‘That's the one. Who is she?’
‘Don't know, never seen her before!’
They both started laughing. ‘You wanker,’ said Jarvis. He couldn't believe he'd fallen for that. He leant in and ran his fingers down the lift panel. Pressing every button so that it would stop on every floor. ‘Revenge is swift and it is mine!’ Jarvis shouted triumphantly. The lift doors shut and this time he let it go, the round man's cursing muffled by the metal sheeting. Turning on his heels, he took a deep breath and walked into the office.
For once, his desk was reasonably tidy. On the left-hand side, in a tray marked ‘Bullshit’ were a small pile of green files which he no longer needed but couldn't be arsed to put away. Next to them were two coffee cups, one of which was just about empty while the second was half full and coated with a strange green substance. Each one had a small post-it notice stuck to the handle with the legend ‘wash me up you bastard’ written on it in red ink. In the centre of his desk sat his laptop, humming away to itself, while on the right, in the tray marked ‘Urgent’ sat three files and two videotapes. He sat down with a sigh. There had only been one file in there when he'd left on Friday. That meant work. He picked up the two cups, poured the contents into his neighbour's plant pot and dumped them in the bin. ‘Job jobbed,’ he thought.
Reaching over, he lifted out the two new files and the two tapes. Usually, the tray would have been bulging on a Monday morning. But with no Premiership games and only QPR and Orient at home, the weekend had probably remained reasonably quiet compared to a usual mid-season Saturday in the capital. He took the thinner of the two files and lifted out the contents. It was a simple report on the policing for the Orient game. Very low-key and very quiet. ‘Typical Orient in fact,’ he sighed. ‘A bit like the club.’ He put the report back in the folder, signed the front and threw it into the ‘Bullshit’ tray. Picking up the second folder, he immediately noticed it was much heavier than the first and bore the legend ‘Report into Crowd Control at Queens Park Rangers vs Birmingham City fixture. Loftus Road 04-09- 99’. He looked at the cover and then set it down. ‘Can't start this on an empty stomach,’ he said out loud to the still empty office. ‘I need something to get me going.’ He stood up and walked out of the office in the direction of the canteen.
He was halfway through his breakfast when the tannoy system burst into life. ‘Detective Inspector Jarvis, please report to your office immediately.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Bloody hell, I don't believe this!’ It was only seven forty-five, he wasn't due on duty until eight. He shovelled what remained on his plate onto a slice of bread and, after gulping down his tea, headed for the lift.
He was still chewing his makeshift sandwich as he walked out of the lift to see the very unwelcome sight of two men standing next to his desk. One was his boss, Detective Chief Inspector Peter Allen, but he didn't know the other. He had a feeling he was about to though, because they were looking through the file he had left unopened and were in deep conversation about something. This didn't look good. He gulped down what was left in his mouth and quickened his step.
‘Morning Guv.’
‘Ah, Paul. This is Chief Inspector Morgan from Kensington.’ Jarvis looked into the face of the second man. He didn't exactly look pleased. ‘Have you read the report into the incident in Camden High Street on Saturday?’
Jarvis shook his head. Camden again, what was that all about? It must have been serious to warrant all this attention. ‘No Guv, not yet, I've only just got in.’ Jarvis noticed a very faint shake of the head and an exhale that was rather too powerful for his liking. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
Another shake and then the uniform spoke. ‘I'll tell you what happened, Detective Inspector. My son was attacked and nearly blinded in broad daylight by a group of Brummie bastards and I want to see the one who did it in court.’
Jarvis looked at him and then at Allen.
‘Have a look through the report and the tapes, Paul, and let me have a report by lunchtime.’
‘Of course, Guv.’
The man in uniform gave Jarvis a glare and the two men walked off, leaving him staring at the file in front of him. So that was what it was about; some high-up's little lad got a spanking and he wants somebody to pay.
‘Cheeky fucker,’ he thought. ‘Who the fuck does he think he is, coming down here dictating what I do and don't do? As if I haven't got enough on.’ He took out the paperwork and flicked through it. According to the report, nothing much had happened during the game. Just the usual drunks and abuse. Seven ejections and one arrest for threatening behaviour. Jarvis shrugged his shoulders. That was quite good for a club with the number of travelling fans Birmingham usually had. Especially with their mob, the Selector. He certainly hadn't been warned about anything beforehand or he'd have put a few of his lads on it. He carried on reading and came to annex a: a report into an incident in Camden High Street. It was, to say the least, brief. Very few witnesses and only two statements. One from a passer-by who had remained on the scene and another from an eighteen-year-old man named Barry Morgan, ‘Detained in hospital with damage to his eyesight as a result of an attack with a substance believed to be pepper spray’.
He read through them: the two accounts were so different they could have been of two separate incidents. The witness described how fighting had started in the middle of the road outside McDonald's and had spread down Camden High Street towards the tube station. It had lasted a couple of minutes and there were a few vague descriptions. Barry Morgan's version basically revolved around the fact that he'd been shopping on his own and had been mugged by a group of men with accents that weren't local.
Jarvis smiled. He'd seen enough of these reports over the years to know straight away that young Barry Morgan was obviously a bit of a lad who had got caught. ‘I'm surprised he didn't add he was shopping for his mum's birthday present,’ he thought, and reached over for the two tapes. They were both marked with the serial numbers of the cameras and ‘Camden High Street 04-09-99 11.00 to 13.00 hours’. He stood up and walked towards the machine in the corner. The office was beginning to fill up and, as he started the first tape running, the level of noise began to rise to its normal manic level. The quality of the tape was rubbish and, using the remote control, he flicked through it until the fighting started. He watched, totally detached from what he was seeing. This was just one in a thousand such tapes he had watched in the last four years since he had joined the NFIU, the National Football Intelligence Unit. He had to admit, though, that this was a good one. The way the larger group, the Brummies he assumed, had worked out the ambush so quickly was a bit clever. Once it had finished, he stopped the tape and put in the second one. The angle was different and he was pleased to see a much clearer shot of a small group of young men seemingly taunting four other men before coming under attack themselves. ‘Christ,’ he thought. ‘They'll do well to live that down if word gets out.’
He continued to watch the tape and smiled to himself as one of the youths was sprayed across the face with something. ‘Barry Morgan, I presume,’ he said out loud. He rewound the tape, ejected it and put it back in its box. Looking around, he caught sight of a young-looking copper busily hammering away at a keyboard. The new DC, Phil Williams. He'd come to the unit with good credentials, and by all accounts was learning fast. Jarvis had high hopes for him. He walked over and put the two tapes down on the desk in front of him.
‘Phil, take these two and have a flick through them will you? Anyone doing anything stupid, blow up their faces, print them off and run them through the computer. See if we get lucky and can give at least one of them a name.’ He tapped the second cassette. ‘And on this one is a very good shot of someone giving a lad a face full of pepper spray. I want prints of both their faces. All right?’
The man at the desk looked up and gave a sigh. ‘Yes Guv,’ he said.
Jarvis smiled as he walked back to his desk. He loved being a DI; a bit of power never hurt anyone and, after all, he'd spent long
enough being ordered about and shat on. He sat down, switched on his laptop and began typing his report based on what he knew of the Camden High Street incident. He was about halfway through when he decided to have a quick chat with Allen, his DCI. If this was the son of a Chief Inspector, it could be embarrassing and he might just want it buried. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.
Allen's office door was open and he was sitting at his desk reading the paper. Jarvis tapped on the door and stuck his head in. ‘Guv, could I have a quick word?’ Allen put down his paper and motioned him in. ‘This guy Morgan, I think he may be in for a shock. If his lad was the lad I saw on the tape, then he's in the shit. Looks like it was him who started it.’
Allen looked at him and smiled. ‘That could be interesting.’
‘Sir …’ They both looked round as the young Detective Constable walked in holding a small pile of paper. ‘The faces you asked for.’
Jarvis flicked through them, handing each one on to Allen. The tape had been bad enough, but these enlargements were awful. Not one of them showed a likeness that was good enough to have stood up in court. However, Williams had printed off a sequence of the lad getting sprayed across the face and Jarvis held one of them up.
‘Barry Morgan I presume.’ He dropped the picture in front of the DCI and turned back to Williams. ‘Any names Phil?’
‘Only three, sir.’ He leant in and took the photographs from the desk, leafed through them and pulled three out. He looked at one and handed it to Jarvis. ‘This guy is called Fitchett and this other one is Alex Bailey. Neither has any previous at home but they're both well known. It's thought that they're the two top men of the Selector the …’
Jarvis looked up from the photos and interrupted him. ‘We know who the Selector are thank you, Detective Constable.’
‘Sorry Guv,’ said Williams, his face almost scarlet with embarrassment. ‘They've both been seen abroad with England a lot and Fitchett was thought to be involved with the planning of the riot in Dublin, although nothing could be proved. They were also both deported from Norway in 1996. Nothing serious though, just drunk and disorderly.’
Jarvis held out the photographs for Allen but he waved them away and looked at Williams. ‘You said there were three names …’
‘Oh, yes Guv.’ The young DC fumbled for a picture and pulled it out. ‘When I tried to identify this face, all I got from the computer was a message referring me to the DI.’ He looked at Jarvis with a puzzled expression on his face but Jarvis didn't respond. Instead, Allen reached up, took the picture and placed it face down on the desk without even looking at it.
Jarvis gave Williams back the two pictures he had in his hand. ‘Get the computer boys to clean these two up and then send them up to Brum. See if the local lads can fill us in a bit more.’
Williams waited for a second before realising that nothing else was required of him and left the office. Jarvis reached over and pushed the door shut.
‘Is it Terry Porter?’ he asked. Allen handed him the photo. ‘Yes. Get hold of him and let him know he's been spotted. See if he can give you anything else on the other two.’
Jarvis nodded. ‘To be honest Guv, I think we're wasting our time here. He's been undercover with them on and off for almost two years now and he's not even close to getting anything worthwhile yet. And from what I know of the Selector, this is as far in as he's going to get.’
Allen looked at him and smiled. If anyone knew about undercover operations of this nature it was Jarvis, and he trusted his judgement on such matters. After all, it had been Jarvis's idea to keep all details of any undercover operations totally secret apart from the two of them. Although at first the others on the Unit had been aggrieved, they hadn't had a single leak of information since the policy had been implemented and it was now accepted practice. ‘Fair enough, if the local lads come up with anything then we'll see about pulling in the top boys. Other than that, give him a week or so and pull him out.’
Jarvis got up and went to leave. He stopped at the door and turned back. ‘What about Morgan?’
The DCI laughed and said, ‘I'll send the picture to Mr Morgan, see if he wants us to proceed.’
Jarvis smiled and opened the door. ‘Somehow I doubt that,’ he laughed, ‘but I'll get that report for you Guv. Just in case.’
He was about to walk out when Allen called him back. ‘How's the briefing for Wednesday coming?’ Jarvis looked at him and slowly nodded his head. ‘Fine Guv, it'll be ready by the morning.’
Allen smiled. ‘Might as well stick this lot in with it. Keep it right up to date. I'll let you know what Mr Morgan says.’
Jarvis nodded and walked out. ‘That's all I need,’ he thought. ‘More bloody work.’
After two hours, Jarvis got up and stretched his back to relieve the stiffness. His briefing for the England game on Wednesday night was almost complete but he needed one last file. As a DI, he could have got one of the others to get it for him but he needed the exercise and, besides, a visit to the fourth floor might well result in another look at the blonde from earlier on. He was about to head for the lift when the phone rang. It was the DCI requesting his presence. He gave a sigh and walked over to the desk of the young DC. Grabbing a pen and a stick-it note, he scribbled down a name and handed it to the young copper. ‘Phil, go down to the fourth floor and bring me up the file on this gentleman. Sign it out under my name and make sure it's right up to date. When you've got it, keep hold of it until you can hand it to me personally.’ Before Williams could answer, Jarvis was out of earshot and walking towards the DCI's office.
He knocked on the door and was in before the answer came. ‘Yes Guv,’ said Jarvis. ‘What's up?’
DCI Allen looked up and grinned. ‘I've just spoken to Mr Morgan. You'll be amazed to know that he wants us to stop proceedings. He's slightly embarrassed to say the least.’
Jarvis smiled. ‘Thought he would,’ he said. ‘It's amazing what a bit of parental embarrassment can do in my experience.’
‘Anyway,’ went on Allen, ‘finish the report on the incident and stick it on file. You never know when it'll come in handy.’
DC Williams was waiting by Jarvis's desk when he got back, a large green folder tucked under his arm. ‘The file you wanted, Guv,’ he said.
Jarvis took it from him and weighed it in his hand before dropping it on his desk. It was heavy. ‘Pull up a chair, Phil,’ he said. ‘If you're going to do the job, you need to know everything there is to know about this face.’
As Williams scuttled off to grab his chair, Jarvis sat down and opened the folder. It was packed full of statements and photographs. He pulled a picture out and stared at it. A round face with short dark hair stared up at him, the expression completely indifferent yet with a strange kind of menace.
‘He looks a nasty bastard.’ Jarvis looked up as Williams put the chair down and sat on it, dragging it the last few inches so he was tight up against the desk like an excited schoolboy.
‘He is,’ said Jarvis, returning his stare to the photograph, ‘he most certainly is. Phil, this is one Billy Evans. Thirty-two years old, a car dealer from Romford. On the face of it, he's a respectable man with a nice house, nice family and a successful business. However, just after Euro 96 he became the king-pin of the West Ham mob, the Cockney Suicide Squad. It's also believed that he has a record of involvement with the planning of trouble involving England fans abroad, including the riots in Dublin, Oslo and Rome.’
Williams took a photograph and looked at it. ‘Nice bloke. Anything else?’
Jarvis dropped his photograph and picked up a sheet from the file. ‘Aside from his involvement in football, there's been a lot of rumour over the years suggesting that he's also been involved in the distribution of drugs to clubs all over the southeast and that he's also done some protection work in the East End.’
Williams looked up. ‘Rumour?’
‘Yes, that's all we've ever had, rumour. We've never been able to get anything concrete on hi
m despite undercover operations and surveillance. I've been through his house twice myself and nothing. We did get him in court once, for affray.
He was arrested during a ruck at a game in Coventry but the charge was dropped when the local plods dropped a bollock with the evidence.’
Williams let out a slow whistle but Jarvis went on. ‘Six months ago he vanished from the football scene and we thought he'd given it up to concentrate on his other “activities”. We even handed his file over to the organised crime lads, but a few weeks ago, when West Ham were playing at Elland Road, he was spotted in Leeds with some of the serious lads from the Service Crew. Since then, he's been spotted at all of West Ham's away games and always in with the local firm. The odd thing is, he hasn't been seen at Upton Park all season.’
Williams looked at his DI but he was miles away. This was clearly a talk he had given many times before.
‘The DCI thinks he's just keeping up with old mates,’ Jarvis continued. ‘Me, I think it's something more than that. I think he's up to something and I want to know what it is. That's why he's in every briefing I have to give and I want you to go through this file so that you know everything about him. If you ever turn up anything, I want to know and I want it written down and put in here.’
Williams had been staring at Jarvis, but his DI was clearly unaware of it. ‘Guv.’
Jarvis turned to face him. ‘What?’
Williams was a little unsure of how to do it, but there was a question he had to ask. ‘Guv, judging by the stuff here, this guy has been at it a while. If nothing's ever turned up on him despite all this work, why are you … I mean, why are we still after him?’
Jarvis's expression changed instantly. He glared at Williams and lowered his voice. ‘Because I say so. And if I'm sure of one thing, it's that one day I'm going to put this bastard inside.’
Chapter 3
Wednesday, 8 September
16.20