Hidden Killers

by Lynda La Plante

  “I was working on attachment with the CID as a decoy in London Fields this evening—”

  “I already know that, Tennison. I don’t need chapter and verse, just get to the nitty gritty, please.”

  Harris’s mockery was making her feel nervous. “Unseen by me the suspect jumped out of a tree, grabbed me from behind, covered my mouth and fondled my breasts—”

  Harris interrupted, while writing on the charge sheet. “So he’s been arrested for indecent assault, I take it?”

  Moran didn’t relish getting into a slanging match with Harris, least of all in front of a prisoner. From his pocket he pulled the plastic bag containing the stocking mask and threw it down onto the desk.

  “I think you should know that this scrote wore that mask. It would have scared the shit out of most women, but not WPC Tennison. He elbowed her in the face while trying to escape, and also had this knife in his pocket when I searched him at the scene.”

  Moran took the flick knife, also in a plastic bag, from his pocket and placed it on the table next to the stocking.

  Jane was confused. She had not seen Moran find the knife, and DC Edwards hadn’t mentioned it. She glanced toward Edwards with a questioning look, but he was staring at the knife.

  “I didn’t let Tennison see this at the scene as she was obviously shocked by what happened to her. The attacker threatened to cut her throat if she screamed. Suffice to say, Sergeant Harris, he wasn’t trying to drag her to London Fields Lido for a midnight swim! He is also suspected of a number of other sexual assaults and a recent rape.”

  Jane knew that a teenage girl had been raped about two weeks ago on Hackney’s ground, but she had no idea that the indecent assault suspect was believed to be responsible for it. The handcuffed prisoner, who was standing to one side listening, reacted angrily for the first time since he’d been brought into the station.

  “This is bullshit! I never had a knife on me! That officer already searched me before he left the room for a piss . . . This is a fit up!”

  The expression on Harris’s face was one of pure contempt as he glared at the prisoner before turning to Jane.

  “Did he say he had a knife, and did he cause that cut to your lip?”

  Jane nodded. Harris stared at the prisoner harder. “What have you got to say for yourself?”

  The prisoner took a deep breath as they all waited to hear his reply.

  “I was walking through the park minding my own business when she asked me if I wanted sex . . . I told her I wasn’t interested, then she started attacking me. She kicked me in the bollocks then hit me round the head with a truncheon—”

  Harris interrupted. “In nearly thirty years’ service I’ve heard every lie and excuse in the book from sick perverts like you. For your information WPCs aren’t issued with truncheons.”

  “Well, she had one in her hand! And those two bastards smashed up my face and used me for football practice! I swear before God, I am telling the truth . . . I’ve been set up!”

  Harris told him to shut up and looked at Jane. “Did you have a truncheon, Tennison?”

  Jane was now becoming worried about the fact she’d used a truncheon on a suspect and glanced toward DI Moran for support. He raised his hand slightly to calm her.

  “I loaned WPC Tennison my truncheon, knowing that she was acting as a decoy in an area where other women had been attacked. It was for her own protection,” Moran said quietly.

  Harris hesitated, then turned with a cynical smile toward the suspect.

  “. . . Which was good thinking as this pervert not only assaulted her but he was carrying a knife.”

  Harris glanced toward Jane. “I take it that, being in fear of your life, you used the truncheon within the law to protect yourself?”

  Jane realized he was asking a leading question and hastily agreed that was the case.

  “Yes, Sergeant, and then—”

  Harris interrupted, leading her again. “You would have aimed for his shoulder, as per the Police Instruction Book, but this was literally a matter of life and death so you realized you had to incapacitate the suspect and hit him on the head as hard as you could, being a female.”

  Jane smiled. “Yes, Sergeant, that’s exactly what happened. And before I hit him on the head I kicked him in the groin and—”

  Harris cut her off. “As is standard procedure, I need to inspect the truncheon that was used.”

  Moran had picked up the truncheon and now pulled it out from his inside jacket pocket. He was about to hand it over but Harris just glanced at it.

  “Looks fine to me . . . no blood on it. I take it the rib and facial injuries to the prisoner occurred when he slipped and fell trying to escape, correct?”

  Moran and Edwards spoke in unison. “That’s correct.”

  The prisoner, now extremely agitated, tried to interrupt, but Harris pointed a finger at him, making it clear he had better keep his mouth shut. He then asked the prisoner for his name, date of birth and address. The prisoner replied that he was John Allard, born February 20th, 1941, living at 33 Hall Road, East Ham.

  Harris was still recording the prisoner’s property on the arrest sheet as DI Moran checked his height against the measuring stick. He told the prisoner to remove his clothing, which he bagged up for forensics, and gave him a prisoner issue overalls to wear. As the prisoner undressed, both Harris and Moran noticed how athletic and muscular he was.

  “Do a bit of weight training, do you?” Harris asked, and the prisoner replied that he liked to keep fit and work out.

  Moran cynically replied, “Yeah, but obviously not enough to escape from a female police officer! I think you’re lying because you’ve been nicked before and are probably wanted. I’ll call you Allard for now, but we’ll take your fingerprints so we can get them up to the Yard tonight to be checked against criminal records, then no doubt we’ll find out who you really are.”

  “Allard” became increasingly sullen and demanded to speak to a solicitor. Harris refused him a phone call unless he gave his real details, but he insisted he had, so Harris denied the call on the grounds that it might interfere with the course of the investigation.

  Harris stood up. “You three go and write up your arrest notes. I’ll take the pervert’s prints and we’ll also have a little chat as to why he shouldn’t hit police officers . . . especially female officers.”

  Harris grabbed the prisoner by the scruff of his neck and literally lifted him off his feet, hauled him toward the fingerprint room and slammed him up against the wall while he opened the door. As Allard cried out, Harris looked over his shoulder at Jane. “The results of the probationer’s final exams are in envelopes on the duty desk.”

  Jane hurried to the duty desk and, finding the envelope with her name on it, tucked it into her pocket and joined Moran and Edwards in the CID office.

  Moran handed her a CID pocket book and said that while she was on attachment any arrests, interview notes, etc., were to be recorded in it. Jane felt honored to be given the book. “Thank you, sir,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. It would be best if you write the notes, then myself and Edwards can agree and countersign them from the point where we tackled the suspect. Edwards, help Jane, will you? I’ll write up the notes from our perspective in the obo van.” He pointed to the kettle in the corner and asked Jane to make him a coffee, then left the room.

  As Jane wrote up the arrest notes Edwards said he’d make the coffee. She took the results envelope out of her pocket, placed it on the table and stared at it. When Edwards asked why she wasn’t opening it she replied that it wasn’t because she thought she had failed, it was more that she was worried about getting a good mark. She decided she would open it when she got back to the section house later.

  Edwards snatched the envelope from the table and Jane tried to grab it back, but he held it up high out of her reach. As soon as she backed off slightly he quickly opened the envelope, pulled out the paper inside and unfolded it.

 
“Bloody hell! You passed with flying colors . . . ninety-four percent! You little nerd—you’ll be a sergeant before we know it!”

  Despite being annoyed by Edwards’s antics, Jane was thrilled with the result. “I’ve only just about completed my two years’ probation, so I don’t have enough service to sit the sergeant’s exam.”

  “Anyone with two years’ service can apply to sit the exam, but you’ll need the recommendation of a senior officer to do it.”

  “I’m not really interested in uniform promotion at the moment, though. First and foremost I’d like to become a detective.”

  “Well, your good work tonight will help, that’s for sure,” Edwards replied, as Moran returned.

  “You two should be getting on with your notes, not yapping. When you’ve finished bring them to me in my office, Tennison, and I’ll check them.”

  With Edwards’s assistance it didn’t take Jane long to write up the notes on her arrest. Edwards pointed out that although Harris had “led” her through why she used the truncheon it was best, in accordance with the Met instruction book, that she say she aimed for the suspect’s elbow, but he suddenly ducked and she unintentionally hit his head.

  “Also, don’t write anything about the kicks to his ribs or how he got the cut to his face, or the nosebleed. He fell while trying to escape, OK?”

  Jane felt a sudden chill. It was as if she was back sitting at home with DCI Bradfield when he had asked her to tell a similar lie after DS Gibbs had assaulted the black drug dealer Terrence O’Duncie during the Julie Ann Collins murder investigation.

  “You all right, Jane, you look a bit pale?”

  “Yes, fine. I know the score about the injuries . . . I’ve been down that road before. You know, I didn’t actually see a knife in the suspect’s hand.”

  “He told you he had one, so what’s the problem?”

  “Did you see DI Moran find that knife?”

  Edwards frowned.

  “No . . . but if he said he found it in the suspect’s pocket then that’s good enough for me. Hang on, are you suggesting he might have planted evidence?”

  Jane could tell he was upset by her insinuation. “No, not at all. If he did actually have a knife on him then I am even more worked up about what could have happened to me. I didn’t realize he was suspected of the rape as well . . . I thought it was just indecent assaults.”

  “There is no strong evidence. The victim had been out celebrating her seventeenth birthday and was attacked from behind on her way home. She didn’t see his face, but she did see a flick knife, and the suspect even said he had a knife and told her not to scream. DI Moran’s been dealing with it and he wanted to see how the prisoner would react when told he was a suspect . . . It certainly got him fired up, so you never know, Moran might be right.”

  “Why didn’t he mention that he suspected the same person to me before the operation?”

  “He told me not to mention it to you as he didn’t want to make you worried about being a decoy. In hindsight, after what happened tonight, maybe he should have told you . . . But as I said he’s got no evidence the same man committed the rape. It’s just an assumption based on some similarities to the indecent assaults.”

  Jane didn’t reply. She read through her notes again and then went to Moran’s office and handed him the note book to read. She watched with interest and observed that he had a habit of nodding as he was reading. She hoped it was a sign that he was agreeing with her notes.

  He smiled and looked up at her. “Good explanation for the use of a truncheon, but a defense lawyer will accuse you of intentionally aiming for the head. The bit where the suspect said ‘I’ve got a knife . . . so keep your mouth shut, you fucking thieving whore’—is that, and the rest of what he said, word for word?”

  “Yes, as far as I can recall, sir.”

  Moran had a look of contempt in his eyes, but not for Jane. “Nasty piece of work, isn’t he? These notes are good, Tennison. Brief, yet concise and covering the relevant points about his attempted escape. You can elaborate further about the operation and how scared you were in your statement . . . but do that tomorrow, as I’m sure you’ll want to get off for some shut-eye soon.”

  “Not really, I still feel wide awake.”

  “That’s the adrenalin still pumping after making such a good arrest,” he said, as he countersigned the arrest notes and handed the note book back to Jane.

  “You’ll need to get Harris to sign them as well, as he’s the duty sergeant and he booked in the prisoner. Oh, and the rabbit fur jacket . . . can you leave it on the chair there? It’s evidence in a case, so I need to put it back in the property store.”

  Jane removed the jacket. “Thanks for letting me use it, sir, it kept me warm.” She placed it on the chair and left the room.

  As she went downstairs to the front office she was surprised to see Sergeant Harris at the duty desk, though he was reading The Sun while drinking coffee and puffing away on a pipe. Jane asked him if he would sign her notes and handed him the pocket book.

  “Oh, CID notebook now, is it? Uniform IRB not good enough for you now?” he said in a jovial manner that made Jane apprehensive, as it was unusual for him. “Has DI Moran checked and countersigned these?”

  “Yes, Sarge, and DC Edwards helped me write them.”

  “Well, no doubt everything is tight as a duck’s arse when it comes to the evidence of arrest.” He flicked briefly through the pages, stopping longer to read and take in the bit where Jane was initially attacked and threatened. He looked her in the eye and spoke softly.

  “How are you feeling? D’you need to take a couple of days’ leave?”

  “No thanks, I’m fine, Sarge. Especially now Allard, or whoever he may be, is in a cell and going nowhere.”

  “Well, that’s mainly down to you, young lady. If you hadn’t smacked him one he’d probably have got away before the cavalry turned up. So, what was your final exam result?”

  “It was good, Sarge . . . I got ninety-four percent.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, Sarge. Is it right you can sit the sergeant’s exam after your probationary period is over?” she asked, because she thought that DC Edwards was wrong.

  Harris cocked his head to one side, then gave her a cynical grin.

  “Yes, if authorized by the Divisional Commander, who would of course seek the advice and wisdom of an experienced sergeant like me . . . But even if by some miracle you were allowed to sit the exam, and passed, you can’t be made sergeant until you have five years’ service. Now, even though you have nearly finished your probation you will still be under my supervision and I will be responsible for your Annual Qualification Reports. I think you could say that your future regarding any promotion is in my hands.”

  In the last year and a half Jane had learned not to let his demeaning attitude annoy her, as that was what he wanted. She wasn’t the only person he belittled, it was just his nature. She smiled, refusing to be rattled by his attitude. “I’m not really interested in promotion yet. I’d like to become a detective constable first.”

  “Listen, Tennison, although your arrest tonight is commendable I doubt you would make the grade yet as you need more uniform experience. Being a decoy for one night is very different from being a detective and investigating major crime.”

  Jane looked him in the eye. “Will you be putting that in my final report?”

  “I need to be frank with you. In my honest opinion, as your reporting sergeant, I feel you might be better suited to something like mounted branch or maybe even being a ‘black rat,’” Harris said, referring to what many officers called the traffic police.

  Harris handed Jane the fingerprints he’d taken from the suspect and told her to give them to DI Moran. They would need to be passed on to C3 Fingerprint Bureau at the Yard for comparison to prints on record, especially those wanted for crime and outstanding marks at crime scenes, particularly sex crimes.

  “D’you intend wearing
that wig and looking like a Tom all night? Go and get cleaned up,” Harris said, and dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

  Jane went to the ladies’ locker room and removed the heavy makeup before returning to the CID office. She had been to DI Moran’s office with the prints but he wasn’t there. Edwards looked up from his paperwork.

  “Moran went downstairs to put the rabbit fur jacket back in the property store, and release another prisoner he had in on suspicion of dishonest handling, then he was going home.”

  Jane held up the set of fingerprints. “Harris said I was to give him these prints so—”

  DC Edwards interrupted and explained that Moran had already instructed the night duty SOCO to take the suspect’s fingerprints to the Yard. Jane asked if he and DI Moran would be interviewing the suspect in the morning. Edwards replied that Moran had suggested she could sit in on the interview for experience, and he was to take the suspect’s clothes and other evidence to the forensic lab. He explained that they might find fibers from the other victims’ clothing on them, or vice versa. Jane said it would be a fantastic result if they found anything that linked him to the rape. Edwards said he hoped so too as there was no real evidence to charge him with the rape unless he admitted it.

  “I doubt he’ll ever do that . . . seems he’s going to fight this case all the way, and the only thing we’ve got on him so far is the attack on me.”

  “Well, even if it is, Jane, there’s no way out for him. Judges detest people who assault police officers so he’ll get a long stretch for that alone.”

  Edwards yawned and said he was going to get some sleep on the armchair in the snooker room, and go straight to the forensics lab first thing in the morning. He suggested to Jane that she should go and get some kip too, as Moran wanted to start interviewing the prisoner at 10 a.m. about the other assaults he was suspected of committing. Jane asked him what time she should come in. Edwards said Moran was an early bird and would probably be in at 8 a.m. to prep for the interview, so Jane said she would be in at 7:30 a.m. As she thanked Edwards for coming to her rescue he asked if she was OK, as it had been a tough night.