The young Asian woman beside me in the car shifted nervously.
‘What happened? You can trust me,’ I reassured her.
I recognised the fear in her eyes. Clearly traumatised, I knew there was more to her recent report of a stolen camera.
The girl was in her early 20s but was desperate that her parents did not find out she’d visited the police. I’d urged her to meet me in private and promised that her parents wouldn’t be informed.
I was particularly sensitive to her situation as I knew the feelings of guilt and shame heaped on a woman who wanted to tread life’s path her own way.
Back then, in the mid 2000s, I’d served in the Metropolitan Police for nearly 20 years. I was proud to have become the first Asian female Detective Inspector in the Met and I’d dedicated much of my service to helping support women of colour in the community.
But my career very easily might not have happened. Born in Karachi, Pakistan, I was just 18 months old when my parents moved us to London’s East Ham.
My father was a very strict Muslim. He wouldn’t let me or my sisters wear skirts or jeans – only long dresses or trousers – and, although I mostly respected his wishes, there are certain things in life you can’t compromise on: like ambition.
As a teenager, I took a Saturday job in a menswear shop. I liked working there but soon, I showed that I had a keen eye for spotting shoplifters and credit card fraudsters – I enjoyed the thrill of catching them in the act.
A male police officer dealing with a crime report at the shop one afternoon commended me for being streetwise. He said my common sense meant that I ‘had what it takes’ to join the police.
Instantly, I became keen on the idea. Then aged 18, I knew I wanted to make a difference and really help people, so, I decided to pursue a career in the Met.
My father disapproved entirely – he wanted me to marry and uphold a respectful reputation.
I refused an arranged marriage, much to my father’s disappointment. A string of suitors had visited our house but I’d turned them all away.
Thankfully, my mother was keen for me to be independent. I disobeyed my dad and applied to the Met.
However, the other big hurdle I’d had to get over was being accepted – I was repeatedly told by the Met that I was ‘too young’ or ‘too skinny’. Determined, I applied four times before finally joining in 1989, then aged 25.
Pounding the beat back then required wearing a regulation skirt – forbidden by my father. It meant I had to lie to both him and my mum. I wore trousers when I left the house and, upon arrival at Bethnal Green, I’d change into the required mid-length black skirt to start my shift.
Incredibly, my parents never found out – although my mother came close when she surprised me at work one afternoon and a quick-thinking colleague gave me a heads up to get changed. Thankfully, the dress code soon changed and trousers became an acceptable item of uniform for female officers.
Over the years, I worked on hundreds of cases and my parents were unaware of the danger I was often in. I was fuelled by my desire to help women of colour, from various faiths, in their plight against domestic violence and forced marriage.
And so, there I found myself, sat in an isolated car park one afternoon, gently urging the terrified young Asian woman to confide in me.
She cautiously explained that she was scared her parents would discover that she had been speaking to an Asian man on a marriage dating site without their consent.
But I was horrified to learn that the situation was much graver than that little lie.
The stranger she met in a café had enticed her back to his flat under the false pretence of meeting his parents.
Once there, she’d realised something was wrong immediately as he locked her inside the sparse flat. There was no sign of his parents.
After failing to force a kiss on the victim, the man had demanded that she strip and pose for photographs – threatening her physical safety if she refused.
She broke down in tears as revealed that, against her will, she had done as he demanded. Her ordeal had ended when he agreed to drive her back to the café.
Desperate to get away, she managed to escape his clutches by leaping from the car as it pulled up at traffic lights.
Needing help and unable to tell anyone she knew, the distraught young woman had come to the station to report a camera theft in a bid to get the man arrested, and prevent those photographs being circulated. She was frightened for her own safety, as well as anxious to protect other young women from walking into the same appalling trap on the dating site.
I praised her for doing the right thing by telling me and that we would do all we could to find him. I knew we had to act fast.
The man had operated under a false name; the dating profile offered no clues to his real identity.
My investigating officers set to work obtaining the criminal’s IP address thanks to the dating site fully co-operating and he was apprehended.
However, the man denied any wrongdoing and claimed the photographs retrieved from his mobile phone had been taken with the young woman’s consent.
It was her word against his. Thankfully, the victim felt brave enough to go ahead with an identity parade, and she picked out the accused without hesitation.
She also had to give evidence at Snaresbrook Crown Court but, thankfully, justice was ultimately served. The man was found guilty of charges relating to theft, unlawful imprisonment, kidnap and sexual touching of a female over 16.
He was sentenced to over four years in prison. I was elated. Thanks to my officers’ hard work, and my ability to build a bond with the victim, together we had ensured a dangerous man was off the streets.
If I hadn’t been equipped with my own experience and able to gain her trust, she may never have revealed the extent of the crimes. If not, who knows if the man would have struck again.
There are many proud moments to look back on over my 30 years in the Met, and that was certainly a highlight.
In 2012, I was honoured to be given a Leadership award by the British Association for Women in Policing for my work tackling hate crimes, forced marriages and for promoting diversity within the Metropolitan Police, and I received two similar awards in the years that followed.
When I retired as Detective Superintendent in 2019, I was the Met’s highest ranking female Muslim detective.
My mum and dad both sadly died long before I reached my full potential but I know they would be proud of me. My mother’s pride was clear when she made me parade in my police uniform in front of the Asian women in our next street!
And my father admitted that I had achieved his dream of being a cop – he had been rejected for the same weight reasons I had back in Karachi.
My ex-husband – a fellow officer – once told me that I was ‘married to the job’. I think he was right.
It’s been my life’s passion to achieve a lasting legacy for Asian women and girls by working to combat racism and violence in the community. Whether they have aspirations to join the police, or simply feel able to report crimes carried out against them, I want women of colour to feel supported by the police. And the work is far from over.
Since my retirement, I’ve been involved with several charities devoted to helping women and girls in vital need of support, whether due to domestic violence, forced marriage or any form of oppression.
And I hope that, wherever she is, that young woman found a way to walk her own path, just as I did.
Watch former DCI Shabnam Chaudhri’s full story on BBC Daytime’s new series Big Little Crimes on Monday 9th Jan at 10am on BBC One and iPlayer.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing [email protected].
Share your views in the comments below.
MORE : As a young model, I put up with racism and sexism. Now, I refuse
MORE : We can’t forget about Afghan refugees – those in the UK and abroad
MORE : Modelling in a dress was life-changing for me – despite getting homophobic abuse for it
For all the latest Lifestyle News Click Here
For the latest news and updates, follow us on Google News.
