Road to perdition: The St Reatham FC manager has been wanted by police since Natalie Sawyer’s bloodied corpse was found on Chobham Common in April (photo courtesy of GanMed 64)
SUSPECTED murderer the St Reatham FC manager has admitted he will not be able to attend Friday’s Kenna transfer window in person for fear of being apprehended by authorities.
Speaking from his hideout in Switzerland, the manager said he would have to bid over Skype in the Kenna transfer auction while the heinous crime committed in south east England last year remains unsolved.
Then in charge of Kenna club Woking, the manager was the last person seen with Ms Sawyer after a taking a punditry screen test for Sky Sports News.
A huge fan of Brentford Football Club, it is thought Sawyer was lured by the Surrey man into his car with the promise of showing her some Bees memorabilia.
Many thought the pressure of poor performances in the league, which saw the Woking manager take the Bramble jersey at the transfer window this time last year, had led to him savagely beating the sports anchor to death.
Police later retrieved a tire iron and a Phil Collins CD – both smeared with the manager’s DNA and forensically linked to the crime scene – hidden behind some old training cones at the Woking practice ground.
The St Reatham FC manager said yesterday: “Due to my enforced stay in the non-EU safe haven of Switzerland, I have been unable to send a postcard [with players to be released].
“Until I can prove my innocence I’m confined to Basel. Therefore I will need to Skype in.”
Kenna managers had until today to submit their unwanted players to the league – by post for a transfer bonus of £10m or by any other communication for £5m.
Gathered in The Enterprise in Holborn on Friday evening, managers will fill the gaps in their teams at auction.
The Vasco manager’s disastrous campaign is being pinpointed to the moment he lost a £40m Sergio Aguero under the Titus Bramble ruling at the August auction. The strike force of Leroy Lita and Fabio Borini offered little recompense.
Aguero went on to the snapped up for £12m and became an integral component of Sporting Lesbian’s team.
Speaking to Sky Sports News this morning outside Vasco’s Shoreditch Park ground, which was as far he got when it turned out club wallahs had already ordered the locks to be changed, the outgoing manager said: “Is it opening time yet?”
Licked
In south London, the Kenna diversity police are hot on the trail of another manager with a P45 fresh in his in tray.
No one expected Wandsworth Window Lickers to put up much of a fight this season considering their registered status as intellectually disabled.
But the team bus with rainbows on the side and disproportionately high number of grab handles at their home ground was just a ruse, the whole team turned out to be physically fit athletes who possessed all their mental faculties – with the exception of Peter Odemwingie, who was mostly a knob.
The Wandsworth manager was last seen boarding a plane to South America on a ‘scouting mission’. Club bean counters are said to be keen to speak to the errant manager over missing disability allowance funds.
Surrey Police were believed to have made a breakthrough in the manhunt when an early-hours 999 call from a club admin girl claimed the manager’s car was parked outside her Worplesdon flat.
A response was dispatched, but officers arrived to find the property empty and ransacked. Two days later the girl was fished out of the Basingstoke Canal with a broken neck.
The search continues.
Big do
Managers will flock to a central London pub on Friday for the Kenna end-of-season awards night.
The Chairman said: “It’s been a long season and for all that hard work managers deserve nothing less than to buy me a beer. There’ll also be a short quiz to see how much people remember from the campaign’s shenanigans.”
Never Woking up again: Three days later a dog walker found Natalie Sawyer’s battered corpse on Chobham Common
THE CAR pulled to a stop and he killed the lights. It was late at night and only the glow of the radio illuminated their faces. He turned to her.
“I really need this,” he said over his Genesis CD.
“Look, Mike, it’s not that easy. I can’t just click my fingers and get you a job,” she said nervously. There was no other light around them as far as the eye could see, except the dim red suggestion of the M3 a couple of miles away. He’d seemed so pleasant and well mannered in the studio, but he was different now. He probably didn’t have any rare Brentford Football Club memorabilia to show her.
“But you must be able to,” the tension in his voice was clear. “You’re one of their most popular anchors. The Woking job, that’s over now. The board called me in yesterday.”
She took a deep breath: “Not all ex managers make good pundits. I know you did okay in the screen test today, but there are other factors. Do you know how many former managers we have coming in? Lots of…”
“But I could do it,” he cut in. “I’ve got the experience. To manage a team propping up the league for most of the season, well, it gives you plenty to analyse. It gives you perspective,” he was louder now, and the Home Counties twang he worked so hard to hide was becoming more pronounced.
“We’ve already got a team of well known pundits who the punters love,” she was firmer, and trying to steer the conversation towards getting away from the desolate spot in which she found herself. “They’re not some one-season pony with three worst manager of the month awards and a string of ill-advised signings. They’re household names: Jeff Stelling, Matt Le Tissier, Alan McInally…”
“Screw Alan McInally!” His hands hit the steering wheel in frustration. Her head snapped round to see a wild look in his eyes as he stared into the darkness. His breathing was deep, animal.
“If I don’t get this then there’s nothing,” he continued. “Nothing. I’ve been talking to my agent and there are no offers to manage another club. No job in football’s top flight and my life’s over. You have to get me a job, Natalie.” His knuckles were white. His eye twitched.
“I’d like you to drive me home now,” she made the sound, but it was barely audible. The end of the sentence was swallowed by the realisation that she’d seen Sam for the last time.
He opened the door and stepped into the chill of a Surrey spring night. She became more rigid in her seat as he retrieved something from the boot. In a flash her door was opened.
“Get out!” He shouted. Then without waiting he grabbed her sleek dark hair and dragged her out of the car. She screamed but there was no one to hear. The noise was enveloped by the lonely isolation.
He threw her to ground and stood over her. The lichen was damp and cold against her tights.
“I’ve been patient,” he said, the strain of his team’s poor league performances and early cup exit very much apparent. “But you’re negativity is starting to anger me. You don’t understand. No one understands. You just think the Kenna League is a bunch of guys in the pub doing a fantasy football auction. Do you know how much my back still stings from wearing the Bramble Jersey during the January transfer night? This is serious, more serious than you could ever imagine in your cosy studio.”
“I understand. I agree with you,” she simpered.
“You’re mocking me,” he snarled. Something briefly shined at his side.
“Please, please don’t hurt me,” she sobbed. Tears were streaming from her dark eyes. In places they were beginning to stick hair to the sharp curves of her Slavic features.
The open car door was the only window of light in the wide open space of the dark heathland, made blacker still by the overcast and starless night sky. Not even an owl hooted.
