‘Alex!’ he shouted out and, again, an angry voice shouted down the corridor at them to shut up. After a final burst of the Birmingham City anthem ‘Keep right on to the end of the road’, the cells went quiet.
Fitchett sat down. So Alex had been raided as well. And he was down here. ‘Bollocks,’ he said to himself.
The sound of approaching footsteps made him turn towards the door and once again the hatch flew open. This time, however, he was surprised to see the face of the copper who had raided his house. Fitchett stood up and stared at the face in the hatch for a few seconds before he spoke. ‘Well, well, well,’ he said, ‘we meet again. I see you got my mate as well.’
Fitchett swore he saw a look of shock pass across the face of the copper before the hatch slammed shut. He ran over to the door and shouted, ‘You ignorant bastard, you could have said hello at least!’ Sitting down on his bed, a smile spread across his face. ‘One nil to me I think.’
Jarvis was furious. He stormed back up the corridor and slammed the door shut before letting both barrels go at the custody sergeant. ‘I gave express orders that these two were to be kept well apart and were not to know the other had been arrested. The Brummies managed it, I even sent them down in different vehicles and then, when I get them in my own nick, what happens? You might as well have put them in the same fucking cell!’ Before the sergeant could answer, Jarvis had turned and stormed out of the room.
By the time he'd got to his car, he'd calmed down a bit. To be honest, it wasn't the end of the world but it might make things difficult later on. He'd have to deal with that if it arose, but at the moment he needed a shower and something to eat. Fitchett and Bailey could wait until the morning.
Part Two
Chapter 6
Saturday, 2 October
08.30
Jarvis stood at the door to the lift and pressed the button repeatedly. After some food, a shower and a decent sleep, he was raring to go and the wait for the lift was making him impatient. He gave it a final thump and was about to give up and head for the stairs when the metallic chime of the lift bell told him there was no need. He gave a curse to all things mechanical and walked in, hitting the number 6 as he did so. No Chanel-breathing blonde this morning, but he wasn't worried about that. Indeed, he was so keen to get to work, he threaded his way through the lift doors as they opened and, strolling out into the office, was relieved to see a light already on in the briefing room. ‘Morning Al.’ Jarvis could hardly contain his anticipation.
‘Guv,’ replied Harris without even glancing up from the computer he was busily typing away at. Jarvis waited for a further response but, when none came, he took a look around the room. It was large and windowless with a second door at the left-hand end leading to a small office. It was also quite sparse: three desks, three telephones, two computers, a television and video, four filing cabinets and a large white board containing relevant names, photographs and dates. He walked over to the board and took a close look at the pictures. Two stills from the video of the Camden High Street fight showed Fitchett and Bailey. From each of them, a thick blue line pointed towards a single picture, the likeness on it so familiar to him: Billy Evans.
With a snort, he turned away from the board and walked towards the small office. It was empty save for a desk, chair and a further filing cabinet. At least it had a window, but the view of various air-conditioning units stuck to the side of the office block next door was hardly inspiring. After abandoning his briefcase on the empty desk, he walked back out to the briefing room and looked at Harris. On the floor next to him sat a steaming cup of tea and a half-eaten bacon sandwich. ‘I see you've got your priorities right, Al,’ he laughed.
Harris looked up and smiled. ‘Well, someone's got to. My old lady ain't speaking to me any more. Not since I told her I was back working with you.’ They both laughed and Harris bent down and picked up the sandwich. He stuffed it in his mouth and carried on typing with it hanging from his lips.
Jarvis shook his head and turned away; he suddenly felt hungry again. He was about to head for the canteen when the other three members of the team strode in. They were all laughing at something or other and Jarvis immediately took that as a good sign. He'd never really worked with Steve Parry before and hardly even knew Neal White, who looked even younger than Phil Williams. But first impressions were vital, and this one was positive. The last thing he wanted was any grief among his own team.
‘Right,’ he said, instantly gaining everyone's attention. ‘Has everybody eaten?’ The question seemed to faze the others, who replied with a mixture of ers and ums. ‘Well, I'm off for some breakfast so if anyone wants to join me, feel free. Back here in twenty minutes for a briefing.’
Jarvis strode out and, within seconds, the heavy sound of footsteps followed. At the lift, he turned round and was amused to find, not just the three men, but Harris as well. He had a cup of tea in one hand and the final remnants of his sandwich in the other. Jarvis looked at him and then let his eyes fall down towards his bulging waistline.
‘Well, I don't know when I'll get to eat again, do I Guv?’
Twenty minutes later, the five men were back in the briefing room. They were all in good spirits, which was exactly what Jarvis had wanted. He had learnt long ago that the police canteen had far more value than just the provision of food and drink. It was where ice was broken and teams were formed. Twenty minutes of telling jokes and talking about football, telly or women was worth a thousand hours of lectures or interviews.
‘All right, gentlemen, listen up.’ Jarvis walked over to the board and the other four men turned to face him. The silence was instant. He looked at the board and then turned round to face his team. ‘As you all know, we have two bodies downstairs for an assault on a Mr Barry Morgan in Camden High Street on Saturday 4 September. They are Gary Fitchett and Alex Bailey. Both these men are known to be the kingpins of the Birmingham City hooligan group the Selector. Fitchett is top boy, Bailey his number two. Neither of them has been questioned yet; we'll do that later when we've collated all the stuff found in their homes. However, there are two things that you do not know. The first is that Barry Morgan is the son of Chief Inspector Morgan from Kensington.’ He watched as ironic smiles broke out on the faces of the team. ‘It is therefore fairly certain that charges will not be pressed and so we will only get the two men on affray. That information is not to go outside this room, is that clear?’ He looked around and the four men nodded and grunted in agreement. ‘The second thing you do not know, and the real reason for this operation …’
‘Legion, Guv.’
Jarvis turned to look at Harris. ‘What?’
‘It's Operation Legion.’
Jarvis nodded. ‘Right, the reason Operation Legion has been set up is to target this man …’ He turned and tapped the photo. ‘Billy Evans. You should all have heard of him by now, but if you have any doubts, DS Harris will fill you in.’
He sat down and listened as Harris stood up and began going through a detailed briefing on the history of Billy Evans. When he had finished, Jarvis stood up.
‘As Al has just said, it looks like our man is back in the game again. He's obviously planning something and judging by the fact that he's been seen all over England in recent months, it's something big. We need to know what it is, and fast. Hopefully, the two men we have downstairs will be able to throw a little light on it but at the moment we're in the dark.’ He stopped talking and looked around. ‘So, what could it be gents? Anything spring to mind?’
The room was quiet for a moment and then Williams stood up. ‘Well if Evans really is a major player, could he be setting up some kind of supercrew?’ He looked around for a response but none was forthcoming. He went on. ‘Well, everyone's always talking about the so-called England national crew, maybe he's trying to put it together.’ He shrugged his shoulders and sat down.
Jarvis rubbed his chin. ‘I can see the sense in that. But why now?’
Steve Parry piped up: ‘It has
to be Italy, Guv.’
Jarvis looked at him. ‘Go on …’
Parry stood up and faced the other men. ‘England are playing out there later this month aren't they? Maybe he's planning something for then. After all, there's a lot of lads who are very bitter about what happened in Rome last time. He wouldn't have much trouble getting two or three hundred together.’
The others all nodded. ‘Makes sense,’ said Neal White. ‘Especially if he's got a history of this type of thing … You know, Dublin and all that.’
‘Yeah.’ Harris was on his feet. ‘But he's been out of it for months now. He hasn't even been at West Ham much this season and there's nothing to suggest he's back to cause trouble. It could be he's just going round meeting up with people he's known over the years.’ He stopped and looked at Steve Parry. ‘You never know, he might even be watching football.’
The sarcastic tone in Harris's voice didn't fool Jarvis a bit. He was playing devil's advocate to get the others thinking. ‘He wouldn't be the first person to get out of it in this way. I've seen hundreds in my time. It could be that we'll go digging around and there's nothing to find. We may have just missed our chance.’
‘Or it could be that he's planning to go out with a bang,’ said White. ‘And put himself in the history books along with names like Harry the Dog and Ned the Shed.’
Jarvis looked around the four faces. ‘OK,’ he said, and wrote down the words ‘Italy’ and ‘supercrew’ on the board in large blue letters. Then, as an afterthought, he wrote a large question mark beside each one.
‘Of course there is the chance that this is nothing to do with football at all …’ Jarvis and the others turned to face Steve Parry. ‘Well, let's face it. Most of these people aren't exactly law-abiding are they? What if this is something to do with something else? Drugs, for example?’ Harris reached down into Evans's file and pulled out a sheet of paper and read it while Parry went on. ‘It's long been suspected that Evans is involved with drugs, right? Well maybe he's using these other lads to farm them out around the country. I mean, he's only ever been photographed inside grounds with these lads hasn't he? But how did he get there? It could have been in a car full of “E”s, coke or crack for all we know.’
Jarvis turned back to the board and, with a smile, wrote ‘drugs’ on the board. Again, a question mark was added. He was impressed. Five minutes and they had come up with two ideas both of which were reasonably sound. He put the pen down, turned back to the four men and rubbed his hands together.
‘Right gents,’ he began, ‘we've got something to think about. So let's try and find out if any of it's right shall we? Steve, I want you and Neal to check out every phone number we found in the two houses. That's the ones stored on the phones and the ones listed on the itemised bills. See if anything comes up.’ The two men nodded. ‘And I take it you found nothing of any use in Bailey's house?’
‘No Guv, it was clean as a whistle. There wasn't even a mobile. It looks like one of the Selector holds them all at another address.’
Jarvis nodded. ‘OK, Al, get on to all the networks and see if they have a customer listed under either name. I doubt they will but it's worth a try.’ He turned to Williams. ‘Phil, I think we'll have a crack at our two lads. Bailey first. Get on to the custody sergeant and set him up in the interview room will you.’
The four men began busying themselves but Jarvis had one more thing in store for them. ‘Oh yes, gents,’ he called, patiently waiting until they were all focused on what he had to say. ‘The DCI wants something concrete on this within seven days or he'll fold this operation and settle for the affray charge on the two downstairs. What that means in real terms is that this could be the last chance to put away the man who killed DC Graham Peterson. I don't need to tell you that I do not want to lose that chance.’
A policewoman walked into the interview room and slid a tray of plastic cups full of canteen tea onto the table between the four men. Jarvis reached forward, picked one up and took a mouthful. He took another cup, handed it to Williams and then slid the third across the table to Alex Bailey. The fourth sat untouched and, after a brief pause, Bailey's solicitor reached forward and took it himself.
Jarvis watched as Bailey took a slow and deliberate drink from his cup. ‘That's a fuckin’ top notch cuppa that. Give my compliments to the chef.’
Jarvis smiled. ‘I'll make sure he knows that. He'll be so thrilled you're pleased.’
He took another mouthful from his own tea and busied himself with his notes. The interview so far had not gone smoothly and he was actually glad of the break. Bailey was clearly no mug and knew exactly what to say to counter everything Jarvis had thrown at him so far. He had gone straight on the attack and told Bailey that the charges relating to the fight in Camden High Street were just a start. That he was also under investigation with regard to incidents at a number of other games as well as the planning and organisation of football hooliganism dating back a number of years.
However, Bailey had laughed out loud at this and after a brief chat with his brief, had denied any knowledge of or involvement with organised hooliganism. He had, however, admitted being involved in the fight in Camden but had said that he was with a group of friends who were looking for a quiet pub when they'd been attacked. They were simply defending themselves. He then shook Jarvis by adding that if they had CCTV footage of this, then it would back up everything he said. It wasn't even a bluff, it was more than that. Jarvis could see in his eyes that he knew they had tape of it and that it backed up his story. Undeterred, he had continued, asking Bailey to give his account of what had happened. But his version of events had tallied almost perfectly with what was on the film. Jarvis had balked a bit at this; he had not expected the interview to go this way. He was losing control and had decided to take Bailey in another direction.
‘Tell me about Gary Fitchett,’ he had said. But Bailey hadn't even flinched. ‘He's my best mate,’ he'd begun, and then gone on to explain how they went to football together every week. But that was all. When Jarvis had suggested that Fitchett was actually the leader of the Selector and that he was his number two, Bailey had roared with laughter.
‘The Selector aren't a firm,’ he'd said. ‘They're just a group of lads who go to games together. Yeah, we're a bit loud sometimes, but we never go looking for trouble. That's fucking stupid.’ Jarvis had then gone over some of the intelligence reports that the locals had provided on the Selector but again, Bailey had laughed them off as pure speculation and certainly nothing to do with him.
‘If you have any proof that my client has been involved with anything other than the incident relating to the charge of affray, then please produce it,’ Bailey's brief had said.
Jarvis had merely replied, ‘All in good time,’ and then told them that they were taking a short break.
The four men were drinking their tea when Jarvis broke the silence. ‘Tell me about Norway.’
Bailey looked at him over the rim of his cup. ‘It's in Scandinavia.’
Jarvis smiled. ‘Very good. Now tell me about the events surrounding the England game in 1995.’
Bailey put down his cup and furrowed his brow. ‘Like a load of others, I got pissed and got mouthy with the local police and so they threw me out. Nothing else to it. If we'd been anything other than English they'd have left us alone.’
‘You were deported?’ asked Williams.
‘Yes, that's right.’
‘And who was with you?’
Bailey picked up his cup but it was empty. He crushed it and dropped it on the tray. Jarvis could see he was stalling for time. ‘You know Fitchett was there. So what? I've told you, we always go to games together. He's my best mate.’
‘And he was deported as well?’
‘You know he was otherwise you wouldn't ask. Anyway, you've got him downstairs so ask him yourself.’
Jarvis looked down at his notes and sent a silent curse to custody sergeants everywhere. ‘Right, let's move on then shall we? Wha
t about Dublin?’
‘It's the capital of Ireland.’
Jarvis looked up at him and scowled. His patience was wearing very thin, primarily because he wasn't getting anywhere. ‘Tell me your version of the events surrounding the England game in 1995.’
‘Why? Don't you know what happened? It was in all the papers. I thought you lot were supposed to be on top of things?’
Jarvis glared across the table and Williams again broke into the conversation. ‘Tell us why you didn't go to Dublin.’
Bailey settled back in his chair He knew exactly where this was leading. ‘Who said I didn't?’
‘We do Alex.’
After a pause, Bailey gave a barely perceptible nod and leant forward. ‘I couldn't get a ticket.’
Jarvis almost laughed. ‘So you're telling us that you didn't go to Dublin, for what was almost certainly going to be the most controversial England game in recent memory, because you didn't think you'd be able to get in?’
‘That's right.’
‘Even though you knew that tickets would be openly on sale?’
‘That's right.’
‘And that given the sensitivity of the political situation at that time, there would almost certainly be violence?’ Jarvis waited for the right response but it never came.
‘Which was another reason why I didn't go. I've told you, I'm not involved in football violence. Never have been.’
‘Except for Camden …’
‘As I said earlier, we were looking for a pub and got attacked.’
Jarvis almost bit through his lip in frustration. Williams took up the assault. ‘But Gary Fitchett went…’
‘And so did a few thousand others, and I didn't go with them either.’
Jarvis took a deep breath. They were getting nowhere and he was about to end the humiliation when he decided to try one last tack. ‘How do you know Billy Evans?’
Jarvis almost smiled when he saw a flash of surprise cross Bailey's face. ‘Gotcha,’ he thought.