Jarvis snapped his phone shut and grinned across at Harris. ‘Well Al,’ he said cheerily, ‘it looks like you may be on to something. Neal White reckons that Evans's forecourt is full to bursting.’
Harris looked across and furrowed his brow. ‘So what?’
Jarvis shook his head and grimaced. ‘Bloody hell, call yourself a copper? Last Sunday he took twenty cars to Italy: how can they have come from his garage?’
‘Maybe he kept them somewhere else,’ said Steve Parry, ‘or his staff have simply replaced the stock.’
‘Maybe, but maybe not.’
Jarvis rubbed his hands together excitedly. ‘OK, I've got to see the DCI in five minutes so what've you got for me?’
Steve Parry picked up his notes and began flicking through them. ‘I spoke to the DVLA: the twenty target cars were all registered to Evans over the last ten weeks. I also asked them how many others were registered in his name and they told me that there are two. A BMW Cabrio and a Range Rover.’ Jarvis moved around the office rubbing his hands. ‘Probably his wife's car and his run-around.’
Jarvis nodded. ‘OK, Al…’
Harris stood up. ‘I spoke to the stolen car squad: they've got nothing concrete on our boy but they know about him. His name's been linked to a few things in the past but nothing worth investigation.’ He briefly studied his notes and then continued. ‘As regards stolen cars, I gave them the list of target motors and they burst out laughing. It seems most of them are on their top twenty most nicked motors register. But they'll have a look and get something to us in a couple of hours.’ He looked across at Jarvis and gave him a grin. ‘They liked the basic idea though. Asked me if I wanted to go and work for them.’
‘What as?’ laughed Steve Parry.
Jarvis watched them and smiled. It was good to have a bit of banter. It relieved the tension. He'd almost lost this whole operation but now, maybe, he had a chance of getting it back. Regain a bit of credibility. He waited until the laughter had subsided and spoke up again. ‘Right. Al, get back on to the DVLA and get a list of the previous owners of those twenty cars. When you have it, track them down and speak to them. I want to know everything there is to know about those cars.’ He looked at his watch: it was almost three o'clock. ‘I'd better go and see the DCI.’
Jarvis stood beside his DCI and stared at the London skyline. He'd briefed him on everything they had, and now he was waiting for a response. It wasn't long in coming.
‘When are you expecting Evans to make an appearance?’
Jarvis shook his head. ‘No idea Guv. If he's driving on his own, it could be three or four days. If he flies, he could be home already. We've alerted the airports as well now. They'll be keeping an eye out.’
‘Good,’ said Allen. ‘But you say the men at his garage are expecting him on Monday?’
‘Yes Guv.’
Allen sighed and looked away from the window. ‘How much store do you put by this stolen car idea, Paul?’
Jarvis turned as his DCI sat down and motioned him to do the same. ‘I don't know to be honest. It sounds plausible, and some of it fits, but until we speak to Evans, we can't know anything for sure.’
Allen sighed and looked across the desk. ‘OK Paul, I'll give you a week. If nothing has turned up by then, hand the lot over to the stolen car unit and let them deal with it.’ Jarvis was about to argue but decided against it and stood up to leave. If Evans turned up, or Terry Porter came up with something, that would be plenty of time.
A knock made him turn towards the door and he was surprised to find Al Harris standing there. He looked crestfallen, almost pale. ‘Guv, we've just had a call from Italy. Gary Fitchett died from his injuries about an hour ago.’
Chapter 22
Saturday, 30 October
09.00
Jarvis and Harris stood in the arrivals lounge at Heathrow airport and surveyed the people pouring through into the concourse. ‘There they are’ said Harris, and began walking over to where their two colleagues were standing, searching the crowd for a friendly face. Jarvis hung back for a second and then, with a sigh, set off after him. He wasn't looking forward to this at all.
‘Hello Guv. How's things?’
Jarvis shook Phil Williams's hand, mulled over his response for a few seconds and smiled. ‘A fucking nightmare actually, but forget that.’
He looked across at Terry Porter. He looked drained and the white plaster on his black face looked very odd. ‘How are you doing Terry?’
Porter nodded slowly. ‘I'll live. Still a bit tired though. Nothing a few weeks off won't cure.’
Jarvis let out a half-hearted laugh. ‘I wanted you back at work this afternoon.’
‘Well with all due respect Guv, you can fuck off.’ He paused for a few seconds and then started laughing.
Jarvis relaxed a little. He picked up Porter's bag and they began walking slowly towards the car park. Porter was still limping badly and was using crutches to keep the weight off his knee.
‘I'll need to speak to you for a while Terry. We have to know what happened in that bar. I've seen your report but we should go over it.’
Porter nodded. ‘I heard about Gary. Bad business.’
Tell me about it,’ said Jarvis. ‘We've got Internal Investigations sniffing around now. There could be some shit flying around.’
‘Why?’
‘Come on Terry. An undercover copper ends up in hospital and an informant is murdered … think about it. At the moment, we haven't even got anything to show for it.’
They walked in silence for a moment and then Jarvis stopped. ‘Listen Terry, about what happened in Rome …’
Porter put up his hand and interrupted him. ‘Forget it Guv. It was my decision to go, not yours.’
Jarvis smiled thinly. ‘Yeah, but I…’
‘You didn't do anything. I knew the risks, I take the responsibility.’
Jarvis looked at him and nodded. ‘Thanks. I needed that.’
They began walking again and Jarvis briefed Porter on the events of the last two days.
‘So you think he was shafting us all then?’
‘Seems like it,’ replied Jarvis glumly. ‘To be honest, it's all we can come up with.’
A group of young women walked past them and Porter's hand came up to touch the plaster on his face. It was an involuntary action but it cut right through Jarvis like a knife. His eyes returned to the floor, guilt dragging them down.
‘What are the Italians doing about Gary Fitchett?’
‘I don't know,’ said Jarvis lifting his eyes up from the polished floor. ‘I take it they spoke to you?’
‘Yeah, for some time, but I couldn't tell them anything. I thought I saw him fighting with some lads but, to be honest, I don't know. He did have a few run-ins during the trip though. With some lads from Chelsea. I'll come back to the nick for a while and have a look at some pictures, see if I can pick them out.’
Jarvis smiled as they walked through the automatic doors to find Harris and Williams already sitting in the car. ‘That'd be a help.’
He put Porter's bag in the boot and walked round to the far side of the car. The two men stood and looked at each other for a second before Porter spoke. ‘I want the bastard who stabbed me as well. That's one face I'll have no trouble remembering.’
Harris turned to face the back as they climbed into the car. ‘I've just had a call from Neal White, Guv. ITN have sent the film over. It'll be ready for when we get back.’
The five men sat through the film about three times before deciding enough was enough. It didn't make for pleasant viewing, and only a few of the individuals seen throwing bottles and missiles were identifiable. Only one of them was from the crew and that was Hawkins. The other thing the film failed to do was shed any light on what had gone on inside the bar. Just a shot of two stretchers being carried out and a brief shot of the interior. ‘Shit, I didn't even make the news then?’ Terry Porter said.
Jarvis ejected the tape and handed it to Neal
White. ‘And a bloody good job as well. I don't want people knowing you're a copper.’ He looked at White. ‘Give that to the DCI on Monday. He'll want to look through it.’ He ran his hand through his hair and looked up at the clock on the wall. It was lunchtime and he was hungry and thirsty. ‘Come on,’ he said, jumping up. ‘Let's give ourselves a break for an hour. I'm buying.’
The others stood up but Terry Porter held up his hand. ‘Not me Guv. I'm knackered. I need to get home.’
‘I'll take you,’ said Harris. ‘You don't live far from me and I want to pop in and see the wife anyway. Just to remind her what I look like.’
Jarvis moved towards the door. ‘OK. Listen, let's just call it quits for today. We can't do anything till Evans shows anyway.’ The others got up and started to leave but before White could leave, Jarvis called him over. ‘Neal, have you got anything on this afternoon?’ ‘No, I was gonna get some kip.’
Jarvis grabbed him and led him out of the room and down the corridor. ‘Come on. I fancy having a look at a few motors.’
‘Well, well. It's my favourite policeman and this time he's brought his chum. What can I do for you this time officer? You saved up for the Jag yet?’
White smiled. ‘Cut the crap. Has your boss turned up yet?’
The salesman shook his head. ‘I told you, Monday morning. I'll tell him you called.’
Jarvis lit a cigarette and gestured towards the forecourt. ‘How many cars do you shift a month?’
The salesman held up his hands. ‘I can't tell you that can I? You might pass it on to our competitors.’
‘Or I may talk to the VAT man instead,’ added Jarvis. ‘And ask them to come down here and rip your books apart. Your boss would love that wouldn't he?’
The smile flickered a little. ‘Look, there's no need to get heavy is there.’
‘Then just tell me. It's just an idle question, to satisfy my curiosity.’
The salesman looked at White and then back at Jarvis. ‘On a good month we'll shift maybe twenty, twenty-five cars. Sometimes more, sometimes less.’
Jarvis raised his eyebrows. ‘Not bad. What about last month? September? How many cars did you shift?’
The salesman looked agitated. He was on his own this morning and he didn't need this. ‘I don't know, you'd have to ask the boss.’
‘Guess,’ said Jarvis, his tone becoming more aggressive by the second.
‘It was a bad month. We only sold about fifteen motors; that's why the forecourt is so full. Why do you want to know?’
Jarvis jutted out his bottom lip and looked around. ‘Just interested, that's all.’
The salesman jumped up and looked past them, nodding in the direction of the road outside. ‘Look, here's the boss now. Ask him yourself.’
Jarvis and Williams spun round as a white BMW convertible turned onto the forecourt and pulled up outside the showroom. ‘How the fucking hell …?’ muttered White.
‘Never mind that,’ hissed Jarvis, instinctively moving out of sight behind the Jaguar as the white car door swung open. ‘Where's the Merc?’
Jarvis waited until the door of the showroom slammed shut and then he stood up to see Billy Evans walking past Neal White and over to the desk. He looked remarkably fit and well.
‘Hello Billy.’
Evans almost jumped around. His face was a mixture of shock and anger. ‘Fuck me! You nearly gave me a heart attack.’ He patted his chest and leant against the desk, feigning a coronary. By the time he stood up, the smile was back, and so was the cockiness. ‘Well, well. Inspector Jarvis. I ain't seen you for a while have I? If I didn't know better I'd have a persecution complex. What's up now? You after a new car?’
Jarvis walked forward and shook his head. ‘No Billy, not this time. You're nicked.’
Evans looked at him and laughed. ‘What for this time? Unpaid parking? Having an offensive wife?’
Jarvis smiled. ‘No Billy, I want to question you about conspiracy to commit offences abroad contrary to Section 5 of the 1998 Criminal Justice Act.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘Shut up and listen,’ snapped White as Jarvis continued.
‘And your involvement in the murder of Gary Fitchett in Rome last Wednesday. You do not…’
Evans opened his eyes wide. ‘Fitch is dead?’
Jarvis stopped talking. The shock in Evans's voice was real.
‘Didn't you know?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I heard he'd been in a ruck but …’ He leant back against the desk and shook his head. ‘Fuckin’ hell.’ He looked up at Jarvis and then turned round to the salesman. ‘Call my missus, tell her what's happened and then call my brief. I'll be at…’ He looked at Jarvis who handed him a card.
‘Tell him his client will be here.’ He turned back to Evans. ‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
Evans nodded towards the forecourt. ‘Come on then, let's get it over with. Your car or mine?’
Chapter 23
Saturday, 30 October
17.10
Jarvis took a deep breath, opened the door of the interview room and walked in. He nodded to Phil Williams who simply said, ‘Detective Inspector Jarvis has just entered the room.’ Jarvis sat down and smiled. Across the table, Evans sat with his arms folded. His face wore a faint smile and he looked like he didn't have a care in the world.
‘OK Billy, let's talk about the meeting in Great Portland Street shall we?’
‘Really Inspector, do we have to go over all this ground again? My client has explained all of this already. It was simply a meeting with a few acquaintances to finalise details of a trip to Italy for a football match. Nothing more than that. This story about a plan to stop the game is pure fabrication and you have no evidence to support it. My client freely admits that he lent each of his friends a vehicle to travel in but he did not give anyone any money, he did not give them any tickets and he did not plan any riot.’
Jarvis looked at the solicitor sitting to Evans's left. He was a right smarmy bastard and, if anything, looked even more arrogant than Evans did. Thirtyish and well dressed, he wasn't even wearing a suit. Just a black blazer, beige chinos and a pale-yellow open-necked polo shirt. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn he had him on file somewhere. He looked the type and he certainly wouldn't have been the first brief he'd known who was partial to a ruck or two. ‘But what your client says, Mr Higham, and what we know are two entirely different things.’
‘Then show us the proof, Inspector. If you have any.’
Jarvis looked down at his notes and flicked through them before looking up again. ‘All in good time Mr Higham. But let's move on shall we? What happened at Bar San Marco, Billy?’
Evans ran his hand over his mouth and then shook his head. ‘I don't know. I'd been there before, the last time England played, in ninety-seven, and we'd had a good time.’
‘Who do you mean by “we”?’ asked Jarvis.
‘Me and most of the lads who went this time,’ replied Evans. ‘We go to nearly all the games and try and meet up somewhere. Anyway, this time, ‘cause we were all going down together, I booked the place for a private party. So that me and the lads could go and have a drink in safety. I mean, no one else was supposed to get in.’
‘Just you and your crew,’ said Jarvis.
‘My friends, Inspector Jarvis,’ Evans corrected. ‘My friends. But yes, just us. Next thing I know, some other lads turn up and kick it off. Well I tried to calm it down, but it started getting out of hand. So I got scared and baled out through the back door.’
Jarvis let out an ironic laugh. ‘You got scared! That's a bloody laugh.’
‘Now now Inspector …’ admonished Higham, leaning forward and wagging his finger. ‘There's no need for that. I know that you suspect my client has been involved in hooliganism in the past but if he had been, surely you would have been abl
e to prove it by now. After all, you have waged a personal vendetta against him for three years.’
Jarvis glared at him and returned to his notes. ‘So you never saw what happened to either Gary Fitchett or Terry Porter?’
‘No. I was long gone.’
‘Where to?’
‘I just walked around for a bit. Keeping out the way. In the end, I jumped in a taxi and went back to my car.’
‘Can you prove that?’
Evans shook his head and went to speak, but again, the brief leant forward. ‘He doesn't really have to Inspector.’
Jarvis nodded and reached down for a sheet of paper. ‘I have here a statement from Terry Porter He says that you were present when he was attacked and that he believes that it was you who actually instigated the assault on him.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Evans. ‘He's lying.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Jarvis asked.
‘How do I know? But I'll swear on my mother's eyes that I must have left the bar by then because I didn't see any assault.’
‘Have you any other witnesses to back up this statement, Inspector?’
Jarvis smiled across the table at the solicitor. ‘Not yet Mr Higham. But we will have.’
‘So at the moment, it comes down to my client's word against this …’ He looked down at his own notes and then smiled again, ‘… Terry Porter's.’
Jarvis looked down at the file for a few seconds and flicked through the papers. He wasn't reading anything, just thinking. He had nothing, and this bastard brief was making him look a right tosser. Even the fact that Porter was a copper wouldn't hold any sway in court. Unless he could come up with something, and soon, Evans was going to walk again.
He looked up from the file and smiled. ‘OK Billy, let's talk about the cars for a while.’
‘The cars?’ said Evans, his face furrowed. ‘What about them?’
‘Well, can you tell me why you let these men drive your cars to Italy?’