‘May I remind you, Inspector,’ began Higham, ‘that my client has been in custody for over twenty-two hours.’
‘I am aware of that Mr Higham. However, I have applied for a further twelve-hour extension to that. This is, after all, a murder investigation.’
‘Of which my client has no knowledge,’ Higham said brusquely.
‘And no alibi,’ added Jarvis. He looked at Evans who simply shook his head.
‘I didn't kill him, Mr Jarvis. You know that.’
‘Then tell me who did Billy.’
Evans held up his hands. ‘If I could, I would. Fitch was a good mate of mine.’
Jarvis looked at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘OK Billy, tell me about Terry Porter.’
‘What about ‘im?’ asked Evans.
‘Well, he says in his statement that there was a lot of friction because he was black.’
‘Well I can't help that can I? Not everyone is as racially tolerant as me. I mean, even the police force have their problems, ain't that right?’
Jarvis made a note on his pad. More to stop himself from laughing than anything else. He composed himself and went on. ‘Porter says that on a number of occasions, you spoke to Fitchett about problems with the right-wing members of the crew.’
‘Inspector, I must insist…’
Jarvis sighed. ‘OK Mr Higham … the party. And that on at least two occasions, once in the car park and once on the bus, he was attacked by the same two men. The second of those attacks, the one on the bus, was stopped by you.’
Evans shook his head. ‘No, that's not true.’
‘Well why would he lie?’
Evans reached for a cigarette and lit up, sending clouds of smoke bellowing up towards the ceiling. ‘I don't know. Ask him. Better still, ask some of the other lads, they'll tell you the same as me. Nothing happened.’
Jarvis stared across the table. ‘Does the fact that Porter made a statement to us bother you Billy?’
Evans looked at him and raised both eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘Why should it? We all want the truth, don't we Mr Jarvis. Problem is, what he's said is wrong. That ain't helping anyone is it?’
Jarvis flicked through his notes to give him time while he thought. Evans was unshakeable. Sooner or later, he was going to have to bring Terry Porter in. Not yet though.
A knock on the door interrupted them and Jarvis turned to see Steve Parry standing in the doorway. ‘Can I have a word, Guv? Urgent.’
Jarvis got up and walked towards the door as Williams spoke for the tape, recording the fact that the senior officer was leaving the room.
Parry waited until the door was properly closed and started talking. ‘We've been going through the stuff from the Mercedes. Terry's found the passports of the two lads who attacked him. Here's their names,’ he said, handing Jarvis a piece of paper. ‘Steven Daniels, known as Skinner for some reason, and Brian Hughes.’
‘Do we know them?’
Parry nodded. ‘Both are from Leeds and on the Cat C list. Hughes has done time for assault, not football-related though, and Daniels was detained in Dublin for a while before they kicked him out. They're well known as being card-carrying racists.’
‘Nice lads then,’ said Jarvis.
‘Oh the best.’
‘Is that it?’ asked Jarvis.
‘No Guv. Get this. There was an envelope full of documents as well. All the log books, insurance stuff, all perfectly legit.’
‘Yeah, go on,’ said Jarvis sharply.
‘Well in a couple of the bags, we also found some match tickets.’
‘So?’
‘Well they're all the same and they're all fake.’
‘What d'you mean, the same?’
Parry held up two tickets. ‘They're identical. Even down to the serial numbers. They're good copies mind.’
Jarvis took them and grinned. ‘Well that was careless. Let's see what he's got to say about that. How many were there altogether?’
‘We found eight.’
‘What, all the same?’
Parry gave him a broad wink.
‘Nice one,’ said Jarvis, and walked back into the room.
‘DI Jarvis has just re-entered the room at 14.12,’ said Williams for the benefit of the tape.
‘Billy,’ he said as he sat down and carefully hid the tickets under a sheet of paper. ‘Do you know a Steven Daniels and a Brian Hughes?’
Evans furrowed his brow and slowly shook his head. ‘No … I don't think so.’
‘Billy,’ said Jarvis. ‘Daniels was driving one of your cars four days ago. A green Mitsubishi Shogun.’
‘Oh, you mean Skinner! Yeah, I know him. And Hughsie, of course. Sorry Mr Jarvis, you must think I'm a right prat.’
Jarvis raised an eyebrow in agreement and went on. ‘Would you mind telling me where you know them from?’
Evans looked round at Higham who gave a discreet nod of his head. ‘I've known Skinner for years. I first met him in … Christ let me think …’ He looked at the ceiling and rubbed his chin dramatically. ‘Sweden I think. Nineteen …hmm. Yeah, nineteen ninety-two. European Championships.’ He grinned again.
‘And Daniels?’
‘Can't remember. It was after that though. I meet a lot of people you know, I can't remember them all.’
Jarvis lifted up his eyes from his notes. ‘Oh yes Billy. I know. So what if I told you that Terry Porter had identified these two men as being the ones who attacked him?’
Evans cocked his head to one side and scratched his ear. ‘I'd say, good.’
‘What?’ Jarvis asked irritably.
‘Well if they put him in hospital, they should be punished shouldn't they? Stands to reason. But I wouldn't know much about it, because I wasn't there.’ He settled back in his chair and reached for another smoke, lighting it off the stub of the old one.
Jarvis sighed wearily. That wasn't the response he was after at all.
‘Inspector,’ he glanced across at the solicitor. ‘Is there any chance that you are going to produce anything that remotely resembles evidence today? So far, all you have done is present the testimony of someone who, I assume, spent much of the last four days in an Italian hospital. Furthermore, as far as I can tell, you have no witnesses to back up a single word of what he says.’
Jarvis glared at Higham. The smug git was really starting to irritate him. Jarvis took the two tickets from under the sheet of paper. ‘Do you recognise these Billy?’
Evans leant over and looked at them. ‘Tickets for the game in Rome. So?’
‘We found them in your car.’
Higham shook his head. ‘Really Inspector, my client and his friends were on their way to a football match. Is it really so extraordinary to expect them to have purchased tickets to get in?’
‘Not at all,’ said Jarvis calmly. ‘But if those tickets are forged, as these are, then that is of interest.’
Evans leant forward and smiled. ‘Well not to me it's not, because they're not mine and I've never seen them before. All right, they were in my car, but it was full of other people's gear. What d'you want me to do? Search it all for dodgy tickets?’ He looked around at Higham. ‘This is getting fucking ridiculous. Now I'm up for touting!’
Higham glared at Jarvis. ‘I totally agree with my client. You're fishing Inspector. You and I both know it. I insist you release Mr Evans immediately.’
Jarvis looked at him for a second, his face expressionless. Higham was right of course. He had nothing. Not a shred. There was only one thing left to do. ‘OK Billy …’ he began, ‘let me tell you what I think has been going on.’
Evans leant back in his chair. He looked calm but his eyes were blazing. Jarvis was pushing his luck now and he knew it. ‘I'm all ears, Inspector.’
Jarvis smiled and took a deep breath. ‘You recruited a group of known hooligans and lent each of them a car to drive to Italy. You also gave them a match ticket and a sum of money.’ Higham went to speak but Jarvis held up his hand and he stopped.
‘However; those tickets were, as we have seen, forged. The reason for that is because you knew they wouldn't be used. I already have one statement that says you initiated the trouble in Bar San Marco. I believe you did that certain in the knowledge that it would escalate and the riot police would become involved. Given the history of this fixture and the reputation of the people inside the bar, it was a pretty safe bet that most, if not all, would get detained or deported.’
Evans shook his head and smiled. ‘Why would I do all that?’
Jarvis flashed him a glare and fished through his notes. The silence continued for a few seconds and then he looked up. There was no choice, he had to go for it. ‘I believe that this whole trip was a front. You were not planning to attend this match at all. What you were actually doing was exporting stolen cars …’
‘Stolen cars!’ Evans let out a loud ironic laugh. ‘You've been out in the sun too much.’
Higham leant forward and put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Just hear him out,’ he murmured.
Jarvis nodded. ‘The cars belonging to you which are currently stored in the warehouse near Calais are not, in fact, the same ones that were taken to Italy. Those were stolen vehicles wearing the number plates of your cars.’ Jarvis coughed again and carried on. ‘After removing the personal effects from the stolen cars, they were taken from the service station car park in Rome by persons unknown. You simply made your way back to Calais alone.’ He stopped talking and looked up at Evans. The smile was still there, as smug as ever.
‘It's a bloody good idea Mr Jarvis. It might even work.’
Higham leant forward. ‘Have you any evidence to back up one single word of this theory Inspector?’
Jarvis looked at him, a thin smile fixed to his lips. He'd given it a shot and it hadn't worked. Evans had just laughed the whole thing off. Now Jarvis had no choice. There was only one last chance to rattle the man sitting opposite him. ‘I believe I can Mr Higham.’ He scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Williams. He looked at it and with a low sigh, got up and left the room.
The three men sat, listening to the low hum of the cassette machine.
‘I take it I'll be going home tonight?’ said Evans.
Higham grunted. ‘If I have my way you will. This is a bloody scandal.’
Jarvis looked at them and waited. He fixed his eyes on Evans, daring him to make eye contact, but he merely looked around the room and, after a minute or so, lit yet another cigarette. When the door finally opened, Jarvis leant forward and, without taking his eyes off Evans, said, ‘DC Williams and Detective Sergeant Porter have just entered the room.’
Evans looked up at Terry Porter. For a second, he looked stunned, but if Jarvis was looking for even the slightest indication of fear or concern, neither was forthcoming. Evans started laughing. ‘Well fuck me rigid! Now that's a turn-up for the books. I always wondered what an undercover copper looked like and now I know.’
‘Hello Billy,’ said Porter, sounding slightly embarrassed.
‘Well well. Terry. Shit man, you had me fooled.’ He gestured towards the plaster. ‘How's your face?’
‘It'll mend.’
Higham leant forward and glared at Jarvis. ‘Are you telling me that this is Terry Porter? The man whose statement you keep quoting from?’
Jarvis nodded. ‘Yes I am.’
‘And he's an undercover officer?’
‘That's correct,’ said Jarvis patiently.
Higham sat back in his chair. ‘Well, Inspector Jarvis, I'm astonished. Despite having a man right in the middle of this, you still have no firm evidence to present against my client. In fact, I'll go further than that. You don't even have a charge to prefer against him do you?’
Jarvis looked at him surprised. ‘Your client, Mr Higham, was involved in the murder of Gary Fitchett, was involved in conspiracy to commit offences outside the United Kingdom and was also involved in the theft of a number of motor vehicles all of which have been exported out of the country.’
‘And yet despite what I can only assume was a very expensive undercover operation, you are still unable to show us any evidence to support a word you say,’ added Higham caustically. ‘Doesn't that tell you something, Inspector?’
The room fell into an awkward silence. Evans leant forward and dropped his cigarette stub in the ash tray.
‘You must be fucking desperate Mr Jarvis.’
‘I think I would like a few moments with my client,’ said Higham patiently.
‘I think that would be a very good idea.’ Jarvis nodded to Williams who suspended the interview and the three officers walked out, closing the door behind them.
‘Shit,’ barked Jarvis. ‘That didn't go how I thought it would.’
Terry Porter looked at him. ‘Guv, I have to say this. You've got nothing. You know that don't you? Even if it ever came to court, the conspiracy stuff will come down to my word against his. No one else is gonna say anything. And unless you can come up with something, the car theft idea is just that, an idea. We all know it's what happened but we can't prove a word of it.’
Jarvis looked down at the floor and nodded. ‘Yeah I know. I really thought he'd do something to drop himself in it.’ He looked up at Porter. ‘Sorry Terry, I shouldn't have done that to you. It just made you look a twat.’
‘Oh thanks.’
Jarvis grunted, half laugh, half groan. ‘You know what I mean. Go on, piss off home. I'll sort this mess out. It's all down to me.’ He knocked on the door and walked back into the interview room.
Chapter 25
Wednesday, 17 November
11.20
Terry Porter sat at his desk and looked at the pile of paperwork on his desk. He wasn't supposed to have come back to work until Monday but boredom had taken over and, besides, he felt fine. Now, having been given all this work to do, he was having second thoughts. He looked at the others scurrying around the office and smiled. It was good to be back doing proper police work. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed the day-to-day office banter when he'd been undercover. He looked up to see Paul Jarvis standing up and talking on the phone at the other end of the large open plan room. He looked agitated and, after looking over towards Porter's desk, hurried off in the direction of the DCI's office.
‘Poor bastard,’ Porter thought. Releasing Evans without charge must have been a real kick in the nuts. Especially now that the football unit's side of the operation had been all but wound up and was under an official investigation for the way it had been conducted. Hardly surprising given that the key informant had been murdered. Jarvis would do well to escape with just a bollocking after that. Still, Porter had done his bit. He could hardly be blamed for anything. It wasn't down to him that the others in the crew had backed up everything Evans had said when they'd been interviewed. At least the stolen car squad had been impressed. Even if they weren't confident of ever proving anything. The phone rang and snapped him out of his daydream.
‘DS Porter.’
‘Hello. My name's Ian Shaw. From the Express. I'm just ringing to ask for your response to a story we'll be running in the paper tomorrow.’
‘I'm sorry, you'll have to talk to the press office. We're not allowed to comment…’
‘But Sergeant,’ the voice insisted, ‘this story is directly related to you.’
Porter felt a cold shiver run up his spine and he glanced down at the phone, his brow furrowed. ‘What story?’
There was a pause and then the voice continued. ‘Three weeks ago, on the night before the England versus Italy match, two England fans were attacked and stabbed during a major disturbance in a bar. The same disturbance in fact which resulted in over a hundred people being arrested and deported.’
Porter sat and stared into space as the mechanical voice droned on. The knot in his stomach was growing by the second.
‘One of those men, his name was … erm … Gary Fitchett, died from his injuries. The second man recovered and was released from hospital on the Saturday morning after th
e match. The name we were given for that man at the time was Edward Samson. Have you any comment to make on that, Sergeant?’
Porter sat in silence.
‘Right then …’ began the voice again. ‘This morning an Italian newspaper has run a story alleging that the second man was in fact an undercover police officer from the National Football Intelligence Unit. Obviously, this is a big story in its own right and we were planning to run it tomorrow anyway. However, I must tell you that, about two hours ago, we received information that alleges that you were that undercover officer. Would you like to comment on that?’
Porter leant forward and rested his forehead on his hand. This wasn't happening.
‘Sergeant? Are you there?’
Porter looked at the phone. He wanted to put it down but simply said, ‘Yes, and I have no comment.’
‘OK,’ the voice went on. ‘But I think you should know that this information also alleges that Gary Fitchett received his wounds as a result of a fight with you …’
Porter dropped the phone and stood up. He looked around and tried to work out what to do. He could hear the voice on the phone, calling out, but he didn't want to listen any more. ‘Oh fuck!’ he gasped, and headed as quickly as he could towards the DCI's office.
Jarvis stood awkwardly next to DCI Allen's desk and stared at the two men in dark suits sitting in front of him.
‘I assure you Inspector Jarvis that this is no joke. According to the evidence we have, your DS is facing a charge of murder.’
‘But you have to see this is all a set-up? It's so bloody obvious it's ridiculous.’
A loud knock on the door made them all turn round as Porter came crashing into the office. He stopped and angrily looked around the room. ‘Oh, so you obviously know then? Was anyone ever going to tell me?’