‘Well it looks like you won't have your riot now,’ said Phil Williams.
Jarvis sighed and watched as two stretchers were carried past him. ‘Yeah, but look what we've got instead.’
Fabio's radio burst into life. ‘There is more trouble at the station. I must go.’
Jarvis nodded quickly. ‘Phil, you go with Fabio and meet up with Steve. Let him know what's happened here. I'll be at the hospital. I need to make sure Terry's all right. And then I need to work out what the fuck I'm going to tell the DCI.’
Chapter 20
Wednesday, 27 October
08.45
Jarvis awoke with a start and sat up as a nurse in a crisp white uniform strode past and gave him a grin. Ordinarily, such a thing would have been the stuff of fantasies but not this time. He felt like shit. God only knew what he looked like. He stood up, yawned and looked around. He was in the middle of a long white corridor. At one end were a set of swing doors and, at the other, some nurses were gathered around a desk talking. In front of him, a brown door carried the universal symbol of a male toilet while behind, a large set of windows were filled with a set of white Venetian blinds. He suddenly remembered where he was and, more importantly, why. He walked along the corridor to the nurses’ station and nervously stood beside it for a second. He had spent much of yesterday in a car with an Italian but only now, when faced with a small group of females, did his total lack of language skills become a source of major embarrassment. ‘Does anyone speak English?’ he asked awkwardly.
A middle-aged woman turned to face him. ‘Yes, I do. You are the policeman yes?’
Jarvis nodded and she smiled. ‘Come with me, I will take you to your friend.’ She put her hand on his arm and began to lead him back down the corridor. ‘He is not good. He lost much blood but he will get better.’
Jarvis closed his eyes, let out a sigh and stopped the nurse. ‘Can you get me something to wash with please?’
She stopped and her grin became even broader. ‘Si.’ She led him past the large windows and into a bathroom. ‘There is everything in here,’ she said, indicating a large cupboard. ‘I will be in the room across the hall with your friend.’
Ten minutes later, teeth brushed and freshly shaven, Jarvis walked into the room and looked at Terry Porter. He was a sight. A large white plaster covered the wound on his cheek and a bandage was wrapped around his arm. From his left wrist, a plastic pipe led up to a drip and he was connected to a heart monitor, but the regular beep it was emitting provided an instant source of comfort. The nurse looked up and smiled again. ‘I will get a doctor to speak with you,’ she said and left the room. Jarvis walked over and sat down, but within seconds the door opened and a young man walked in. His English perfect, the accent almost untraceable, he introduced himself and studied the chart on the end of the bed. ‘Your officer will be OK, but we will need to keep him for a few days. He lost a great deal of blood, a few more minutes and …’ The expression on his face showed Jarvis just how close it had been.
‘Will his face be scarred?’
The doctor shook his head. ‘Not a great deal. The wound was like an incision from a scalpel, it should heal perfectly.’
Jarvis sighed and half-smiled. ‘How is the other man?’ he asked without looking away from Porter.
‘He is much worse. His ribs are broken and he has a fractured skull but we are worried about the wound to his chest. I think it may have damaged his heart.’
Jarvis shook his head slightly and looked at the doctor. ‘What a stupid waste.’
The doctor nodded. ‘I think there will be more trouble today. The match is not for twelve hours yet and already they have deported many Englishmen.’
Jarvis raised an eyebrow. ‘Deported?’
‘Yes, it was on the radio just now. The Carabinieri have sent over one hundred people back to England. An aircraft left Rome earlier this morning.’
Jarvis dived into his pocket and pulled out his phone but the doctor moved forward and held his arm. ‘No, not in here. The machines …’
Jarvis apologised and moved towards the door.
‘Use the telephone at the nurses’ desk. It will be easier.’
Jarvis stopped and turned round. He had to ask. ‘Where did you learn to speak such good English?’
The doctor laughed. ‘I studied medicine in London and came back to the Policlinico Umberto I last year. But while I was there I watched Vialli and Zola at Chelsea so I know all about the hooligans and this,’ he said, gesturing towards the bed.
Jarvis smiled. ‘Thanks doctor. Thanks a lot.’
Steve Parry was waiting in the Mondeo outside the hospital by the time Jarvis got outside. He dived in and slammed the door. ‘Has anyone found out what the fuck is going on yet?’
Steve Parry shook his head and pulled away from the kerb. ‘Neal and Phil are at the holding centre now but it's a right cock-up.’
‘What time did the plane leave?’
‘Six o'clock. The Italians held it till then because they wanted it on the breakfast news.’
Jarvis looked at his watch: 9.10. ‘So that's just over three hours ago. Where was it heading?’
‘Heathrow; flight time's about two and a half hours. Bit less maybe. I rang Al Harris and he was getting on to Customs to make sure they stopped and checked everyone going through but it'll be difficult.’
‘Why?’
‘Because hardly any of them will have passports will they? If the Italians have sent any of our lot home, all their gear will still be in the cars.’
Jarvis grabbed his phone and dialled but the battery was dead and he grabbed the one from the dashboard. ‘Do we know if any of them were sent home?’ he asked as he dialled.
‘Not yet. According to the locals, there were a hundred and thirty-seven people put on the plane last night. They've also sent some of them to the local prison and there are about twenty still being held at the airport. Mostly just drunk and …’
‘Al! What's happening … Right, so they're still being held at Customs … Good. Look, have we got anyone looking for Evans? … Then get in a car and get your arse down there. If he was on that plane, I want him held, is that clear? Good. If you need help, take the DCI … Right, let me know what happens.’ He turned the phone off. ‘You got a lead in here?’
‘Yeah, in the glove box. What's happening?’
‘They're holding them at Heathrow for now, but apparently the place is in chaos,’ he said as he plugged the lead in to charge his phone. ‘Al reckons that another four to five thousand fans are on their way here and a load of them are flying through Heathrow. The poxy press are all over them.’
‘How's Terry?’
Jarvis looked round, surprised at the question. It seemed totally out of place. ‘He'll be fine. I don't think he'll be doing me any favours for a while though.’
‘What did the DCI say when you told him?’
Jarvis let out a low laugh. ‘Thrilled to bits he was. An officer in hospital and a very expensive operation fucked up. And that was before all this. He'll be having a bloody seizure.’
‘Not down to us though is it?’
‘D'you think that really matters?’ replied Jarvis.
‘Still, at least they've managed to keep the press at bay. The last thing we need is this coming out.’
‘What did they tell them then?’
‘They said his name was Edward Sampson or something. That'll keep them off the scent for a while.’
Jarvis looked out of the window as Parry headed out of the city towards the airport. ‘Listen, once you've dropped me off, take Neal and get back to the car park. I don't give a shit what Fabio says, I want you to get into that Merc and see what you can find, OK?’ Parry nodded. ‘There's got to be something in that motor that we can pin on the bastard. ‘Cause if there ain't, he's gonna get away with this.’ He sat in silence for a moment and suddenly realised he was starving.
Jarvis threw open the door to find Fabio walking down the corridor toward
s him. ‘Paul, I am so sorry. I do not know what has happened.’
Jarvis stopped and put his hands on his hips. ‘You told me that this was your operation and now you say you don't know what happened. How can that be Fabio? Tell me.’
The Italian took his arm and walked him through a door and into a large room full of tables and the warm smell of coffee. Some men in uniform were eating and gave them an indifferent stare before returning to their food. They walked over to a servery and the two men took some food and coffee before sitting down at a table.
‘Paul, as I say, I do not know how this happened. When I left you, we had to deal with more trouble at the station and it was almost two o'clock before things were quiet. Then, I went back to my office and home.’ He took a mouthful of coffee and sighed gratefully. ‘This morning, I had a call that this was going to happen but by then it was too late …’
Jarvis looked at him in astonishment. ‘Hang on, are you telling me that the decision was taken without you knowing?’
The Italian nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, by someone from the government. It was political. After all, why should we Italians pay for this? They are your hooligans, you deal with them. Come on Paul, you know that is what happens.’
Jarvis bit into a roll and chewed. ‘But how can they do that without you? This was your operation.’
Fabio took a bite from a bread roll and shook his head. ‘The prisoners were in the control of the Carabinieri, not me.’
‘But you're from the Carabinieri.’
Fabio shook his head again. ‘No Paul. I am from La Polizia, the state police. The Carabinieri are the military police. There are also Vigili-Urbani, who are the municipal police and we have another force who look after financial matters such as tax fraud. It is not usually a problem but in a situation like this, with so much happening … Well you know. Things become confused.’
Jarvis shook his head in bewilderment. What a way to run a fucking country, he thought. ‘Look, were any of the men detained last night deported this morning or not?’
Fabio nodded. ‘Yes. From what I have been told, almost all of them. There are a few being held in Regina Celi, which is the prison here in Rome, but the others have gone, yes.’
Jarvis scratched the back of his head. ‘Do we know if any of our lot are in prison?’
‘No, I will take you there now and we will find out. But I must warn you Paul, it will be difficult to do anything today. After last night, we are expecting a great deal of trouble today and every policeman in the city is on alert for the game.’
‘What, from all four police forces?’ asked Jarvis sarcastically.
Fabio laughed. ‘Come on, I will take you to the prison. By the way, are you going to the game tonight?’
Jarvis looked at him and bit his lip. The realisation hit him that, whatever happened now, for him and his men, this operation was all but over. He might well have missed Billy Evans, but at least if they had been planning anything, be it a drugs run or a riot, that had almost certainly been averted. That was something, he supposed. He looked up at Fabio and smiled. ‘Well, it'd be stupid to have come all this way and not go, wouldn't it?’
Al Harris watched as the first of the men deported from Italy emerged from the arrivals lounge at Heathrow Airport. A thousand flashes illuminated the scene as the usual media scrum began, eager journalists desperate for their story. Some of the men came out with their heads covered, others with theirs held high. Screaming about police brutality and pleading their innocence. Harris watched for a while and then walked back into the customs hall and picked up the phone. After a moment, a voice answered and he took a deep breath. ‘Guv, it's Al. From what I've seen, most of the lads you photographed at the hotel in London were on the plane, so I can only assume the lads who were with them were on it as well.’
‘Was Evans on it?’
‘No Guv, and neither was Hawkins.’
Jarvis and Fabio walked into the small room and smiled. ‘Hello Graham, how are you?’
Hawkins looked up, surprised to hear an English voice in an Italian interview room. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
Jarvis held out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Hawkins took them both. ‘I'm DI Jarvis of the NFIU.’
Hawkeye shrugged and smoked silently.
‘Tell me what happened last night.’
Another shrug. ‘We were having a quiet drink and the wops came in, battered us all and nicked a few. That's it really.’
‘Why did they nick you and not deport you with the others?’
‘How the fuck do I know? Ask them.’
Jarvis sniffed and sat down. ‘They say you threw a bottle and then attacked a policeman.’
Hawkins laughed. ‘Bollocks.’
‘That's what they're saying,’ said Jarvis. ‘Of course you know what that means don't you?’
‘No, but I suppose you'll tell me if I wait long enough.’
‘You're going inside an Italian nick for a while.’
Another laugh. This time louder. ‘Am I fuck. You're Old Bill so you know the score. They'll give it a few days and then kick me out. Get themselves a bit more press about how the English caused them so much trouble. It's all about propaganda and if you don't know that, then you're in the wrong job, mate.’
Jarvis looked at him and smiled. He was probably right. ‘How did you get here Graham?’
‘Train.’
‘Who with?’
‘A few lads. Don't know all their names.’
‘You're lying.’
Hawkeye looked at him, his face a picture of feigned surprise and indignation. ‘That's not very nice, Inspector. Calling me a liar. I pay your wages you know, I deserve a bit of respect.’
Fabio let out a low snigger from the corner but Jarvis went on. ‘Cut the crap Hawkins, we know you drove down, we know why and we know who with.’
‘Well if you know so much, why ask me all these bloody questions?’
‘Where's Billy Evans?’
‘Who?’
‘Billy Evans. The man you drove down with.’
Hawkeye looked at the ceiling and slowly shook his head. ‘No … don't know who you mean.’
Jarvis stood up and leant on the table. ‘Don't waste my fucking time Hawkins.’
‘Why not? According to you I've got plenty.’
‘Just tell me where he is.’
‘Why? What's this bloke Evans supposed to have done then?’
Jarvis let out a huge sigh. ‘Are you going to tell me where he is or not?’
‘No. In fact I don't think I'm gonna say anything else until I've seen a brief.’ Hawkeye looked over towards Fabio. ‘I take it you have a legal system here?’
Jarvis realised he was wasting his time and walked towards the door but stopped as Hawkins called him back. ‘Inspector …’
‘Yes?’
‘Thanks for the ciggies.’
‘So … where to now Paul?’
Jarvis scratched his head and reached into his pocket for his phone. He switched it on and looked at Fabio. The shrug of his shoulders said it all. ‘Well if he's not here and he's not back in London, then somehow, he must have got away last night. All we can hope is that we can spot him tonight or when he goes back to pick up his car.’
‘Assuming he goes to the game, can we find out where he will be sitting?’
Jarvis let out a stifled yawn. ‘Only if we can get hold of one of the tickets. They should all be in the same block. Did Hawkins have his in his effects?’
Fabio shook his head.
‘Then it must still be in the Mercedes. Hopefully Steve Parry has managed to get into it. If not, we'll get the keys to the Lexus from Terry Porter and do it that way.’ His phone let out a bleep to alert him that he had a message and he keyed in the number. It was Parry, asking him to call urgently. He dialled again and waited for a moment before the call was answered.
‘Steve, it's Paul Jarvis. Listen, Evans hasn't been deported and he wasn't in the nick. At some point today he's go
ing to have to get back to the Mercedes to get his stuff so hold back and keep an eye on it OK?’
‘But Guv, didn't you get my message?’ he replied, the anxiety in the voice clear to hear.
‘Yeah, just now, that's why I'm calling.’
‘No Guv, the Mercedes has gone.’
‘What?’
‘I said the Mercedes isn't here.’
Jarvis looked at Fabio. ‘But how … Didn't the locals see anything?’
‘I think they did, but they don't speak very good English. Anyway, that's only half the problem.’
‘Why? What d'you mean?’
‘Well Guv, from what I can make out, and I might be wrong because this place is rammed out with England fans …’
‘For fuck's sake Steve, spit it out!’ Jarvis said urgently.
‘Sorry Guv, but from what I can make out, the Mercedes isn't the only car that's gone. They all have.’
Jarvis stood in the car park and glared at Fabio. They had arrived at the service station about twenty minutes ago and after a frantic search, he had grudgingly accepted that what Parry had told him was true. ‘How the fucking hell can your officers have missed twenty cars driving out of here when they had the registration numbers and the make of car? Tell me please? Because this operation has been fucked up from the moment you took it over’
Fabio moved forward angrily. ‘No. Your operation was to follow a man who you suspected was planning to import drugs to England. You were wrong. My operation was to act on information you gave me and prevent a riot at the game tonight. I have done that.’
Jarvis let out an angry sigh. ‘Your men were supposed to monitor this car park.’
‘Yes, and they did. They were told to watch the car park and report when the coach came back, but of course, it did not come back.’
‘But how did they miss all the cars leaving?’
Fabio let out a loud, ironic laugh. ‘Look around you, this place is full of cars. Do you know how many passed through here last night? Hundreds, and many of them were English. There were also a number of fights here to deal with and …’
Jarvis sighed and held up his hands. ‘All right. I get the message.’ He looked at his watch: 12.35.