Hackney CID. He was in his mid-thirties, with blond hair that was neat, tidy and collar length. He wore a dark navy blue suit and white shirt with a button-down collar, blue tie and black Cuban-heeled ankle boots that made him look taller that his actual five feet ten inches. Jane had seen him on a few previous occasions but being a probationary WPC she had not come into direct contact with him; the word around the station was that he was on the fast track and going places.
Moran told the officers that over the last few weeks a number of young women had been indecently assaulted after dark, in both the Victoria Park and London Fields areas of Hackney, and he strongly suspected the same man was responsible for all the attacks. He explained that the majority of the assaulted women had been prostitutes, probably because they were easy targets who would be least likely to report an assault. However, the last two victims were not prostitutes and the fear was that the suspect was becoming less discriminating about whom he attacked. As Moran spoke, all the officers present, apart from Harris, wrote down the information in their force-issue pocket books.
‘The suspect is about five feet eight inches tall, with a deep-voiced London accent. He wore all-black clothing, which consisted of a waist length bomber-style jacket, black roll-neck jumper and trousers.’ Moran paused to let the officers write down the details.
‘What about his colour and facial description?’ Harris asked, in a manner that implied Moran was lacking in his information on the suspect.
‘Don’t know, Sergeant Harris,’ Moran said, and deliberately paused while Harris sat back with a smug grin. He then continued: ‘Sadly none of the victims would recognize the assailant again as he had his face covered during each attack.’
Harris kept quiet as Moran went on to say that he and some of his detectives would be carrying out undercover surveillance, with a decoy, at London Fields for the next few nights. He wanted two officers patrolling Victoria Park just after dark and the station panda cars should, if possible, make a sweep round the park at least every half-hour. This, Moran informed them, was a deliberate ploy to entice the suspect over to London Fields where there would be no uniform presence. Harris made an entry in the parade book, which was on the desk in front of him, and informed PC Jackson and PC Oliver that they would now be patrolling Victoria Park for the shift.
‘However, should the officers patrolling Victoria Park see anyone acting suspiciously, or matching the partial description of the suspect, they have my permission to stop and question the person about their movements. If you’re not happy with any explanation or answers they give, arrest them and phone the CID office. One of my detectives will be manning a radio and they will be on a different frequency to you. Are there any questions?’
Harris promptly closed the parade book and stood up. ‘Right, you all know your postings so book out your radios and vehicles, then get out on patrol . . . and no cups of tea beforehand.’
Jane raised her hand, attracting Moran’s attention.
‘Yes, officer?’
‘Sorry, sir . . . it wasn’t about your case or the suspect. It’s just that Sergeant Harris hasn’t posted me to a beat yet. I could cover Victoria Park as well, Sergeant, or relieve the officers for their refs break?’ Jane asked, hoping that she might get the chance to stop and arrest the suspect in Victoria Park.
The frown on Harris’s face said it all. Jane was well accustomed to his condescending, chauvinistic attitude.
‘I’ve done the patrol postings . . . you’re in comms on the radio and VDU, Tennison.’
DI Moran gestured to Jane. ‘Ah, yes, you’re Jane Tennison? I’d like to have a chat with you about bringing your CID attachment forward to—’
Harris interrupted. ‘She needs to be on comms to relieve the early turn officer.’
‘And I need a female officer to act as a decoy tonight, Sergeant Harris . . . unless you fancy putting on a wig, skirt and high heels yourself,’ Moran said, in a tone that sounded as if he was being serious.
Harris ushered everyone out of the parade room, then slammed the door and turned to Moran.
‘May I have a word, sir?’ Harris said, indignantly. He walked a few steps away from Jane, followed by Moran.
Jane couldn’t believe that even now, with only a few days of her probation left to serve, Harris still acted like a petulant child when it came to female officers’ career opportunities. She also knew he was not a fan of the CID and often stated that young detectives didn’t have much brawn or brains and depended on experienced uniform men like himself to get them out of trouble. Although Harris pretended to whisper to Moran it was obvious he wanted her to hear every word.
‘You do realize that Tennison is still a probationer and inexperienced, and when it comes to the ways of the CID she may not be up to scratch, evidentially, if you make an arrest?’
‘If you are suggesting my detectives would encourage a uniform officer to fabricate evidence then I very much resent your remark, Harris. Rest assured, her wellbeing will be paramount throughout the surveillance operation.’
Moran looked at his watch before continuing. ‘You’d better get a move on . . . the early turn duty sergeant will be waiting for you to relieve him.’
Harris gritted his teeth as he left the parade room. Moran gestured for Jane to sit down. He pulled over a chair for himself, using the back of it as an arm rest and swinging his legs either side. Although she didn’t know Moran, judging by his cheeky smile and snazzy suit, Jane had formed an early impression that he reckoned himself as a bit of a charmer. Moran pulled a pack of Players from his pocket, took two cigarettes out, put the pack back in his pocket, and offered one to Jane, who declined. He tucked the spare cigarette behind his ear and lit the other with a Zippo lighter. For a fraction of a second Jane remembered DCI Bradfield using a similar lighter. But the moment passed as Moran flicked his Zippo closed, inhaled on the cigarette and blew out a ring of smoke.
‘You obviously heard what I said to Sergeant Harris?’
Jane nodded. ‘Yes, sir, and I’d really like to work with you on your operation.’
‘A WDC from Dalston nick was going to act as the decoy tonight, but she went sick an hour ago and I need someone to replace her. A couple of the lads in the office recommended you as a bit of a looker, with a good arrest record,’ he said, in a serious voice.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she replied, slightly embarrassed.
‘There are obviously risks involved, but I can assure you that we will be watching you discreetly from an observation van. There will also be further backup nearby. But the choice is yours . . . if you don’t want to be a decoy, I totally understand and you’ll still be welcome on your two-week CID attachment.’
‘I’d be honoured to be a decoy, and I know your detectives will watch my back.’
Moran sat upright and slapped his hands on the back of the chair.
‘That’s great, darlin’ . . . and whether or not we arrest the pervert you can add the next three weekdays with us as additional to your CID attachment.’
‘Thank you, sir, I won’t let you down.’
‘I’m sure you won’t, but first you’ll need to get the right clobber together.’
‘OK,’ she said, wondering what he was going to say
