The Spear of Destiny

Chapter THREE



Peter Dennis sat quietly at the table in the interview room at South Kensington police station. A mug of hot coffee in front of him. Standing by the door was a uniformed police officer who hadn’t moved in fifteen minutes.

Dennis stared at him. The man still not moving, staring stonily ahead. After a few minutes he lowered his gaze and met Dennis’ eyes for a few seconds and then resumed his staring at the wall opposite. Dennis rolled his eyes and sighed with boredom. Apart from the policeman, the steaming coffee, the chairs opposite and the tape recorders there was nothing else in the room to focus on. Dennis stared at the policeman again who sighed through his nose and moved his feet slightly which Dennis took as a sign of irritation. Finally and extremely bored, the journalist put his hands behind his head, his elbows pushed out at right angles, and rocked back in his chair until it was on two legs. He stared at the ceiling while blowing out his breath.

There was a click and the door opened. A tall man in a dark suit and a very attractive, short haired, woman, also in a suit entered the room. The man carried a large folder which he placed in the middle of the table.

“And about time too.”

“Mr Dennis. Sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m detective Inspector Mark Jones and this is detective Sergeant Rachel Harding of the Metropolitan police.”

Dennis smiled at the female, then said.

“You haven’t introduced the goon at the door.”

Jones, who was in the process of sitting, stopped dead in his tracks.

“Mr Dennis this is no laughing matter and may I remind you that you are under caution.”

“Yes. Yes. I had my rights read to me. I have seen the movies. Have I been charged?”

“Not yet. I would like to remind you Mr Dennis that you were arrested at the scene of an armed robbery where a security official was murdered and when arrested by armed officers you did have, in your possession, an illegal firearm….”

“Which wasn’t mine,” Dennis cut in.

“….Which is a very serious crime,“ Jones continued, “However for the moment let us just say that you’re helping us with our enquiries.”

DS Harding broke the seal on a new audio cassette and placed it into the recorder.

“If you’re going to start recording everything I say then I demand a solicitor. You told me I was helping with enquiries, nothing more. Now if you’ve dusted that gun you will find that mine aren’t the only prints on it. In fact, come to think of it, if it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t even have a suspect.”

“Ah Yes,” Jones said pulling the folder to himself. He opened it and turned a few pages, “The man you beat up in the toilets….”

“Beat up! He was a bloody terrorist!”

“Terrorist?”

“Armed robber then! Don’t tell me he has rights.”

“He has the right to prosecute you for grevious bodily harm.”

“Now you’re taking the piss.”

“He is in a hospital bed with a broken nose.”

“And you’re telling me I can be done for it.”

Jones didn’t answer. Harding was looking at the coffee.

“What’s wrong with this bloody country. I over powered a gunman who had a semi-automatic machine gun, part of a larger group who held a party of people at gun point, including a foreign diplomat and the Mayor of London, who shot a security guard and left a policeman, one of your own, in a critical condition and I’m the bad guy. Well do you know what? I’ve had enough of this shit….”

Dennis suddenly slammed his chair back and went for the door shouting.

“Get me a solicitor and my free phone call.”

The uniformed officer moved across the door, blocking it. Jones hadn’t moved. He kept his eyes on the empty chair in front of him.

“Mr Dennis please return to your seat and sit down.”

“Are you going to move?” Dennis said to the officer blocking his way. The man just stared ahead. Dennis thought about assaulting him.

’Surely that will get me taken back to my cell’

“Mr Dennis. Sit down please.”

Suddenly the fight left Dennis. Slowly he returned to his chair opposite the two detectives.

“What’s his name anyway?” Dennis asked.

“Who?”

“The piece of shit I knocked unconscious.”

“So far he hasn’t spoke. He refuses to answer any of our questions.”

“Is he here in the station?”

“No he is in the hospital receiving treatment for his injuries under police guard.”

“Giving him the five star treatment I hope. That’s the trouble with this country these days. The bloody criminals get more rights than the poor bloody victims. You should let me have five minutes with him. I’ll get his name out of him.”

There was a knock at the door and both Jones and Harding turned to look at the small re-inforced square window. The door opened as Jones got to it and he talked quietly with the person outside who handed him another folder and a large plastic bag with something heavy in it.

Dennis was staring at Harding who found it difficult to hold his gaze. She had found his behaviour unruly and disruptive, almost childish but at times she had found it difficult not to laugh at his attitude. There was something sexy about him she decided.

“Mr Dennis we really would appreciate you helping us with our enquiries.”

“I will if your boss has stopped being a dick.”

Harding did allow herself an embarrassed smile.

“He has his way of doing things. I have mine.”

“The good cop, bad cop routine eh! Like I said. I’ve seen the movies.”

Harding continued the smile as Jones re-took his seat. He placed the new folder on top of the other one and put the bag on the table.

“Mr Dennis has decided he would like to help us with our enquiries.”

“That’s provided of course, there’s no more talk of me being prosecuted for making a citizens arrest.”

Jones nodded at him.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Not good enough! I want a guarantee.”

“Very well. You have my word.”

Dennis smiled his best smile.

“How can I help?”

Jones pushed the plastic bag towards Dennis.

“Can you tell me what this is?”

Dennis leaned forward for a closer look.

“I’m no expert but I’d say it’s a Heckler and Koch MP5 semi-automatic machine gun.”

“The one that was in your hands when you were arrested.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Yours were the only fingerprints found on it.”

“That’s not possible. The gunmen weren’t wearing gloves.”

“No. The man in the hospital had a thin layer of latex on his fingertips which was removed by doctors at the hospital.”

“Clever.”

“How did you learn about firearms?”

“I did a training exercise some years ago with the SAS. I could tell you all about it but then of course I’d have to kill you,” Dennis grinned, winking at Harding, “Also from the movies.”

“Mr Dennis this is no joking matter. Luckily for you this weapon has not been fired recently.”

“Well like I said it’s not mine.”

“We must assume then that it belonged to the man you knocked out in the lavatories.”

“Well of course it belonged to him. I went to the party in a tuxedo. Hardly room to hide that is there?”

“We’ll get to the party in a minute. First,” Jones said, opening the new folder, extracting three large photographs, rotating them and sliding them over to Dennis, “Do you know anything about these?”

Dennis looked over at the three separate images. Each of a different Range Rover. Each car was black.

“These photographs were caught by the police helicopter. We’ve analysed CCTV footage but these are the clearest images we have. Can you tell us anything about these vehicles?”

Dennis looked at each of them again. They were simply plain, black Range Rovers with no distinguishing marks.

“Sorry no. Nothing. They didn’t have number plates.”

“That’s quite all right Mr Dennis. Now to help us with our enquiries detective sergeant Harding will need to record our conversation, merely to record anything that we may miss but might get picked up at a later date. This is, you understand, merely to help us if we were to get a conviction.

Dennis nodded.

“Ok. I understand.”

Harding inserted the previously opened blank audio cassette and pressed record.

“Interview beginning at eleven fifteen pm with detective inspector Mark Jones and detective sergeant Rachel Harding both of south Kensington police station of the Metropolitan police. Would you state your name and age please.”

“Peter John Dennis. I’m thirty eight.”

“Thank you. Mr Dennis you understand why you’re here tonight?”

“I do.”

“For the record Mr Dennis was arrested by armed police this evening outside the British museum at around eight forty five pm in possession of an unlicensed Heckler and Koch MP5 semi-automatic machine pistol. Mr Dennis is this weapon owned by yourself?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me where or how you obtained it?”

“I’ve already told you where I got it.”

“Could you tell us again please for the recorder.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“If you could begin with the events of your evening.”

Dennis reached for his coffee and took a swig, then putting the mug back, he began. He told them about arriving in the Limo with Natalie, briefly mentioned the conversation with the actor he offended and the phone call about Gaddafi with Tom.

“I was watching the news clip when I heard gunfire from the exhibit. I opened the door slightly and saw men dressed as Roman legionaries with machine guns, similar or identical to the one on the table.”

“That will be the Heckler and Koch MP5 currently exhibit ’A’,” Jones said for the benefit of the tape recording.

“Yes.”

“What did you do next Mr Dennis?”

“Well as I said I was with my partner Natalie and I saw her across the room, she saw me, but one of the gunmen came towards the toilets, I think he noticed her looking, and I hid in one of the cubicles. I could hear him opening all of the doors one by one and when he opened the one I was in I sprang at him. I knew I had one chance and surprise was essential. We fought, but thankfully I was able to overpower him. I’m just glad he was wearing that heavy Roman toga which hindered him. I managed to get his gun, the one you’ve presented to me in that plastic bag, and I ran outside with it as they escaped.”

“And what did you intend to do with the gun?”

Dennis shrugged.

“I have no idea.”

“Did you intend to use it, to hurt any of them, to kill any of them.”

“No I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so.”

“No.”

“But they’d threatened you, threatened your girlfriend,” Jones looked down at his paperwork searching for the name, “Natalie. That must have made you angry.”

“Angry?”

“Yes. I mean, “Jones continued, “You must have wanted revenge on them. They’d already killed a museum security guard and then came after you after having threatened your partner. You must have been a little angry. I mean who wouldn’t.”

“Well I wasn’t. I don’t know what I intended to do. I wasn’t thinking straight. But revenge wasn’t part of it.”

Jones stared at Dennis for several moments.

“Very well. And you’re unable to give us any clues about the vehicles they used. Three black Range Rovers without number plates.”

“No. I’ve already told you there was nothing unusual about them.”

“Is there anything else you can think of that may help us in our enquiries?”

Dennis was tempted to mention Nguyen and her cameraman just so the police would bring them in for questioning. He found himself smiling at the thought. She wouldn’t thank him for it. He liked Kim and decided against it. The police no doubt took names of everyone and knowing Nguyen she would probably come forward anyway.

Jones and Harding cross questioned him for a further hour when the detective inspector thanked him and formally ended the interview.

“Am I being charged?” dennis asked.

Jones shuffled his papers into a neat pile.

“No Mr Dennis. You are free to go. DS harding will take you to the duty sergeant where you can collect your personal items. Thank you for your help. We may need to question you further so please stay in the local area.”

“I know. I know. Don’t leave the country right,” Dennis said, extending his forefinger as if it was an imaginary gun.

“Goodbye for now Mr Dennis.”

Harding opened the door for him and he waited for her to accompany him. At the duty sergeant’s desk he signed some forms and collected his personal effects, phone, keys and watch which he put on his wrist, thanked the sergeant and followed Harding to the door with iron bars and waited while the officer with the keys opened it. Dennis walked through the door and turned.

“Cheers Darling,” he said to Harding as the door was slammed and locked, then whistling down the corridor he was let out of the police station by another officer and stepped out into the cold night air. Natalie was waiting at the top of the steps for him. A taxi waiting below. He smiled and went straight to her. She threw her arms around him and kissed him hard on the lips and then pulled away. He was about to say “Wow! Did you miss me?” when she slapped him hard across the cheek.

“What was that for?”

“Don’t you ever play the hero again!” she replied before turning and heading down the steps towards a grinning taxi driver. Dennis rubbed his very warm cheek and followed silently after her.