Hidden Killers

by Lynda La Plante

  Jane scribbled her details onto a clean page in her notebook, which she then tore out and gave to Marie.

  As Marie put the folded note into her pocket DI Moran walked back into the room. “We’ve searched yours and the children’s bedrooms, but why is the third bedroom locked?”

  “My husband uses it as a gym, he didn’t want the children going there and hurting themselves on the equipment.”

  “Do you have the key?”

  “I don’t know where he keeps it.”

  “Isn’t that a bit strange? That your husband wouldn’t tell you where the key was?”

  “I don’t know, not really.” Marie shrugged.

  Moran looked at her hard, then left the room to go back upstairs.

  Jane noticed that Marie had become very tense, her hands clenched at her side. Suddenly there was a loud crashing sound from upstairs as the officers kicked open the locked door. Marie was on her feet in an instant, running up the stairs and shouting at them to stop ruining her house. Jane followed to try to calm her down. The bedroom door had partially come away from its hinges and the lock lay on the floor among splinters of wood. Inside the small room was a five-foot-high thick wooden pole with bits of rounded twelve-inch wooden handles sticking out of it. Two rectangular leather bags of sand were screwed into the wall and hanging above them was a collection of martial arts swords, and two wooden sticks connected at one end by a short chain. On another wall were pictures of Bruce Lee and other martial arts posters from the film Enter the Dragon.

  DC Edwards was looking around the room.

  “What the fuck is all this?” He pointed to the wooden figure in the middle of the room.

  The SOCO grinned. “That’s a Wing Chun dummy, for practicing martial arts. Some of the indentation marks on it are from a knife. The wooden things on a chain are nunchucks, and the sand bags are for karate punching.”

  Moran and Edwards looked at each other, bemused.

  “You into all this martial arts crap then?” Moran asked.

  The SOCO shrugged. “Not really . . . I just like watching martial arts films. If your man uses this sort of gear a lot, then his hands and feet are lethal weapons.”

  Moran looked at Marie who was hovering in the doorway.

  “Does he spend much time in here?”

  She nodded, saying that her husband practiced martial arts and used the equipment regularly.

  “He a keep fit fanatic, and he not even drink.”

  Moran looked inside the wardrobe. There was a small travel suitcase on a shelf. He pulled it down and found that it was locked. He turned to Marie.

  “I don’t suppose you know where the key to this is either?”

  Before she could answer he grabbed one of the large knives from the wall and cut the material on top of the case open, ripping it back to expose the contents.

  Inside the travel case were a number of pornographic magazines, together with a clear plastic bag containing a quantity of pills. Concealed in the middle of the magazines were two folding pocket knives. Moran hadn’t seen this type of knife before, and looked at Edwards while he held them up. The SOCO interjected.

  “They’re called balisongs, guv, originating from the Philippines and used in martial arts. I’d guess the pills are steroids of some sort. They’re not illegal, though, a lot of body builders use them and—”

  Moran interrupted him. “Yes, I know what steroids are, thank you . . . they also affect a man’s sex drive and make them violent. All makes sense as far as our suspect is concerned.”

  Edwards picked up one of the magazines and flicked through it, hastily dropping it back in the case.

  “Ugh, some of the pages are stuck together!”

  Moran had seen enough and instructed the SOCO to bag up the weapons and suitcase with its contents as evidence. He looked at Jane and, not caring that Marie was still within earshot, asked about their discussion about her sex life. Marie looked forlornly at Jane, hoping that she wouldn’t reveal details about the private conversation they’d had. Moran had put Jane on the spot, and she hesitated, looking at Marie as he became impatient for an answer.

  “Come on, out with it!” Jane tapped Moran’s elbow.

  “Sir, could I possibly have a word with you in private?”

  “What?”

  “Marie is incredibly shy, but she has admitted that they have been unable to have sexual intercourse for some time.”

  Moran looked quizzically at Jane.

  “For Chrissakes, Tennison! She’s going to be cross-examined in court if she gives evidence for the defense. If she can’t tell me about it, you tell me.”

  Jane looked at Marie regretfully, sad that she was having to breach her confidence so openly.

  She went on to tell Moran about Marie’s ovarian cyst, how she pleasured her husband, and that he’d asked her for anal sex. Moran gestured toward one of the hardcore magazines entitled Anal Pleasures and, holding it up sarcastically, said that it was obvious where her husband got that idea from. An embarrassed and tearful Marie looked at Jane with disgust, saying that if they’d finished searching they could get out of her house. By now Moran had really lost his patience and held up more of the magazines in front of her.

  “You see the sort of filth that your husband likes to look at and wank over, Mrs. Allard . . . just because you can’t satisfy him? He takes these pills and gets so worked up he prowls the streets in a mask then molests and rapes defenseless young women. I find it hard to believe you didn’t suspect something was wrong.”

  Marie began sobbing and demanded that they get out of the house.

  “I not want you here anymore . . . You bad people . . . You been in my children’s bedroom.”

  In the car Moran was jubilant at what they had uncovered. Although circumstantial, the porn magazines and the steroid pills were all good enough evidence to show Allard’s state of mind and propensity to commit sexual assaults. Jane was quiet and Moran asked her what the problem was.

  “I’m sorry but I just felt for Mrs. Allard. In effect she is an innocent victim. I mean, maybe at one time her husband was a good man.”

  “Grow up! That’s utter bollocks! There have probably been more sexual assaults carried out by him in and around London that we don’t know about. Indecent assault wasn’t enough for him so he went on to rape, and if we hadn’t caught him when we did there would have been more rapes and probably a murder committed by him as well. Mrs. Allard’s state of mind is not your problem. Her husband brought this on himself and if she at any point suspected something was amiss she should have told someone. Like that tough-looking mother-in-law . . . judging by the size of her hands I wouldn’t be surprised if she could give someone a walloping.”

  It was nearly 4 p.m. when they returned to the station.

  “You both head up to the canteen and get something to eat while you write up your notes. I’ll join you after I’ve booked in the property we seized from Allard’s house,” DI Moran instructed DC Edwards and Jane.

  Sergeant Harris was at his desk in the front office and on seeing Moran he mentioned, “Allard has been asking to speak with a solicitor.”

  “I want to do a further interview first, before getting a solicitor involved,” Moran replied as they walked together through to the charge room.

  “But now we know Allard’s identity and address he should legally be allowed to consult with a solicitor,” Harris pushed.

  “I know the rules, Sergeant Harris, but with the evidence I found at Allard’s house, and what his wife told us, I reckon I can get him to confess to all the indecent assaults . . . and the rape. A solicitor is just going to tell him to say nothing.”

  “I’ll stick my neck out if you think you can get him to roll over. I’ll mark up on his sheet that he hasn’t requested a solicitor. He’s allowed one phone call so let me tell him that after the search of his house his wife was in a hell of a state and he should phone her. You never know, it might work in your favor and get him to finally tell the truth
.”

  Moran was on a high so he told Harris to go ahead, as after what he’d said to Allard’s wife she probably thought her precious husband was now the scum of the earth. He also hoped that her emotional distress would make Allard feel at his lowest ebb, and that would make it easier to break him during an interview.

  Moran put the small traveling case down on the charge room table, opened it up and showed Harris the pornographic magazines, balisong knives and the tablets. Harris picked up a magazine and flicked through it, pausing here and there to take a good look. Moran asked Harris if he’d mind listing the property as he wanted to get some food in his stomach before the second interview with Allard. Harris nodded and asked how Tennison was. Moran shrugged.

  “She needs to toughen up a bit.”

  Surprised by Moran’s comment Harris remarked, “Jane must have thought she was going to be raped, though.”

  “No, not about that . . . she was terrific last night. But her attitude with Mrs. Allard . . . she was a bit soft and kind of pussy-footed around with the woman. I think she needs to be tougher in those kind of situations and not get emotionally involved.”

  “You know Tennison has expressed an interest in joining the CID, but I don’t think she’s ready for it yet. What do you think?” Harris asked.

  “In some ways I agree. She’s obviously not afraid of the rough end of the job, but investigative-wise she’s got a lot to learn yet, which could make her a liability in certain situations.”

  Harris didn’t need to say anything. He knew what Moran meant by “certain situations” and finding missing evidence if and when necessary. Moran went up to the canteen, leaving Harris checking over the items from the suitcase. It was quite a lengthy process as he was spending time studying the porno magazines, and paying even more attention to the fitness and body building magazines.

  DS Lawrence had called from the lab to say that they had found fibers from the suspect’s clothes on two of the indecent assault victims, but nothing, as yet, connecting him to the rape. Moran, accompanied by Jane, got ready to re-interview Allard. Harris informed them that Allard had phoned his wife and had spoken with her for at least ten minutes, and appeared to be quite distressed both during and after the call. Harris had tried to listen in but it was difficult as he was booking in a noisy drunk who kept singing “Underneath the Arches” at the top of his voice. However, Harris said that he thought Allard may have confessed to his wife, and most surprisingly he hadn’t asked for a solicitor after the call.

  Moran booked out the property seized from the martial arts room for the interview. A clearly subdued Allard was brought up from the cells and taken to Moran’s office.

  Moran opened the interview by getting right to the point. “Have you changed your mind and decided to finally tell the truth and admit these assaults?”

  “Why were you so horrible to my wife?”

  “You’ve no one but yourself to blame for this situation. If you had admitted the offenses before we went to your house then things may have been different,” Moran calmly responded.

  The suitcase was then placed on the desk in front of Allard.

  “Do the porn magazines and the two martial arts knives belong to you?”

  “Yeah. I like to keep fit by training at Wing Chun. I use the balisong knives and nunchucks on the wooden dummy I have in the spare room.”

  Moran glanced at Jane as she made notes.

  “Thing is, Peter, that doesn’t explain the hardcore porn magazines,” Moran said in an amiable way, which surprised Jane after his approach and attitude in the first interview and at the house during the search.

  “I bought them from a sex shop in Soho.”

  “For masturbating?”

  Allard looked embarrassed and said nothing.

  “OK, Peter, I understand that you’re embarrassed, but I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ What can you tell me about these pills . . . are they steroids?”

  Allard nodded.

  “Tell me, did you feel an even greater sexual urge when you took them, as opposed to looking at the porn?”

  “I took them because they helped me train longer and harder, and gave me greater muscle definition, all right? It’s not illegal to buy them.”

  “Maybe not, but we know about the problems with your sex life at home. Listen, Peter, I can understand how frustrated you must have felt . . . all pent up and in need of sex . . . it must have really pissed you off not getting sex from your wife?”

  Allard tightened his lips, clenched his teeth and took a deep breath.

  “None of this is her fault, none of it. She didn’t know what I was doing and just thought I was out working nights in the cab.”

  “Did you tell her what you’d done when you called her on the phone earlier?”

  Allard slowly lowered his head, then replied that his wife had told him to tell the truth.

  Moran nodded. “She’s right, Peter, because it will be better for you in the long run. So take your time and go slowly . . . WPC Tennison will be writing down your confessions.”

  Allard kept his head lowered, eyes to the ground, as he explained that he had tried to cope with his wife being unable to have full sex with him. He even appeared to be embarrassed when he said that they had found ways round it.

  Moran tapped the desk. “I know—she told us she’d give you a hand or a blow job instead . . . but I’m more interested in the women you forced yourself on.”

  Jane saw Allard tighten his hands into fists. He appeared sickened at the way Moran had spoken about his wife, and Jane watched with interest as Allard took deep breaths to calm himself down, breathing in through his nose and holding it before releasing it through his mouth with a slight hissing sound.

  “OK . . . it started because I wanted to stop the feeling of anger . . . my frustration . . . understand? I paid prostitutes for sex in the back of the cab. Anyway, one night this tart ripped me off by snatching my money bag and running off. You know, I honest to God despised myself for what I was doing, but this slag angered me so much. I mean, she got away with a whole day’s takings, and I’d done two runs to Heathrow Airport. So I decided I’d take what I wanted from prostitutes without paying, as they would be unlikely to tell the police. I would park my cab near known prostitute haunts, dress up in dark clothes and watch them. When one walked away from a group, or her pimp, I reckoned she was probably going home and I would follow. I’d put on the stocking mask, grab them from behind and feel their tits while I touched my dick.”

  “It turned you on and you masturbated.”

  Allard nodded and Moran looked over at Jane to see if she was keeping up with taking down the details. She continued writing for a moment before giving him a small nod to continue. Moran leaned back in his chair. He spoke in a very matter-of-fact tone.

  “Well, Peter, seems you underestimated the two prostitutes who came forward to report you. And two of your other victims were not on the game, they were just young women innocently walking home after an enjoyable night out or, as in the case of your arrest, a WPC acting as a decoy. You following me, Peter? Because, apart from WPC Tennison, you have destroyed those women’s lives and they’re now afraid to leave their homes.”

  Allard looked shocked and tried to explain that from the way they were dressed he thought that they were all prostitutes.

  “Well, you were wrong. So how about you start helping me out by giving me full details of your attacks? That means I need you to describe the victims and where and when the attacks occurred.”

  Allard started talking. It transpired that there had been two other attacks the police didn’t even know about. Moran tapped the desk with his pencil as if mulling over everything he had just heard.

  “OK, I notice that you haven’t admitted exactly what you did to these women.”

  Allard shook his head. He took another long deep breath before he said quietly that he felt ashamed and found the details difficult to talk about.

  Moran leaned closer to Allard. “
OK, Peter, I can understand you have feelings of guilt, who wouldn’t, but see how much better you feel after telling the truth about what you did?”

  Allard nodded.

  “And I can also understand that it must be even harder for you to admit to rape. I took a statement from the young victim . . . it was harrowing, even for me, so don’t make her relive the whole thing in court. Tell me the truth . . . tell me exactly what happened, in your own words.”

  Allard looked Moran in the eye then slowly turned to face Jane. For the first time she noticed that without that flare of anger in his face, Allard was exceptionally good-looking. His thick hair was well cut, he had high cheekbones with wide apart, deep set, dark brown eyes, and when he lowered them in a submissive manner he had long, thick eyelashes.

  “I have never raped anyone and I am so sorry for what I did to you . . . I honestly never meant to hurt you. I was just trying to get away . . . please believe me. I am truly sorry.”

  Jane jumped as Moran suddenly banged the flat of his hand down on the desk.

  “You scared the shit out of her! If she hadn’t resisted and we weren’t there you would have raped her, wouldn’t you?”

  Allard looked shocked.

  “No . . . No! I swear before God, I never raped any of the women! That was never on my mind. I only touched them and masturbated.”

  “Indecent assault wasn’t enough for you . . . you wanted more. You needed full sex to satisfy your urges and the only way you’d get that is by raping a young girl.”

  “No . . . No, you’re wrong, I—”

  “Then why did you have a flick knife on you? The exact same type of knife that the teenage rape victim described seeing?”

  Allard began twisting uncomfortably in the chair.

  “Please! . . . I didn’t commit any rapes! You know I wasn’t carrying a knife. I’ve never carried a knife, not even in my cab.” He nodded toward Jane. “I only told her and the others I was carrying one so they wouldn’t scream!”