Doors Without Numbers

by C. D. Neill

  By the time Hammond had encouraged his Peugeot Estate through the downpour onto the M20, he had accomplished three of the mornings’ objectives. The first, after showering and shaving had been to throw the scales away. His expanding stomach was happier being filled with food that tasted good. If the scales tried to make him feel guilty for allowing himself this luxury, they should go. His second task was to call Harris. They hadn’t talked much since the retirement party, so it would be good to catch up. He had arranged to meet his old friend over lunch at the golf club near Maidstone later that day. Thirdly, £400 had been transferred into Paul’s account to pay his son’s rent for the month. Hammond‘s conscience nagged him about Paul. He sighed as he clunked the car into fifth gear, Paul had always been a mummy’s boy so it had been natural that he had chosen to side with Lyn after the divorce. Not that taking sides had been necessary, Hammond had willingly given Lyn whatever she wanted. There had been no point in trying to dissuade her from leaving. It was obvious she had been unhappy for a long time, she had felt second best next to his career, and anyway, she had never liked overweight men, so sex had dried up as soon as the weight began to pile on. Paul couldn’t forgive Hammond for not fighting for the marriage. Hammond remembered the way Paul had confronted him a year ago, “You should have proven that Mum meant more to you than your career, you should have made more of an effort to make yourself attractive”. He knew he could have fought to keep Lyn, but he doubted she would have stayed regardless. Lyn and he were too passionate, too head strong. They had acted as catalysts for each other and now he felt too old, too tired for passion. He steered the car onto the slip road towards Folkestone and pushed his foot gently down on the brake pedal. The thoughts in his mind fading as he turned onto the road towards the police station.

  Hammond was annoyed to find that there were no biscuits waiting beside his morning coffee in its usual place on his desk. He signalled to his favourite volunteer worker, Emma, who usually worked at the front desk through the glass screen that divided the offices and pointed with a questioning look. She looked at him equally surprised and gestured that she would come to him. Hammond sat himself on the large swivel chair, grimacing slightly as it groaned in protest. Emma came into the office without knocking.

  “Morning, Inspector. How is the diet going?”

  Hammond looked at her before becoming aware of DS Lois Dunn standing outside the door. “Failed.” He answered curtly, hoping that a conversation on the subject wouldn’t continue but then remembering his missing biscuits smiled shyly.

  Emma leaned her head to one side and sighed. “Typical man” her facial expression said for her and she pointed to the filing cabinet. Following her direction, Hammond got up from his chair and opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet. He found the biscuits lying on top of the printer paper. Emma left him as he opened the packet and pulled out two chocolate digestives with eagerness. He was ravenous already, and it wasn’t even mid morning.

  “Do you want the bad news or the good news?” Ds Dunn strode into the room after Emma’s departure and continued without waiting for an answer.

  “The good news is that the boy with the burns is going to make it. The bad news is CPS reckons there is not enough evidence to prosecute the ones who set the warehouse alight.”

  “What about the witness statement?” Hammond swore with his mouth full of biscuit. This was not good; chances are it would be his neck on the line “Surely they identified the arsonists?”

  Dunn looked at him warily “It has been dismissed as being unreliable. The witness has since admitted that they are short sighted and were not wearing glasses at the time.”

  Hammond had faith in DS Dunn. She had worked with him on and off for two years now and had shown herself to be hardworking and diligent. Hammond would guarantee that if a witness statement was found to be unreliable, it was unlikely to be due to her carelessness.

  “Well, continue to question them, it is still possible that they made out the boys carrying a petrol canister or whatever and perhaps we can match any residue on their clothing. In the meantime, I will speak to the team and come up with alternative enquiries.” Hammond interrupted their thoughts by requesting that she remind him of an important lunch meeting “For Police Business” he had said as an explanation. He wasn’t yet aware of what Harris wanted to talk to him about, but since Harris had been his superior officer twenty years ago, it was still related in some obscure way to work.

  Detective Constable Michael Galvin was waiting for Hammond in the Briefing Room. He was perched on the table discussing the politics of football with Detective Constable Tom Edwards but immediately got up from the table and sat on the chair beside it as Hammond greeted them with a nod. Edwards however, continued to mock with sarcastic comments Galvin’s sporting ideals despite Hammond’s interruption. Hammond slammed the file with the original witness statement onto the table and demanded their full attention. Normally he would have waited, maybe even join in the banter between them but he was hungry and tired from his mornings flirt with a fitness regime.

  Galvin looked at Hammond with a raised eyebrow questioning the aggressive placement of the file, and then shifted his attention to the file on the table in front of them.

  “I understand that the evidence on the arson case has been rendered useless.” Hammond kept his voice level but the team around him knew he was angry, Hammond’s temper tantrums were well known in the Major Crime Unit and sometimes not completely justified.

  Edwards spoke first. “The witness can’t provide a positive id as she led us to originally believe, but to be fair she was accurate in her statement about the clothing they wore, there was enough detail for us to find the lads. One of the victims woke up for a few minutes in hospital and gave us a statement that we have recorded on video. It was enough to make an arrest.”

  Hammond looked at his team with impatience. The sooner this case was solved, the paperwork examined and ticked off, the more chance the perpetrators would be given the sentences they deserved. A gang of local youths, ranging from fifteen to twenty five, had trapped boys in a disused warehouse and set it alight. Although the two victims were alive, both were in critical care with burns and smoke inhalation. It was important to Hammond that the arsonists not only be identified but apprehended. One mistake could cost a conviction and he had no intention of allowing the injured parties go forgotten whilst their potential murderers got off scot free on some misdemeanour. There was a knock on the door and DS Lois Dunn stuck her head in. “Inspector. Detective Superintendent Beech wants to talk to you.”

  Hammond acknowledged her with a raised hand then left the office in search of Beech.

  Twenty minutes later, Hammond’s raised voice could still be heard from Beech’s office. Superintendent Philip Beech, despite being Hammond’s superior officer, was sitting at his desk whilst Hammond shouted at him. He seemed unperturbed by the role reversal, he had worked with Hammond for seven years following Hammond’s transfer from Maidstone, if he had learnt anything from Hammond’s explosive temper, it was because he cared about his job. After receiving numerous commendations for acts of bravery and professionalism over the years, Hammond was a respected colleague. But now Beech’s patience was wearing thin. He shouldn’t have to justify himself to anyone, least of all his subordinate.

  “Wallace, this is being taken out of your hands. That is final, I am not prepared to negotiate this matter further and I certainly shouldn’t be expected to justify it.”

  Hammond was pacing Beech’s office, his blistered feet were not appreciating his burst of activity but Hammond’s temper was not allowing him to be reasonable to his superior officer or his own physical comfort. “Fair enough, the witness statement is compromised but it was good enough to help find the boys seen running from the warehouse. We have another video statement from one of the boys in hospital. That is your evidence! Those hooligans deliberately trapped those boys in a warehouse; they doused the building in petrol, stood back and lit a match.
You are telling me that it is not in my control to charge them!”

  Beech stood up and walked round his desk, he motioned for Hammond to sit down. Hammond hesitated and then, obeying his sore feet rather than his boss, did so.

  “You’re a good Detective Wallace. But you are a crap police officer if you can’t be objective after thirty years in the profession. I am not justifying their actions Wallace, but it isn’t just about those boys who lit the match, it is about whether we have enough evidence to prosecute them, and the CPS does not believe that we do. The only evidence we have is that an accelerant was used to set the warehouse alight. Despite claiming that the attack was in revenge for stolen drugs, No drugs were found at the warehouse or on any of the victims. The witness who claimed seeing the boys running from the scene is short sighted and needs prescription glasses which she was not wearing that day. No canister with any trace of flammable liquid was discovered near the scene, nor were there any traces on the suspects’ clothing. The victim’s video statement was confused and erratic, it could easily be argued that he was pressured to make the statement whilst being vulnerable and on medication. The other boy refuses to make any statement at all and claims he doesn’t remember anything. Without positive identification of their attackers, we have nothing. The forensic evidence is minimal and there is not enough justifiable cause to exceed the budget any further on evidence that is unreliable. Even if the CPS cooperate and make a charge, the jury will laugh us out of the court for being unable to make the charges stick. It is out of our hands.”

  Hammond had had enough. If Beech wanted him to hand over the case, so be it. It was pointless arguing about it any more. He stood up “I hope that the families of those kids are given a reasonable explanation as to why their boys’ attackers are not brought to justice.” Hammond slammed the door behind him as he left. Beech sighed, he wasn’t subservient to Hammond but he knew it was pointless arguing further. He was the superior officer, not Hammond. His word was final. If Hammond didn’t like it, he knew what he could do. Much as he respected Hammond as a man and as a detective, he had no intention of letting Hammond think he could get what he wanted.

  Three hours and four rejected CD’s later, Hammond felt no happier as he drove towards Maidstone. He had raised the volume during Holst’s Jupiter Suite, usually so good at calming his soul, and tried to allow the music to wash over him, but it had failed. He knew it was pointless trying to listen to the radio, the constant talking about absolutely nothing in particular had a greater chance of making him more irritated than ever. It surprised him that the radio stations had any listeners at all and enraged him knowing how much they earned for their verbal dribble. Only last year, he had thrown the Guardian Newspaper down in disgust when Terry Wogan had been reported as earning £800,000 per year. It was ludicrous. His thoughts then turned to the futility of the morning’s events, paperwork wanting attention had plagued him, and then there had been the e-mail from a would-be novelist wanting to know what a Detective’s role was. He had answered her questions politely but he couldn’t help wondering aloud to an amused Emma how many more fictional detectives were going to solve yet more unrealistic murders. He had been tempted to ask the writer whether her story had involved a butler but had thought better of it. His thoughts were becoming muddled. It was easy for a provoked soul to fixate on everything remotely irritating. He slowed the car as if trying to slow his mind. What was he really stressed about? He knew it wasn’t really about the radio, or even his altercation with Beech, not entirely anyway. Hammond had been feeling disillusioned for a while now. Despite the efforts of all law enforcers, he couldn’t help the nagging thought that crime happened simply because people just didn’t care about one another anymore. It was becoming a greedy, self serving world.

  As Hammond swung the car into the parking space at the Golf Club, he was feeling self-conscious. There was always a sense of elitism in these places. Hammond was no golfer, and looking around at the people in the parking lot, it was obvious he stood out from the crowd. He dodged his way between puddles toward the main entrance and was reminded by large printed notices on every door that the dress code excluded trainers and jeans. He looked down at his black corduroys with an embarrassed grimace and then stepped forward looking for Lloyd Harris amongst the group of lean men wearing polo shirts and chinos. His eyes drifted over the placement of green upholstered tub chairs and oak coffee tables until he saw the former Detective Chief Inspector at the far side of the room, leaning on the highly polished veneered bar as if he had been there all morning. His head was leaning on an open hand whilst his other hand repeatedly dipped into a bowl of peanuts beside him. He looked up when he heard his name being called and stared blankly at Hammond for a few moments. Hammond felt taken aback at the man’s unexpected reaction and offered his hand to his old friend almost shyly. Harris continued munching, his head now alertly raised, his eyes dilated and fixed on Hammond. There was a nervousness apparent in both men and Hammond turned to the bar man relieved at the distraction when he was asked what drink he would like, his hand still outstretched toward Lloyd who suddenly grasped it with both of his own and announced Hammond’s name so loudly, it was as he expected applause to follow. Hammond smiled at Harris and tilted his head toward the bar man to offer Harris a drink. Harris accepted with a request for a pint of Guinness and leaned back, looking at Hammond with scrutinising eyes. “So, you are here! I thought for a moment you stood me up!”

  “I thought for a moment, you didn’t recognise me!” The reply was light-hearted but honest. Hammond paid for the drinks and slid the full pint glass toward Harris whilst accepting his Coke and the change.

  “I am an old man, what is your excuse?” Harris bent over the glass of Guinness hooking his top lip over the rim with eagerness. He allowed the stout to slide down his throat with silence as he savoured the moment and then announced his satisfaction with a sigh. Despite the temptation to reply that he was earlier than they had arranged, Hammond gestured towards the chairs beside the glass panelled wall overlooking the course. After the morning’s discovery of muscles he never knew existed in his backside, the last thing Hammond wanted was to sit on was an unforgiving stool. They walked towards the panoramic windows and sat down opposite one another giving them to chance to study the other with interest. Hammond was shocked at how Harris had aged since they had last seen each other, but realised that his looks probably hadn’t fared any better.

  “So, how’s Lyn? Is she well and young Paul? How is school?”

  The absurdity of the questions directed at him made Hammond pause with his drink in mid air, Harris had seen Paul when he had graduated from secondary school, had celebrated with the family when Paul had passed his GCSE’s with A’s and B’s. It had been nearly eight years ago. The glass of Coke continued its slow journey towards Hammond’s lips as he thought about how to reply, and decided to speak honestly without questioning his companion’s lapse.

  “He’s not so young Lloyd. He’s twenty-four now, as for Lyn, well, following the divorce, we keep conversation to a minimum. But I hear she’s well.”

  Harris looked stunned for a moment before laughing and leaned toward Hammond.

  “Ahh, but in a father’s eyes, their son or daughter will always be a child. Look at Kathleen, a grown woman but to me, an innocent girl!” The conversation now recovered, the two men discussed their families with pride and delighted in each other’s revelations. Hammond found himself listening eagerly as Harris told him about his daughter Kathleen and part of him was surprised by how pleased he was to hear she had divorced her second husband. He felt himself reddening slightly as he remembered how he had stared at her on their first meeting. It had been in 1992, he and Lyn had been married six years, still happy but over the honeymoon years, with Paul, who was five at the time. A new family excited about their future together when they had invited Harris, then Hammond’s superior officer, to dinner. Harris had brought Kathleen which had resulted in Lyn not talking to Hammond until the nex
t evening. It had been obvious, she had said with a trembling lip, that Hammond had fancied Kathleen, so awe struck was he, that he had humiliated Lyn by practically ignoring her throughout the meal. Hammond would be the first to admit that Kathleen was a very attractive woman. Of course, she may have changed over the years, but he remembered her vividly. Kathleen had the skin of the blessed Irish, pale and flawless of imperfection. He remembered her green eyes, her richly coloured auburn hair (out of a bottle Lyn had surmised) that hang loosely down her back. Kathleen, he learnt, during the rare occasions when they had seen each other again, was a woman who made beauty effortless. All the creams and cosmetic products that Lyn had stacked in the bathroom cabinet would have never achieved the natural poise of her imagined rival.

  The conversation between the two former colleagues steered toward the years they had spent working together in Medway. Following his promotion to Detective Inspector, Harris had worked on a case of drug-trafficking with CID. During the arrests of the suspects, Harris was knocked unconscious allowing the perpetrator to get away. Police Constable Hammond, who had been assigned to guarding the exits, managed to chase the suspect and arrest him. Due to the fact that the suspect had already attacked a senior officer and threatened to do the same to him, Hammond was awarded a Chief Constable’s commendation for his professionalism and courage. Partly out of appreciation for helping to get the drug traffickers be apprehended and convicted, and partly out of embarrassment for what otherwise could have been seen to be a failure as arresting officer, Harris encouraged Hammond to study for the Police Promotion Exam to earn him the rank of Sergeant. Years later Harris, as Chief Inspector, presided over the newly appointed DS Hammond.