‘Guv?’ Jarvis looked around to find Steve Parry standing next to him. An expression of bewilderment on his face. ‘Aren't we missing the obvious here?’
‘What?’
‘Well how did he do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘How did he shift twenty cars if he was on his own?’
Jarvis looked around at the car park. It was full of Englishmen resting before they made the final leg of their journey to Rome. ‘Fuck knows,’ he replied. ‘Maybe he just paid some lads to take them into the city and then drive them home tomorrow. I don't know.’ He rubbed the back of his head and shrugged his shoulders. ‘But more importantly, where's the bastard gone now?’
Part Five
Chapter 21
Friday, 29 October
10.30
DCI Allen stood facing out of his office window. Jarvis could feel the glare even though he was sitting behind him and it was making him feel very uncomfortable. Something not helped by the fact that he was totally shattered. After all, he and the others had only flown back late last night having spent Wednesday evening and most of yesterday driving around Rome trying to spot Evans and the Mercedes without success.
‘So after all this time and effort, all we've ended up with is one officer in hospital, our informant on a life support machine, and even if we could find our main target, nothing we can really charge him with.’
Jarvis looked down at his shoes. ‘No Guv. But I'm hoping Terry Porter will come up with something when he gets home.’
‘What about conspiracy?’
‘To what Guv? I doubt we would get anyone to testify against him. Without that, it would never even get to court.’
‘Has Evans turned up yet?’
‘No, we tried to spot him at the game but it was a waste of time. He could have been anywhere. I've got Customs keeping an eye out for him now. Chances are he'll come back through Dover or the tunnel. They'll notify us when they pick him up and we'll see what he's got to say.’
Allen stood still for a moment and then turned to face his DI. ‘So all in all this operation has been a complete waste of time then. You've got no evidence of anything and, if you were honest, you haven't even got a bloody crime to investigate. The assaults are down to the Italians.’
Jarvis's silence said it all and Allen moved over to his desk and sat down. ‘How is DS Porter?’
‘I spoke to him just now, he's fine Guv. He'll be home in a couple of days. The Italians have interviewed him about the assault and he says he can remember who stabbed him but there isn't much they can do now and we can't do anything. It'll just come down to his word against theirs.’
‘And Fitchett?’
‘Not so good,’ said Jarvis with a shake of his head. ‘He's still unconscious. He took a savage beating.’
‘Have his family been informed?’
‘Yeah, they've flown out to be near by.’
‘How much do they know?’
Jarvis shrugged. ‘Very little. They don't know he was working for us if that's what you mean.’
Allen nodded grimly. ‘Let's keep it that way. We've wasted enough time on this, I want it wrapped up today and everything handed to Special Branch. Write up your report and get it on my desk by this afternoon.’
Jarvis paced angrily up and down the incident room. He didn't take bollockings easily and having to sit there while Allen ripped him apart had been a very uncomfortable experience. ‘Right,’ he said, spinning round to face the men in the room. ‘Now that we've all recovered from our little break, we need to go over exactly what happened. If there's anything we missed or can pin on Evans, anything at all, I want to know.’ He looked at the three men sitting in front of him: Harris, Parry, and White. With the exception of Al Harris, they all looked shattered, but that was too bad. At least Williams would get a rest: he was still in Rome sorting out a way to get the unmarked police cars transported home.
Jarvis clapped his hands together to focus their attention. ‘And for good measure,’ he added, ‘the DCI has just told me that this operation is being wrapped up this afternoon.’
‘What about Terry and Fitchett?’ asked Parry.
‘Down to the Italians. We'll help them if they need it, but there's nothing for us to investigate. It was out of our jurisdiction. So …’ He looked around the room, waiting for a response.
‘Well,’ began Harris, ‘I've interviewed a few of the lads who were deported, but they're all saying the same. That a mate lent them a car and they drove down. Apart from that, all they're doing is moaning about losing their stuff.’
‘OK, then let's focus on the cars. Evans had twenty motors in Rome and now he's got no drivers, so how's he going to get them home? Transporter maybe?’
‘He could just get some other lads to drive them back. Bung ‘em a few quid,’ suggested Neal White.
‘OK, well let's make sure that they get stopped and checked out when they come back. Has that list been sent to Customs?’
‘Yes Guv,’ said Neal White. ‘But they're not that confident of picking them all up. Twenty cars is a fraction of what comes across the Channel every day, especially if it's in dribs and drabs.’
Jarvis nodded. ‘OK, get on to the ferry companies and Eurostar. If Evans books a ticket, I want to know.’
‘Already done it,’ said Harris.
‘Good. Steve, you get to Evans's garage and see if you can find anything out. Take Neal with you.’ He looked around the room. ‘Have we missed anything? Anything at all?’
Parry and White shook their heads.
‘Al?’ Harris was staring into space, running something over in his head. ‘What is it Al?’
Harris snapped out of his daydream and stood up. ‘OK, bear with me a minute. Let me run something past you.’ He walked over to the board and turned to face the others. ‘We've assumed two things right from the start. That Evans was either staging a riot or importing drugs, right?’
Jarvis nodded slowly, unsure of where he was leading.
‘But we've got no real evidence to support either of those have we?’ He looked around excitedly. ‘The only proof of any so-called riot came from Fitchett, but no one found any Italians in the bar did they? And your mate Fabio came up with nothing to link Evans with any political group did he?’
Jarvis shook his head. ‘Get to the point Al.’
‘OK, OK. What if there never was any riot? It was all a front. The same with the drugs. That came from you, Guv. But it was just a hunch, you had no evidence to support it did you?’
‘No,’ Jarvis conceded, ‘but what are you getting at?’
Harris looked at him, a broad smile on his face. ‘It's the cars.’
‘Well what about them?’ interrupted Steve Parry.
Harris turned to him. ‘It's the fucking cars. Look …’ He turned to the board, grabbed a marker pen and began drawing as he spoke, as if to illustrate his case. ‘He took twenty cars to Italy, with twenty drivers. All the drivers got deported leaving twenty cars and no drivers, yes?’
Jarvis moved closer and watched the saga unfolding on the board. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘We're waiting for the cars to come back but they're not coming back. They never were! That was the whole point.’ He stopped and looked around the room. ‘We've just sat back and watched while he's smuggled twenty stolen motors out of the country right under our noses.’
Jarvis looked at the board and smiled. ‘It's a good theory Al, but it's wrong. All the cars were registered to Evans. What could he possibly have to gain by exporting his own cars? It makes no sense.’
‘Insurance scam,’ said Neal White.
Jarvis brushed the comment aside. ‘What, report twenty of your own cars stolen on the same day? No insurance company would pay out without a major investigation.’
Harris looked at him and grinned. ‘It's much more subtle than that.’
Jarvis looked at him and smiled. ‘Well, come on then, Detective Sergeant. We're all ears.’
‘
OK, listen,’ he said, the smile growing ever broader on his face. ‘The only proof we have that they were his cars came from the DVLA in Swansea, right?’
‘Well ain't that proof enough?’ asked White.
‘No. I worked with the stolen vehicle squad for a while and they told me how easy it is to fool them. All you do is steal your car right. Once you have that, then you find a second car identical to the first, and find out who the owner is.’ He looked around excitedly. ‘It's not hard, a bit of chat, ask the neighbours, that kind of thing. Once you have a name, you get a forged log book made up and send off the change of ownership slip to the DVLA. They send you a new log book, you make up some plates, stick them on the stolen car and hey presto. As far as anyone is concerned, that's now your car.’
Steve Parry shook his head. ‘It can't be that simple, what about the chassis numbers?’
Harris laughed. ‘When you bought your last car did you check the numbers matched the documents? Of course you didn't, no one does.’
Jarvis shook his head. ‘No Al, you're wrong. If he was ringing cars, he'd never use his own name because if anything happened, we'd trace them straight back to him.’
Harris shook his head. ‘But that's the beauty of it. Look, he was sending out twenty lads right? He knew and trusted them all, that's why he asked them to go. But it doesn't take Einstein to guess that at least one of them would have been spotted by us at some point and we'd have run a check on the motor he was in. This way, it doesn't come back as stolen, it seems perfectly legit. And if anyone asks why our man is driving someone else's car, all he has to do is give them a letter of authority from Evans which, I bet a pound to a pinch of shit, he'd given all of them.’
‘And in any case,’ added Steve Parry thoughtfully, ‘it was only a one-way journey.’
‘Exactly, even less chance of getting picked up.’
‘But why take them abroad, why not just sell them on here?’
Harris turned to Neal White. ‘Because here it wouldn't work. He'd have to give them false identities and all that bollocks. That means hassle and time. Both of which would eat into his profits. This way, he uses his head, bungs some lads a few hundred quid to do his dirty work and, within two days, hands over twenty luxury motors, takes off the false plates and collects a small fortune.’
Neal White stood up and stared at the jumbled mess on the board. ‘But where would they have been taken on to? The rest of Europe drives on the right.’
Harris looked at him and let out a smirk. ‘Ah, the innocence of youth. If you bothered to look it up, you'd find that there are plenty of countries who drive on the left like we do: Japan, South Africa, Pakistan, Malta, Cyprus, Australia, there are loads. Cars like these, they're worth a fortune abroad and were probably stolen to order. They could be anywhere by now, even the Middle East.’ He reached over and patted the young DC on the head. ‘Have you any idea what the estimated value of stolen and exported cars from Britain actually is young Neal?’
White pushed his hand away and laughed. ‘No, but with your age and experience Sarge you'll be able to tell me.’
‘You cheeky git. It's actually in the region of thirty million a year. Not to be sniffed at.’
He turned to Jarvis and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well? What d'you reckon, Guv?’
Jarvis sat down and rested his chin in his hands. He had to admit, the basic idea made sense. ‘I like the idea Al,’ he said. ‘But there's a fatal flaw in your plan.’
Harris gave him a blank look and shrugged his shoulders. ‘What?’
‘Well once he's ripped off the identity of twenty cars, their owners are effectively running around in cars which aren't registered with the DVLA right?’
Harris nodded and the others turned round to face their boss. The joy of seeing someone else's theory destroyed was something never to be missed.
‘So what happens when they sell them on or have to tax them? It'll all come out and the path will lead straight back to Evans won't it?’
Harris stared at him for a while and then grinned. ‘I never said it was perfect, did I?’
The room exploded into laughter and when it subsided, Jarvis held up his hand. ‘I like the idea though, Al. And if he was using a false name and address, it would probably work.’ He tapped the side of his nose with his pen and then dropped it onto the desk. ‘OK, if he turns up with the cars we've been wasting our time, but until he does, we've got nothing else to think about so we may as well give this some thought. Al, get on to the stolen car boys. Tell them what we've got and see if they can come up with anything that makes more sense.’ Jarvis got up and began pacing around the room. ‘And while you're at it, find out if they've got anything on our boy. You'd better give them the list of the motors as well, and see if any cars similar to the ones he took to Italy have been stolen over the last six months or so.’
He put his hand on Parry's shoulder as he walked past. ‘Let's do some digging here. Steve, get on to the DVLA and find out when these cars were registered to Evans. And while I remember, get on to ITN. I asked them to film the trouble at the bar for me. The guy you need to speak to is called … Shit. I can't remember, it's Brian something. Anyway, I want that film. Neal, you go to Romford and have a root around Evans's garage on your own. See if anyone knows anything.’ He stopped pacing and surveyed the office. ‘Of course, if this does pan out in some way, it means that all the lads who were deported were set up.’
Harris gave him a broad wink. ‘Forty Cat Cs in a bar in Rome, and someone starts trouble. There's no way the riot police could get in without a fight. Especially if they've been fired up by someone.’
Parry gave a low sigh. ‘If you think about it, getting deported or at least a spell in prison was almost inevitable.’
Jarvis began walking around the room again. ‘Evans could have started the trouble himself and then slipped out the back door with the owner before it all turned really nasty.’
‘In that mess, no one would have noticed either,’ added Parry.
Jarvis stopped and turned to Harris. ‘If you're right Al,’ he said wearily, ‘poor Terry never had a fucking chance.’
The room fell silent and Jarvis walked over towards the door. ‘OK, let's get going on this and see if Al's right. I'd better have a word with the DCI and see if he'll give us some more time. Maybe we're getting somewhere at last.’
Neal White sat and stared across the road at the front of W. Evans Executive Motors Ltd. It was exactly how he had imagined it would be. A typical second-hand car site, all whitewashed walls and bright bunting. To the front, a large forecourt held a very desirable mix of about thirty Mercedes, BMW and Jaguar saloons plus a few 4 x 4 s. To the rear, a large glass-fronted showroom held even more cars. He could see at least one Porsche, two BMW convertibles and another Jaguar, this one an XK8. With a wry smile, he climbed out of his car and walked across the road to the forecourt. Close up, the place looked impressive, the cars immaculate. He looked over towards the showroom and, seeing two men sitting at a desk inside, headed towards it.
‘Morning.’
They both looked round and smiled at him as he came through the door. Archetypal second-hand car salesmen. Dark suits and bright ties. ‘Morning sir, can we help you?’
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his warrant card. ‘Yes, I'd like to see Mr W. Evans please.’
One of the men got up, the smile fixed to his face. ‘I'm sorry sir, Mr Evans is on holiday. We're expecting him back on Monday. Can I help you with anything?’
‘I don't know. We'll see shall we?’ He turned away and looked at the XK8. ‘Isn't that beautiful?’
The salesman was beside him in a second. ‘It certainly is. Ninety-six model, sapphire blue with a cream leather and walnut interior. Air conditioning, special eighteen-inch alloys and a full service history. A snip for that price as well.’
Neal White looked at the windscreen and laughed. ‘Thirty- two thousand! Do you know how many years it would take me to save that up?’
The salesman looked at him, his fixed smile not dropping for an instant. ‘I can only imagine, officer,’ he said.
‘Do you mind if I wander around a little, get a feel for the place?’
The salesman opened his arms out wide. ‘Of course not. Feel free. If there's anything you need, then just ask.’
White thanked him and turned to leave but the man sitting at the table called him over. His face was a picture of smugness.
‘We're a bit full at the moment so we've had to put some cars round the back. There's a few trade-ins as well. They'll be more in your price range.’
‘Thanks,’ said the young DC, ignoring the sarcasm. ‘But I'm not actually in the market for a car just now. I get one with the job.’
The man at the desk cocked his head to one side. ‘Yeah, but those blue lights must be a killer with the birds.’
White let out a hearty laugh and walked over to the door. He pulled it open but stopped and turned back. ‘There is one thing you can do for me.’
‘Please, just ask.’
‘Could I see the log books to some of these vehicles?’
The salesman looked at him thoughtfully for a moment and then walked over and pulled the door open. ‘I'd love to help officer, really I would,’ he smarmed. ‘But I'd have to speak to Mr Evans first. That is unless you've got a warrant?’
‘Why would I need one?’
The salesman held out his arm, a subtle gesture but very effective. White nodded discreetly and walked through the door as the salesman added, ‘I'm just the hired help here, officer. You wouldn't want to get me into trouble would you?’
Neal White stopped and looked at him for a moment and smiled. ‘Perish the thought.’
The door slammed shut behind him and he walked out across the forecourt. He was about to cross the road to his car when a thought struck him and he turned back. He could see the two men were sitting back at their desk. One was on the phone and the other was looking across the car park at him, but he wasn't interested in them. It had been staring him in the face and he'd almost missed it. He hurried across the road and jumped in his car, a smug smile of satisfaction on his face.