Danny had hardly slept since yesterday’s events, he was so obsessed with cracking this crime.
The first thing he did, once he’d got to the café for another surveillance session, was text Holt. He had been wondering how to approach it: seeing Holt in the bins yesterday. He decided to be as straight as he could.
Saw you at the house yesterday.
What were you up to?
Danny
He knew Holt would either text back instantly – or take hours.
This time it was instant.
What did that mean? Danny wondered. That was crazy. It was clearly Holt. Danny had seen him with his own eyes.
So why was he denying it?
Perhaps because he couldn’t text or email the truth, thinking someone other than Danny might read it?
Danny shook his head. Holt had been funny recently. And this whole going through Finn’s bins and then lying about it was making things worse.
Danny sat and drank his tea. He needed to calm down and think. About everything. About what on earth he was involved in. This week. This year. The whole thing.
He was glad of one thing: that there was a different team of assistants in the café that morning. This was his third day here on the trot. They might start to wonder about him.
In fact, he was starting to wonder about the sense in coming here every day of the holidays himself. He thought about all the crime novels he’d read to his dad. He couldn’t think of any that had the detective character going to the same café day after day, watching for one person who may or may not arrive. Crime novels were full of chases and excitement. Not just watching. But Danny also knew that in real life detectives sat and watched. For hours. For days. For weeks. He had read in the newspapers about operations to watch suspected terrorists. They watched them for months, gathering evidence, putting a case together. And quite often it came to nothing.
And if nothing happened here that was OK too. Danny had a lot to think about. A million questions about the burglars, about Wire and about the security guard. And now – although he couldn’t believe he was thinking this – he had questions about Holt.
He took out his notebook and made a page out for each suspect.
Suspect one: Paul Wire.
Why was he a suspect?
Because Anton had had a tip from a solid source. Because he was obviously involved in very dodgy activities, such as hiding things in toilets. Because he followed Danny and Charlotte yesterday.
So he was dodgy. Clearly. And it meant he was capable of burglary. But it didn’t mean he was doing it.
Suspect two: the security guard.
Because the police had been reported to have arrested a security guard the night Danny was in the woods. Possibly the one who had chased him on the night of the François burglary. It was vague, but he was still a suspect.
Suspect three. Danny couldn’t believe he was putting this down in his notebook. But he did. Suspect three: Anton Holt.
Why?
Because Danny had seen him at the scene of a crime and he couldn’t explain it. That on its own would not have been enough. But Anton was being weird. And he’d denied being at the house the day before.
Danny didn’t believe he was a suspect at all. He just couldn’t afford to rule him out.
Suspect four: someone else.
Why?
Because, however much he liked to think one of his suspects was the burglar, Danny was not convinced. Not by a long way. And the most important thing was that he had to keep an open mind.
Danny drank his cup of tea slowly. He was getting a bit sick of tea. He wished he’d ordered a Coke.
And then he saw Wire standing at the door of the pub. Just like that. He’d not even seen him arrive. But there he was, smoking a cigarette. 10.55 a.m. Danny put it in his notebook.
| 10.55 | Wire arrives at Precinct pub. Smokes cigarette. |
| 11.00 | Pub opens. |
| 11.03 | Two men enter pub. Wire. And Francis Graham. |
| 11.35 | Wire leaves pub. Heading towards railway station. |
Danny was on his feet. Now he was going to get to do the following, as opposed to being followed. As he made his way out of the café, a voice in his head was telling him not to. Based on the scare he’d had from Wire yesterday. But what could he do? This was his best lead. This was the chance to get to grips with a series of football crimes that showed no signs of ending.
He remembered how he’d followed people before. Notably another footballer, Matt McGee, in Moscow, six months earlier, when he’d been investigating a Russian billionaire who was intent on murdering England keepers. He had tried to use techniques he’d learned in a book on being a spy:
• Follow at a distance
• Try to be on the other side of the road, not directly in your target’s footsteps
• If your target looks round, keep going, don’t stop or try to hide, behave normally
• Act like you are going somewhere, not following
In Russia he had ended up trailing the player down a long busy road, then going down by the river. Making it obvious Danny was following the player.
Today Danny wouldn’t have the same problem.
Because it was difficult for Wire to notice he was being followed. Every ten metres or so someone greeted him. He was an ex-City player, he was famous. They were out in the centre of town. Danny saw that Wire kept his head down, trying not to be spotted. But, when he was, he’d just give a quick wave or nod.
Danny followed seventy metres behind. Through the Saturday morning shoppers: people with bags bulging, groups of girls his age. He stayed at the same distance behind Wire until they reached the railway station. And another pub.
This man seems to spend his life in pubs.
The pub had two entrances. One was a huge glass front that had been rolled back so that the pub spilled out on to the station concourse. And there – right in the middle of the entrance – was a massive TV screen. Showing Spurs v. City. About to kick off.
The concourse was large. There were shops and cafés either side. A glass roof let light in high above. And the sound of footsteps filled the chamber.
Danny stood in a small group of younger people and passers-by who were watching the game without getting a drink. It was ideal. He could watch Wire in the pub from the cover of this crowd. And see the match. Perfection. He bought a Coke from the shop at the end of the station concourse and watched.
The first thing he noticed was Wire being bought a lot of drinks. Other customers kept bringing him bottles. Becks beer, Danny noted. And, even though the game had started, people were desperate to talk to him.
The match was a good one too. Meaningful. City in fifth place in the Premier League. Spurs fourth. Whoever won would be in a Champions League spot. It was a key game.
The first half was tight. Both teams playing deep, not taking risks. A lot of the drinkers were talking, messing about, not looking at the match at all.
At half-time a surge of men headed for the bar and the toilets. Including Wire.
Danny wasn’t quite sure what to do. He could follow, get into the pub, see what Wire was up to. But then he might blow his cover. Or he could stay here, assume that Wire would come back to his place. Then he noticed Wire had taken off his jacket and thrown it over a chair.
That meant he was staying. Leaving his jacket. Keeping a chair. And several full bottles of lager.
Danny was right: before long Wire had returned and was drinking again.
The second half of the game was better than the first. Both teams were attacking more. And City had brought on a substitute. It had opened up. Ten minutes into the second half City broke away. Danny joined in the shouts. It was three against two, City’s forwards streaming onwards up the pitch. Danny noticed City’s new striker, Robert Jones, move wide of his marker, just as the midfielder, Lucas Craxford, passed the ball to him.
Now he was in space, on the edge of the box. He controlled the ball with his first touch, waited for the keeper, Mark Bull, to come off his line, then he clipped it over him.
1–0.
City were winning.
Danny jumped up and down, catching the eyes of the people he’d been standing with.
Grinning.
He loved it when City scored. It was even better while he was carrying out surveillance.
Brilliant.
He looked to see how Wire was celebrating. But realized, to his horror, that he couldn’t spot him.
Where was he?
Danny looked to see if Wire’s jacket was still slung over the chair. But that was gone too.
Paul Wire had disappeared. And Danny had to think fast.