Hidden Killers. Lynda La plante
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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.
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 any more. 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. That’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 privately owned, 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 bannisters 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 towards 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 grey 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