“Do you want to take a quick shower
or will you go like that?”
“I’d prefer to shower if you don’t mind.”
“Okay, I’ll be waiting for you in the car park.”
The atmosphere in the guest changing rooms was
typically jubilant, but Doug felt uncharacteristically subdued. Taff’s tenor
voice was leading a chorus of “Wild Rover”, but Doug couldn’t get into it.
Although he didn’t relish the idea of having to talk to hairy-face all the way
to the hospital, he was actually quite glad not to have to stay for the
after-match drinks. His neck was sore and a pig of a headache was taking hold.
In the car park, the big man was standing next to
a dark blue Ford Mondeo and puffing away on a large pipe. As Doug approached,
he flipped open the boot of the car and gestured towards Doug’s kit bag with
the stem of the pipe. He took one last draw and emptied the smouldering
contents onto the gravel, grinding it in with the heel of a large muddy hiking
boot.
“Mr. Richards,” said the policeman offering his hand. “Let me introduce myself
properly. I’m Inspector Bullock. How are you feeling?”
“I feel like I’ve just been hit by a train. Other than that, not too bad.”
“Well, sit yourself there in the front. It’s only about twenty minutes to the
hospital.”
As the car pulled away, Doug slumped into the seat
and turned his head towards the window. For some minutes the two men remained
silent and Doug hoped it might stay that way. Eventually the inspector spoke.
“I’m very sorry about your friend, Mr. Gupta. Were you two close?”
“Kal was my best friend.”
“I’m very sorry,” he said again. Several moments passed, then he added, “I
understand there was a party the night before.”
“Yeah, it was a good one. That’s what I find so difficult to understand.”
“What’s that?” said the inspector, looking straight ahead at the road.
Doug studied the man’s face for a moment. It was relaxed and almost completely
devoid of expression, rather like that of a professional poker player.
“Well, he seemed to be having so much fun. One minute he’s the life and soul
and then the next…” Doug trailed off. The inspector was still looking straight
ahead, his face giving away nothing. “Does the name Sergei Markov mean anything
to you?”
Doug thought for a moment. “Doesn’t ring a bell I’m afraid. Who is he?”
Bullock reached into his coat pocket and produced a photo. “What about this?”
It was a low-resolution black and white print taken from an elevated position
with some kind of wide angle lens. It showed a short, wiry man, probably in his
thirties, dressed in black with ponytail and goatee-beard. It looked a lot like
a man he’d seen talking to Kal at the party.
“The picture is from a time-lapse security camera tape; that’s why it’s so
grainy. Unfortunately, it’s the only one I have right now. Was this man at the
party?”
“I’m not sure. Yeah, maybe. It was quite dark and I’m afraid I’d had a few
drinks so I can’t be certain. Who is he anyway and what’s the connection?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. Try to remember. Was this man there?”
The car had stopped at traffic lights and Bullock was now turned and watching
Doug’s face intently.
“Yes, I think so. I saw him talking to Kal.”
“Did you hear any of what was said?”
“No, sorry – the music was pretty loud.”
“Did you notice anything else out of the ordinary?”
Doug thought back. A few of the guests had been smoking pot and there were
always plenty of suspicious looking people at Kal’s parties. Some were mature
students, while others were just friends of friends from outside the campus,
but nothing about this one had stood out particularly. Then he thought of
Cindy. He had not seen or heard from her since she had abandoned him outside
Kal’s tower, but feeling disinclined to share this with Bullock, he shook his
head vaguely. “No, it was fairly typical really. Do you think
or will you go like that?”
“I’d prefer to shower if you don’t mind.”
“Okay, I’ll be waiting for you in the car park.”
The atmosphere in the guest changing rooms was
typically jubilant, but Doug felt uncharacteristically subdued. Taff’s tenor
voice was leading a chorus of “Wild Rover”, but Doug couldn’t get into it.
Although he didn’t relish the idea of having to talk to hairy-face all the way
to the hospital, he was actually quite glad not to have to stay for the
after-match drinks. His neck was sore and a pig of a headache was taking hold.
In the car park, the big man was standing next to
a dark blue Ford Mondeo and puffing away on a large pipe. As Doug approached,
he flipped open the boot of the car and gestured towards Doug’s kit bag with
the stem of the pipe. He took one last draw and emptied the smouldering
contents onto the gravel, grinding it in with the heel of a large muddy hiking
boot.
“Mr. Richards,” said the policeman offering his hand. “Let me introduce myself
properly. I’m Inspector Bullock. How are you feeling?”
“I feel like I’ve just been hit by a train. Other than that, not too bad.”
“Well, sit yourself there in the front. It’s only about twenty minutes to the
hospital.”
As the car pulled away, Doug slumped into the seat
and turned his head towards the window. For some minutes the two men remained
silent and Doug hoped it might stay that way. Eventually the inspector spoke.
“I’m very sorry about your friend, Mr. Gupta. Were you two close?”
“Kal was my best friend.”
“I’m very sorry,” he said again. Several moments passed, then he added, “I
understand there was a party the night before.”
“Yeah, it was a good one. That’s what I find so difficult to understand.”
“What’s that?” said the inspector, looking straight ahead at the road.
Doug studied the man’s face for a moment. It was relaxed and almost completely
devoid of expression, rather like that of a professional poker player.
“Well, he seemed to be having so much fun. One minute he’s the life and soul
and then the next…” Doug trailed off. The inspector was still looking straight
ahead, his face giving away nothing. “Does the name Sergei Markov mean anything
to you?”
Doug thought for a moment. “Doesn’t ring a bell I’m afraid. Who is he?”
Bullock reached into his coat pocket and produced a photo. “What about this?”
It was a low-resolution black and white print taken from an elevated position
with some kind of wide angle lens. It showed a short, wiry man, probably in his
thirties, dressed in black with ponytail and goatee-beard. It looked a lot like
a man he’d seen talking to Kal at the party.
“The picture is from a time-lapse security camera tape; that’s why it’s so
grainy. Unfortunately, it’s the only one I have right now. Was this man at the
party?”
“I’m not sure. Yeah, maybe. It was quite dark and I’m afraid I’d had a few
drinks so I can’t be certain. Who is he anyway and what’s the connection?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. Try to remember. Was this man there?”
The car had stopped at traffic lights and Bullock was now turned and watching
Doug’s face intently.
“Yes, I think so. I saw him talking to Kal.”
“Did you hear any of what was said?”
“No, sorry – the music was pretty loud.”
“Did you notice anything else out of the ordinary?”
Doug thought back. A few of the guests had been smoking pot and there were
always plenty of suspicious looking people at Kal’s parties. Some were mature
students, while others were just friends of friends from outside the campus,
but nothing about this one had stood out particularly. Then he thought of
Cindy. He had not seen or heard from her since she had abandoned him outside
Kal’s tower, but feeling disinclined to share this with Bullock, he shook his
head vaguely. “No, it was fairly typical really. Do you think
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