Free January Window by Philip Kerr Page A

Portuguese.
    ‘Fill it in and repair it,’ I told Colin. ‘I’ll take full responsibility. You can tell him that. But before you do fill it in maybe you should dig down a little. It could be that when you disturbed the people who excavated this, they were actually filling the hole in again.’
    ‘I don’t follow you, Scott.’
    ‘Humour me, will you, Colin? Usually when people dig a grave it’s because they want to bury something in it. Something, or someone.’
    ‘You don’t mean…?’ The Welshman glanced at the grave in horror.
    ‘I do mean, Colin. I do mean.’
    Zarco grinned. ‘Perhaps Scott is expecting you to find Yorick in this grave,’ he said.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Terry Yorick,’ I said. ‘Defensive midfielder for Leeds United. His daughter Gabby used to do the football on the telly. Nice-looking bird. Great pins. I don’t watch it nearly so much now she’s gone.’
    Zarco laughed at Colin’s continuing incomprehension and walked back towards the players’ entrance. I followed him closely.
    ‘Alas, poor Terry Yorick,’ I said. ‘He was Welsh, too. Poor bastard.’
    ‘To be or not to be. You know, with an attitude like that I think maybe Hamlet followed a football team.’
    ‘FC Copenhagen, probably.’
    ‘So, Scott. Today’s fitness and injury reports? You got them?’
    ‘On your desk, boss.’
    ‘Good.’ Zarco’s phone bleeped. He checked the screen and nodded: ‘Paolo Gentile. Excellent. Looks like we’ve now got ourselves a Scottish goalkeeper. Let’s hope he’s as good as you said he was. Now all we need is a translator. I couldn’t understand one fucking word he said. Except that one. Fucking.’
    ‘I’ll translate. I speak good Scottish.’
    ‘That’s a relief.’
    ‘I thought Denis Kampfner was handling the transfer.’
    ‘Viktor doesn’t trust him, so he brought his own agent in. Paolo Gentile.’
    ‘He’s your agent, too, isn’t he?’
    ‘Yes. What of it?’ Zarco’s phone bleeped again. ‘Now who’s this? The BBC. Strictly Come Dancing . They want me for the new series. I keep saying no and they keep offering more money. As if.’
    ‘I bet you’re quite the twinkle-toes.’
    ‘I hate that shit. I hate all those stupid shows. Me, I’d rather read a book.’
    I glanced back over my shoulder and saw that Colin was already in the hole and digging.
    ‘Poor Colin,’ I said. ‘Get him on the subject of grass seed and he’ll talk for fucking hours, but I don’t think he’s read a book in his life.’
    ‘He reads. He has a book in his office toilet.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘Yes. Mind you, it’s a pretty crappy book. I think maybe when he runs out of toilet paper… It’s your book. Foul Play. ’
    I grinned. ‘At least I wrote mine, boss.’
    Zarco laughed. ‘Fuck you, Scott.’
    ‘You know, it’s a pity I didn’t think of it before,’ I said. ‘But I kind of wish I’d persuaded one of the lads to get in that grave before we looked at it with Colin just now. We could have chucked a bit of earth on top of someone and given that Welshman the fright of his bloody life.’
    ‘After what happened to Drenno last night? I worry about you, Scott. Really I do.’
    ‘Drenno would have been the first to see the funny side of a joke like that. That’s why I loved him.’
    ‘You have a very sick sense of humour.’
    ‘I know. That’s why I’m your team coach, boss. A sick sense of humour is absolutely bloody essential when you’re training a squad of overpaid young cunts. Fucking with them keeps their feet on the ground.’
    ‘True enough. Look, I’m very sorry about Drenno. I know you two were friends. He was a great footballer.’
    ‘Just not very sensible.’ I shrugged. ‘Sonja thinks it was inevitable that something like this would happen eventually. In fact, she almost predicted it.’
    ‘See if she can predict the result on Sunday. I could use a little help from the spirits.’
    ‘She already did. We’re going to win 4–0.’
    ‘Good. Buy her a