly squirmed uneasily.

‘How?'

‘How do the cops know anything? I don't know, they just do.'

‘Shit,' Charly said, almost to herself.

‘But that's the least of your worries, isn't it?'

Charly nodded numbly.

‘We need to get something straight, Charly. I was this close –' He held up his thumb and index finger and joined them, indicating no distance at all ‘– from giving him the hiding he deserved.' Charly looked at him with wounded horror. Seeing her reaction, Markie made himself clear. ‘No, it wasn't me. But that doesn't mean to say I'm not glad he's dead.'

‘You can't say that!' she shouted. ‘I love him.' Markie walked towards her and she lashed out with her fists. He pulled her to him, embracing her as she struggled. ‘I loved him,' she wailed, as if the fact that Joel was now forever to be a thing of the past had just dawned on her.

‘And he was a right bastard to you.' Markie was knackered and as much as he wanted to protect Charly's feelings, and realised she was going through a really rough time, he knew she needed to wake up sooner or later to the narrow escape she'd had. ‘I'm not saying you'll be thankful that any of this happened; I wouldn't wish this on anyone. But I think you'll realise that he was a nasty bastard and you weren't the only person he was a nasty bastard to.'

‘That's what Dad said.'

‘Did he?'

‘I was horrible to him. I accused him of doing it,' she said.

‘Do you think he had anything to do with it? I don't, for the record.'

‘I don't know what to think.'

‘I think you need to start thinking about yourself and bollocks to everyone and everything else.'

‘That's a lot easier said than done,' Charly said morosely.

They both fell into silence for a moment. ‘Does your mum know about any of this?' Charly asked finally.

‘Mum?' Markie said, confused for a moment. Gone were the days when he ran to Tracy to cry about the fact that he'd been arrested. Suddenly the penny dropped. She didn't mean about the arrest, she meant about Charly and Markie.

‘No. And she's not going to, if I have my way.' Markie was adamant. But he wasn't sure if his way was going to come into it. This whole situation was beginning to feel decidedly out of his control. Mac wasn't returning his calls and the police seemed to think that Markie had a good enough reason to want Joel dead. It would only be a matter of time before they built a case against him if they didn't get a more suitable suspect.

‘I think she has a right to know,' Charly said, taking a tissue from a box in the middle of the coffee table and blowing her nose.

Markie's eyes narrowed. There was no way he needed a hysterical Charly shooting her mouth off to his mother. He was fine with the way things were; he didn't need Tracy in on this as well. She'd find out when he was ready to tell her and not before. He'd spent long enough having to
listen to his mum's lies and bullshit without having to roll over and tell her everything he knew just because Charly was on edge. ‘She hasn't got any rights in this. She's just my bloody mother, that's all, end of.'

Charly fell into an armchair. ‘Don't shout at me,' she said pathetically, dissolving into tears again. Markie looked at her. He didn't want to come across as a nasty piece of work in all of this, but his rope was beginning to unravel. He decided to chance the subject and get things onto a more practical keel. ‘Have you called a solicitor to look at what you're entitled to? You've got the stuff that Joel signed, haven't you?'

‘I'm scared.'

‘What of?'

‘I put all the money stuff in order so quickly, they might think it's part of a set-up. That I did it and wanted something to happen to Joel . . . They've asked me loads of questions.' Charly was finding it difficult to finish a sentence without crying.

‘But you've told them nothing?' Markie ran his fingers through his hair and turned his back on Charly, needing a moment to think.

‘There's nothing to tell, is there?' she asked desperately.

This was true as far as Markie knew with regard to Charly. He had advised her to get her financial arrangements in order, but because Joel was so volatile and unpredictable, not because she wanted him dead. Now Charly was entitled to a lot of money from Joel – on paper at least – but she was probably in for the roughest ride of her life from both the law and the press if she pursued it. This situation had black widow written all over it.