We'll be back in about ten minutes.’ He put the phone down and gave out a yell which made White jump and give out a curse. ‘You're not gonna believe this,’ Jarvis said out loud, as much to himself as to his DC. ‘The BT boys have just connected up the tap on Fitchett's phone and it looks like there's only a message from Evans on his fucking answer machine! Can you believe that!’
White looked across at Jarvis and grinned. ‘Do they know what it says?’
‘Not yet,’ said Jarvis, shaking his head. ‘They just know he's had a recent call from Romford and that a message was left. It must be Evans. It must be!’
Gary Fitchett climbed out of the taxi and took the short walk down the drive to his house. He looked at the front door, made sure that the damage to it had been repaired and then went in. Once inside, he stood in the hall and took a deep breath. It had been tidied but felt odd, as if he'd been burgled, which of course he had. At least in all but name. He caught sight of himself in the hall mirror and suddenly felt filthy dirty and very tired. He needed a shower, and until he'd had that, everything else, including the pile of mail by the front door, could wait. There'd be time enough for all that later on.
An hour later, clean and refreshed, he strolled down the stairs and picked up his mail. It was the usual mixture of bills and junk and he threw it all onto the table by the hall mirror. He couldn't be arsed to deal with that just now. Walking into the front room, the beeping of the answer- phone caught his attention and he strolled over to it. ‘Fourteen messages,’ he said out loud. ‘I am popular.’ He pressed the button and the machine began to replay. The first was from work asking where he was, the second, also from work, was more insistent. His appointments had all been cancelled and they clearly weren't happy. After that came a few from various mates asking about football on Saturday and there was one from his mum. She'd heard about the raid and sounded seriously worried. He let out a sigh and shook his head. The next message was from work - he was to contact his boss immediately - and then there were more from his mates. Word was out and they were all worried. Not just for him and Alex but, from the tone of their voices, for themselves. Two messages to go. The voice of his best friend rang out, Alex. ‘Ring me when you get home,’ was all he said before hanging up. Then the last message began and it sent a shiver down his spine. ‘Hello you northern twat. It's Billy, Billy Evans. Give me a call as soon as you can.’ He left the number and then he was gone, the three beeps from the machine announcing that there were no more messages.
Fitchett looked at the machine. He hadn't expected this at all and was at a loss as to what he should do next. He replayed the message and wrote down the number before picking up the phone and then putting it down again. ‘I need a beer,’ he said to himself and walked through to the kitchen, took a can from the fridge and took a long drink from it before returning to the phone. He took another long drink and then rang his mother. She was furious with him, not just for what he had done but for what he had put her through. After promising to go round later on, he rang work. It came as no surprise to learn that they had also found out about the raid and wanted to discuss it with him at nine in the morning. It didn't look good.
He lifted the phone again to ring Alex but then the thought struck him that everything he said was being heard by someone else and he put it down again. Suddenly, even the phone was his enemy. He walked out to the hall and reached into his jacket pocket to find the card the copper had given him. He took it out and studied it for the first time. Such a small piece of card and so much trouble. He walked back into the living room, dialled the number on the card and was surprised when the phone was answered on only the second ring.
‘DC White.’
‘Hello, it's me, Gary Fitchett.’
‘Hang on, I'll get DI Jarvis.’
He waited and then Jarvis came on the line. ‘Hello Gary, what have you got for me?’
Fitchett felt a lump rising in his stomach, as if he had indigestion. ‘He's called. He wants me to call him.’
‘Then call him, you idiot. We'll talk afterwards.’
The line went dead and Fitchett took the phone from his ear and stared at it. ‘What a cunt,’ he said. And put it down. He took another drink from his can and then drained the remainder with a single gulp. He walked back to the kitchen and got another. He needed something to calm his nerves so that he could work out what to say when he rang Billy. How could he act as if nothing was wrong when all the time he was setting him up? But what choice did he have? If he didn't ring, then that bastard Jarvis would be on his case again and he didn't want that. Not for a while.
He moved back into the living room, lifted the phone and dialled the number on the pad. After ten rings, the phone was picked up and a metallic voice answered. ‘Hello, this is Billy, I can't …’ Fitchett slammed the phone down. ‘I don't fucking believe it,’ he thought. He was actually shaking, he was that nervous. He took another mouthful of beer and sat down to calm his nerves. After a few minutes, he picked up the phone and dialled again. ‘Hello, this is Billy, I can't take your call at the moment but leave a number and I'll get back to you.’ There was a pause, seven short beeps and then one long one. ‘Er … Billy, it's me, Fitch. Just returning your call, give me a ring when you can.’ He put the phone down and sighed. That was it, there was no going back. The process of grassing up had begun. He felt sick.
The insistent ringing of the phone woke him up with a start and for a moment Fitchett struggled to work out where he was. The room was in half darkness and the news was on the television. He blinked and then realised he was at home. ‘Shit,’ he shouted, and dived for the phone. ‘Hello!’
‘Hi, Fitch, it's Billy. Where the fuck have you been?’
Suddenly, he was wide awake. ‘Billy, er … hi mate. Shit, sorry, I must have dozed off. What time is it?’
‘It's nearly six o'clock, you sound all over the place mate, d'you want me to call you later on?’
‘No!’ he exclaimed, a little too urgently. ‘No, it's fine, just give me a minute will you. I need to wake up a bit.’
‘Listen, don't worry. I'm in a bit of a rush myself. Are you still up for a trip to Italy?’
Fitchett rubbed his head and stifled a yawn. ‘Yeah, of course.’
‘Well can you get down to London on Wednesday?’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’
‘Then be at the Victoria Hotel in Great Portland Street for two o'clock. Ask for the conference suite and I'll meet you there.’
Fitchett's mind was racing; should he ask Billy for more information or just leave it? ‘Erm … yeah, that'll be great. I'll see you there then all right?’
‘Top, see you mate.’ With a click, the phone went dead.
Fitchett stood there for a few seconds and then put the phone down. He looked at it for a while and then picked it up, dialled and waited while he was transferred.
‘Jarvis.’
‘Hello, it's me, Gary,’ he said nervously. ‘He's called again.’
‘And?’
‘He wants me to come to London on Wednesday and meet him.’
‘Where?’
‘In a hotel in Great Portland Street, the Victoria at two o'clock.’
‘What for?’
‘I don't know, he didn't say and I didn't ask.’
There was silence for a moment and then Jarvis came back on the line. ‘Let me know what train you're on and I'll meet you at Euston.’
‘Fuck off!’ Fitchett barked, the worry in his voice clear. ‘You don't really think I'm going do you?’
‘You are Gary. If you're not there then we'll want to know why. And don't think about doing anything stupid. It wouldn't take long to track you down.’
Fitchett paused for a few moments and then sighed. He had no choice. ‘All right, I'll be there. But don't meet me at Euston, someone could see me. I'll get off the train at Hemel Hempstead, there's a cafe in the car park outside. That's where we'll meet.’ He put the phone back on its hook, sat down and put his head in his
hands. This was all getting too much. He needed to clear his head and then work out what the bloody hell he was going to do.
At that exact moment in time, Jarvis knew exactly what he was going to do. In fact he was already doing it. Sprinting down the stairs he ran to his car and headed for Great Portland Street as fast as he could.
Chapter 9
Tuesday, 5 October
10.00
‘Right, so that's the story so far. Any questions?’ Jarvis stopped pacing around the Incident Room and looked around at the four faces of his team. They had been listening intently but were all well aware that the DCI had come into the room and was standing behind them.
‘You have to admire his cheek,’ said Steve Parry. ‘I mean, booking the conference room for the Two Waters Athletic Team - the TWATs.’
Jarvis laughed along with the others. ‘I know, when I spoke to the manager last night he still hadn't twigged. Probably still hasn't.’
‘Can't we just go in and nick the lot of them for conspiracy?’
Jarvis looked at Williams and shook his head. ‘No evidence of anything. They could be having a reunion for all we know.’
‘Is there any chance we can put a listening device in the room, Guv?’ asked White.
Jarvis shook his head again. ‘Too risky. One thing I've learnt over the years is that these lads are no mugs. You can get a sweeping device for fifty quid these days. No, we have to rely on Fitchett.’
‘What about a wire?’
This time it was Parry who shook his head and spoke up. ‘They'll search everyone going in.’
‘Will Fitchett come through?’
Jarvis looked across at Al Harris. ‘He has to. Or he's history.’
Jarvis walked over to the large board on the wall and looked at it for a moment. It was now covered in various lines and pictures. He turned round to face his team. ‘OK, let's sort ourselves out for tomorrow. DC Williams and I will meet Fitchett at Hemel Hempstead train station and then brief him on what we want him to do after the so-called meeting. We will then make our way down to the empty office block opposite the hotel and join DS Parry and DC White who will have been keeping it under observation from mid-morning. DS Harris will be sorting out the details of that this afternoon and will also stay in the Incident Room tomorrow and keep everything together.’
‘Have we any idea of anyone else who will be there?’ asked Parry.
‘No. None at all. The usual thing with these kind of meetings is that only one person from each firm is invited. Anyone could turn up at this one. Literally anyone. We don't know who he's invited but the conference suite they've booked holds up to forty people.’
The room fell into silence and the men all turned to face the DCI as he spoke up. ‘Have we any idea what they're up to?’
‘Not yet Guv, at the moment it's all just guesswork. But whatever it is, it's big. It has to be. That room costs not far short of £200 to rent for the afternoon. You don't spend money like that for a get-together with your mates, do you?’
The DCI nodded. ‘But you must have some ideas?’
Jarvis scratched his head. He hadn't expected the third degree from his boss and it was making him uncomfortable.
‘Well, if Evans set up the riot in Dublin, as many people seem to believe, then this could be something like that. Other than that, it could be drugs. We're almost certain he's a supplier.’ Allen nodded, let out a deep breath and after motioning Jarvis to follow, left the room. As he walked towards the door, Jarvis rubbed his hands together and a broad smile spread across his face. ‘Ain't this fun.’
Harris watched him leave and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. ‘He's too involved with this one,’ he thought. ‘Way too involved.’
‘What's the plan afterwards Paul?’
‘Guv?’
Allen looked up and raised his customary eyebrow. ‘Come on Paul, what do you plan to do once Fitchett tells you what took place? You can't pull them for conspiracy: as you said yourself, you'll have no evidence.’ Jarvis looked out the window and shrugged his shoulders. ‘To tell you the truth, Guv, I'm not sure yet. Everything depends on what Fitchett comes up with.’
Allen stood up and walked round to the front of his desk. ‘If he comes up with nothing worthwhile, pull him in and hand everything over to Special Branch.’ He turned and looked at Jarvis. ‘But whatever happens, I want to be the first to know, is that clear?’ Jarvis nodded. ‘Of course Guv. It goes without saying.’
Gary Fitchett walked into his front room and slumped down on the chair. He rubbed his eyes and then remained staring at the ceiling for a while. ‘That's that then,’ he thought. ‘Out of work.’ He felt gutted. His life was falling apart and there was nothing he could do about it. It was all out of his control. He thought about the events of the last few days but that made him feel even worse. And he had tomorrow to deal with as well. Jesus, walking into a room full of lads and knowing that he was about to drop them all in it. The very thought of it scared the shit out of him. He stood up and noticed the answerphone blinking furiously away to itself. Two messages. He pressed the button and they began to play. Both were from Alex, the first asking him to ring urgently and the second telling him he'd be round after work. ‘After work,’ he thought. ‘That's a fucking laugh.’ He looked at his watch; four thirty. He'd be here in a while. Fitchett sat there for a while and then got up and went out. He had enough on his plate without coming face to face with Alex Bailey. On top of everything else, that would have been just too much to handle.
Chapter 10
Wednesday, 6 October
11.15
Gary Fitchett stepped off the train at Hemel Hempstead and made his way out of the station. It came as no surprise to see the red Ford Mondeo parked opposite the entrance and he walked straight over to it and climbed in the back seat.
‘Morning Gary,’ Jarvis said. ‘Pleasant trip?’
‘Let's get out of here, I feel like a fucking criminal.’
Jarvis laughed out loud. ‘But that's what you are Gary, don't forget that.’
Phil Williams started the car and drove out of the car park.
‘This won't take long,’ began Jarvis. ‘We'll drive around for a bit and then drop you back here. There's a train into London every fifteen minutes. In the meantime, we just need to make sure you know what's what.’
Fitchett stared out of the window as the car sped along the A41. ‘I know,’ he said without looking round.
‘Gary, it's in your interest to take notice of what I have to say. After all, you're the one going in.’
Fitchett turned his head round. The expression on his face was a bizarre mixture of hatred, fear and loathing. Jarvis wondered if that was for himself or for the police in general.
‘Thank you. Now all you have to do is behave normally. After all, I'm sure you've been to these sort of things before.’ He waited for a response but nothing came other than a single grunt and so he continued. ‘I want to know everything that happens and everything that's said. If you can tell me who was there as well then that'll be great.’
Fitchett let out an ironic laugh. ‘Stick a broom up my arse and I'll sweep the corridors on the way if you want.’
Jarvis carried on, almost without drawing breath. ‘Afterwards, I want you to go to Neal Street in Covent Garden. Find the Italian cafe and wait there. I'll meet you.’
Fitchett turned back to the window and ran his hand over his face. ‘All right. I get it.’
Jarvis took out a packet of cigarettes and offered them across. Fitchett took one and lit it without offering to light anyone else's. ‘Gary, I know how hard this is for you, but remember, the more you co-operate, the more I can help you later on.’
The look on Fitchett's face showed he wasn't that convinced. ‘Yeah, that's a good point. What is gonna happen when I've done your dirty work then? You haven't told me that yet have you?’
‘You'll be fine,’ said Jarvis. ‘Let's get this afternoon out of the way before we sort out ho
w we can help you out.’ The car settled into silence and the two men in the back smoked their cigarettes as Williams headed back to the station, each totally absorbed in their own concerns.
Ten minutes later, Fitchett had left the car and was back on the platform. He was clearly visible from the car park and the two policemen watched him until he climbed on a train and was heading in the direction of Euston.
‘D'you know, I almost feel sorry for him,’ said Williams as he started the car and pulled back out of the station on to the main road. ‘He's probably quite a decent bloke.’
Jarvis, now sitting in the front seat, looked across at his DC. ‘Well don't. You saw the film of him in Camden, he's an animal and as soon as I have what I want from him, he'll be exactly where he belongs, and that's inside.’ He looked at the queue of traffic and, in a voice that contained a little too much irritation for Williams's liking, added: ‘Come on Phil, get a bloody move on. We need to be somewhere.’
Gary Fitchett took a final breath and ground what was left of his cigarette into the pavement. He'd arrived at the Victoria Hotel twenty minutes earlier but hadn't been able to summon up the courage to go straight in. Instead, he had stood across the street and watched while a succession of faces from his past had walked up the stairs and into reception. But now, he'd begun to worry that someone would see him standing there and get a bit twitchy. And so, after a glance at his watch had shown the time to be almost five to two, he had decided that he couldn't put it off any longer. He exhaled sharply and walked over to the crossing. It was full of media types and women in short skirts but he hardly noticed them as he crossed. His eyes were focused on the front of the hotel.
After a brief pause at the bottom of the steps, he climbed up and strolled through the swing doors into a dimly lit reception that was dominated by burgundy upholstery, oak panels and stale cigarette smoke. At the desk, he was directed to the third floor and, after a visit to the toilet, and a sprint up the stairs to avoid the lift, found himself standing outside the Conference Suite. He cocked an ear to the door. It was rowdy inside, plenty of laughter and loud conversation of the type you only get in a room full of males. He closed his eyes and, after another deep breath, opened the door and walked in. The noise exploded in his face. It was chaos, full of cigarette smoke and a group of men dressed in what must have been thousands of pounds’ worth of clothing. He stood there for a while, returning the wary glances that the men in the room were throwing in his direction.