Evans took a cigarette from the packet on the table and lit it. He blew the smoke directly across the table at Jarvis who waved his hands across his face and let out an involuntary cough. ‘Sorry,’ said Evans. ‘Why shouldn't I? They're my cars. If I want to let someone drive them, then why not? Is that a crime now?’
Jarvis smiled and shook his head. ‘No, not at all. Not if they're legal.’
Evans let out a laugh. ‘Legal, course they're legal. Taxed, insured, the lot.’
‘That's not what I meant.’
Evans looked at him, a puzzled look on his face. ‘What do you mean then?’
Jarvis glanced down at his notes and then looked up again, a broad smile on his face. ‘I'll come back to that in a bit.’ He pulled out a sheet of paper and ran his finger down it. ‘Right, these cars … Four Mercedes saloons, one Mercedes estate, seven BMWs, three Mitsubishi Shoguns, two Toyota Land- cruisers, two Range Rovers and a Lexus.’ He looked up at Evans and smiled. ‘Not a car older than M reg, most R or S: That's a lot of very expensive machinery Billy. How much would that lot be worth?’
Evans took a drag on his cigarette and smiled. ‘Would that be trade or ticket?’
Jarvis looked at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘How much …?’
Evans looked up at the ceiling and pursed his lips. ‘I'd say on a good day … if I could sell the lot… I'd be looking at around about £430,000.’
Jarvis let out a low whistle. ‘That's a lot of money Billy.’
Evans nodded. ‘Well, I only deal with the best. You know that Inspector. Besides, I paid a lot less than that for them.’
Higham leant forward. ‘What has this got to do with the matter in hand, Inspector? My client is a very successful motor trader and these vehicles are effectively business assets. Besides, having a garage full of stock is hardly a crime is it?’
Jarvis smiled. ‘I was just coming to that.’ He took a deep breath and flicked through the contents of the folder. Now or never, nail the bastard. ‘Of the forty men who travelled down in your vehicles, Fitchett is dead, Porter has just been flown home from hospital and Hawkins is in an Italian prison. And you're here of course,’ he added as an afterthought.
‘My client is aware of all that, Inspector;’ said Higham impatiently.
Jarvis smiled, his eyes never leaving Evans's face. ‘The others,’ he went on, ‘were all deported from Italy.’ Evans stubbed out his cigarette and leant back in his chair. ‘I know, terrible business all round.’
Jarvis leant forward slightly and focused on Evans's eyes. He was backing him into a corner and didn't want to miss the slightest flicker of a reaction. Now, go for it. ‘You see, I have a problem now Billy.’
‘What's that then Inspector?’
‘Well, we had a surveillance operation tailing your crew to Italy …’
Higham held up his hand. ‘My client has already explained that there was no “crew” as you call it. That is pure fabrication on your part.’
Jarvis ignored him and continued: ‘On the evening of the attack on Porter and Fitchett, the twenty vehicles driven down were removed from the car park of the service area.’
Evans nodded. ‘Yeah, that's right. But if you were following me, you'd have seen that.’
Jarvis ignored him and went on. ‘I want you to tell me how that happened when all the drivers were either in hospital or custody.’
There was a slight hesitation and then Evans shook his head, as if puzzled by the naivety of the questions. ‘Like I said, I went back to the car park and got there about midnight, something like that. Anyway, there'd been some trouble there during the evening and it all looked a bit dodgy. I didn't want to leave all my motors there so I managed to hook up with a couple of lads I'd met on previous trips and they spoke to their mates who offered to help me out. In the end, I had enough drivers and so we took the cars into Rome and stuck them in a car park.’ He leant forward and lit another cigarette. ‘It was simple.’
Jarvis looked thoughtful for a second and allowed his eyes to drop down to his notes. ‘Don't lie to me Billy. That was impossible.’
‘It's not. It's what happened.’
Jarvis lifted up his eyes and grinned. ‘You couldn't have done it Billy, because you had no keys.’
Evans dragged on his cigarette and thought for a moment before leaning forward, the smile as broad as ever. ‘I had spares with me.’
Jarvis laughed out loud and leant back in his seat. ‘You took a spare set of keys for every car! Don't make me laugh.’
Another lungful of smoke and a long pause. ‘Look Inspector, I'm not daft. Last time we went out there, as we walked into the ground, the police took all our change and all our keys. Only a few of us got them back; the rest had loads of hassle. I just planned ahead, that's all. In case someone didn't get their keys back or they got lost somewhere.’ He took a final draw from his cigarette and stubbed it out. ‘I mean, have you ever had to sort out a set of keys for a Mercedes, Inspector?’ he said, his voice reeking of sarcasm.
Jarvis shook his head. ‘I've never heard such a load of crap in all my life.’
Evans shrugged his shoulders and sat back.
‘Well why don't you tell us what you think happened Inspector,’ said Higham. ‘Or better still, tell us what you can prove. I suspect the latter version will be much shorter.’
Jarvis pursed his lips and took a deep breath. His temper was simmering nicely but he wasn't sure if it was because of Evans's arrogance, his smart-arsed brief or his own failure to make any headway. He blinked heavily and then let out his breath slowly, regaining a bit of self-control. ‘OK Billy. If all this is true, give me the names of some of these lads who helped you move the cars.’
Evans shook his head. ‘I'd love to, but I only know them by their nicknames. I mean, when you're abroad with England you don't tell everyone your life history.’
‘So you let people who you don't even know drive your cars?’
‘I had no choice, did I?’
Jarvis let out a smirk. ‘Don't bullshit me Billy.’
Evans held up his hands. ‘Mr Jarvis, would I do that to you? I mean, what would be the point?’
‘OK then. Where are the cars now?’
There was a pause and Evans leant forward and took another cigarette. His hands were solid as a rock. ‘In France,’ he said, as he lit up.
A horrible gnawing sensation began in Jarvis's stomach. ‘What?’
‘They're in France. Just outside Calais actually. In a warehouse. He looked around the room. ‘Well I'm hardly gonna leave four hundred and thirty grand's worth of motor in bloody Italy am I?’ He leant back in his chair and inhaled a lung-full of smoke. ‘That's where I've been for the last few days. Getting them back.’
Jarvis fell back in his chair and looked at Williams. He was looking down, making notes, but his face was almost white.
‘D'you want the address?’
Jarvis turned to face Evans again. His face was a picture of innocence.
Williams tore out a sheet of paper and, dropping his pen on top, slid it across the table. Evans picked up the pen and began writing. ‘If you wait a few days, I'll be bringing them back over.’ He paused and looked up, a wry smile on his lips. ‘Now that they've been valeted.’
Jarvis looked down at his notes and shook his head. The bastard had an answer for everything.
‘How did you get them from Rome to Calais so fast?’ asked Williams.
‘Oh that was the easy bit,’ said Evans happily. ‘I hung around the station after the game and just grabbed some lads waiting for trains. Bunged them a few quid and they were happy to do it.’
‘And I don't suppose you know their names either; do you, Billy?’
Evans shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sorry Mr Jarvis. I don't.’
‘But why stop at Calais?’ Williams went on. ‘Why not bring them all the way over?’
Evans shrugged and held out his hands, palms uppermost. ‘Easier for me. I mean, some of them lads were scousers fo
r fuck's sake. Let ‘em over here in my cars and they could end up anywhere. Besides, a mate offered me the space and my yard's rammed.’ He looked at Jarvis and gestured to him with his hand. ‘Well, you've seen it. Easier for me to leave ‘em there, get ‘em cleaned up and then bring ‘em back and sell ‘em. It's just easier. Besides …’ He paused while he looked at Higham. ‘Bringing twenty cars over at the weekend would've cost me a fortune. It's cheaper in the week.’
‘So if what you say is true,’ said Williams, ‘you'll have the personal effects of the others in the crew.’
Evans nodded and dropped his dog-end in the ashtray. ‘Yeah, they're at my house. I brought ‘em over with me in the Merc.’ He looked around and grinned. ‘Well I wasn't coming across on the train was I? I own a garage for fuck's sake.’
‘So you have one of the cars at your house?’ asked Jarvis, still unable to grasp the enormity of what Evans was telling him.
‘Yeah. Had to see the wife first and get cleaned up didn't
‘But you came back to the garage in a BMW.’ Evans nodded. ‘Yeah, the wife's. She's got the Range Rover today and the Mercedes stinks.’ Jarvis stared at him, his face blank. ‘I think we should have a break Inspector,’ said Higham. ‘For refreshments.’
Jarvis shook his head and looked at his watch. It was almost nine. ‘No Mr Higham. I am suspending this interview pending further enquiries.’ He nodded to Williams who terminated the interview for the tape and then switched it off.
‘I take it my client is free to return home?’ Jarvis stood up and walked over to the door. ‘Your client, Mr Higham, is directly involved in a murder inquiry. He isn't going anywhere for a while.’ Before the brief could answer, Jarvis walked out and closed the door behind him.
Chapter 24
Sunday, 31 October
09.30
‘OK, unless we can come up with something concrete, this investigation is dead in the water.’ Jarvis paced angrily around the room, his eyes concentrating on the floor rather than the two men in the room. ‘Phil, chase up the French police, they must have been to this warehouse by now. Al, has anything come back from the stolen car boys yet?’
Harris sat up and held up a sheet of paper. ‘Yeah. In the last three months, at least one car identical to each of the ones on this list has been stolen from somewhere in the southeast.’
Jarvis looked up from the floor. ‘That's good.’
‘But …’ Harris leapt back into the conversation. ‘I also spoke to a few of the previous owners of the cars registered to Evans. They all say similar things. They either traded them in at Evans's garage or he bought them through trade ads in Autotrader. Four were sold at auction but they were all registered within a week of the sale, so chances are he bought it.’
Phil Williams put down the phone and looked up shaking his head. ‘I just spoke to someone in Calais. They've got people there now. He'll call me as soon as they have something.’
Jarvis sat down on a desk and stared at the board. He'd sent Parry and White to Evans's house to search the Mercedes and check the chassis numbers matched the information from the DVLA but wasn't hopeful that they would find anything. He sighed and rubbed his face.
‘Of course, you know what he's done, don't you?’ He looked up to see Terry Porter standing in the doorway, a broad grin on his face. ‘Phil rang me last night and told me about the interview. I was lying in bed this morning and it all clicked.’ Jarvis stood up and gestured for him to come in and sit down. ‘It's so fucking obvious when you think about it …’
‘Well, are you going to share it with us then or what?’ asked Harris impatiently.
Porter sat down and slid his crutches under his chair.
Jarvis held up his hands in exasperation. ‘Well…?’
‘OK. Now hear me out before you say anything. We know Evans is a car dealer who specialises in executive motors. He's also a bit of a lad so, chances are, he isn't the most law- abiding citizen in Britain.’
Jarvis nodded. ‘That's an understatement.’
‘Right. He puts together, or is sent, a list of cars that are wanted in, say, the Middle East. Using his trade contacts, he then buys cars that fit that list. Either at auctions or he keeps back cars that are traded in and takes them over to France where they're out of the way. At the same time, he steals an identical car from somewhere and stashes it. With the people he must know, it wouldn't be that difficult.’
Jarvis looked at him and nodded slowly. ‘Go on Terry.’
‘Well, once he's filled his list, both with stolen motors and legit ones, he simply sticks the real plates on the stolen car and bingo. He can drive them to wherever, and unless he's really unlucky, no one will think anything of it.’
‘So what you're saying,’ chimed in Harris, ‘is that once he gets to where he's going, he takes off the plates and, figuratively speaking, they go back on the real cars.’
‘Exactly,’ said Porter. ‘He collects the money for the stolen motors from whoever his contact is and then sells the real cars through his garage.’
‘And makes a fortune on both counts,’ added Williams.
A smile spread across Jarvis's face. ‘If you're right, he could have been pulling this scam for years.’
Porter nodded. ‘But I doubt he's done anything this big before. It must have taken ages to plan.’
‘You gotta admit,’ said Harris, ‘it's fucking clever. Even taking the real motors to France and then getting them valeted just in case.’
‘Just in case of what?’ asked Williams.
‘In case he got caught. If the cars have been valeted, there'll be no forensic evidence, so there's no way we can prove that they aren't the cars driven down,’ added Harris irritably.
‘And you know what the best of it is?’ asked Porter. The others looked at him quizzingly. ‘You'll never be able to prove it. Those stolen motors will have vanished into thin air by now. They'll have been taken from the car park by his contacts and you'll never see ‘em again.’
The room fell into silence, each man thinking of ways around what Porter had said but none finding any.
The phone broke the quiet and Williams picked it up and listened intently for a few minutes. ‘That was the French police,’ he said as he replaced the receiver. ‘The warehouse Evans told us about contains nineteen English-registered cars. They match the list perfectly.’
‘Nineteen …?’ queried Porter.
‘He brought the Mercedes back,’ said Harris. ‘It's at his house full of the crew's gear. I dare say your stuff will be down there somewhere.’
Porter laughed. ‘Well, at least he's done the decent thing.’
The phone rang again and Harris took the call. He listened for a while and then lowered the receiver. ‘It's Steve Parry, Guv. It's just like Evans said.’
Jarvis sighed. ‘Do the chassis numbers match?’
The look on Harris's face said it all. ‘Of course they do. Out of all of them that must have been the only car that was legit. Bollocks!’
‘Shall I ask him to bring Terry's stuff back?’
‘No, tell them to get the Mercedes back here. At least we can go through the bags and get confirmed details of the whole crew now. We're going to have to speak to them all in any case, to help the Italian investigation. By the way Phil, did you speak to Fabio yesterday and fill him in on all this?’
Williams nodded. ‘Yes Guv. They've got nothing though. And I kinda got the impression that they may not be that bothered about investigating the murder. After all, whoever stabbed him was English and was in that bar. If no one's talking, there's nothing they can do is there?’
Jarvis pursed his lips and nodded. He could see Fabio's point. No doubt the Italian taxpayers could as well. An English thug murdered by another English thug. The fact it took place in their city was almost irrelevant. Jarvis stood up and stretched his arms above his head. ‘OK then. If what Terry says is right, how do we prove it?’
‘Well I doubt any of the crew will say anything; besides,
I doubt they know much,’ said Williams.
‘I didn't want to hear what we can't do,’ said Jarvis testily. ‘I want to hear what we can.’
‘There is one way Guv.’
He turned to Terry Porter. ‘Go on.’
‘When you interview him, put this idea to him and see how he reacts. If he laughs it off, I'll come in and front him up.’
‘What, tell him you were undercover?’
Porter nodded.
‘Why?’
‘It'd shock the shit out of him. He'd also work out that Fitchett was involved and was at the meeting in London. It might shake him.’
Jarvis shook his head. ‘No Terry. I can't do that. You'd never be able to go undercover again.’
‘What?’ said Porter incredulously, ‘and you think I will be? After this?’
Jarvis held up his hands. ‘No, forget it. Besides, you're supposed to be on sick leave.’ He sat there for a moment and looked at his watch. ‘OK, it's a quarter to eleven. What time was Evans booked in yesterday?’
‘Three thirty Guv,’ said Harris. ‘D'you want me to speak to the custody sergeant about getting another twelve hours’ extension?’
Jarvis shrugged his shoulders. ‘Give it a go, Al. But to be honest, we may not get it. All we've got so far is theories. And not a shred of firm evidence to back any of them up.’ He looked at his watch again and stood up. I need to get hold of the DCI and run all this by him. Phil, get on to Evans's brief. Tell him I'll be interviewing him again at one thirty.’ He looked at Porter who was looking through some of the interview statements taken from the deportees at Heathrow. He didn't like the idea but it might well be the last card he had.
Jarvis sat and studied the faces of the two men sitting opposite him as Williams busied himself with the tape machine. Evans wore his usual smug grin of invincibility and Higham was just smarm personified. He would cheerfully have given either of them a good hiding. He drummed his fingers on the file in front of him and then flicked it open, shuffling through the papers to keep himself occupied. Allen hadn't been best pleased to be disturbed at home but had listened intently while he filled him in on the events of the last two days. The suggestion that he bring Porter into the interview in an attempt to unsettle Evans had not gone down well. He'd eventually agreed, but only as a last resort. Jarvis snapped back to the present as Williams began the preliminaries for the benefit of the tape. This was his last chance. If he couldn't get Evans to open up or get him to make even the slightest mistake, then he'd have to let him go.