“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.”