Only a Game (19 page)

It was at this moment that Pearson saw them waiting and came over to speak to them. ‘I thought you might wish to talk to me when you'd finished upstairs, so I stayed on the premises.'

‘Thoughtful of you, Mr Pearson. We normally like to speak to the widow of the deceased as soon as possible in circumstances like this, but I think in this case it would be useful to have your views first.' Peach studied him unashamedly, a CID habit which members of the public often found unnerving.

Despite his obvious abilities, Darren Pearson looked shaken beneath the outward composure, particularly now that he was about to become the man at the centre of the questioning rather than the director of affairs he normally was in this place. He looked older than his forty-five years, principally because of the lack of any colour in his cheeks and the worry lines around his eyes, which were grey and watchful. He had plentiful hair, cut fairly short and with a conventional parting. But a tuft on the crown of his head stood up obstinately, making the general effect unruly. He wore the dark tie and the suit appropriate for the death of his employer, but a missing button on his shirt destroyed the formal effect.

He took them into his own office and sat behind his desk. Then, as if recognizing that the set-up was wrong when he was to be the questioned rather than the questioner, he brought his chair round the desk and sat down awkwardly opposite them. He found that murder had altered his thinking and destroyed his normal control here.

Peach said, ‘When did you learn of this death, Mr Pearson?'

He glanced at his watch. ‘One hour and forty minutes ago. I was still in bed when I received a phone call at my home from the lady directing the cleaning operations, Mrs Green.'

‘We shall await the report from the pathologist before making any formal declaration about this crime: until then it will remain a suspicious death.'

‘But you think Mr Capstick was murdered.'

Peach allowed himself a small, sad smile. ‘I have no doubt of it. Neither have DS Blake and the scene of crime officer.'

Pearson nodded. ‘That is what I supposed.'

‘Again we await formal confirmation, but I will tell you that we are privately certain that the victim died last night.'

‘That again is what I expected to hear.'

‘Had you any reason to think Mr Capstick was in danger?'

The man who was used to controlling things here sat awkwardly on the chair with his knees together and pursed his lips. Pearson was clearly anxious to pick his words carefully, but that was probably a usual trait for a man who dealt daily with questions from the media. Caution about what he said was probably a habit he had developed with his occupation. ‘Not in danger of his life, no. And yet I have to say that what has happened is not entirely a surprise to me.'

Peach would have preferred a man who was more emotional, less careful of his replies. Unguarded reactions were normally more useful to him at this stage. This man would eventually make a good witness in court, if he were needed. Of course, it was at this moment possible that he might be appearing in the dock rather than as a prosecution witness. ‘When did you last see Mr Capstick alive?'

‘At seven ten last night.' It was a reply which had been waiting for the expected question. He watched Lucy Blake making a note of it with her gold ball-pen and then said, ‘That is also the last time when a whole gathering of people saw him. The exception will be the person who killed him. But I don't expect that information will be volunteered to you.'

Peach felt more at ease now. He found to his surprise that he was almost enjoying the preliminary fencing with this man who had clearly prepared exactly what he was going to release to them. He said, ‘I think you had better put us in the picture about this. In other words, tell us exactly what went on before this time of seven ten about which you are so definite.'

‘I'm sure that would be useful to you. You will no doubt be speaking to the other people who were there. If I give you the facts, you can gather other people's impressions in due course.'

‘The facts are always a useful starting point, I find. We shall also require your impressions, as well as those of others. The way in which people's impressions of what happened vary is often revealing.'

It sounded like a warning, but if he registered it as such, Pearson showed no discomfort. He embarked carefully on phrases he seemed to have prepared. ‘Mr Capstick was a powerful man, as I'm sure you already know. He was a considerate employer, so long as you operated efficiently.' He paused for a moment. ‘He had his own agenda, which wasn't always going to be acceptable to the people he worked with.'

‘You mean he was ruthless in the pursuit of his own interests.'

‘Yes, I suppose I do. I'm not saying that—'

‘It's not unusual for successful tycoons to be ruthless. I presume you would agree that your late employer was a tycoon?'

‘Yes, he was certainly that.'

‘Then I think you should press on and tell us what recent action of his it was which seemed to you particularly ruthless.'

Pearson was a little ruffled to be shaken out of his measured revelation, as Peach had intended him to be. He said bluntly, almost resentfully, ‘He was planning to sell the club.'

Peach glanced at Blake, who took up the questioning smoothly but less aggressively, ‘How long had you known about this, Mr Pearson?'

‘Mr Capstick gave me the first intimation of it just over a week ago. I had to know that a change of ownership was in the offing, you see, because I had to give instructions for confidential information about the finances of the club to be released to the representatives of the putative purchaser.'

‘How many other people knew about this?'

For the first time, Pearson did not have his reply ready. He gave every appearance of trying to be as honest and informative as possible. ‘No one except me, officially, until last night.'

‘Officially?' Lucy Blake raised the eyebrows beneath the dark red hair beguilingly and brought the first, vestigial smile from her now apprehensive informant. ‘It's almost impossible to keep these things completely confidential, once the operation of what is called “due diligence” begins. Our chairman of thirty years ago, Edward Lanchester, had picked up a rumour from somewhere and quizzed me about it. He's a shrewd old bird, Mr Lanchester,' Pearson added, with what seemed genuine affection.

It was at this stage that Percy Peach, black moustache bristling suspiciously beneath the shining bald head, took up the questioning again. ‘And who else had picked up on rumours?'

‘Robbie Black, our manager, saw the financial men in here last week. He sensed something was in the wind, but he knew nothing definite, any more than the rest of us, until last night.'

‘And what happened then?'

Pearson paused, making himself take his time, wary of making a mistake in this key revelation. He knew other people were going to be questioned about this. It was important to him that he now conveyed every impression of honesty. ‘It was a strange occasion. Everyone connected with the club was euphoric about the victory over Liverpool yesterday afternoon.'

Percy remembered his own almost childish delight, as he had lingered in his seat after the final whistle to savour the triumph. ‘You mean even level-headed people like the chief executive of the club?'

This time Darren Pearson's grin was genuine, a recognition of the delight of a fellow-supporter. ‘Particularly the chief executive, Detective Chief Inspector Peach.' He was amused for a moment by the parallel titles. ‘I am Brunton born and bred, so I'm always elated by a victory, especially over someone like Liverpool. If you want a more rational, hard-headed explanation, yesterday's victory almost guarantees our continued participation in the Premiership, which as you know means many millions of pounds to us.'

‘So everyone was very excited. Hardly the right moment for Jim Capstick to throw a spanner into the works, was it?'

Darren Pearson was silent for a moment. ‘It wasn't, but I don't blame Mr Capstick for that. Rumours were already circulating and in those circumstances all sorts of wild stories gain currency. It was better to have the facts out in the open, however unpalatable they might be for some of us.'

Lucy Blake looked up from her notes. ‘You had better tell us exactly what happened. Remember that we know nothing at the moment, either about the detail of these events or the people involved.'

‘I'm not sure I wish to comment on other people's feelings. I was concerned with the way the announcement was going to affect me personally at the time, not with what others thought.'

Peach said sternly, ‘Within a few hours of revealing this news, Jim Capstick was dead. Almost certainly murdered. It must surely have occurred to you that the two events might be connected.'

‘I'm not sure I've done much thinking. I dressed and rushed down here as soon as I got the news. Since then, I've had to try to calm the woman who found him, accommodate your scene of crime team, provide facilities for you, and try to formulate some official statement for the media. I've not had much time to digest what has happened and think rationally about it.'

‘I accept that. But you will see that we need an account of exactly what happened last night, as a starting point for an investigation. We shan't declare this a murder until we have the proper confirmation, but the three of us here know already that it is murder that we are dealing with. There must be a strong possibility that it was one of the people who heard Mr Capstick's announcement that he was planning to sell the club who despatched him later in the evening.'

Darren Pearson's taut face had an unhealthy pallor. Tension was a natural enough reaction to the events of his morning, but Peach wondered whether there was also anxiety that he did not give away too much of himself and his own feelings. ‘I'll tell it as accurately as I can. Other people may remember it differently.'

‘Of course. And the differences may well be entirely innocent. But they will be of interest to us, as we try to find how Capstick died.'

Pearson swallowed hard; it seemed to cost him a considerable effort to do so. ‘If you were at the match, Mr Peach, you'll realize how excited everyone was at the conclusion of it. But it's rather a peculiar atmosphere for the directors and other people who are invited into the hospitality suite afterwards. You have the corresponding dignitaries from the visiting club to entertain, which means you have to control your natural elation.'

‘You mustn't appear to crow.'

‘Something like that. Very British, no doubt, but it doesn't seem sporting to be too euphoric when the people you are supposed to be entertaining are cast down by defeat. There was a sort of contained excitement, with people not wanting to show their feelings too openly.'

‘Whilst you waited patiently for your visitors to leave.'

‘Exactly that, yes. No one acknowledged it, but I think that was precisely what we were waiting for.' Pearson allowed himself a small smile, his first for many minutes, in his relief that Peach recognized the situation. ‘Fortunately, the visitors don't usually hang around for too long in these situations. Yesterday's was an important defeat for Liverpool, as well as an important victory for us. We do have a reputation for good food here – our apple pie is talked of all over the country – but I think our visitors were quite anxious to get away and lick their wounds.'

‘And Jim Capstick dropped his bombshell as soon as they had gone?'

‘Yes. And bombshell is what it was. Even those who had some idea that a takeover might be a possibility had no idea that things had gone as far as they had. As a matter of fact, even Mrs Capstick seemed to be taken aback by the news. She might have been pretending that she had no prior knowledge of it, I suppose, but I don't think so. She seemed more surprised by it than some of the rest of us who had an inkling of what was in the offing.'

‘Did anyone offer any argument against the sale of the club?'

Pearson smiled fondly at his recollection. ‘Edmund Lanchester did. He spoke up strongly against it, tried to point out that a football club shouldn't be treated in exactly the same way as any other business asset.' Pearson smiled fondly as he remembered the old man's sturdy opposition. ‘He didn't get any change out of Capstick. You wouldn't have expected him to, if you'd known the man.'

‘As you did.'

‘Better than most, I suppose.'

‘Did you say anything yourself?'

‘Yes. I'm not sure why, because I must have known it would have no effect. Someone – I think it was probably Debbie Black, our manager's wife – tried to point out that the football club affected the whole town, not just the people who owned it. Capstick said that he didn't care about them and I pointed out that we cared about them every time we needed their backing, that we expected them to come through the turnstiles and support our team. I believe I said there just wouldn't be occasions like the memorable victory over Liverpool we'd just enjoyed without the people of the area coming into the ground to support us.'

‘And what was his reaction?'

‘It was in effect a threat to me. He said that he'd have to take account of my attitude when he considered whether to recommend the existing staff to the new owner.' Pearson watched Lucy Blake's ball-pen speeding over her notebook and said wryly, ‘I've just given myself a motive, haven't I?'

‘Much better to be honest, I assure you, Mr Pearson,' said Peach breezily. ‘No doubt someone else would have reported these things to us, if you had concealed them. And it seems to me that most people listening to Jim Capstick's announcement had a motive. I don't suppose the prospect of a change of ownership was welcomed by many people.'

‘That is correct. Even the team manager, Robbie Black, spoke up against it. He's a Scotsman who usually thinks carefully before he chooses to speak. But he was pretty bitter about how much connection with football the new owners might have – how much knowledge of the game or what it meant to the people of Brunton. I suppose he felt threatened, like the rest of us.'