Hidden Killers Page 6

  “Come on, we both know you’re lying, John. Oh sorry, forgive me . . . I mean Peter . . . It is Peter Allard I’m speaking to, isn’t it?”

  The use of his proper name caused a visible nervous twitch in Allard’s face. Moran leaned across the table.

  “Bet you’re wondering what else we know about you, Peter?”

  Allard shook his head and stupidly denied that was his name. Moran laughed.

  “Peter, you’re digging a bigger hole for yourself—your prints have been matched to a set held at the Yard from your previous arrest for ABH during a pub fight. You hit a young woman, didn’t you?”

  Allard once again demanded a phone call. Moran casually remarked that he wasn’t allowed to call anyone until he admitted his true identity and told them where he lived. Then he could call whoever he liked. Allard looked worried as Moran pulled the green license tag from his pocket and started to swing it like a pendulum in front of Allard.

  “We found this in a black cab that was parked up by London Fields, which is currently being forensically examined in our yard. This tag, and the license number on the cab, are both registered to you.”

  Allard hung his head. Moran pressed on.

  “WPC Tennison here, who you state is a liar, did a little digging . . . she even went to your old home address and spoke to a neighbor who remembered you, as well as your dad, who was also a cab driver. WPC Tennison checked with the Public Carriage Office and obtained your home address in Walthamstow. Take a look at this photograph, Peter . . . nice-looking woman and two kids . . . look at it. Chinese, is she?”

  Allard pressed back in his chair.

  “What . . . you married to a slitty eyed chinky woman, are you?”

  Allard was now shaking. “I’m not married, I don’t have kids, and my name is John.”

  Moran slapped the desk hard with the flat of his hand. “Start telling the truth . . . the more you lie, the worse it gets. There’s no way out for the attack on WPC Tennison—you’ll be going to prison.”

  Allard said nothing. Moran swung around in his chair, then rocked back and forth for a moment before continuing.

  “You gave a false name because you needed time to think about what you were going to tell your chinky girlfriend. In fact, the reason you asked to make a phone call, before we found out who you really were, was not to contact a solicitor but to call your chinky woman with a fabricated story.”

  “She’s not Chinese . . . ! She’s Filipino!”

  “Ahhhh, Filipino eh? Are these two kids yours?”

  “Yes . . . And her name is Marie. I want to tell her the truth before you bastards lie about me to her. She’ll know I’ve been fitted up!”

  “Fitted up? Look what you did to WPC Tennison’s face!” Moran exclaimed, pointing to Jane.

  She stared toward Allard as he lowered his head. His fists were clenched and Jane could feel the animosity and rage in him as he fought to maintain control.

  “At last we get the revelation that Marie is your wife, and you are obviously Peter Allard? Well, for me it’s all a bit late in the day . . . you’ve lied to me, Peter. So, when we execute our search warrant at your home WPC Tennison will be telling your wife that you are a pervert, and that you attacked her and split her lip. Then there’s all the other defenseless women whose lives are in a mess because of what you did to them.”

  Allard started to open and close his tight balled fists and tilted his head sideways to look toward Jane. He stared at her, his eyes shifting as if unable to recognize her as the woman he had assaulted.

  “You can deny everything at the Old Bailey if you want, but no jury in the world will believe you over us. If you’re found guilty you will go down for a long time, but for how long is in your hands. Admitting all the indecent assault offenses will be a plus for you in the judge’s eyes, and I’ll even put in a good word about how you helped us before he sentences you.”

  “I keep telling you, I’ve got nothing to admit to—”

  Moran pushed the picture of Marie and the children closer to Allard.

  “Take a good look at your children, because you won’t be seeing them for a long time . . . probably not even after you’re eventually released. Not once your wife sees you for the pervert that you really are. But, if you admit all your crimes I may not have to tell her every sickening detail about what you did. I might even let her visit you in the cells . . .”

  There was a long pause. Moran glanced toward Jane who was making copious notes. He picked up the photograph and tapped the desk with the edge of it, waiting. Eventually Allard sighed and slowly looked up.

  “This is the God’s honest truth. I used my dad’s first name cos he’d passed away and had never been in any trouble. The ABH on the woman in the pub was years ago, and I only pushed her but she fell and cut her head on a table. Marie doesn’t know about it, and I didn’t want her to be hurt by the police lies about the ABH, like my parents were. I never did anything wrong . . . I’ve been stitched up, and you can’t make me admit to something that I haven’t done.”

  “Tell me what a cab driver was doing up a tree in London Fields in the middle of the night?”

  Allard pointed to Jane. “She made that up . . . you even said yourself that she didn’t see me. I felt ill, so I parked my cab and went for a walk. She approached me and asked if I wanted sex. She started screaming and then you lot turned up and kicked the shit out of me, for nothing.”

  “Fine, you keep on lying . . . but your clothing and the stocking mask have gone to forensics and will be checked to see if any of the fibers on them match those recovered from the clothing of the other indecent assault victims . . . and the young girl who was raped.”

  “I want to make a phone call, I want to speak with a solicitor!” Allard’s voice was raw and edgy.

  Annoyed that Allard wouldn’t break, Moran ordered him to be taken back down to the cells. Two uniform officers came to escort him, and as he walked out he turned and stared at Jane.

  “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you lying?” Allard had a pitiful expression on his face, as his dark eyes held hers for a moment, then he turned away as he was escorted out of Moran’s office. Jane asked if she really was going to be the one to tell Allard’s wife what happened. Moran sighed and said that if Allard had confessed she would have been, but as he hadn’t been broken yet, Moran would tell Allard’s wife and when she had a meltdown Jane could talk to her while they searched the house. He also remarked that he wouldn’t be surprised if the wife had been knocked about and, as so often happens in domestic violence cases, she was probably too scared to report it and was in self-denial.

  Jane wondered why, during the interview, Moran never asked Allard any direct questions about the rape of the teenage girl. She approached the question from a more discreet angle.

  “If you’ll be questioning Allard in more detail about the rape, sir, could I sit in again?”

  “We’ll see. I was hoping he’d confess to the indecent assaults, then I could use the similar facts in each case to press him further about the rape, and maybe even charge him with it. Though it would be a bit of a wing and a prayer if it got to trial.”

  Moran instructed Jane to type up the report of the interview, after which she was to accompany him and Edwards on the search of Allard’s home.

  Chapter Four

  Jane struck the typewriter keys angrily as she typed up her report recording Allard’s refusal to admit his assault against her. Her stomach rumbled as she hadn’t had time for lunch, and the lack of sleep the previous night was catching up with her, but as she detailed Allard’s accusation that she was the one lying, she didn’t feel so tired anymore. Instead she couldn’t wait to go on the search to his house and prove he was guilty of the crimes he wouldn’t admit. Jane stood up and was just rolling the report out of the typewriter when DI Moran and DC Edwards stopped by the incident room. Moran gestured to her.

  “Get your coat, Tennison, we’ve got a search warrant for Allard’s house. Tha
t’s the good news. The bad news is that it’s quite a trek to bloody Walthamstow.”

  Before Jane could reply Moran and Edwards had continued down the corridor. Jane looked longingly at the sandwich and cup of coffee on her desk. She was ravenous, so she grabbed the sandwich in one hand, and her hat and coat in the other. As Harris passed the doorway, he looked in.

  “You’d better not think about eating that in the patrol car, Tennison . . .”

  Jane sighed and hurriedly took a few large bites of her sandwich before putting the remainder of it back on the plate on her desk, and rushing out to the yard to join Moran and Edwards.

  The Allards’ home in Walthamstow was a three-bedroom semi-detached house. It had a rather neglected front garden, which appeared to be the norm in that street. Moran parked the car and got out, followed by Jane, Edwards and the SOCO. Moran banged on the front door, which was answered by a petite, attractive Asian woman.

  “I’m DI Moran, are you Marie Allard?”

  “Yes, I am.” The woman looked frightened. “Oh my God! Has something happened to Peter? He not come home and I been worried sick . . .”

  Moran interrupted, saying that her husband had been arrested and that he had a warrant to search the premises. He handed her a copy of the warrant as he pushed the door open and walked in, followed by the three others.

  The inside of the premises was well kept, with the usual children’s toys scattered about. The hall had parquet flooring, with a floral printed runner that continued up the stairs. The banisters were painted white and large framed pictures of the Allard children hung on the white walls. The children, aged eight and five, were out in the garden playing with an older woman. Marie pointed to the living room and asked them to go in. Moran went first, followed by Jane. Edwards and the SOCO remained in the hall. The room had a distinct oriental influence, with bamboo furniture, various fake potted plants, and a print of Vladimir Tretchikoff’s “Chinese Girl.” There was a pale green rug, and on the windowsill in the corner was a gaudy statue of the Virgin Mary standing next to a cheap vase containing a velvet rose. Moran asked Marie to sit down.

  He didn’t waste time and explained that her husband had been arrested for a number of sexual assaults and rape. Marie couldn’t believe what she was hearing, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Do you understand English, Mrs. Allard? You’re Filipino, aren’t you?”

  Marie looked affronted at Moran’s questions and replied curtly.

  “Yes, course I understand you . . . I already spoken to you. I just in shock. My husband is gentle man and never hurt me or my children.”

  Moran pointed to Jane and told Marie that her “gentle” husband had attacked and molested WPC Tennison, threatened to cut her throat with a knife and punched her in the face. Marie looked shocked. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing and kept repeating, “No . . . you wrong, you wrong . . . it not true.” Moran continued and told her that if he hadn’t been stopped he would have raped WPC Tennison as, it was suspected, he had done on a previous occasion to a teenage girl.

  Marie was shaking uncontrollably. Her dark curly hair had a low fringe and she kept touching her forehead and tugging at a stray curl. She looked at Jane, her eyes welling up with tears, as if wanting her to say it wasn’t true.

  Jane was surprised by Moran’s directness toward Marie. It was as if he’d had enough of being messed around by Peter Allard and was determined to get to the truth, by whatever means necessary.

  Jane touched her cut lip and spoke softly. “It is true, Mrs. Allard. He did this to me, and he had a knife in his possession. I believed at the time that he would have raped me, but for my colleagues’ intervention.”

  Marie was clearly in a state of shock and started to cry. At that moment the children rushed in, stopping when they saw their mother. Marie tried to smile and assured them that she was fine and had just had a bit of bad news.

  “I’m sorry, children, come here.” Hilda Allard followed the children into the room. Seeing Marie’s distress she, like her daughter-in-law, immediately thought something had happened to her son, Peter. Moran was as blunt with her as he had been with Marie. He explained that he would need to search the house, including the children’s bedroom, and it would be best if their gran took them out for a walk. Hilda flatly refused and insisted that she wanted to be with her daughter-in-law. She was quite overweight with tight permed gray hair and big raw hands. Marie was struggling to control her emotions, but took a deep breath and turned to her mother-in-law.

  “It OK, Hilda, I be OK . . . Maybe it best if you take children to your place, and I call you later.”

  Hilda was hesitant but eventually agreed. After removing her apron and collecting her handbag she left the house with the children. Moran waited until the front door closed behind them before asking Marie, in a softer tone than before, if her husband had ever abused her. Marie shook her head, her wide dark eyes blinking rapidly.

  “No! Never! We been married for ten years . . .” Moran sat beside Marie and kept his voice quiet.

  “Is it all right if I call you Marie?” She nodded and he continued.

  “Women who are abused, or frightened of their husbands, are often in denial and say nothing because of fear of further violence. Your husband committed a violent sexual assault last night, and similarly other assaults he is suspected of, as well as a rape. These were all committed late in the evening, between ten and midnight. Were you never concerned about what Peter was doing out late at night?”

  “He drive a cab and always work evening shifts, some time until early hours. Then he can be with the children in the day. I only worried this morning when he not come home.”

  Moran glanced at Jane and, turning back to Marie, asked if she had a normal, healthy, sexual relationship with her husband. Marie looked offended and shook her head.

  “My sex life not to do with you.”

  Moran shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it can’t have been that great if he had to go out and attack other women.”

  Marie became tight lipped and continued to tug at her hair, winding the strands through her fingers in an almost obsessive manner. Moran got up from the sofa, walked over to Jane and stood with his back to Marie. Leaning forward, in a hushed voice, he said to her, “I think she’s hiding something . . . I want you to stay with her and see if you can get her to open up. I’ll go and search upstairs with Edwards and the SOCO.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She felt that Moran had been a bit harsh on Marie as she may have been totally unaware of what her husband was like outside his home life. It seemed unlikely to Jane, by the state Marie was in, that she would deliberately portray a loving family façade to protect her husband. When the others had left the room Jane sat down beside her, saying softly that the news must be an awful shock for her and asking if she would like a cup of tea or coffee. Marie shook her head, and without looking at Jane asked if her husband really had attacked her.

  Jane hesitated before answering.

  “Yes, he did . . . but my split lip happened while he was trying to escape, so it may have been accidental . . .”

  “I can’t believe it! He never been violent toward me . . . never in all our time together. We’ve known each other since we were teenagers.”

  “So are you saying that your husband has never hit you?”

  “Never! I keep telling you, he is very gentle, kind, man. And he take care of us, here in our nice house.”

  “Do you own this house?”

  “No, we rent it. We been here five years. Before that we had very nice house in Maidstone.”

  “I’m so sorry but I need to ask you some embarrassing questions about your sex life.”

  Marie began to frantically twist the curl on her forehead between her fingers. Without looking at Jane she asked if their discussion was confidential and just between the two of them.

  “Yes, Marie, it is completely confidential.”

  Jane felt bad knowing that she would later have t
o report whatever Marie told her to DI Moran.

  Marie took a deep breath, stopped nervously twisting her hair and looked at Jane.

  “He always been gentle in bed, and even though we not have sex recently, he never been pushy or forced himself on me. He would never do that . . . he always very thoughtful, even now when . . .” She stopped and Jane sensed she was holding back about something.

  “What did you mean when you said you hadn’t had sex recently?” Jane asked gently.

  Marie continued, saying that it had been about six months. She had an ovarian cyst, which made sex very painful, and she was waiting for an operation on the NHS.

  Jane sympathized.

  “I am so sorry, Marie. I had an aunt with the same problem, and I remember she said it was extremely painful. So if you couldn’t have sexual intercourse in the normal way, did you try any other methods?”

  Marie blushed and bowed her head, deeply embarrassed as she continued explaining that although they couldn’t have full sex she regularly pleasured her husband with masturbation and oral sex.

  “He want me to try anal sex but it hurt too much, so he stopped and he never ask again. You see what I mean about him being kind and gentle?”

  “And you were never suspicious when he was out late at night?”

  “No, never. He sometimes call me three or four times to make sure I am OK.”

  “Thank you for your honesty, Marie.”

  Marie seemed relieved to have discussed such personal matters, and was calmer now. “Please, tell me what my husband has done? I can’t believe it.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t go into the details of the investigation.”

  “Please . . . I need to know, to try and make sense . . . Why you here? Why you searching my home?”

  “All I can tell you, Marie, is that your husband is adamant he didn’t commit any indecent assaults or rape . . . but he did attack me.”

  Marie looked perplexed. “If he didn’t do them, then why he attack you?”

  “I don’t know . . . only he can answer that. You need to ask him yourself, Marie. They might let you speak to him if you visit the station later. Here’s my contact information at the station—please call me if you have any questions or want to tell me anything else.”