A Policewoman’s Lot

[SATISH]

WPC Cox lay face down on the grey blanket on which she had just been raped. It had been folded lengthwise to afford her some protection from the hard concrete floor. She tested the handcuffs again. They were locked on far too tight for her to be able to slip either of her wrists out of them. The thin rope cut into her crossed ankles, which were draw up behind her, joined to her handcuffs by a short length of rope. She felt behind her for the knots, but they were out of reach. Alison tried to move her jaw and lips to loosen or dislodge the tape from her mouth. But it was hopeless. The tape didn’t give at all. Hardly a murmur escaped from her mouth through her wadded knickers and the layers of tape.

God, she thought, they’ve left me trussed up like a turkey. I’ll never get out of this. I could be tied up like this for hours. They might as well have just found some railway tracks to tie me to like the damsel in distress in the old films. At least they hadn’t locked her in the boot. That would have driven her insane. That was one plus. And she was still alive. She was glad they had allowed her to go to the toilet before they left. The thought of having to go again while she was bound and gagged like this and lying in her own urine for hours revolted her.

Alison rolled over on to her right side and slowly and awkwardly managed to raise herself up into a kneeling position, her hands pulled down towards her bound ankles. She looked around her at the rubbish strewn around the floor. If there was any broken glass or anything sharp she might be able to cut through the rope joining her hands and feet, and ease the growing pressure on her arms, legs and shoulders. She might even be able to get to the car and use the car radio, she thought. Or if she could free her feet she could walk to the road and try to stop a passing vehicle. But there was nothing. Just a few pieces of broken wood, some rusty nails, soil, dried leaves and old bits of cardboard. She eased herself back down on to the blanket on her stomach and tried to remain still. It was slightly more comfortable than kneeling on it.

Why had they tied her up like this? They could have just handcuffed her to the metal pillar with her hands in front of her to secure her. She remembered how she had been handcuffed to the police station flag pole on her birthday. They obviously wanted to give themselves as much time as possible to get away before she was found. They would find her sooner or later, but how long would she have to wait? Her pussy and thighs were still bruised and sore from the rape.

WPC Cox played over everything that had happened in her mind. She had to remember every detail of the men and their vehicle. Strangely, she could recall the registration number of the van from the tax disc she had been examining just before it happened. GBW181N. Alison tried to fix it in her mind. GBW181N. Golf Bravo Whisky 181 November. She kept on repeating it till it was engraved on her memory. That was important, particularly as she hadn’t seen the men’s faces. If they abandoned the van, they might leave fingerprints and other evidence behind them. And vehicles could be traced through previous owners.

Alison remembered the scraping over the rear offside wheel arch, and the dent in the front offside wing. She needed to fix every detail in her mind. She recalled their clothing and the first man’s bird tattoo on his hand. The second man had a tooth missing from his upper jaw. They were wearing balaclavas, but she had noticed the colour of their eyes. She tried to remember their accents and everything they had said. These details could be important.

Time passed. It was so quiet here. Just the sound of the birds. Despite everything that had happened and the growing discomfort in her limbs, shoulders and back, Alison started to feel drowsy. Her mind wandered. She thought about her parents and her boyfriend, John. She recalled her time on section and all the practical jokes they had played on her

[SATISH]

Alison’s thoughts returned to more recent events. She felt a sense of deep humiliation that they had been able to overpower her so easily and rape her., and shame at the way she had cooperated with her captors and tried to ingratiate herself with them to secure better treatment. She tried to think what else she could have done. But she was just so frightened when she saw the gun.

She seemed to have been here for ages, and wondered what time it was. Alison couldn’t check her watch with her hands secured behind her back. She managed to unfasten her watch strap and drop it in front of her. It was 3.05 p.m. They had been gone for two and a half hours. Cramp began to spread through her body. She could hardly move.

WPC Cox felt increasingly drowsy and slowly began to drift off to sleep. She woke up again some time later, but she realised she had lost all sense of time. It was darker outside now. She wriggled forward to check her watch again. It was nearly 5.45 p.m. She had been tied up for over five hours. Soon after she heard the faint sound of a car engine in the distance and a dog barking. Alison tried unsuccessfully to raise herself into a kneeling position again. She was just too stiff to move. She tried to scream through the gag, but only a barely audible sound emerged. Her skirt had ridden up her thighs.

Alison heard the sound of panting and padded feet moving towards her. She turned her head as far as she could and saw a large German Shepherd staring at her from a few feet away. The dog began barking loudly, and a dark figure appeared in the doorway. It was the dog handler, Dave Brownlee, and his dog, Rebel.

Dave Brownlee knelt over Alison and cut the short rope joining her bound feet to her handcuffs. She felt an immediate sense of relief, but a sharp pain rose up her back as her legs straightened. “We’ve been searching for you for hours, Alison,” he said. He helped her into a kneeling position on the blanket and gently began to peel back the layers of black tape wound round her mouth. “Christ, Alison, you’ve got a whole roll of tape round your mouth here.” He discarded the tape and plucked the wadded knickers from her mouth. Alison stretched her mouth and jaw and licked her dry lips, finally able to breathe through her mouth.

Dave Brownlee quickly cut the rope binding her ankles and unlocked her handcuffs. She stretched painfully and rubbed her wrists and ankles. Alison’s emotions overwhelmed her and she began to sob uncontrollably, burying her face in his chest. He hugged her close to him, “It’s okay, Alison,” he said. “It’s okay. It’s all over now. You’re safe now.”

“Oh, Dave, thank God you found me,” she sobbed. “I’ve been here for hours. They tied me up so tight. It was two men with guns in a white Marina van. They looked like terrorists. They raped me. I was so frightened. I thought they were going to kill me. There was nothing I could do.”

Dave Brownlee called up on the radio. “I’ve located WPC Cox,” he said. “The old Nissen huts off the tracks on the south side of the Haverhill Road. She was attacked by two armed men in a white Marina van. They stole her radio and left her tied up at the scene. Can I have some assistance here please.”


Dave Brownlee circulated the vehicle number and a description of the men as Alison calmed down and he was able to extract more information from her. He deliberately avoided mentioning the rape over the radio. He was aware that many people routinely listened in to police radio channels and he needed to be careful what he said. More units arrived at the scene, which was cordoned off. Alison was taken to hospital for examination as a rape victim.

[SATISH]

The Force booked WPC Cox off on sick leave for a month after the rape. Her attack attracted extensive publicity locally in the Cambridge Mercury and other local newspapers, with headlines such as “Terror of WPC,” and “WPC Left Handcuffed and Gagged.” The first three pages of the Mercury were devoted to the story, with a photograph of Alison taken when she first joined the police force. The incident was covered in the inside papers of the nationals. There was even a photograph of Rebel, Dave Brownlee’s dog. The coverage referred to a serious assault rather than a rape. This was partly out of consideration for Alison, and because it was thought unnecessary at this stage to supply more information about what had occurred.

Alison surprised the investigating officers with the amount of detail she was able to give them. They said she was the best witness they ever had. Her presence of mind in obtaining and retaining the registration number of the van despite her ordeal was particularly praised. The van number and the tattoo she had noted on one of the men’s hands were thought to be particularly useful. Extensive enquiries were set in hand to try to locate the offenders.

Alison was deeply traumatised by the attack and took a long time to recover. She suffered from irrational fears that the men would return and kill her, or kidnap and rape her again. They had taken her handbag as well as her radio, and this contained her driving licence giving her name and address and other personal items including her keys. She thought about moving from the flat above the shop, but changed her mind and the force paid for the locks to be changed instead. Alison suffered from flashbacks to the incident and had difficulty sleeping. Sometimes she just stayed in and didn’t want to go out.

Alison put on a brave face to avoid causing distress to her parents, boyfriend and colleagues. They hadn’t been told about the actual rape at her request, but when pressed by her mother, and later her boyfriend, she admitted to them what had occurred. She tried to make light of it all for their sake, but her parents tried to persuade her to leave the police and go to work for one of her uncles, who was able to offer her a job. Alison felt a sense of shame and guilt that she had submitted to the men and hadn’t tried to resist them in some way.

One day she left the flat to get some fresh air and buy some bread and milk from a corner shop nearby. Alison saw a white van parked on the corner and had a panic attack. She gripped the wall near the florist’s and began hyperventilating. An elderly lady took her by the arm. “Are you all right, dear? Do you need an ambulance?” she asked. Someone came out of the florist’s and offered her a chair to sit on. Alison made some excuse about having been unwell lately and walked off. She saw that the van had the logo, “J. & R. Daley, Plumbing and Heating Engineers,” on the side. For God’s sake, she thought, get a grip on yourself, woman. It’s just a plumber’s van. And it’s not even a Marina. It’s an Escort. If they wanted to kill you, they would have done.

The force arranged for Alison to see a psychiatrist. Oh my God, she thought, they must think I’m mental. They’ll probably chuck me out of the force and stick me in a loony bin. Yet the sessions with the psychiatrist were beneficial. He encouraged her to open up and express her feelings about the attack, though she broke down twice in his office in floods of tears. He even seemed to welcome this. “You’re my patient,” he reassured her. “Whatever happens here in the office stays in my office. I’m not going to tell anyone anything at all without your express permission.” He also prescribed sedatives to help her sleep.

John, her boyfriend, was incredibly patient and considerate with her. Alison recoiled and froze whenever he touched her intimately. He would just hold her and hug her when they were in bed together. It’s okay,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just wait till you’re ready

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PS Hopper from the rural unit and all her old friends from the section came round to visit her while she was off sick. Everybody was so kind to her. Don Marsh, her old tutor constable, called round to see her with Paul O’Neill, whose brother had the fruit and veg shop beneath her flat. At one point Don Marsh seemed on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there with you, Alison,” he said. “I wish I’d been there for you.”

“It’s okay, Don,” Alison said to cheer him up. “All those practical jokes you lot played on me were a lot worse. You remember when you made me run a mile in my uniform? And when you got me to dress up as a schoolgirl to catch the flasher?” They all laughed about old times on the section.

Officers investigating the attack called round to see her to confirm some details she had given them. They showed her some photographs and asked if she thought any of them could be the offenders. She studied them closely. They had made a balaclava cut out to put over the photographs. It was a bit difficult as she had never seen the men’s faces properly, but she thought that the eyes and mouth of one of the men were very much like the second attacker. “That’s interesting,” they said. “That’s very useful.”

About three weeks after the rape, Alison was asked to attend the office of the Head of Special Branch at Force Headquarters in plain clothes. When she arrived late that morning, she was ushered into a large office where she was greeted by the SB Superintendent and another man in his late forties dressed in a dark suit. “Do come in, WPC Cox,” he said warmly. “How are you now? Thank you so much for coming. We just wanted to update you on the progress on the investigation. I’m afraid I can’t introduce you properly to my colleague here,” he said, indicating the other man. “All I can tell you is that he’s a senior officer from MI5.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m a bad person,” the man joked. “I haven’t even got a licence to kill.” They sat down in leather armchairs near the window.

The Superintendent began. “For the time being the men who attacked you and their van seem to have vanished into thin air,” he explained. “They’ve obviously gone to ground. But the information you were able to supply has been extremely useful. The van was traced to a commercial vehicle dealer’s in Pembroke in south Wales. Of course this is on the ferry route from Dublin.” Alison nodded. “Just over a month ago it was bought for cash by the men you described. They seemed nervous and one spoke with an Irish accent. The dealer was suspicious because they paid the full asking price straight away and didn’t try to bargain him down.”

“Though we can’t be 100% sure at this stage, it is highly likely that the attack on you was terrorist related,” he continued. “Hence the presence of my colleague here.”

The MI5 man now took over. “From your descriptions of the men, we think we have identified a possible offender. This ties in with other information in our possession about an attack that was being planned on an army depot or military installation in the Cambridgeshire area. It seems highly likely that you stumbled upon IRA operatives from an Active Service Unit and that you have foiled an intended attack. You are to be congratulated, WPC Cox. Your presence of mind may well have saved lives. But I’m afraid I have to be somewhere else shortly.” He shook hands with Alison and left.

“I have to tell you that you have been recommended for a commendation,” the Superintendent added. “The Deputy Chief Constable has asked to see you while you are here.”

Alison was taken to the DCC’S office on the next floor. The DCC rose to greet her as she went in. His staff officer and her Superintendent from Cambridge Central were also in the room. “The Chief Constable would have liked to meet you himself, but I’m afraid he’s abroad at the moment,” he began. She was asked a number of questions and the commendation was mentioned again. “You may not be fully recovered at present, WPC Cox, but when you are there is a vacancy on the Planning Department I would like you to consider.”

He went on to explain what was involved. It sounded like interesting work, planning for major operations, large sporting events, public order incidents, and contingencies like bad weather and flooding. Alison listened intently. If she was working at headquarters, it would put her parents’ and John’s minds to rest when she returned to work. “I’d very much like to be considered for that vacancy, sir,” she said. They all shook Alison’s hand and she left.

Alison was concerned that she was asking too much of her boyfriend and would drive him away. It was time to put the rape behind her. When John called round to see her the following night, she put her arms on his shoulders and kissed him passionately. “I’m ready now, John,” she said softly. “Thank you for being so patient with me.” She undressed slowly, revealing underwear that John had bought for her. They made love all night, making up for lost time.

A few days later, John asked her to marry him. Alison said yes.


Sometimes a Policewoman’s Lot wasn’t too bad after all.

End.

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