Hidden Killers

by Lynda La Plante

  That’s rich coming from you, Jane thought to herself, as Moran left the room.

  After the usher closed the door Edwards looked at Jane with a worried expression.

  “Moran wants me to say I saw him search Allard at the scene of the arrest. He’s adamant he had the flick knife on him—”

  Jane shook her head as she interrupted Edwards. “But we both know you didn’t see him search Allard, and neither of us saw the knife until Moran produced it out of thin air in the charge room.”

  “Yeah, but if the confession wasn’t genuine then why would Allard even sign it? Allard could just be trying to muddy the waters and Moran could be telling the truth. Maybe we’re wrong.”

  “Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself? I agree it’s strange that Allard should sign a confession if it was false, but for all we know Moran could have threatened him about his wife and kids, or tricked him somehow . . . who knows? There’s no way I’m fabricating evidence and saying that I saw Allard searched at the scene, and neither should you. Like Moran just said, he’s the one who will take the flack . . . besides it’s his career on the line, not ours, if he’s lying.”

  “You’re right, Jane, and at the end of the day the magistrate will decide if there is enough evidence to commit for trial.”

  “Which is unlikely when you look at the facts of the rape compared to the indecent assaults. I took another look at the rape victim’s statement and the way he smelt of body odor and . . .”

  Edwards stood up and moved toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need the loo again,” Edwards said, as he hurried out of the room. Jane shouted after him to get her a coffee then continued reading over her notes. She was now feeling more nervous than before everything he had just said.

  When Edwards returned fifteen minutes later he looked pale, almost as if he’d been sick. Jane suspected he had, though she didn’t ask. She stood up and moved toward the door.

  “You need a pee as well?”

  “No, I asked you to get me a coffee. Do you want one?”

  “Sorry, I forgot. I’d better not have one in case I’m called next.”

  Jane went into the cell area of the court and asked the custody sergeant if she could get a coffee. He smiled and told her to help herself, but to leave five pence in the small metal tin next to the kettle. She took her time as she didn’t want to get into a deliberation about the case with DC Edwards, so she had a quick chat with a PC whom she recognized from the section house. As she returned to the officers’ waiting room with her coffee she crossed the entrance hall of the courts and saw Marie Allard coming out of Court One in floods of tears.

  “Are you all right, Marie?” Jane asked, as she approached her out of concern.

  Marie slowly looked up at Jane with a mixture of contempt and loathing in her eyes.

  “You all in this pack of lies together, aren’t you? You don’t care about the truth. My husband admitted the indecent assaults, but he never confessed to rape, did he?”

  Jane felt apprehensive. She didn’t really know what to say, but she was upset by the state Marie was in.

  “I don’t know, Marie . . . I wasn’t present when DI Moran took the confession.”

  “I just sat in there and listened to him lie. Peter deserve whatever he get for assaulting those poor women, but not to go to prison for years for something he not do.”

  “It may not come to that, Marie. The magistrate could decide there’s not enough evidence to send your husband for trial.”

  “And if he go to trial, what happen then? Will you stand up for him and tell truth?”

  Jane didn’t know what to say and regretted ever approaching Marie Allard. The courtroom door opened and the usher looked surprised to see Jane.

  “What do you think you’re doing, officer?” she asked.

  “I was just asking Mrs. Allard if she was all right, as she looked very upset.”

  “Well, you should not be speaking to the defendant’s wife—it is totally inappropriate. Now please return to the officers’ waiting room and tell DC Edwards he has been called to give evidence.”

  Jane felt distressed that she had made such a stupid error. She had been genuinely concerned about Marie Allard, but resigned herself that what was done was done and there was nothing untoward in her approach. As she entered the waiting room she told DC Edwards that he’d been called. Jane looked at him.

  “Brian, there’s something you need to know.”

  “What? What’s happened? Tell me quickly, before I go in there.”

  “I just got told off for speaking with Marie Allard . . . she was in an awful state.”

  “You what? How could you be so stupid? She might get called by the defense as a witness.”

  “I don’t think so. She was sitting in court listening to Moran give his evidence so she can’t be a witness.”

  “Of course she can—the magistrate may have allowed her to sit in as she could be giving evidence on her husband’s character.”

  “But I thought—”

  “Well, you thought wrong. For Christ’s sake, what did you say to her?” Edwards began to ask, as the waiting room door opened and the usher stood there with a frown.

  “I hope you two are not discussing the case, especially not Officer Tennison’s inappropriate conversation with Mrs. Allard?”

  “No,” Edwards replied, as he sheepishly left the room.

  Jane spent the next half-hour worrying about what she may now be asked and what to say when she was called. A part of her considered that maybe it would be some form of justice if her actions caused the rape case against Allard to be thrown out, but it could also be the end of any ambitions she had of ever joining the CID. It was over half an hour later before the usher came and collected Jane. As she walked into the court she could see Peter Allard looking forlorn in the dock, as did his wife who was now sitting in the public area. DI Moran and DC Edwards were seated in the corner of the room. Edwards looked nervous and avoided eye contact with Jane, whereas Moran had a smug grin on his face as if the case was going his way. As Jane entered the witness box the usher handed her a Bible and a card with the oath written on it. Jane raised the Bible in her right hand, looked over at Moran and read the oath.

  “I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Jane Tennison WPC 517 attached to Hackney Police Station.”

  Allard’s barrister stood up. “I am Anthony Nichols QC and represent Mr. Allard. May I say, officer, you read the oath with some conviction.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jane replied, glad that he had appreciated it in the manner she intended.

  “May I ask, though, why you directed it toward DI Moran and not the magistrate as is normal practice when an officer takes the oath?”

  Realizing her mistake Jane looked at the magistrate. “Sorry, sir, it was remiss of me.”

  The magistrate smiled. “That’s all right, officer. Please continue, Mr. Nichols.”

  “Well, let’s hope it was a faux pas, officer, as opposed to an inference toward the truthfulness of evidence that we have heard from DI Moran today.”

  Nichols was in his late forties, with fading red hair carefully combed over to hide its thinning. He wore a pinstripe suit and blue cotton shirt with a white collar.

  “My client wishes to express his deep regret about the indecent assault, not only on you but the other women, and that splitting your lip with his elbow during the arrest had not in any way been deliberate. However, he pleads guilty to that offense as, although it had been reckless behavior, it nevertheless constituted an assault on a police officer.”

  Jane said nothing in reply to the barrister’s remarks. Nichols flicked over a page in his notes, which were laid out on the table in front of him.

  “My only question to you about the arrest of Mr. Allard is whether or not at any time he had possession of a knife?”

  “He said he’d got a
knife.”

  “Yes, but did you see one, officer?”

  “Sorry, no . . . not until I was at the station.”

  “Did you physically search him at the station?”

  “No, DI Moran did.”

  “And you saw him find the flick knife on Mr. Allard at this point?”

  “No, I was in the police surgeon’s room treating my cut lip.”

  “Where was DC Edwards at this time?”

  “I assume he was in the charge room with DI Moran.”

  “Well, you assume wrong. According to the evidence he just gave he was in fact looking for the duty sergeant to come and book the prisoner in.”

  “I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “Were you aware that DI Moran searched Mr. Allard at the time of his arrest and allegedly found the flick knife in his possession?”

  “No, I only knew when DI Moran produced the knife from his own pocket in the charge room that he said he found it on the defendant.”

  Nichols was about to continue when the magistrate interrupted.

  “Is there any point in pursuing this line of questioning? DC Edwards has told you he saw DI Moran search the defendant at the scene and put something in his own pocket, but being dark he could not say what it was. It’s reasonable to assume it was the flick knife. DI Moran has stated that, because WPC Tennison was in such a distressed state having just been savagely attacked by your client, he decided it was best not to mention, or show her, the knife, until they had returned to the station.”

  “It is relevant, sir, because I believe that DI Moran left the charge room on the pretext of needing the toilet so he could get the flick knife to plant on Mr. Allard in his first step toward falsely implicating him in the rape.”

  “Well, DC Edwards has said that he never saw DI Moran leave the charge room, and although he went to get the custody sergeant he was certain the DI would never leave a prisoner alone, particularly for such serious offenses.”

  “Well, my client is adamant that DI Moran left the room briefly and I would argue that DC Edwards is lying.”

  The magistrate frowned.

  “And the officers argue that your client is lying, Mr. Nichols, but it is a matter for me to decide who is telling the truth or not. So please move on with your questioning of WPC Tennison.”

  Jane couldn’t believe what she had just heard and now understood why Edwards had avoided eye contact with her, and Moran had looked so smug when she entered the courtroom. She was nervously anticipating Mr. Nichols asking if she thought Edwards was lying and Moran had planted the knife but was surprised when, as advised by the magistrate, he changed his line of questioning.

  Nichols flicked over to another page of his notes and spoke in a begrudging tone.

  “Moving on as requested. Now, WPC Tennison, you were present during two interviews that DI Moran conducted with Mr. Allard?”

  “Yes.”

  “And would you accept that in the first interview he lied in essence because he was worried about what his wife would think of him?”

  “Yes, and I think that was why he gave us false details about who he really was.”

  “And in the second interview he admitted his crimes. Apart from the rape, that is?”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “And you contemporaneously recorded the interviews on the correct forms.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Did you ask Mr. Allard to read and sign the interview notes?”

  “After the first interview DI Moran asked him to and he did, but after the second interview I didn’t personally because—”

  “A confession to a number of indecent assaults and a denial to a violent rape, yet you didn’t follow one of the basic principles of the Judges’ Rules concerning the interrogation of a suspect?”

  “I had to take Allard back down to the cells and he was asking to make a phone call and to contact a solicitor—”

  “A solicitor he never got, yet was entitled to speak with under the Judges’ Rules. Tell me, WPC Tennison, do you even know what the Judges’ Rules are?”

  “Yes, we had to learn them at training school—”

  “Well, they obviously didn’t sink in where you’re concerned, did they?”

  Jane felt embarrassed and flustered. Although her experience in court was limited she knew Nichols was playing mind games with her.

  “It was remiss of me not to, and at the time I should have said something, but DI Moran was in charge of the case and didn’t mention the signing of the notes until later.”

  “When did you sign the notes of the second interview?”

  “The following morning.”

  “And when did DI Moran and my client sign them?”

  “I don’t know, but as I recall their signatures were already on each page when I signed them.”

  “Were you present when the alleged confession was made to, and recorded by, DI Moran?”

  “No.”

  “Have you taken part in a conspiracy with your colleagues to frame an innocent man with a crime he did not commit?”

  “No, I have not,” Jane replied strongly, resenting his accusation.

  “Do you think DI Moran has fabricated evidence and been supported in his lies by DC Edwards?”

  Jane had no choice but to pause and think how she should best answer the question. She now knew that Brian Edwards had lied to the court, yet in some ways she sympathized with him and realized it was probably down to the fear of being ostracized by his colleagues. As for Moran, she knew deep down he had lied and looking up she could see the expression on his face. It was then that Jane wanted to shout out at the top of her voice “Moran is a liar,” but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t ruin her own career on a gut feeling with no evidence.

  “I’m surprised the question is something you have to think about, officer, as the answer should be a simple yes or no,” Nichols said with arrogance, pushing her for a reply.

  “Sorry, I was upset by your insinuation that I or my colleagues were in any way dishonest. So the answer to your question is no.”

  “Do you know Marie Allard?”

  “Yes.”

  “And have spoken with her on three occasions, I believe?”

  The magistrate stopped taking notes and looked up at Mr. Nichols.

  “According to the papers I have read, WPC Tennison only met Marie Allard when she went to search the house.”

  Nichols now informed the magistrate that on the morning of Peter Allard’s first court appearance Jane spoke briefly with Marie outside the police station and then again at court this morning. The magistrate looked perturbed and asked Jane what the conversation was about. Before Jane could answer, Nichols informed him that Mrs. Allard said WPC Tennison innocently asked how she was, and after expressing her concerns about the evidence against Mr. Allard, WPC Tennison had said that the magistrate might decide there was not enough evidence to send the rape charge for trial.

  The magistrate gave Jane a stern look before continuing. “And what makes you think that, officer?”

  Again, Nichols added fuel to the fire with a haughty smile. “Exactly what I was wondering, sir, and may I also add that at the meeting outside the station WPC Tennison seemed surprised and somewhat shocked when Mrs. Allard informed her that her husband had allegedly confessed to DI Moran.”

  Jane looked crestfallen. She knew Nichols had belittled her and her evidence, yet in other ways she knew she’d dug a hole for herself. Now she wished it would open further and swallow her up so she could get away from what was becoming an intimidating and uncomfortable experience. Jane knew that, after her earlier answer about DI Moran and DC Edwards, she had to avoid intimating they had lied, even if it meant dropping herself further in the mire. She took a deep breath before continuing.

  “I read all the indecent assault victims’ statements and compared them with my own experience at the hands of the defendant. It seems to me that his actions, accent and words used differed from those carried out
in the rape. The flick knife was actually seen and physically used in the rape and the assailant wore a balaclava, as opposed to a stocking mask like the defendant did when arrested by me.”

  Mr. Nichols nodded. “Very astute, officer, and apart from the false confession, an argument I was going to put forward as to why there is not a prima facie case or evidence to commit Mr. Allard to the Old Bailey for trial.”

  The magistrate did not look best pleased with either Jane or Mr. Nichols. Jane could sense that no matter what Mr. Nichols said, or even if she herself had stated that she believed Moran had fabricated the evidence, there was no way the case was not going to be committed for trial.

  The magistrate removed his glasses and put them down on the desk.

  “I have read the police report, as well as all the victims’ statements, the defendant’s interviews and his confession. At first Allard lied about the attack on WPC Tennison, then he lied about who he was and where he lived, facts he has since admitted. Once faced with insurmountable evidence, and the knowledge that his wife knew of his crimes regarding the indecent assaults, he capitulated and admitted his guilt. But he still denied the more serious crime of rape. It seems to me that there is always the possibility that his guilt eventually weighed so heavy that he did indeed confess to the rape. I see no reason why he would sign a false confession. However, that said, it is for a jury to determine guilt or innocence and from the evidence I have heard and reviewed so far the rape charge will be committed to the Old Bailey for trial.”

  Nichols did not look pleased and asked if he could bring one further thing to the magistrate’s attention.

  “If you must, Mr. Nichols, but I fail to see what you can add to change my mind.”

  Nichols now asked the usher to hand Jane a photocopy of the original second interview and said he wanted her to look at the bottom of each page and confirm that she had signed each and every page. As Jane flicked through the document the magistrate asked Nichols what the purpose of the exercise was, as the defendant was not challenging anything asked or said in either of the interviews contemporaneously recorded by WPC Tennison. Nichols asked him to bear with him for a couple more minutes.