‘I think I need to speak with my client, Inspector.’
Jarvis looked at the woman in the corner and nodded. ‘Yes, I think that would be a good idea. You've got five minutes. I'll get some tea or something sent in.’
‘I need some air,’ said Fitchett urgently.
Jarvis shook his head. ‘I can't do that Gary, you have to stay in the interview room.’
Fitchett looked at him; his eyes were blazing and his skin looked pale and clammy. ‘You don't understand, I gotta get some air.’
The desperation in his voice was almost scary and Jarvis stole a quick glance at his brief. She was starting to look concerned and he knew that if he resisted any longer, she would start screaming for him to see a doctor. ‘OK, I'll get you taken outside for a short while.’
He nodded to Williams who began dealing with the tapes and then walked through the door and leant against the wall outside. He stood there for a moment, eyes closed. Then, after a deep breath, he pushed himself off the wall. He was about to start walking when the door opened behind him and Williams came out.
‘Guv,’ he began excitedly, ‘you know what's wrong with him, don't you?’
Jarvis shook his head. ‘I know he doesn't look too hot.’
Williams shook his head. ‘He's claustrophobic. I've seen it before. A kid at my school suffered from it. Sweating, pale skin and short, sharp breaths. They're classic symptoms. But the big giveaway is that he keeps looking at the window above the door. He's using it as his link with the outside.’
Jarvis furrowed his brow. ‘You what?’
‘It's a subconscious thing. He believes that if he can see glass, the barrier between him and the outside world is breakable. In other words, he isn't totally closed in.’
Jarvis nodded thoughtfully. ‘So that's why he's so desperate to get some fresh air?’
Williams nodded. ‘But why not tell his brief? She'd get him out like a shot.’
‘It's my guess that he's probably suffered with it for years and has learnt to work around it. But it's his weakness and he'll never admit to it. Certainly not to a woman.’ Jarvis gave a wry smile. ‘Makes sense I suppose. Let's see if we can play on it shall we?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Look, you'd better get them sorted. I need to speak to the boss.’ He turned and headed along the corridor in the direction of the DCI's office.
‘This is Special Branch territory Paul, and you know that. The Dublin investigation was taken out of our hands over two years ago.’ DCI Allen sat behind his desk and watched as Jarvis strode up and down the tiny confines of his office. ‘We have no choice in the matter.’
Jarvis stopped and turned to face his boss. ‘Listen Guv, he's all over the place in there and I haven't even mentioned anything about Evans yet. That was the whole point of this thing and if we lose that then it's been a complete waste of time.’
Allen raised an eyebrow. ‘A waste of time … the names of the organisers of the biggest riot in the history of British football. I don't think so.’
Jarvis shrugged his shoulders. ‘Yeah, yeah, you know what I mean Guv.’ He ran his fingers through his hair and walked over to the desk. ‘Look, we may finally have the chance to nail Evans and we'd be mad to give that up. Let me have one more go at him and if nothing turns up then we'll hand him over to the spooks. Just give me an hour to see what I can come up with.’
Allen looked up at his DI and then stood up. ‘You have an hour, Paul. If anything comes of it, I want to be the first to know, understand?’
Jarvis grinned. ‘No problem, Guv. No problem at all.’
By the time Jarvis returned to the interview room, the other three people were already waiting for him. Williams switched on the tape and recorded the resumption of the interview as he sat down and looked at Fitchett. He was smoking again but every time he took a drag, his hand was shaking badly. His eyes were fixed on the window above the door and he refused to make any kind of eye contact. He was clearly in a terrible state and Jarvis was suddenly certain that Williams was right. Fitchett was indeed suffering from being closed in. ‘So let's go for the jugular,’ he thought. He looked at Fitchett and smiled.
‘OK, Gary. I want to leave the subject of Dublin for now.’ He opened his file, pulled out a photograph, and pushed it across the table towards Fitchett. ‘Do you know the man in this photo, Gary?’
Jarvis noted an almost imperceptible glance downwards. ‘Never seen him before.’
‘I think you'd better take a long, hard look before you answer that question again Gary. Do you know the man in the photograph?’
He quickly looked down and nodded before returning his gaze to the window. The answer this time came in a quiet and guarded voice. ‘Yes.’
Jarvis took the photograph and put it back in the folder. ‘Do you know his name?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, what is it?’
‘Billy … Billy Evans.’
‘Where do you know him from?’
‘We've met a few times. I can't remember when.’
‘Do you know if he is involved with a group called the CSS or the Cockney Suicide Squad?’
‘No.’
‘No you don't know or no he isn't?’
‘No, I don't know.’
Jarvis nodded and then flicked through a few sheets of paper. He allowed the silence to drag on for a while, every so often lifting his eyes up to look at Fitchett. It was an old trick and it always worked, winding him up just that little bit more. When he spoke again, it was almost a relief. ‘Have you ever met him abroad?’
‘I can't remember. Why are you asking me questions about a bloke I hardly know?’
Jarvis pulled out one of the photographs taken from the album found in Fitchett's house and pushed it across the table. ‘Gary, why are you wasting my bloody time? That's you and Evans in Rotterdam in 1993. We found that photo and an album full of others just like it in your house.’
Fitchett stubbed out his cigarette, took another one and lit it, his hand shaking even more violently than before. ‘If you know so much, why do you need me to keep answering your poxy questions?’
Jarvis looked across and tried to catch his eye, but Fitchett's gaze remained fixed on the window. ‘Gary, let me tell you a few of the things I know shall I, just to save us all some time. You have already been charged with affray and I will be adding assault with an offensive weapon and possession of an offensive weapon to that. Given the current thoughts on football hooligans, that almost certainly means that you are going to prison. That's inside, Gary,’ Jarvis added for effect. ‘Locked up.’ He looked for a response but there was none. At least none that he could see, and so he went on.
‘Furthermore, I know you were in Dublin at the time of the riot involving England fans and that for reasons that will be investigated further, were in the company of one of the persons believed to have been instrumental in the planning of that riot, one William or Billy Evans. I also believe that you know the identities of others who were involved in that incident. Furthermore, I know that you and Alex Bailey met Evans in the Globe on the eighth of September this year.’
Fitchett finally turned his eyes and glared at Jarvis. ‘So fucking what?’ The voice was trembling but full of fear and hatred.
Jarvis looked at him across the table and continued. ‘I also know that you were seen in deep conversation with Evans inside the Globe and that you left the pub with him.’
‘Big deal! Is that a crime as well now?’
Jarvis hesitated for a moment and then slammed his hand down on the table. The sharp crack made the other three people in the room jump. He leant across the table, and when he spoke, his voice was low and intimidating. ‘Listen Fitchett, right now I have two choices. I can hand you over to Special Branch who will want to speak to you about your involvement in the Dublin riot, and believe me, their questioning will make me look like Dale Winton. Or, you can stop being a wanker and help me out. I don't want you, I want Evans, but if you won't help me out, then I'll just have t
o settle for what I've got. And that means you.’ He glanced at his watch and nodded to Williams. ‘We'll take a five-minute break, and when I come back I want a decision. It's up to you, Gary.’ Without waiting for a response, he turned and stormed out.
Five minutes later, he walked back into the room and looked at Fitchett. The expression on his face was astonishing. The arrogance had gone completely and at the table sat a defeated and ashen-faced man. Williams restarted the tapes as Jarvis sat down.
‘My client wishes to be as co-operative as possible.’
The female voice seemed strangely out of place in the smoke-laden atmosphere, but Jarvis had no hesitation in interrupting it. ‘I can't promise anything but if what is said proves to be of use, then I will of course do what I can.’
He looked at Fitchett; he was nearly in tears. Jarvis almost felt sorry for him.
‘He will not, however, admit to anything other than the assault in Camden High Street. He refutes any allegations of involvement in the planning and organisation of violence at any time or in any form.’
Jarvis nodded. ‘Understood,’ he replied. He looked at Fitchett and smiled. ‘OK Gary, let's get down to what I really want and then we can get you out of here. Tell me what you know about Billy Evans.’
DCI Allen stood up and walked over to the window of his office. Strangely, the chaos of the London streets below always helped him relax a little. He stared out for a few seconds and then turned round. ‘Run through it again.’
Jarvis nodded and picked up his notes. ‘Fitchett said that Evans told him he is putting something together for the Italian game on the twenty-seventh and he wants him to go along. He doesn't know what it is yet but he thinks it's more than just a jolly for your average mob. In any case, Evans will contact him and give him all the details some time next week.’
Allen turned back to the window and nodded. Jarvis knew from previous experience that this was a good sign. Allen always stared out the window when he was thinking.
‘Do you believe him?’
Jarvis nodded. ‘Guv, he was all over the place in there. Listen to the tapes, you'll hear it. He'd have shopped his own mum if he'd thought it would have helped.’
Allen turned back to the window. ‘And he has no idea what is being planned?’
‘No Guv, not yet. But he will and then he will pass that information on to us,’ Jarvis added, pre-empting the next and obvious question.
Allen turned round and faced Jarvis. The look on his face was one which suggested he wasn't best pleased at being placed in the situation his DI had just put him in. ‘You know what you're asking, don't you Paul? The risk we're running? He could tell Evans we're on his case or he could even vanish altogether and then what would we have?’
Jarvis reached round and scratched his neck. ‘Look Guv, we'll be all over him like a rash. We'll be on his phone, everything. When Evans rings him, we'll know and then we'll pull him in again.’
Allen sat down at his desk and nodded. ‘OK, Let's do it. But first I'll have to speak to Special Branch and see if they're OK with it.’
Jarvis was taken aback. ‘But Guv …’
Allen lifted a hand and stopped him. ‘I have to Paul, you know that as well as I do. If he has information relating to the Dublin riot then they will want to talk to him at some point. Hopefully, they'll give us time to complete this investigation, but if they don't…’
He left the sentence hanging. The meaning was obvious. Jarvis stood up and began pacing around. He knew the DCI was right of course - they had no choice in such matters. He stopped pacing and turned to face Allen. ‘We're close Guv, I can feel it. We have to make this work.’
Allen looked up at him. ‘I know what this means to you Paul, I'll do my best, all right?’ Jarvis nodded, turned and started to leave.
‘Paul …’ He turned and looked back at Allen. ‘I'll only ever say this to you once. If we get the nod for this, don't fuck it up.’
Jarvis smiled, turned and walked out. He could hear Allen dialling the phone even before the door was closed.
Gary Fitchett lay on the bed in his cell, his face buried in the mattress and a pillow covering the back of his head. The events of the day had left him feeling physically sick and dirty. He half imagined that this was how a woman must feel when she'd been raped. Empty, violated, disgusted with yourself, that was how he felt, and worse. He'd given up everything he'd ever believed in: loyalty, pride, respect, the lot. And for what? To get that bastard copper off his back and escape from that hell-hole of a room. He turned over and stared at the frosted glass windows above him. He didn't know how he would ever live with himself when this was all over but he just hoped it would be, and soon. Suddenly, he realised it was Saturday and his thoughts turned to his beloved Blues. They were at home to Bury today and he began to wonder how they might have got on. But then, in an instant, he realised that he didn't care any more. That part of the game was over.
Chapter 8
Monday, 4 October
12.00
Neal White pulled the red Ford Mondeo into the car park of Euston station and turned off the ignition. He climbed out and, after telling the other two men in the car that he'd only be a minute, headed for the ticket office. Jarvis wound down the window and then looked across at Fitchett. ‘You all right Gary?’
‘I'm fine,’ he said bluntly.
‘You sound knackered.’
‘Well wouldn't you be if you'd had all the shit I've had over the last few days?’
Jarvis nodded. ‘Fair point.’
Fitchett ran his hands over his face and then entwined the fingers, stretching them out so that they gave a resounding crack. ‘Do you have to do that?’ asked Jarvis. ‘It's gross.’
Fitchett gave him a grin and lit a cigarette.
‘Right,’ began Jarvis, ‘as soon as DC White gets back with your ticket that'll be you on your way back to Brum. Now are you clear on everything?’
Fitchett exhaled deeply. ‘We've been over it a hundred bloody times,’ he replied, the irritation in his voice clear for Jarvis to hear.
‘Well one more time won't hurt will it.’
Fitchett sighed, took another drag on his cigarette and slunk back into the seat as Jarvis began running through the details. ‘You and Alex Bailey were arrested for the assault in Camden High Street and have both been released on bail. That's all anyone needs to know. Just carry on as normal and, as soon as Evans gets in touch, let us know immediately.’
‘I thought you were tapping my phone?’ said Fitchett.
‘We are,’ Jarvis replied, ‘but who said he's going to ring?’
Fitchett shrugged and then flicked his cigarette stub out the window. ‘Well I'd best lay off the 0898 porno lines then. I'm not giving you bastards a free thrill.’
Jarvis ignored the attempt at humour and continued: ‘You've got my card; I can be contacted on that number at any time, day or night. And remember no one must find out about this, Gary, no one. If it leaks out then we'll have you back inside so fast you won't know what happened.’
Fitchett raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you think I'm going to tell anyone that I'm grassing them up? What kind of fucking idiot do you have me down for? They'd slaughter me if they knew.’
‘Don't worry about them; they can't send you down like I can.’
‘No,’ said Fitchett, ‘but they sure as shit can put me somewhere else. I tell you, this'd better be worth it. You have no idea what I'm doing for you.’
The car door flew open and Neal White climbed back into the front seat. Reaching over, he handed Fitchett an envelope. ‘Here's your ticket Gary. The train's in thirty minutes, platform 11.’
‘First class, I hope?’ he said, stuffing the envelope in his pocket.
The DC clicked his fingers. ‘Sorry, I knew there was something I'd got wrong.’
‘Can I go now?’ Jarvis nodded and Fitchett got out. Before he closed the door he leant in. ‘I'd like to say it's been a pleasure but I'd be lying through my arse.’
<
br /> ‘You too,’ said Jarvis and then leant over, grabbing Fitchett's jacket. ‘Don't even think about fucking us over Gary, it would be a massive mistake.’
Fitchett shook him off. ‘Fuck you,’ he said. And was gone.
‘Can we trust him?’ asked Neal.
‘We have to,’ sighed Jarvis. ‘He's the only chance we've got. Come on, let's get back to the nick.’
Jarvis stared out the window and reflected on recent events as White steered his way through the London traffic. It had been a hectic couple of days and he felt shattered, most of it through worry that they would have to settle for what they had which, certainly as far as Bailey was concerned, was very little. Indeed, he'd been released on bail the day before. Luckily, the DCI had come through in the end and had approved his plan to use Fitchett as an informer, at least for a while. Mind you, word was that initially, the Special Branch lads had been far from accommodating. That was until he had mentioned Billy Evans, then they'd been all ears. In the end, they had been happy to let the Football Unit run with it for a while on condition that they were given Fitchett when the operation was over. To Jarvis, this had meant only one thing, that Evans was known to them, probably for Dublin he had guessed, and as soon as Jarvis nicked him, they would come in and steal the glory. He was happy with that though - after all, they were all on the same side. He just wanted the bastard sent down. There was, however, one nagging doubt which kept returning. When Evans made contact with Fitchett, just what could they get out of it? He might say nothing of value over the phone, or Fitchett could tip him off in some way and then they'd have nothing. After all, what did Fitchett have to lose? Even he must have had no doubt that he was going inside at some point. Maybe he was just clinging on to the hope that, by helping them, he'd spend less time in the nick.
He was still pondering this when the phone in the car gave out a shrill ring. He picked it up, spoke his name and then listened intently. ‘Well bugger me,’ he said, ‘thanks for that.