Hidden Killers. Lynda La plante
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. so let’s get cracking.’
Jane and DC Edwards went down the stone-flagged corridor to the basement level where the cells were situated. The duty officer unlocked Allard’s cell. Allard seemed very depressed and was unable to make eye contact, especially with Jane. As he held his wrists out to the duty officer to be handcuffed he turned and, for the first time, looked directly at Jane. He spoke softly.
‘I am so sorry for what I did . . . I feel very ashamed . . .’
Surprised, Jane nodded. Edwards led Allard out of his cell, along the corridor and up the narrow concrete steps to DI Moran’s office on the first floor.
Moran got straight to the point and asked Allard if he was responsible for the recent spate of indecent assaults in London Fields and Victoria Park. Allard remained head bowed and flatly denied involvement in any assaults of any kind, even the one on ‘her’, he stated, pointing to Jane. He claimed that he heard the detectives saying at the time that they didn’t see what had happened between him and the woman because their view was blocked by the trees.
Jane couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Allard had just apologized to her, and now here he was shamefacedly denying it to Moran. She watched, incredulous, as he insisted that Jane was lying.
Allard stated that the male detectives believed her lie, and that they had planted a knife on him. Moran sat back and stared into Allard’s dark, angry eyes.
‘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 licence 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 licence 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 neighbour 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 towards 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 taken the piss, 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 defenceless 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 towards 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 offences 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 towards 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 fibres 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