TO YOU ABOUT ADMITTING OTHER CRIMES YOU HAVE COMMITTED.
She listened numbly as PC Pattenden outlined the circumstances of her arrest. Then the shirt-sleeved man spoke directly to her, his voice earnest, almost as if he was doing her a favour.
‘I am Custody Sergeant Cornford. You have heard what has been said. I’m authorizing your detention for the purpose of securing and preserving evidence and to obtain evidence by questioning. Is that clear to you?’
Carly nodded.
He passed across the counter to her a folded yellow A4 sheet that was headed SUSSEX POLICE NOTICE OF RIGHTS AND ENTITLEMENTS.
‘You may find this helpful, Mrs Chase. You have the right to have someone informed of your arrest and to see a solicitor. Would you like us to provide you with a duty solicitor?’
‘I’m a solicitor,’ she said. ‘I’d like you to contact one of my colleagues, Ken Acott at Acott Arlington.’
Carly got some small satisfaction from seeing the frown that crossed his face. Ken Acott was widely regarded as the top criminal solicitor in the city.
‘May I have his number?’
Carly gave him the office number, hoping Ken was not in court today.
‘I will make that call,’ the Custody Sergeant said. ‘But I am required to inform you that although you have a right to see a solicitor, the drink-driving process may not be delayed. I am authorizing you to be searched.’ He then produced two green plastic trays and spoke into his intercom.
PC Pattenden handed Carly’s phone to the sergeant and stepped aside as a young uniformed woman police officer walked across, snapping on a pair of blue gloves. She studied Carly for a moment, expressionless, before beginning to pat her down, starting with her head and rummaging in each of her coat pockets. Then she asked her to remove her boots and socks, knelt down and searched between each of her toes.
Carly said nothing, feeling utterly humiliated. The woman then scanned her with a metal detector, put that instrument down and started emptying out her handbag. She placed Carly’s purse, her car keys, a packet of Kleenex, her lipstick and compact, chewing gum and then, to her embarrassment, as she saw PC Pattenden eyeing everything, a Tampax into one of the trays.
When the woman had finished, Carly signed a receipt, then PC Pattenden led her into a small side room, where she was fingerprinted by a cheery male officer, also in blue gloves. Finally he took a swab of her mouth for DNA.
Next, holding a yellow form, PC Pattenden escorted her out, past the console, up a step and into a narrow room that felt like a laboratory. There was a row of white kitchen units to her left, followed by a sink and a fridge, and a grey and blue machine at the far end, with a video monitor on the top. To her right was a wooden desk and two blue chairs. The walls were plastered in notices.
She read: NO MORE THAN ONE DETAINEE IN THIS ROOM AT A TIME, THANK YOU.
Then: YOU’LL COME BACK.
Next to that was a sign in red with white letters: WANT TO GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN?
PC Pattenden pointed at a wall-mounted camera. ‘OK, what I must tell you now is that everything seen and heard in this room is recorded. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
The officer then told her about the breath-test machine. He explained that he required her to give two breath specimens and that the lower of the readings would be taken. If the reading was above 40 but below 51 she would have the further option of providing a blood or urine sample.
She blew into the tube, desperately hoping that she was now below the limit and this nightmare – or at least this part of it – would be over.
‘I can’t believe it. I didn’t drink that much – really, I didn’t.’
‘Now blow again for the second test,’ he said calmly.
Some moments later he showed her the printout of the first test. To her horror it was 55. Then he showed her the second reading.
It was also 55.
16
Roy Grace’s phone rang in the hospital room. Releasing his
She listened numbly as PC Pattenden outlined the circumstances of her arrest. Then the shirt-sleeved man spoke directly to her, his voice earnest, almost as if he was doing her a favour.
‘I am Custody Sergeant Cornford. You have heard what has been said. I’m authorizing your detention for the purpose of securing and preserving evidence and to obtain evidence by questioning. Is that clear to you?’
Carly nodded.
He passed across the counter to her a folded yellow A4 sheet that was headed SUSSEX POLICE NOTICE OF RIGHTS AND ENTITLEMENTS.
‘You may find this helpful, Mrs Chase. You have the right to have someone informed of your arrest and to see a solicitor. Would you like us to provide you with a duty solicitor?’
‘I’m a solicitor,’ she said. ‘I’d like you to contact one of my colleagues, Ken Acott at Acott Arlington.’
Carly got some small satisfaction from seeing the frown that crossed his face. Ken Acott was widely regarded as the top criminal solicitor in the city.
‘May I have his number?’
Carly gave him the office number, hoping Ken was not in court today.
‘I will make that call,’ the Custody Sergeant said. ‘But I am required to inform you that although you have a right to see a solicitor, the drink-driving process may not be delayed. I am authorizing you to be searched.’ He then produced two green plastic trays and spoke into his intercom.
PC Pattenden handed Carly’s phone to the sergeant and stepped aside as a young uniformed woman police officer walked across, snapping on a pair of blue gloves. She studied Carly for a moment, expressionless, before beginning to pat her down, starting with her head and rummaging in each of her coat pockets. Then she asked her to remove her boots and socks, knelt down and searched between each of her toes.
Carly said nothing, feeling utterly humiliated. The woman then scanned her with a metal detector, put that instrument down and started emptying out her handbag. She placed Carly’s purse, her car keys, a packet of Kleenex, her lipstick and compact, chewing gum and then, to her embarrassment, as she saw PC Pattenden eyeing everything, a Tampax into one of the trays.
When the woman had finished, Carly signed a receipt, then PC Pattenden led her into a small side room, where she was fingerprinted by a cheery male officer, also in blue gloves. Finally he took a swab of her mouth for DNA.
Next, holding a yellow form, PC Pattenden escorted her out, past the console, up a step and into a narrow room that felt like a laboratory. There was a row of white kitchen units to her left, followed by a sink and a fridge, and a grey and blue machine at the far end, with a video monitor on the top. To her right was a wooden desk and two blue chairs. The walls were plastered in notices.
She read: NO MORE THAN ONE DETAINEE IN THIS ROOM AT A TIME, THANK YOU.
Then: YOU’LL COME BACK.
Next to that was a sign in red with white letters: WANT TO GO THROUGH THIS AGAIN?
PC Pattenden pointed at a wall-mounted camera. ‘OK, what I must tell you now is that everything seen and heard in this room is recorded. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
The officer then told her about the breath-test machine. He explained that he required her to give two breath specimens and that the lower of the readings would be taken. If the reading was above 40 but below 51 she would have the further option of providing a blood or urine sample.
She blew into the tube, desperately hoping that she was now below the limit and this nightmare – or at least this part of it – would be over.
‘I can’t believe it. I didn’t drink that much – really, I didn’t.’
‘Now blow again for the second test,’ he said calmly.
Some moments later he showed her the printout of the first test. To her horror it was 55. Then he showed her the second reading.
It was also 55.
16
Roy Grace’s phone rang in the hospital room. Releasing his
Similar Books
