Dead Ball by Tom Palmer (snow like ashes series .txt) 📕

for stopping his country winning the night before?

Someone from outside football. An old friend. An ex-girlfriend. A former business partner.

Or someone very much inside of football. A player. Someone he was in competition with. Robert Skatie? Matt McGee? Why not him? He had a dodgy reputation.

A driver he’d cut up? Maybe it was road rage. A stranger.

Or was it nothing to do with Finn? Maybe someone was after Giles Forshaw, the newspaper editor. The passenger in the Mercedes. Not the driver.

Danny wanted to talk to Holt. To find out what he thought. To start ruling things out. So he could get to the truth.

‘Morning, Danny,’ Holt said, as Danny knocked and entered his office.

‘How’s your boss?’ Danny asked.

‘OK. Back home. He actually shattered his kneecap, so he’s in a bit of pain.’

‘And Finn?’

‘Fine. He’s out of hospital too. But his legs are badly bruised. They think he’s got ligament damage. He’s spending the morning talking to the police.’

‘What do they say?’ Danny asked in an excited voice.

Anton Holt smiled. ‘I know what you’re up to, Danny. But I think it’s best you leave this one to the police.’

‘I’m just interested,’ Danny said. ‘Do they have any theories?’

‘None they’ve told me.’

Danny frowned. Holt was being cagey. So he asked him. Straight out. ‘Are you putting it in the paper?’

‘The crash? Of course.’

‘Not the crash. The black Range Rover.’

Holt paused, then looked down at his desk. ‘No,’ he said, after a few moments.

‘Why not?’ Danny said. Too loudly.

Holt softened his voice. ‘Right. This is the truth.I’ll tell you once, then we don’t talk about it again. OK?’

Danny nodded.

‘Giles said not to. He said Alex Finn asked him. As a favour. To keep it quiet. He said it was like Finn was scared of something.’

‘Why?’

‘I dunno,’ Holt said. ‘Now we have to leave it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s a secret.’

‘But I told the police,’ Danny said, ‘about the Range Rover.’

‘They’ve been asked not to go to the media either,’ Holt replied.

Danny frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Danny. I don’t know. Stop asking “Why?”’

‘But you can’t just sit on it,’ Danny protested.

‘I’m sorry, Danny. I have to. Those are my orders.’ ‘Not mine,’ Danny said.

Holt put his head in his hands, then looked up.

‘Leave it, Danny. Please. Just for now. I promise you: I’ll clear this up soon. But not now. It compromises things.’

‘Like what?’ Danny said. ‘So you do know stuff. What is it?’

‘I can’t say.’

‘Why not?’

‘Danny, leave it. Trust me. There’s a good reason we can’t do this now. Please.’ Holt turned to his laptop.

‘Is it something you’re writing?’ Danny asked.

Holt sighed. He swung his chair round and gave Danny a stern look. ‘If I tell you, then no more questions, right?’

‘Right,’ Danny said.

‘Yes. I am writing something.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t say.’

‘Why?’

‘I just can’t, Danny. Don’t push me.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m doing a story. That’s all I’m telling you. No more. That’s it. Final.’

Danny paused, then nodded. ‘OK,’ he said. But he was struggling. His thoughts had gathered too much momentum: he wanted to pursue this. But he trusted Holt. And he didn’t want to undermine whatever he had going on.

‘Anyway,’ Holt grinned. ‘The police are more interested in this boy who always seems to be around when footballers are kidnapped or crash their cars. They haven’t got his name, but…’

Danny laughed.

‘Listen,’ Holt said, once Danny had stopped. ‘I’ve got an offer for you. It might make up for me… for all this.’

Danny frowned. What was this? Was Holt trying to distract him?

Holt leaned over his desk to Danny. ‘Giles can’t come to Moscow now. His kneecap. So…’

Danny’s eyes widened.

‘… I wondered if…’

Danny was nodding.

‘… if you’d like to come in his place.’

‘Yes,’ Danny said. It was the only word he could get out: he was so excited.

‘I mean, we’ll have to ask your mum and dad. You’d be away three or four nights.’

‘Yes,’ Danny said again. ‘Yes please.’

Suddenly Danny had been made an offer that was beyond his wildest dreams. His work experience was about to become less and less like work – and more and more like an experience.

‘Dad?’

‘Danny? Are you OK? Your voice sounds funny.’

‘I’m at the Evening Post.’

‘Is the editor guy OK?’ Dad said. ‘And Alex Finn?’

‘Yeah, they’re fine. But I need to ask you something.’

‘What?’

‘Well, Anton’s made me this offer.’

‘Right.’

‘He’s asked if I’d like to go to the Russia game. In Moscow.’

‘Right,’ his dad said again. But that was all. There was a silence. Danny knew his dad was thinking, that he shouldn’t interrupt. However much he wanted to shout ‘Pleeeeaaaasssseeee’ down the phone.

Eventually his dad spoke. ‘Is Anton there?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Can I talk to him?’

‘Yeah.’ Danny handed Holt the phone.

Holt paused, then said, ‘Hello, Mr Harte.… Yes. Moscow.… In the press box. Yes. Then a hotel. The President. Very posh. And secure. It’s the one the team are staying in. It’s owned by the government, so it’s the safest in Russia.’

Danny’s mouth gaped open. The team hotel. And the team flight.

‘Sunday,’ Holt said. ‘First thing… Thursday morning. Back in England about midday.’

Danny was trying to put the conversation together, imagining what his dad was saying. What Anton’s answers meant.

‘Yes,’ Holt said. ‘Very much part of his work experience… OK.’ He handed Danny the handset.

Danny grabbed it and spoke breathlessly. ‘Dad?’

‘I need to talk to your mum,’ Dad said. ‘I’ll call her at work, then call you back. OK?’

‘Yeah. Thanks, Dad.’

Danny leafed through the day’s papers. All about the day before. The life-threatening crash suffered by the footballer. But no theories why it could have happened.

An accident. That was it. The police were investigating, but were not looking for anyone else in connection with the crash.

Danny’s mind was all over the place. He was thinking about the crash, but also the trip to Russia. Would or wouldn’t he be allowed to go? It was so important.

He glanced at Holt answering emails on his laptop, looking like today was a day like any other.

Waiting for Dad to call back was doing Danny’s head in.

‘Anton?’

‘Yep.’

‘What are you writing about?’

‘What?’ Holt said, preoccupied.

‘Are you writing about the crash?’

‘The crash?’

‘Yeah.’ Danny knew he’d promised not