machine gun up as high as he could, his fingers well away from the trigger and then slowly lowered it to the ground. Dennis went down on his knees and placed his hands on his head with a smirk on his face.
It was going to be a long night.
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