‘Fitch!’ He looked up as Billy Evans strode over towards him and shook his hand. ‘About fucking time! I was wondering where you'd got to, you old cunt.’
Fitchett looked at him. He felt desperately sorry for himself and for what he was about to do. ‘Sorry mate, poxy trains. You know what they're like.’
‘Yeah, course. Listen, I'm really glad you're up for this. It'll be just like old times.’ He laughed and Fitchett gave a smile and a nod.
‘Yeah, well whatever it is, it'll be a crack.’ Evans gave him a broad wink. ‘This is a good ‘un mate. Trust me. But Fitch, first, well I don't want to be a pain but … well you know the score.’ Evans gave a nod over Fitchett's shoulder towards the door where two men stood looking at him.
‘Oh yeah … course.’ He walked over to them and lifted his arms as they searched him thoroughly and then thanked him. ‘No worries,’ he said before turning round.
Evans had vanished into the crowd and so he walked over to a table in the corner that was almost hidden by beer bottles, cans of soft drinks and plates of food. Picking up a coke and a handful of crisps, he surveyed the room. It was clear Evans had been busy as it contained about twenty men, many of whom he recognised and not just from trips abroad with England either. There were some serious faces from clubs up and down the country.
‘Hi Fitch.’
He turned to face the familiar figure of a tall gangly man with thick brown hair. ‘Fucking hell! Danny! I haven't seen you since Toulouse. How you doin’?’
The tall man took a drink from a bottle and smiled. ‘Yeah, all right. You?’
Fitchett nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah, good. What d'you make of all this then?’
The tall man looked around. ‘Don't know, but I reckon we're about to find out.’
They both turned as Evans suddenly appeared at the far end of the room and called for quiet. He motioned to the two men by the door and they walked out, closing the door behind them. ‘Can you all grab a seat and we'll get on.’ He waited while everyone in the room sat down and it fell silent.
Three hours later, Gary Fitchett walked into the Italian cafe in Neal Street. He was slightly relieved to find Jarvis already sitting there and walked up to the table. He was visibly nervous.
‘Well?’ Jarvis asked.
‘No, not here, no way.’ Fitchett looked around anxiously.
‘Well where then, d'you want to come back to the nick?’ He was shocked when Fitchett nodded. ‘OK, you know where it is. I'll wait for you in the car round the back and we'll go in that way, all right?’
Fitchett nodded, got up and walked out.
‘Fuck me,’ thought Jarvis. ‘This must be serious.’
‘Look, I'm telling you, that's what happened. If you don't believe me then screw you.’ Fitchett settled back in his chair and lit another cigarette.
Jarvis stood up and rubbed the top of his head. He was finding this difficult to comprehend. ‘Right, let's go over it again. Evans told everyone in the room that he has been contacted by an Italian right-wing group and asked to stage a riot when England play in Rome.’ Fitchett nodded. ‘But he didn't say who?’
‘No.’
‘And that everyone who goes with him will be given transport, a match ticket and some cash.’
‘Yes, I told you all this already,’ added Fitchett.
Jarvis went on: ‘And no one backed out?’
‘No, everyone in that room said they were up for it.’
‘And he hinted that there were others?’
‘Yes. I told you. He said some were going by coach, others by train. We're the ones going by car. That's why we have to take someone with us. To share the driving.’
Williams looked up from his notes. ‘So there could be sixty or seventy lads going?’
Fitchett nodded. ‘And they're no mugs either. There were some serious lads in that room I can tell you.’
‘What, besides yourself you mean?’ asked Williams.
Fitchett gave him a glare as Jarvis continued. ‘So now all you have to do is carry on as normal and wait for him to contact you to give you details of the meet?’
‘That's right,’ said Fitchett irritably.
‘And he didn't say anything about anything else?’ Jarvis was fishing, just in case Fitchett knew more than he was letting on.
‘Like what?’ he asked.
Jarvis looked at Williams. ‘Forget it, it doesn't matter.’
He sat down again and stared at Fitchett. ‘Gary, if we can swing it, would you go and take an undercover officer with you?’
Fitchett almost jumped out of his skin with shock at the suggestion. ‘What!’ he shouted. ‘You're off your fucking head you are. No way. No fucking way.’
Jarvis looked at him and replied to the onslaught in a calm, almost pleading voice. ‘Come on Gary, why not?’
Fitchett looked across the table at the two policemen as if they were raving mad. ‘Because it'll be fucking dangerous, that's why. You don't get it do you? These lads'll spot a copper a million miles away and then what? I'll be fucking dog meat that's what. And besides, why should I? I've done exactly what you wanted me to do. I'm fucked if I'm doing any more.’ He returned Jarvis's stare and took a final drag from his cigarette, lighting another from the stub.
Jarvis looked at him, a faint smile on his face. ‘Why should they spot a copper Gary? You didn't and you're exactly the same as they are.’
Fitchett's face went white. ‘What d'you mean?’ he barked.
Jarvis gave a wry smile and went on. ‘Listen Gary, we need you to go and in the end you will. Because if you don't, I'll have you inside like a shot. This way, at least you get to go home for a while longer.’ He took a look at his watch, it was late. Nearly eight o'clock. ‘Think about that when you're eating your tea in a cell tonight.’ Jarvis stood up, collected his notes together and went to walk out.
‘You cunt!’ shouted Fitchett, the fury in his voice almost tangible. ‘Is that it, is it? You're locking me up again! I fuckin’ knew you'd screw me, you wanker! And what do you mean … I didn't?’
Without looking round, Jarvis said, ‘All in good time Gary. All in good time.’
Chapter 11
Thursday, 7 October
09.15
DCI Peter Allen sat at his desk and read through the report of the previous day. As he read, he clicked the top of his retractable biro with such ferocity that Jarvis began to wonder if the poor thing would last for much longer. When he had finished, he put down the report and his pen and looked across at Jarvis who, biro fixation aside, had remained impassive while he read. ‘Are you sure of this Paul? One hundred per cent sure?’
Jarvis nodded. ‘From what he said and from what we know, we're looking at a repeat of the Dublin riot.’
Allen stood up and turned to the window, his hands behind his back. ‘And Evans didn't discuss drugs or anything else?’
Jarvis shook his head. ‘No Guv, as far as Fitchett is concerned they're going out there to kick things off. That's all.’
‘But you think there's more?’
Jarvis nodded his head again. ‘I'm sure of it. In fact, I'd put my career on it.’
Allen turned and gave him a look that suggested he might have to do just that. ‘So you want to let Fitchett go and send someone undercover with him. Any ideas?’
Jarvis walked over to the window and stood next to his DCI. ‘Yes Guv, Terry Porter. It's perfect, he's just come out of the Selector. Fitchett doesn't even know that yet.’
Allen stared at the London traffic for a while and then turned. ‘OK Paul, I'll speak to the chief and we'll also need to discuss it with Special Branch. If they give it the nod, then we'll see what the Italians have to say. We've already had a few meetings with them about security for the game so finding the right person to talk to shouldn't be difficult.’ He sat back down at his desk and picked up his pen again. ‘In the meantime, you speak to Terry Porter and see if he's up for it.’
‘Yes Guv. And thanks.’
&
nbsp; He went to leave but the DCI called him back. ‘Paul, no risks here. You know the problems with working abroad. We can't afford to mess up.’ Jarvis nodded and left.
The incident room was full of smoke and noise when Jarvis walked back in. The four members of his team were talking excitedly but they stopped and watched their DI as he walked across the office and stood in front of the incident board. He told Harris to get hold of Terry Porter and then began talking.
‘OK, this is the score as we see it. Evans has been asked by an Italian political group to recruit a firm to stage a repeat of the Dublin riot when England play in Rome. That's on …’ he looked at Harris who grabbed a diary, flicked through the pages and exclaimed, ‘October twenty-seventh Guv.’
‘October twenty-seventh,’ repeated Jarvis. ‘That's in just under three weeks’ time. Now, we don't know who this group is; we don't know why they want to get a game abandoned, nor do we know what they hope to achieve.’ He stopped talking and looked around the room. ‘Well, any thoughts so far?’
The room remained silent and then Neal White piped up. ‘Surely we've got enough to nick Evans for conspiracy now, Guv?’
Jarvis shook his head. ‘Who'd testify? Fitchett? He's shitting himself at the thought of what would happen to him if he actually had to go into court and grass up his mates. No, the plan at the moment is to run with it until we can get something more concrete.’ He paused, glanced down at the floor for a moment, scratched his head and then looked up. ‘But personally, I think the whole thing is bollocks.’ He walked over to one of the desks and sat down on it.
‘What makes you think that, Guv?’ asked Steve Parry.
Jarvis stood up again and began pacing backwards and forwards across the front of the board. ‘Instinct,’ he said. ‘Something's not right. It just doesn't add up. What would any political group have to gain from stopping a game? The Italian public would go mental and any support they hoped to gain, for whatever reason, would vanish. And if it didn't work, well all you'd have then is a load of English lads getting battered and the locals cheering on the police. Again, if your group is anti-establishment, that's totally counter-productive.’ He let out a sigh. ‘No, I just don't buy it.’
‘So what d'you think is going on?’
Jarvis looked up at Harris. ‘I still think he's going to use this trip as a front to bring drugs back across the Channel.’ He stopped pacing and looked at the men in the room. ‘Think about it. He's sending out possibly as many as twenty cars. All he has to do is stash stuff in them while everyone is at the game and then they'll drive them back to England for him. It's simple.’
Steve Parry rubbed his chin thoughtfully and smiled. ‘It makes sense I suppose. But surely he wouldn't run the risk of anyone getting tugged on the way back?’
Jarvis shrugged. ‘Why not? He's got nothing to lose has he? So, a few of his mates get sent down and he's lost a motor. The chances are it'll be registered to someone else and so we won't be able to get near him. And no one's going to grass him up are they? Even if we can trace it back to him, we'd never be able to get him on anything would we? He won't have been anywhere near it for days or even weeks.’
‘And besides …’ interrupted Williams excitedly, ‘the chances of anyone getting stopped and given a good going over these days are slim. Customs are too busy looking for illegal immigrants.’
‘Well, if you're right, Guv,’ said Harris thoughtfully, ‘it's bloody clever. He'll make a fortune and for what? A few hundred quid and some match tickets.’
They all turned round as the door opened and Terry Porter walked in. Jarvis walked over, shook his hand and then looked around at the others. ‘Do you all know DS Terry Porter? He's been working undercover with the Selector for a while.’
The others introduced themselves and then Jarvis went on. ‘OK, at the moment we're waiting for the DCI to clear this operation with the spooks and the top brass. If they give us the go ahead, then we have to convince the Italians.’
‘Not to mention Gary Fitchett,’ said Williams. ‘He's hardly the most willing informant I've ever met.’
Jarvis gave a wry smile and stole a glance at Porter but he remained leaning against the wall by the door. ‘Al, get a plan set up to go with this. Travel, communications, everything. Neal, you give him a hand. Steve, you and Phil get working on some of the photographs we took in Great Portland Street. Let's try and put names to faces, see who we're dealing with.’ The room began to buzz as the four men got busy. Jarvis nodded to Terry Porter and they walked over towards his office.
‘Fucking hell, it's risky. You know that.’
Jarvis nodded across the table. ‘Yeah, I know Terry. But no one's sussed you yet and only Fitchett will know who you really are and we'll be all over the two of you like a rash. But without someone with him, this operation is sunk and all we'll have is a damage limitation exercise for the Italians. I want more than that.’
Porter shrugged his shoulders. ‘It's not just that though, is it? I mean, I'm black, or at least I was when I looked in the mirror this morning.’
Jarvis sat bolt upright and feigned a look of shock. ‘Christ, I hadn't noticed.’ He paused for a moment before standing up and beginning his customary pacing. ‘Look Terry, I'm not saying you won't get grief because you probably will. But you know as well as I do that most of that BNP, Combat-18 stuff is media bollocks.’
‘Yeah, I know that Guv, but…’
Jarvis stopped pacing and held his hand up. ‘You're the only one I can send Terry. You know Fitchett and he knows you. Or at least he thinks he does. What's more, you know the scene at the moment: who's active, who isn't. No one else available has that kind of insight and it's vital.’ He sat down again and looked across the table. ‘I can't make you go and I certainly wouldn't want to. But this is potentially a huge operation and the biggest chance we'll ever have to put Evans inside.’ He left the rest hanging to put all the pressure on Porter. It was a cynical ploy, but it rarely failed.
Porter took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. ‘OK, if you can get him to agree to it, then I'll do it.’
Jarvis smiled and was about to speak when the phone interrupted him. He listened intently for a moment and then put it down. ‘That was the DCI,’ he said excitedly. ‘It's all systems go.’
Three hours later, Jarvis was back in the interview room waiting for Fitchett to be brought up. He was trembling with excitement. It had taken the DCI less than two hours to get his plan agreed, although the Italians, rather sensibly in Jarvis's opinion, had insisted that one of their officers accompany the team during the surveillance operation. They had also made it quite clear that they reserved the right to pull the plug on it at any time. Even the top brass and Special Branch had been receptive to the idea, although Jarvis had the sneaky feeling that if anything went wrong, responsibility would fall firmly on only one pair of shoulders and they belonged to him. The final piece in the jigsaw was Fitchett. Jarvis would have to convince him to play his part in it even if it meant promising him things he could never deliver. The ace up his sleeve was Terry Porter. But as yet, he didn't know how he was going to play that particular card. He was still pondering that when the door opened and Fitchett walked in with Phil Williams. He sat down with a thump and immediately lit a cigarette. He was a mess. Tired, unshaven and in the same clothes as yesterday. From the look of him, he'd probably slept in them.
‘Afternoon Gary. Nice to see you again.’
Fitchett stared at the wall and said nothing.
Jarvis leant forward onto the table and asked the question in a calm, relaxed voice: ‘Have you decided yet Gary?’
Fitchett remained quietly smoking, his eyes fixed on the wall.
‘Will you go to Italy?’
Still no response, something that was beginning to irritate Jarvis, but he continued speaking in the same even-tempered tone. ‘Listen Gary, it's up to you. Either you go to Italy to help us out or I put you inside this afternoon. Which is it to be?’
Still n
o response.
‘So, the silent treatment is it?’ asked Williams.
Fitchett exhaled deeply, the cloud of smoke spreading across the wall of the interview room. ‘I want to see my solicitor’ he said without looking round. ‘I'm getting set up here and you're right out of order. It's a fucking outrage what you're trying to get me to do.’
‘OK Gary,’ said Jarvis calmly, ‘that's your right. But you know that all this will work against you when you get to court. I mean, I'll have no inclination to help you out if you cause us any more grief will I? Especially now that we have so much stuff on you and your crew. That means you'll be in a cell for a good few years. Locked away for up to eighteen hours a day. Could you stand that Gary?’
Jarvis watched for a reaction but there was none. He was pushing his luck but he had no choice. Unless he could get him to play ball, they'd have nothing.
‘You see Gary, we're the ones doing the favour here. It's not the other way round. If you help us, we'll help you. If not … well, we'll settle for what we've got. You and your lads.’
Fitchett took another drag from his cigarette and slowly turned round to face Jarvis. The expression on his face was one of disgust. His eyes glittering with loathing. There was an arrogance about him now that only came from people who believed they had nothing left to lose. ‘What other stuff?’ he sneered.
Jarvis picked up his notes and pretended to read through some of them before speaking. ‘We have received a quantity of information relating to the activities of the hooligan group known as the Selector which we have no doubt will lead to a number of arrests over the coming few days.’