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’
