False Nine

8

I returned to Paris to begin the search. By now the Twitter flap was a storm with the sorority calling for the FA to punish me with a fine, and given some of the things I was on record as having said about the FA, this looked to be more than likely. Tempest O’Brien told me she thought that the tweet about Rafinha was going to cost me ten grand, which works out at almost seventy-two quid a character.

Jérôme Dumas’s apartment was in the sixteenth arrondissement, in Avenue Henri Martin, on the edge of the Bois de Boulogne. The apartment was at least four hundred square metres, on the top floor of a high-end building near the embassy of Bangladesh and, if you like that kind of thing, sumptuously designed by some modern architect. Most of the furniture looked like it was out of an old sci-fi movie about the future. I was met there with the keys by the PSG club fixer, Guy Mandel, who showed me around the place and gave me some useful background on the missing player.

‘Dumas came here from AS Monaco about a year ago for twenty million euros,’ he explained. ‘Bit of an attitude. But then that’s not unusual. Originally from Guadeloupe in the French Caribbean. That’s not unusual either, as it happens. I don’t know how much you know about the place but for a tiny island with the population less than the city of Lyons, it punches well above its weight. Of the French World Cup Squad in 2006 seven were from Guadeloupe. The island is part of France, see, so it’s not a FIFA-recognised country. Just as well, probably, otherwise we wouldn’t have had people like Thierry Henry, Sylvain Wiltord, William Gallas, Lilian Thuram, Nicolas Anelka and Philippe Christanval eligible to play for us.’

‘I never knew,’ I said. ‘So much great football from such a small island.’

‘Not that there’s a great deal of affection for France on the island itself. I believe most of the islanders tend to side with Brazil. Can’t say I blame them really. France tends to call these people scum when they live in the suburbs and French only when they play for the team. I expect it’s the same in England.’

I nodded. ‘Perhaps.’

‘They could probably have qualified for the World Cup in Brazil if we’d given them the opportunity. In other words if we — the French — hadn’t blocked them from becoming a FIFA member.’

‘I had no idea,’ I said.

‘There are probably a lot more I’ve forgotten who come from Guadeloupe. I only know these names because Jérôme Dumas told me about them. He was very proud of his island heritage.’

‘Do you know how long he’s lived in France?’

‘No idea. His life before Monaco is a bit of a mystery, really.’

Comprising an entrance hall, a large living room, a second rotunda lounge of fifty square metres, several bedrooms, a superb kitchen, a gymnasium and a wine cellar, the apartment would have been any young man’s dream. As would have been the Lamborghini and the Range Rover that occupied the apartment’s two parking spaces. But for me it was the roof gardens that really distinguished the place; the views — which included the new Louis Vuitton Museum designed by Frank Gehry — were superb and there was a large variety of mature plants that showed no sign of having been neglected by the owner’s absence.

‘Who looks after this place?’

‘There’s a maid and a gardener who come in almost every other day. A boy who cleans the cars. A cook who prepares meals according to nutritional guidelines drawn up by the club. He had a PA called Alice, who he let go after signing the deal with FCB. Nice girl. Clever.’

‘I shall certainly want to speak to her,’ I said.

‘All the details are on the attached file I sent by email. And she’s coming over here in an hour or so to assist you in any way she can.’

‘Thank you.’

‘There’s even an art advisor employed by a private bank who bought pictures for him. He had access to the place so that he could come in and hang pictures and position sculptures.’

‘Is this one of them, do you think?’

I was looking at a painting of a pumpkin by Yayoi Kusama. I wouldn’t have minded having a painting by Yayoi Kusama myself.

Mandel pulled a face. ‘Not my taste. The sort of crap they hang in that new heap of mangled tin they call the Vuitton Museum.’

He was wrong about that. Like the rest of the paintings on the walls of Dumas’s apartment the Kusama was much too representational ever to have found a place in the Vuitton collection of contemporary art. For one thing you could perceive what it was — almost — which meant of course that it lacked all irony and, therefore, was without significance and possibly any lasting investment value. I guessed that the private bank was giving Dumas the kind of advice he wanted to hear so that they could buy him the kind of paintings he wanted to see instead of the ones that would make him money.

‘The place is on the market, of course, now that he’s on his way to Barcelona. With Lux-Residence. I think they want eight million for it.’

‘What about girlfriends?’

‘There were lots of girls, as far as I heard. But none that caused him any trouble. No unwanted babies. No rape charges. That kind of thing. Nothing that required any help from me.’

‘Anyone regular?’

‘There was one girl he was seen out with more often. A model at the Marilyn Agency here in Paris. Name of Bella Macchina. Blonde, legs up to her arse, smell under her cosmetically enhanced nose — you know the type. But I don’t know how serious it was. You’d have to ask her. You’ll find the agency number in the attachment.’

‘I will.’ I glanced around the apartment. ‘You’d never know that a footballer lives here,’ I remarked. ‘I mean, there’s not a shirt in a glass case, a player award, a winner’s medal anywhere.’ I went to the bookcase which was all politics, art books and photography monographs. ‘There’s not even a book about football.’

‘Well, you can’t fault him for that,’ said Mandel. ‘Me, I like a good thriller, not some shit about life in the banlieues and how my only way out was to kick a fucking ball. You can say all that in one short chapter.’

‘Yes, I think I read that one, too.’

Mandel stepped onto the terrace and lit a French cigarette. He was a heavyset man with longish hair and an almost bifurcated nose like a pixie’s arse. In his butcher’s fingers the cigarette looked like a little mint that had become stuck to his hand. His huge head nestled in the outsized collar of his white shirt as if his neck didn’t exist at all. His voice made Ray Winstone’s Bet365 commercial sound effeminate.

‘You mentioned an attitude problem,’ I said.

‘They’ve all got one of those. Name me one fucking footballer who doesn’t think he’s descended from Zeus. The minute they buy a Lamborghini they think it comes with a parking place on Mount Olympus.’ He laughed, cruelly. ‘And then they have to live with the thing and drive it. Which soon brings them crashing down to earth. There are times when I think God only invented Lamborghinis to prove to footballers that they are mortals after all. You just try reversing his Aventador out of the garage downstairs. It’s like trying to manoeuvre a grand piano.’

‘But attitude was almost the first thing you said about Jérôme Dumas. So maybe he had more attitude than most.’

‘Maybe.’

‘How did you find him, personally?’

‘When he first came to the club, it was like he was a different guy, you know? Full of laughs and jokes. It was impossible not to like Jérôme. Then something happened. I don’t know what. He changed.’

‘Changed, how?’

‘Perhaps he grew up a little. Became a bit more serious. Took himself a bit more seriously. Too seriously.’ Mandel pulled a face. ‘He was too political for our tastes. Too left wing. He was always shooting his mouth off about things on Twitter that had nothing to do with football and which he ought to have left alone.’

‘Such as?’

‘The PS. The French Socialist Party. He gave money to the lefties which hardly endeared him to some of his team mates, none of whom much like paying Hollande’s millionaire tax. I believe he also gave money to some youth groups here in Paris. And you can bet if there was a demonstration he’d have been there. He was a real hypocrite like that.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘We French take revolution very seriously. We don’t like people who play at revolution. For whom it seems to be a pose.’

‘Was it a pose?’

‘The Lamborghini lefty, that’s what people called him. Mao in a Maserati.’

‘Yes, I can see how that might irritate some. Is that why PSG decided to loan him to FCB?’

Mandel nodded. ‘Then there were the interviews he did with Libération and L’Equipe which pissed a lot of people off and really helped him on his way out of the Parc des Princes.’

L’Equipe was a French nationwide daily newspaper devoted to sports.

‘Is that in the attached file, too?’

‘Of course.’

‘By the way, I shall also want to see the recordings of the most recent matches Dumas played for PSG. This season and last season.’

‘This season he’s had one good game. That was back in September, against Barcelona.’

‘That was the famous 3–2 in Group F, right?’

‘Yes. He was really good that night. He didn’t score himself but he had three good assists. You ask me it was that night which persuaded Barca to take him on loan. I mean, he wasn’t just good in attack, he was good in defence, too.’

‘I saw him in the match against Nice. He wasn’t bad then, I thought. Of course I had no idea that I was going to have to pay such close attention to the minutiae of this young man’s life. When you are trying to understand the man and what has happened to him it helps to see him do what he is good at.’

‘Very well. I’ll get you some films. Would you prefer DVDs or video files?’

‘Video files. And I’ll need some tickets for the next home match. You never know who I might have to sweeten up for some information. You can have them back, of course, if I don’t use them.’

‘Sure.’

‘Now then. That article in L’Equipe. Read it to me, while I search this place.’

‘All right. But tell me what you’re looking for and then maybe I can help you there, too.’

‘I really have no idea what I’m looking for, Mr Mandel. I’ll only know it when I see it and even then perhaps not immediately. As so-called detectives go, I’m someone who relies on the discovery of things unsought. The forensic equivalent of penicillin. The trick to this is to realise the significance of what one has found. Which is, of course, not always immediately apparent. It’s the equivalent of the goalkeeper who scores goals as well as saving them. Rogério Ceni scored 123 in his career. That’s not a happy accident. It’s more than that — what the English call serendipity. Since your language doesn’t like to use English words, I would invite you to take rogérioceni as the French equivalent.’

It sounded good. And I hardly wanted to tell him that serendipity was the only thing I had in my investigative sports bag. The truth was I felt like a physio called onto the pitch to fix a torn Achilles with just a roll of tape and a bottle of smelling salts. Really, it was pathetic how ill-equipped I was to carry out my appointed task.

I went into the bathroom and opened the cabinet — it seemed like a good place to start my search. You can usually tell a lot about a man just by searching through his medicines. Naturally there was lots of ibuprofen — sometimes it’s the only way you can get yourself down to the training ground — and plenty of kinesio tape: taping a sore joint works, especially when you’re also taking ibuprofen. But almost immediately — even before Mandel had started to read the article from his iPad — I had discovered that Jérôme Dumas was depressed. In the cabinet was a bottle of one of the most commonly prescribed SSRIs — selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors. I placed the bottle beside the handbasin and kept searching.

‘Ooo, that’s bad,’ I said, opening a drawer. I found a rather large toilet bag which I unzipped and rifled through, tossing most of the contents into the bath. ‘That’s very bad.’

In the toilet bag I was surprised to find several packets of Cialis. I placed these beside the SSRIs.

Mandel looked up. ‘That’s it. There’s a table here on the page opposite with those stats which tell the real truth. But really, what he said, it was unforgivable. Most people think he gave the interview to accelerate his transfer to another club.’

‘That’s certainly the way I read it,’ I said. ‘Then again, there’s no doubt he was genuinely depressed. This is Seroxat. You don’t take this unless there’s a real problem. I wonder if the team doctor knew he was using this shit.’

Mandel shrugged, collected the packet of Cialis in his enormous paw and pulled a face.

‘Or that.’

‘Any man of his age who can’t get it up for a woman like Bella Macchina has a problem, all right. That’s a better reason to get depressed than not getting the ball in the back of the net.’

‘Erectile dysfunction is often a corollary of depression.’

Mandel grinned. ‘Maybe in England, monsieur. But not here in France. We get depressed but we’re never so depressed that we could stop fucking.’

We went into the bedroom where I quickly found a drawer full of bondage equipment: chains and manacles, collars and restraints. And it was only now that I noticed the mirror on the ceiling immediately above the bed, which I pointed out to Mandel.

‘Maybe he likes fucking a lot,’ suggested Mandel. ‘In which case he might have needed the Cialis. Even a man as young and fit as Jérôme Dumas can require a little help now and again. I wish we’d had this stuff when I was his age. Especially if I had known what I now know, which is that you get to a certain age and you don’t fuck at all. With or without Cialis.’