The four men climbed out of the Mercedes and walked around the large saloon. ‘Jeeesus,’ Fitchett gasped. ‘How much is this worth?’
Evans sniffed and adopted the mannerism of a typical car salesman. ‘1997 Lexus GS300 Sport. Low miles, every toy you could ever want, it's yours for £26,000.’
‘Twenty-six grand!’ exclaimed Porter. ‘That's almost as much as I earn in two years!’
‘That's not far off what I paid for my fucking house,’ added Fitchett quietly.
‘Well, if you want class, you pay for it,’ Evans said proudly, rubbing his hands together like an excited schoolboy. ‘And this is pure class.’ He pressed a button on the key ring and the car gave a beep and a flash of its indicators. ‘Get in, get used to it.’
Fitchett climbed into the driver's seat and placed his hands on the steering wheel. He was used to nice cars but this … well, this was something else. An array of switches and dials spread out in front of him and he wondered how he would ever get used to which was which.
‘Why are you letting anyone, let alone Fitch, drive a car like this to Italy?’ asked Porter. ‘That's a bloody long way.’
Fitchett cringed but Evans answered simply: ‘Don't worry about that. I'll be well sorted out. Just don't smoke in it that's all. I know you northerners can't go more than ten minutes without a fag but it takes me ages to get rid of the smell.’
‘Best have one now then,’ said Porter and pulled out a packet.
Evans looked at his watch. ‘Just a quick one then; I need to go over everything first.’
Porter nodded and offered the packet around. Fitchett and Evans declined but Hawkeye took one and he and Porter wandered off a little way and were soon engrossed in conversation.
‘You sure about this, Fitch?’ asked Evans. ‘I know what you said but, well, you know what the right-wing lads can belike…’
Fitchett nodded. ‘He's sound Billy. Trust me.’ He almost gagged as he said the words. ‘It won't be a problem.’
Evans cocked his head to one side and gave him a thin smile. ‘OK mate, it's your skin.’ He handed Fitchett the car keys and then reached into the car and pulled a large envelope out of the glove box. ‘Here's the documents for the car. It's registered in my name and you're travelling on my insurance so no speeding, crashes or doing runners from service stations on the way.’
Fitchett nodded as he continued. ‘In the envelope there's a ticket for the two forty-five ferry to Calais, two tickets for the match and five hundred quid for juice and spends. You can exchange that on the boat. I've also planned out a route but Hawk and me will be travelling with you so you shouldn't get lost. There's a map book on the back seat if you need it. Anything else?’
Fitchett shook his head and then looked across at Porter as the shrill noise of a mobile rang out. They watched as Porter had a brief conversation and then stuck the phone back in his pocket. ‘Bloody wife,’ he called out before returning to his conversation with Hawkeye.
Evans's eyes remained fixed on Porter for a moment and then he returned to the business in hand. ‘OK then. Just in case we do get split up, there's a service station just before you hit the Rome ring road. We're all due to meet there at seven o'clock on Tuesday night. That gives us loads of time.’
Fitchett took the envelope and had a brief look inside. ‘How far is it anyway?’
Billy shrugged his shoulders. ‘About a thousand miles or so. With two people sharing the driving, that's a piece of piss.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It's five past two, we best get moving if we're going to make that boat. Oh yeah, one last thing …’ He called the others over and held out his hand. ‘I need your mobile.’
Porter looked at him, hesitated and then reached into his pocket and handed over the phone.
‘I'll give you it back when we get home.’
Hawkeye clapped his hands together. ‘We best be off then. Are you following us down?’
‘Yeah, if you like. We'll have a beer or two on the boat.’
Fitchett threw the keys to Porter. ‘You can drive.’ They climbed into the car and, within three minutes, the Lexus and the Mercedes were gliding out of the car park.
Fitchett stared out of the window as Porter drove the car towards the docks. Despite his calm exterior, he felt a bag of nerves. A few beers on the boat would do him good, let the copper drive for a while. The lights at a pedestrian crossing turned amber and Porter slowed the car to a stop as the Mercedes continued into the distance. He put the car in neutral and turned to face his passenger. ‘Right, if we're going to spend two days in this car together we need to get a few things straight.’
Fitchett looked at him, his face devoid of any expression. ‘Like what exactly?’
‘The first is that you were told not to use my real name.’
Fitchett lowered his eyebrows and glared at him angrily. ‘Fuck you. The bloke I thought you were died the second you walked into that interview room. Better I call you by your real name than what I'd like to call you.’
Porter held up his hand and pointed at him aggressively. ‘Don't fuck me about, Gary. It's too dangerous. For both of us.’
Fitchett's expression turned from anger to disgust. ‘What else?’ he snapped.
‘What?’
‘You said a few things …’
‘Yeah. I'm not your fucking chauffeur, right?’
Fitchett gave a sniff and returned his stare to the windscreen. ‘They're green.’
‘What?’
‘They're green…. The lights.’
The blast of a car horn sounded out and Porter gestured to the driver behind before angrily pulling the lever back into drive and gunning the throttle. The Lexus leapt forward at an alarming rate, pushing the two men back into their seats.
‘Fucking hell!’ shouted Fitchett. ‘Be careful you cunt. You'll fucking kill us both.’
Porter lifted off the throttle and the car slowed down to a speed approaching the legal limit. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he laughed. ‘That was fun.’
Fitchett glared at him for a moment and then looked out the side window. ‘You fucking idiot,’ he muttered before the car settled into silence.
Jarvis answered the phone on the second ring and, after listening intently to what was said, barked a simple ‘Cheers’ and snapped it shut. He waited for a moment and then said ‘Bollocks’ before adding, ‘Both cars are registered to Evans. Why would he do that?’
Williams gave him a quick glance and then returned his eyes to the road and the back of the Lexus about fifty yards in front. ‘What d'you mean?’
Jarvis rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘When you sell a car to a dealer, you have to send off a part of the log-book to register the sale with the DVLA. But the dealer doesn't register the car. He hangs on to the rest of the log-book and changes the name and address when he sells the motor on. So why would Evans actually register these two in his own name?’ “‘Maybe he's keeping them for himself? Or maybe he hires them out?’
‘A twenty-five-grand Lexus and a top-of-the-range Mercedes, it'd be a bloody odd hire firm.’
Williams shook his head. ‘No, there's loads of firms like that around, Guv. They do weddings, corporate stuff, things like that.’
Jarvis let out a sigh and scratched the back of his ear. ‘Well, it's a new one on me. But it still doesn't answer the question: if he's going to smuggle drugs back, why would he use his own motors? It doesn't make sense.’
His phone let out another ring, and again he answered it on the second ring. He listened for a while and then threw the phone down into his lap before picking it up again and shutting it. ‘That was Steve Parry: they think they saw Evans take Terry's phone off him in the car park.’ He sucked in a mouthful of air and then blew it out. ‘If they're right then we could be in trouble. Not only have we got no way of contacting our man, but if Evans has got his phone, all he has to do is switch it on, look at the stored numbers and fuck knows what he'll find.’
Williams looked across at Jarvis in between dodging
the ferry-bound traffic. ‘He wouldn't be that stupid would he, Guv?’
‘Who, Evans?’
‘No, Terry. Surely he wouldn't store numbers on his phone that could drop him in it?’
Jarvis turned to the front and watched as the Lexus joined the queue of traffic entering the port and slowed to a halt. ‘I bloody well hope not,’ he said. ‘Or he's in the shit.’
Chapter 13
Sunday, 24 October
17.00
Terry Porter pulled the Lexus out of the confines of the docks and followed the black Mercedes as it headed for the motorway. The ferry had been negotiated without any problems, and in fact he had quite enjoyed it. They had been four of about three hundred or so England fans heading for Rome by road and the atmosphere on board had, to say the least, been jovial. Evans had seemed to know everyone on board personally and Porter had kept a wary eye on him throughout the trip. He needed to know as much as he could about him but, aside from the fact that he had a liking for duty-free Bacardi and sexist jokes, he'd learnt nothing of value. ‘Did you spot anyone else you knew on the boat?’ he asked without looking away from the road.
Fitchett looked up from his magazine and shrugged. ‘A few.’
‘Well, were any at the meeting you went to?’
‘Not that I remember.’
Porter sighed out loud. ‘Is this what it's going to be like all the way down?’
‘What d'you mean?’
‘You being a miserable fucker.’
‘Well you won't have to put up with me all the way will you? First chance I get I'll jump in with Billy and you can have Hawkeye in here.’
Porter flashed a glance across the car and raised an eyebrow in admonishment. ‘Oh no. You can forget that. You're not going anywhere. I can't drive all the way on my own, can I? And besides, I want to keep an eye on you.’
Fitchett gave him a glare and then returned to his magazine. The aggressive rustling of the pages an indication that the conversation was over. Porter let out a heavy sigh and decided to let him sulk. He had other things on his mind at the moment and dealing with a moody passenger was not one of them. He was certain he'd noticed Evans staring at him a few times on the boat, so clearly he was still cautious. And with him in the car in front, there was no way he would be able to meet up with the team during the journey.
At least he had managed to have a quick word with Steve Parry in the toilets during the crossing. He had told him that Evans planned to do the trip in one hit and that they were meeting up with everyone else at a service station just outside Rome. But after refusing the offer of a replacement phone in case Evans found it, someone else had come in and Steve Parry had left. Still, at least he now knew that Jarvis was also on board and that they had two cars following him to the outskirts of Rome where they were due to meet one of the local coppers. That should prove helpful. But for now, he would just have to try and work out a way to speak to them when they stopped for fuel, food or coffee. At least, with so many English cars heading for Rome, they wouldn't stand out.
A hundred yards behind them, Jarvis was busily writing down the message being relayed to him over the phone. ‘I don't believe it,’ he muttered as he clicked his phone shut.
Williams stole a brief glance at his DI. He'd never driven abroad before and wasn't finding it as easy as he had thought he would. The thought of crashing his Guv'nor and the repercussions for the operation scared the hell out of him. ‘What is it, Guv?’
Jarvis looked across at him, the expression on his face one of total bewilderment. ‘They've just done a PNC check of all the cars on the boat: six of them belonged to Evans.’
‘So?’ shrugged Williams. ‘We spotted at least three of the faces we saw going into the hotel in Great Portland Street. Chances are there were more.’
Jarvis shook his head. ‘No, that's not what I'm saying. Six cars, all registered to Evans. Why would he use his own motors to smuggle stuff back to England? It doesn't add up.’
Williams gave another shrug of his shoulders. ‘Maybe you're wrong Guv … about the drug thing, I mean.’
Jarvis rubbed his hand down his face; it felt greasy. He guessed it was from standing out on the deck talking to Steve Parry and the others instead of staying in the warm where he might be recognised. ‘So you think that this whole riot thing may be right after all?’
‘Well, why not? Can you think of anything else?’
Jarvis looked out of the window. It was starting to get dark. ‘No, to be perfectly honest, I can't.’ He picked up the phone and rang Steve Parry. He was in a second car about a hundred yards behind them and had Neal White for company. After passing on the news about the cars, he had a brief discussion about the possible reasons for the trip and, after asking the others to give it some thought, hung up. He looked out of the window and rubbed his eyes. He suddenly felt shattered.
‘I'd better get some sleep,’ he groaned. ‘God knows how this trip is going to pan out. Two days in a poxy Vauxhall and the villains get a Mercedes and a Lexus. And they say crime doesn't pay. He climbed into the back seat and draped a blanket over himself.
‘Guv, before you crash out …?’
‘What?’ he said without opening his eyes.
‘There's one more thing that doesn't add up.’
Jarvis opened one eye and stared at the back of Williams's head. ‘What's that?’
‘Well, it's been nagging me since we left Dover…’
‘For fuck's sake Phil, spit it out.’
‘Well, if there are four of them, why go in two cars? Why not just go in one?’
Jarvis opened his other eye. ‘Comfort,’ he replied. ‘It's bad enough having to do a thousand miles in two days with just one other person in the car. With four it'd be a nightmare. And then you've got to turn round and come back.’
Williams shook his head. ‘You ever been in a Lexus, Guv? They're bigger than my front room. Come to think of it, they're quieter and more comfortable as well.’
Jarvis sat up. ‘So what are you saying?’
‘That's just it, I don't know.’
Jarvis looked at the young DC and then lay back down. ‘Well, that's a lot of use then ain't it? If you come up with anything, tell me when I wake up.’ He settled down and, within a few minutes, had fallen into a restless and uncomfortable sleep.
Chapter 14
Tuesday, 26 October
11.20
Jarvis awoke and started at the roof of the car. He felt like he'd been in there forever, but since leaving Calais it had been just two nights and about nine hundred miles. He lay there for a while and reflected on the events of the last two days; the seemingly endless motorways and the long stops for fuel and food. And all the while keeping watch on the Mercedes and the Lexus. Wondering what was going to happen when they got to Rome and what all this was really about. What a journey. He certainly wasn't looking forward to doing it all again on the way home. He suddenly realised that the car wasn't moving and sat up to find it empty. The sun was streaming in through the windows, but when he jumped out it was bitterly cold and he noticed for the first time that he was in a rest stop next to the motorway. The only other vehicles around were HGVs and a dozen or so British registered cars obviously on their way to Rome judging by the England scarves and flags hanging out of the windows. He let out a yawn and then rubbed his eyes to wake himself up.
‘Oh, you're awake at last.’ He turned to see Phil Williams walking towards him with a tray of steaming coffee and rolls.
‘What time is it?’ he asked, arching his back to relieve the stiffness. Williams put the tray on the roof of the car and took a sip from a steaming cup. ‘It's about twenty past eleven,’ he said wearily. ‘They stopped for something to eat at a service station a few miles back. Steve and Neal are keeping an eye on them and we'll pick them up when they leave.’
Jarvis looked around again. He needed to go to the toilet and freshen up a bit. He looked at Williams and furrowed his brow. Something wasn't right. ‘You've shaved! Wh
ere the fuck …?’
‘There's a truckers’ washroom in there,’ he said, nodding in the direction of a small brick building. ‘That's where I bought this lot.’
‘Jesus, I didn't even hear you get out of the car. I must have been in a coma. Anything else happen?’
Williams shook his head. ‘Nothing much, this is their first stop since breakfast. You had another call from the DCI though. He wants you to call him as soon as you can. And we'll need to get some juice soon. The next station is about twenty kilometres up the road.’
Jarvis took a deep breath of fresh air. It felt exhilarating. He took a coffee and bit into a roll. ‘Where are we anyway?’
Williams put down his coffee and reached into the car for the map. ‘We're here,’ he said, pointing at a nondescript red line. ‘On the A1 near a place called Orvieto.’ He moved his finger along the line and settled at a point just outside Rome. ‘There are five service stations between here and Rome. This one here is the last one so it would make sense for the meet to take place there. That's only about seventy or eighty miles from here.’
Jarvis let out a sigh and swallowed another mouthful of coffee. ‘Thank fuck for that,’ he said. ‘Give Al Harris a call and find out where we're supposed to be meeting this Italian copper. And you'd better get his name as well. That'd be handy. Get him to tell the boss I'll call him in about thirty minutes. I need a slash and a shave before I do anything.’ He reached into the boot, grabbed a towel and his wash-bag and headed for the brick building.
When he came out, Williams was standing by the car with the phone in his hand. He looked across at Jarvis and held it up, motioning him to get over as quickly as he could. Jarvis thought about jogging but decided against it. He was too tired but at least he felt clean now. If he could, he'd get a shower in the local nick later on. Williams was getting more animated by the second and so, reluctantly, he broke into a trot, arriving at the car probably twenty seconds faster than if he'd walked.