Читать книгу Hidden Killers - Lynda La plante - Страница 7
ОглавлениеJane felt nervous in the obo van as they made their way over to London Fields. DI Moran gave her a small concealed radio, which he placed in the pocket of the blue rabbit fur coat. He had already made a small hole in the pocket for the earpiece and a small hand-held mic. He ran the wire for the speaker down the inside of the left sleeve of the jacket and the earpiece to the middle of her neck, up into the wig and into her left ear. Moran explained that it worked the same as a normal police radio and all she had to do was hold the mic in her left hand and press the small transmitter button whenever she wanted to communicate with him.
‘Here, take this just in case you need to use it,’ he said, as he produced a truncheon from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her. ‘Self-preservation always comes first so you hit ’em where it hurts most, as hard as you can if anything happens. OK?’
Jane nodded as she held the truncheon in her hand.
‘Where am I going to put it? It’s too big for my coat pocket and I don’t fancy trying to squeeze it down the back of this boob tube or these hot pants.’
Moran laughed and pulled a rubber band out of his pocket. ‘Up your right sleeve, and use the band to hold it in place.’ He helped her with the truncheon and instructed her to make a radio test call to him once she was dropped off.
‘You still up for this?’ he asked, in a serious tone.
‘Yes, sir. If I’m honest, I’m just a bit nervous.’
‘That’s to be expected . . . but I’ve got plain clothes backup cars nearby, covering both sides of the Fields. The uniform officers are aware of what’s going on should we need them as well. DC Ashton is driving the obo van and we will be the nearest to you at all times. I’ll be running the show . . . my call sign will be Gold, yours is Silver and the rest of the troops, should we need them, will be Bronze.’
Jane gave a small nod of recognition to Ashton, a pale freckle-faced twenty-eight-year-old who had recently married. Like many of the CID officers, he had also been on Bradfield’s team.
Moran smiled at Jane reassuringly. ‘Not many Toms are working the patch after what’s been happening, but with less foot traffic we can tail you more easily.’
Arriving at London Fields’ west side entrance Moran told Jane to follow the path past the outdoor Lido and hang around there for a while, ‘as if touting for business’. They would park up in a suitable vantage point to watch her, and after ten to fifteen minutes she was to follow the central path through the park to the south entrance at Lansdowne Drive, then turn back on herself and walk through the park to the north entrance at Richmond Road. Moran said that if nothing had happened within the next hour or so she could jump back in the obo van to have a hot coffee, before repeating the route through the Fields.
From the front of the obo van DC Ashton called out that it was all clear. Moran checked the rear, then opened the back door to let Jane out, telling her that rather than looking for punters she should let them come to her.
The cold outside air mixed with Jane’s nerves and she felt a shudder down her spine as she started to walk towards the Lido. She raised her left hand to her mouth and pressed the transmitter button on the mic.
‘Gold to Silver receiving, over,’ she said, without at first realizing her nervous error.
‘You’re Silver, and yes, Gold is receiving . . . Over.’ Jane could have kicked herself and responded, ‘Silver
received.’
Moran was joined in the obo van by the young and relatively inexperienced Detective Constable Brian Edwards. Edwards was a rawboned six-footer with thick dark curly hair, and usually looked as if he had just fallen out of bed. Tonight, however, both men were dressed in dark polo-neck sweaters and black trousers. Moran wore a black leather jacket and Edwards a black bomber jacket. It was too dark to use the spy holes and they had a better view looking out of the rear window, which had a reflective foil-like sheet on it so no one could see in.
London Fields was virtually desolate. There was hardly anyone about and nobody who could be described as acting in a suspicious manner. Jane kept on walking. By now she was feeling very tired and cold when over the radio came Moran’s voice.
‘Gold to Silver, white male, late sixties coming towards you, approach with caution.’
Jane tensed as he moved closer, she took a deep breath, and felt the adrenalin rush of nerves. She could smell the alcohol as the man weaved and tottered towards her.
‘Which way to the Cat and Mutton, my darling one?’
he slurred.
In the obo van Moran became alert and told Edwards to stand by.
‘I’m sorry, mate, I dunno,’ Jane said in a dreadful attempt at a cockney accent as she passed him.
‘False alarm,’ Moran muttered. ‘He’s pissed out of his head. I’m beginning to think this is a waste of everyone’s time.’
He opened a can of beer and lit a cigarette while Edwards had a cup of coffee from his flask and ate his sandwich.
It was now just after 10 p.m. and Jane made her way along the tarmac path, past the Lido yet again. She was struggling to walk in the thigh length boots that were by now really hurting her feet and had given her a blister on her right heel. But she had to keep up appearances, even though she was continually having to adjust her hot pants as they rode up her thighs. The cold night air penetrated through the frilly cheesecloth shirt that was tied tightly round her waist.
Jane couldn’t believe that she hadn’t even come across a ‘legitimate prostitute’ having sex up against a tree, or a park bench, as she had seen before when out on uniform patrol. But she realized that the fact that there were no prostitutes about was actually in her favour. It meant she avoided any angry confrontations with local Toms questioning what a new girl was doing on their patch. Jane knew that an uptight prostitute, or worse still a drunk prostitute, could be a real handful to deal with.
She carried on walking along the path, the pain from the blister getting worse, when she was suddenly aware of someone approaching quickly behind her. She gripped the radio mic in her hand, ready to press the talk button if she needed to. She could hear the sound of deep breathing and panting coming nearer. Jane’s heart was pounding as she turned her head slightly, to look over her left shoulder, and saw the figure of a man in a hooded black tracksuit within inches of her. She had a sudden urge to scream but controlled herself as he jogged on past her.
Jane felt an incredible sense of relief as she looked to her left along Martello Street, on the east side of London Fields. In the distance, she could see the obo van moving slowly with its lights out. She was really glad she hadn’t jumped the gun and radioed in for assistance, and taking a deep breath she walked on. The fact that neither Moran nor Edwards had radioed her about the jogger made her wonder how visible she was to them.
Jane’s heart was still beating faster than usual. As she passed under a large tree she was startled by some conkers falling from the branches of the chestnut tree above her. Relieved, Jane smiled, but then she heard a much heavier thud behind her. Before she could turn around a black leather-gloved hand was clamped over her mouth while the other hand grabbed her round the chest, pinning her left arm to her side. The sudden attack caused the mic in her left hand to fall loose from the sleeve of the rabbit fur jacket, and dangle like a kid’s glove on a string.
Jane’s assailant groped and squeezed at her right breast with his left hand and started to drag her backwards towards the covered entrance of the Lido. Jane struggled to break free and desperately tried to look over her shoulder towards where she had last seen the obo van. She attempted to scream, but the leather-gloved hand tightened around her mouth. A man’s voice whispered harshly in her ear.
‘I’ve got a knife . . . so keep your mouth shut, you fucking thieving whore . . . or I’ll cut your throat wide open this time.’
Jane nodded vigorously to indicate that she understood, and the leather-gloved hand relaxed its pressure slightly. Jane then realized that he couldn’t be holding a knife as there was one hand over her mouth and the other was groping her breast. Her instinct took over and she opened her mouth wide and bit down as hard as she could on the gloved hand. As the assailant released his grip Jane screamed loudly and spun around quickly to confront her attacker. The man had a stocking over his head, making him unrecognizable, and he was wearing a black roll-neck sweater and black trousers. Jane understood exactly what he was intending to do to her when she saw his erect penis sticking out of his unzipped trousers.
In an instant Jane kicked her attacker hard in the groin. She pulled the truncheon free from inside her sleeve and hit him on the side of the head with all her strength, knocking him to the ground. The force of the impact against his skull made her lose her grip on the truncheon, causing it to fly out of her hand and onto the grass a few feet away.
Enraged, the assailant was growling and moving slowly. Like a bear about to make its final move on its prey he gradually stood up, the growling getting louder and louder as spittle foamed through the stocking mask. Jane managed to retrieve the radio mic, and pressing the transmitter screamed, ‘Urgent Assistance!’ and yelled at the top of her voice that she was a police officer. The attacker, as if confused by the revelation, froze momentarily before turning to run. Jane lunged at him, grabbing his right shoulder from behind. In his desperate effort to escape, the assailant elbowed her in the mouth causing her lip to split and bleed. He started to run, and although Jane was determined to give chase she knew she’d never be able to catch him in the boots she was wearing.
Suddenly she saw DI Moran and DC Edwards running at speed towards the assailant and together they tackled him hard from behind, knocking him heavily to the ground. As he tried to get up Moran pulled his head back by his hair and smashed his face down onto the pathway, causing his nose to split and bleed profusely. The two detectives then pinned him to the ground, pulled his hands behind his back and DC Edwards handcuffed him.
Jane felt a mixture of fear and relief as she heard the two-tone sirens of the police cars making their way to the Fields. Moran spoke into his portable radio.
‘All units from Gold, stand down. Suspect has been arrested and WPC Tennison is safe and well. We only require a uniform van for the prisoner to be taken to Golf Hotel.’
‘You were supposed to be covering my back! Where the hell were you?’ Jane shouted.
Moran calmed her down, explaining that their view from the obo van had become partially blocked as Jane had passed between some large trees.
‘It wasn’t until we heard you scream that we realized something was wrong. I mean, where on earth did he come from? It’s as if he appeared from nowhere.’
Jane’s hand was trembling as she pointed to the chestnut tree. ‘Up there . . . he must have been up there, and jumped down. He grabbed me from behind, covered my mouth with his hand and said he’d cut my throat if I screamed. I couldn’t get to the radio transmitter or shout for help until I bit him and he let me go.’
The attacker now started shouting that he’d done nothing wrong, earning him a well-aimed kick in the side of his ribs from DI Moran. He pulled the stocking up off his head revealing a man in his early thirties, clean shaven and with neatly cut hair.
Moran looked at Jane as he put the stocking in a plastic bag. ‘He’s your arrest, Tennison, so go ahead and caution him.’
Jane licked at her split lip, tasting the blood as she spoke. ‘I’m arresting you for an indecent and serious assault on a police officer. You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but what you say may be given in evidence.’
‘I’ve done fuck all! That bitch suddenly attacked me and started screaming . . . Look at my head!’
Moran gave him another kick in the ribs to silence him. He pulled the attacker up from the floor and noticed with disgust that the man’s now flaccid penis was hanging out of his trousers. He glanced at Jane who glared straight back at him. By now her fear had been replaced by the buzz of adrenalin from making an arrest.
‘Don’t look at me – I’m not putting that thing back in his trousers!’
Moran laughed, surprised by her ability to make a joke after what she had been subjected to. DC Edwards roughly zipped up the assailant’s fly, and hauled him away screeching in agony.
The prisoner was placed in the back of the police van, flanked by two officers and with DC Edwards sitting opposite him. DI Moran drove Jane back to the station in the obo van, and asked her to go over everything that happened and what her assailant had said.
She was still energized as she repeated how she had been attacked from behind and how he had threatened to cut her throat.
‘I bit down on his hand as hard as I could so he released his hold.’
‘Good girl . . . sorry you had to go through that, but you did well. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Her heart was beating rapidly and she suddenly felt unable to stop shaking. Taking a few deep breaths she managed to calm herself down, forcing back the feelings of fear. In some ways she was more concerned that DI Moran might notice she had been panic stricken.
He had noticed and gave her a sidelong glance. As he concentrated on the road ahead he spoke quietly.
‘You know, at some stage in our careers we’ve all had the guts kicked out of us. I don’t mean literally of course . . . but once you’ve had to face that fear and been able to deal with it, the next time isn’t nearly as bad. It’s not just the adrenalin rush that helps you get through something like tonight, but the satisfaction that you caught the bastard.’
Jane had not expected Moran to be so understanding. She smiled bravely and even attempted to make a joke.
‘You been dressed up as a Tom to make an arrest, have you, sir?’
He chuckled, shaking his head.
‘I never put a bad guy away that didn’t deserve it, that’s all you’ve got to know about me, Tennison.’
Back at the station Jane asked to be excused so she could sort out her split lip. Moran nodded, instructing DC Edwards to find the duty officer. Jane went to the ladies’, then after washing her hands she inspected her cut lip in the mirror. It wasn’t as swollen as she thought it would be, but she knew it would take at least a week or so before it healed. That meant not visiting her parents for a while. She put on some makeup and lipstick to conceal the cut, and thought about what Moran had said to her. She was more confident that she had handled the situation well under extreme pressure, but there had been a moment when she had really feared for her life. When the stocking had been removed from her attacker’s head she had been surprised to see that he was actually quite a good-looking man, and not the ugly, vicious person she had envisaged.
Jane thought about taking off her wig, but decided against it as it made her feel even more like an undercover officer working with the CID.
As she stared at herself in the mirror above the cracked washbasin, it triggered another memory. She was in the washroom standing by Kath Morgan as she was getting ready to go on her first plain-clothed assignment; she had been so excited and eager to catch a burglar robbing old-age pensioners. Kath had been such a feisty woman, not afraid of anyone or anything, and regaled everyone by describing how she had brought the scrote burglar down with a rugby tackle. She had been laughing in the incident room as she told everyone how she had grabbed him by his hair and discovered that he was in fact wearing a Marc Bolan-style wig. She missed Kath – Jane was the only woman at Hackney, apart from clerical staff. As she left the washroom she noticed that there was a laminated ‘LADIES TOILET’ sign on the door. Smiling, she remembered the notice that Kath had handwritten and pinned to the door, which some of the male officers had then adorned with phallic cartoon drawings. A proper sign would have pleased Kath.
Jane headed down the corridor towards the small B Relief tea kitchen that officers used when the canteen was closed. She had a key to the cupboard for the tea bags and tins of instant coffee, which was kept locked as the contents were always disappearing. Her head ached and she was hunting for a bottle of aspirin when DC Edwards hurried towards her.
‘You’d better get back to the charge room . . . I’ve got to go and find Sergeant Harris . . . he was supposed to be there ages ago. The guv is getting so fed up he wants to shove a snooker cue up his backside if he doesn’t appear soon.’
‘That’s where you’ll find him, he’s usually in there having a game. If you like I can go and find him?’
‘No . . . no . . . it’s fine, I’ll do it. A couple of uniforms are with the prisoner and he’s handcuffed, so he’s not going anywhere. But DI Moran has gone walkabout as well.’
Edwards ran his fingers through his mop of unruly hair. His arms seemed too long, even for his size. He had always had a dishevelled appearance. Sergeant Harris had complained about his untidiness on several occasions and Jane had even overheard him asking Edwards why his trousers never had a crease in them. The following day poor Edwards had turned up for work with the burnt imprint of an iron on his flared trousers.
Jane continued along the corridor into the B kitchen annexe. Unlocking the cupboard she pulled out a bottle of aspirin and filled a glass of water from the tap.
Edwards banged on the door.
‘OK, I tracked him down . . . see you in the charge room. Hey . . . I couldn’t have a couple of those aspirin, could I? I’ve got a terrible headache.’
Jane handed him a glass of water and watched as he tipped four aspirin into his palm. She noticed that his hand was shaking.
‘Are you all right, Brian?’
Edwards swallowed all four tablets in one mouthful and gulped down the rest of the water.
‘Yeah, I’m fine . . . It’s just that DI Moran makes me nervous. You know it wasn’t my fault that bastard got you tonight. He clipped me one . . . I’m sorry you were put through that, Jane.’
She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder as he left and said she would see him in the charge room. She poured a fresh glass of water and took two aspirin, sipping the remains of the water before she rinsed the glass under the hot water and left it on the draining board.
Jane had been alone for a few minutes with the handcuffed prisoner when Sergeant Harris walked in, clearly irritated at being dragged away from his game of snooker.
‘Where’s Moran? I thought he was in charge of things?’
‘He just went out to look for you.’
‘Well, he obviously didn’t look hard enough, did he?’ Harris replied sarcastically, sitting behind the charge desk. He took out a large custody sheet from the drawer, clipped it to a board, and removed a pen from his top pocket, as DC Edwards walked in.
‘Right, who’s the arresting officer and what are the facts?’
At that moment Harris took a second look at Jane, causing him to shake his head in disbelief.
‘What on earth do you think you look like, Tennison?’ Jane gave him a cheeky grin. ‘A prostitute on the
game, Sarge. I thought you’d know that . . .’
Edwards laughed but Harris was not amused. DI Moran walked into the room just as Harris chastised Jane for what he felt was as an impudent comment.
‘Don’t get funny with me, Tennison . . . I’ve got your final probationer’s report to do in the next couple of weeks.’ He turned to Moran. ‘Ah, good, you’ve decided to join us . . .’
‘As it happens, Harris, I needed a leak, which is a much more pleasurable experience than talking to you. Now, can we get on with booking the prisoner in?’
Harris grunted but he knew he was pushing his luck with Moran who, although much younger than him, was senior in rank. Harris asked for the facts of the arrest and Moran asked Jane to recount what had happened.
‘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 from his pocket, which was also in a plastic bag, 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 towards 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 towards 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 towards the suspect.
‘. . . Which was good thinking as this pervert not only assaulted her but he was carrying a knife.’
Harris glanced towards 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 20th February 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 boiler suit 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 towards 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 honoured 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 colours . . . ninety-four per cent! You little swot – 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 pocket 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 defence 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 pocket 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 per cent.’
‘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 fibres 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.
‘I was pretty shaken up at the time, but I’m fine now.’
‘Listen, you did a good job. I’d have been shitting myself if I were in your shoes . . . even more so if he’d pulled the knife to my throat.’
Jane joked, ‘He technically had two offensive weapons . . .’
Edwards looked puzzled.
‘The knife . . . and his erect penis!’
Edwards laughed.
‘You’d make a good detective, Jane . . . Go on, bugger off and get some kip. Don’t walk back or you might get arrested as a Tom! Get the night shift to drop you off at the section house.’
Jane suddenly realized that she’d forgotten to tell Harris that DI Moran had said she could start her CID attachment as from now. She wished Moran was still there to tell Harris himself. She considered just not telling him, but knew that would probably annoy him even more. She headed back to the desk to find Harris.
Harris frowned at her. ‘When I said get cleaned up, I meant the clothes as well . . . your attire is totally inappropriate in the station and far too revealing.’
Jane turned to leave. She was feeling really tired and certainly not in the mood for any of his caustic remarks.
‘Hang on, hang on, Tennison . . . what did you want?’
‘It was about my CID attachment, but it doesn’t matter now.’
‘DI Moran spoke with me while I released his other prisoner. I agreed with him about your extended attachment, even though it will leave me one short on late shift for the rest of the week. That was a good arrest and you’ll learn a lot assisting Moran with the interview. I don’t always see eye to eye with him, but he’s a good and respected detective by all accounts. But for Chrissakes don’t come in wearing all that ridiculous gear . . . and pull that glittering boob tube thingy up over your tits.’
‘Thanks, Sarge.’ Jane smiled, deliberately overaccentuating the action of adjusting her boob tube.
As Edwards had advised, Jane got a ride back to the section house. Once in her bedroom she removed her wig, revealing her own hair plastered to her head. Her eyes stung as she pulled off the false eyelashes. Her split lip was now very swollen on one side, and a vivid dark bruise had spread onto her cheek. She took a long shower, relishing the hot water as there was nobody else using the communal bathroom. She washed her hair and, returning to her room, gently applied some antiseptic cream to the cut on her lip. She was totally exhausted. Looking at her shocking reflection she said to herself, ‘My God, I look as though I’ve just done two rounds in a boxing ring.’
She hesitated as she recalled Moran’s rough treatment of the prisoner, and the way he had controlled the whole situation, including her. He was so different from Bradfield, the only other DCI she’d worked with, who had been a gentle giant. Moran behaved like a street fighter and Jane was unsure if she was impressed by that or not.
It was 2 a.m. by the time she actually got into bed, and she’d have to get up in four hours. Lying curled on her side she found it hard to stop her brain churning over the events of the night.
She went over and over in her mind the sort of questions they might ask the suspect. She realized he would probably deny everything, but knew he would go down for a few years for the attack on her. Despite her bruised face and swollen lip, she had to admit that she had enjoyed the evening’s events. The rush of adrenalin made up for the fear of being attacked and she’d liked being part of the team. Now, more than ever, Jane was determined to join the CID.
