by C. D. Neill
It was for this reason that Hammond was curious as to the real reason why he was here. Harris would not have contacted him for any reason other than an interest in his work. They were friendly; hence the mutual enquiry into family, but criminal investigation was the source of their relationship. Since Hammond’s transfer to Folkestone, their only correspondence had been the Christmas cards sent by Lyn until the divorce and then nothing until now.
As if reading Hammond’s thoughts, Harris changed the tone of conversation abruptly. “It has been a while since I last saw you Wallace so I doubt you are aware that, until recently, I had been working with the Cold Case Investigation Team?”
Hammond leaned back in his chair somewhat taken aback by Harris’ news. Since Harris’s retirement, there had been considerable changes within Kent Police. April 2007 had seen collaboration between the police forces and authorities of Kent and Essex which now shared marine services and joint patrols along the Thames Estuary. A joint IT directorate had also been established but what was most significant since Harris’s departure from the force was the creation of one of the largest joint serious and organised crime units in the United Kingdom. The new Serious Crime Directorate, otherwise referred to as the SCD, consisted of six departments focusing on serious crime such as murders and serious sexual assaults across both counties. Another addition was The Cold Case Investigation Team, whose task was to focus on closing unsolved cases, formerly the responsibility of the Major Crime Unit, using the latest technology in DNA profiling. Hammond was aware that the CCIT had been successful in convicting rapists and serious offenders of crimes from twenty years previously. Neither was Hammond ignorant of the fact that the team employed retired detectives as investigation officers but he had no idea that Harris had been one of them. In particular he was surprised that Harris had not told him before now, they had always shared a mutual interest in each other’s careers.
Harris ignored Hammond’s look of surprise before continuing.
“In 1991, I was involved in an investigation into the disappearance of a nineteen year old girl by the name of Salima Abitboul. She had come from Morocco to fulfil a modelling contract in England. Her flatmate had reported her missing after she failed to return home after a day out. At the time, there was no reason to believe she had been abducted, so we were not concerned for her safety, it was possible that she had run off with a boyfriend. She hadn’t taken any personal possessions or any items of clothing with her, although her passport wasn’t found at her home, so it was assumed she had taken it with her.” Harris paused suddenly as if he was wanted to choose his words with care. Hammond waited for Harris to sip his drink and remained quiet until his friend resumed his topic of conversation.
“Salima’s family were not concerned about her disappearance. Ironically, they were confident that she was safer in the UK than at home so they were not alarmed by her disappearance despite us questioning her whereabouts. They told us that they had received letters from their daughter weeks before telling them that she was going to marry a business man.” Harris trailed off as if he were remembering the investigation. Hammond recognised a look of guilt flash across the other man’s face, he had a feeling he knew how Harris’ story would end. He sat forward in his seat hoping to appear encouraging.
“Well, you can understand why we didn’t take the disappearance that seriously. The only person who was concerned was Salima’s flatmate and it was presumed at the time that the two girls were not confidants; that Salima simply didn’t tell her friend of her plans to run off and marry the businessman. On reflection, it was a lapse of judgement not to question the identity of her fiancé or even to investigate further but, like I said, it seemed as if it were no more than a false alarm.” Harris paused to sip at his drink, his posture had changed whilst he had been talking and now he sat with his shoulders slumped, the weight of his body leaning onto the arm of the tub chair.
“We found her body a week later. She had been strangled.”
Hammond was curious where the conversation was heading. “You didn’t find her killer?”
Harris frowned, making it obvious he didn’t approve of Hammond’s interruption but he answered quickly.
“A man was charged with her abduction and murder following a confession.”
Suddenly Harris leaned forward, his eyes sought Hammond’s own with an intensity that Hammond found unnerving.
“The case was closed as far as I was concerned until four months ago. We found traces of Salima’s DNA in the apartment of a local man following his suicide.”
Hammond appraised Harris for a moment; he wanted to know why Harris was confiding this information in him.
“You think this local man was responsible for her death? You got the wrong man convicted?”
Harris ignored the latter question. “The reason I wanted to see you Wallace, was in your capacity as a Senior Investigating Officer. There is something about the case that has been troubling me, more than I cared to admit to the team. I know, but cannot prove, that Salima’s abduction is connected to a string of suicides all happening locally within the last eighteen months. The suicides themselves are suspicious enough, it is as if the people concerned compared notes of their proposed suicides before they killed themselves.”
Hammond listened to Harris’s concerns with mild interest. None of what Harris was saying made much sense; Salima Abitboul’s murder had been solved years before so there was no reason to re-open the case. As for the local suicides, he was aware of the latest craze in suicide pacts often founded on the social networking sites that glorified the act of taking their own lives and encouraging others to follow their lead. Despite the ludicrous suggestion of making suicide fashionable, Hammond knew that such websites existed with a dedicated following, especially amongst young, impressionable people. He had seen such a site a few years previously, following the death of a socially inept teenager. A search on the boy’s computer discovered he had been taught by such a website how to hang himself. The tutorial included video clippings of other suicides in progress. Instructions on how to measure the rope according to body height and weight, the best knots to use, even examples of the right way to write a suicide note. What Hammond had found particularly sickening was that there was a forum where other members wished each other luck on their future attempts. He suggested this idea to Harris, who shook his head impatiently.
“Have you heard of Fiona Nwasu?”
The name sounded familiar but Hammond couldn’t place it. He shook his head slowly and waited for Harris to respond. Harris nodded as if he had expected such an answer.
“She killed herself by jumping off the P and O Ferry at Dover.”
Hammond nodded his head as he remembered. There had been a search for Nwasu’s body immediately after she had plunged into the water around June last year. The media coverage had been intense.
“Mark Callum, aged thirty-six, was found in his Ashford apartment in September of this year. His head was in a plastic bag that had been tightened around the neck with brown parcel tape. Salima’s passport and a hairbrush with Salima’s hair were found in a drawer in his apartment. There is no reasonable explanation as to why these items were there but there wasn’t enough justifiable cause to investigate it further. Especially since her killer served his sentence and died in 1999 without ever retracting his confession. A suicide note was found on Callum’s body, no other foreign hair or fibre samples were found at the scene but I am convinced that it was not a suicide.”
Hammond frowned. An investigation conducted four months ago on a non-suspicious death would have been closed by now. Hammond revised the information Harris had just told him, he felt he was missing something. It sounded as if there was little connection between Callum’s and Nwasu’s deaths, the methods of suicide were entirely different. One suggested an impulsive decision to end a life; another seemed to have been pre-meditated. He was wondering about Harris’s involvement. Why the personal interest when the former detective had obviously co
me across a dead end in his investigation? But instead he allowed himself to reply with practical thought.
“Surely friends and family were questioned?” It was normal procedure after all to question the next of kin, and check medical records when a sudden death occurs.
“Mark Callum had no friends or family. He was a loner. His medical records are backdated to only one year ago. It was as if he didn’t exist before then.”
“Well, if he was a loner, perhaps he had depression, therefore any psychiatric reports?”
Harris was becoming impatient with Hammond’s useless questions.
“Wallace, listen to what I am trying to tell you. Mark Callum’s death is not the only one to have occurred in the last year. There have been other very similar deaths all happening concurrently. They were all aged between thirty-three to forty years of age which is unusual considering statistics suggest most suicides occur between the ages of fifteen to thirty-four years. Whilst I am aware of course that each case is different but as far as I know, none of the people were having issues with their sexuality or were in financial crises which you would expect. The pathology reports have indicated suicide; the inquests have supported this but...” Harris paused, sub-consciously tracing a finger over his top lip as if for reassurance. “..The methods of death are so peculiar. Why a bag over the head? There are quicker ways to die and certainly less painful.”
Hammond was listening to Harris intently. There was a chance that Mark Callum had been a missing person before his death, but the autopsy would have confirmed his true identity by dental records or fingerprints if he had changed his name previously.
He wanted to know how this information had found its way to Harris but knew that Harris’ thirst for inquiry had always been the driving force behind him, not just in his work, but his life. “No offence Lloyd, but I cannot see what it is you want me to say. From what you have told me there is nothing correlating the cases you have described. The deaths would have been investigated separately surely.” Hammond stopped talking. Harris was shaking his head and slapping his hands on his knees with extreme agitation. It was becoming embarrassing.
“These deaths are connected I know it! Everything about them tells me that there is a lot more going on than the police originally thought. The CCIT dismissed the case since Salima Abitboul’s murder had been solved in 1991. Despite trying to understand why her hairbrush or her passport were found at Callum’s apartment, I found no leads but I trust you will find one where I didn’t. If there is nothing to find, I will accept it and forget my suspicions.”
Hammond shrugged; he felt he had been backed into a corner.
“I will look into it, Lloyd, I can’t promise anything. It could just be a coincidence, but what about the other deaths, you said there were others. How many?”
Harris reached inside his jacket pocket and passed a folded paper across the glass top coffee table to Hammond. “I have done as much research as I can so there is enough to start an independent investigation. I have written a list of names there; just have a look, if only to satisfy my curiosity. Please Wallace, don’t fob me off. I am convinced this needs looking into. Promise me you will look at all the details”.
Hammond smiled. “Haven’t I always? Of course, Lloyd, I will do my best.” He put the paper in his pocket patting it as if to ensure if wouldn’t run away. “Leave it with me.”
“What we call “progress” is the exchange of one nuisance for another nuisance”.
Henry Havelock Ellis. The Dance of Life 1923
CHAPTER TWO
It had rained all night causing the mud to thicken and become boggy. Hammond was attempting to sidestep his way along the bank of the path, whilst keeping his boots from being sucked down further into the sticky ground. The mounds of leaves on the banks gave relief to the mud, but occasionally his foot would slide and lose its grip, causing him to compensate by suddenly stretching an arm out to balance himself. At one point this caused him to overbalance so much, he slid into the path of the accompanying officer who was guiding Hammond through the woods on the common approach path designated earlier by the scene examiner.
“It’s not far now Sir.”
He was reassured by the young officer who had spoken as if reading Hammond’s mind. Hammond was grouchy. He had slept fitfully during the night remembering his conversation with Harris. His former colleague had aged so rapidly, it was unnerving. There had been several moments spent in front of the mirror the previous evening whilst he appraised his own features, trying to see how old he looked. He was so disheartened he had gone to bed without brushing his teeth. There was no point if they were soon to be replaced by dentures he had reasoned, somewhat irrationally.
They had been walking nearly ten minutes already, sometimes walking through running water as it spilled down the path toward the rendezvous point at Sandling Road where they had parked the car. Ahead of the trudging men, there was the sound of a dog barking.
“They’ve brought the dogs in already?”
“No Sir, that is the dog that found the body. We asked the owner to stay here until you arrived.” The officer stepped further up the bank to the right of Hammond and gestured towards a clearing that sloped downwards. The slope was carpeted in wet leaves leading to a shallow hole that measured about 5ft in length. It was difficult to see anything else, due the area being surveyed by Scene of Crime Officers who were busy taking photographs and video clips.
Hammond was feeling hot under his paper body suit; he wished he had removed his jacket underneath first. “Has the area been sealed off yet?”
“Not all areas, there are a lot of paths to block. They are working on it as we speak.” Hammond turned his head toward a familiar voice. DS Lois Dunn was scraping her blonde hair into a ponytail as she stepped up the bank toward him. This done, she pulled the hood over her head. It made her look more youthful than ever Hammond noted. He smiled a greeting to her and they surveyed the scene in front of them.
The body was partially hidden in the shallow hole. It appeared to be male. He lay half on his side, face down in the dirt. His trousers were partially pulled down, exposing a naked upper left thigh. His right arm was wedged in underneath the weight of his body. The left arm reaching upwards towards the side as if he had fallen into the hole without being able to break his fall. Lying across the back of the legs and back were thick tree branches that had been arranged across the body suggesting a crude attempt to cover the body with woodland debris.
“They’re in the process of putting the tent up”. Hammond explained. “There’s too much water running down from the tree canopy.”
Dunn frowned with impatience but stayed where she was whilst the tent was hastily erected. Hammond enquired where the dog owner who reported the find was. Following directions he walked towards a dark haired man. Noting his frail frame, Hammond estimated he was about 80 years of age. The man was seated on a tree stump, talking softly to a Jack Russell Terrier whose nose was blackened by freshly dug soil. The dog was whining and pulling at its lead hoping to return to the cordoned off area. The humming of the generator powering the spotlights interrupted the silence. Hammond introduced himself and crouched down to the man’s eye level. It was apparent the man was in shock and looked cold. Hammond introduced himself quietly and reassured him that he would be taken home very soon. The man nodded gratefully and told Hammond his name was William Barnes from New Road, only five minutes’ walk away.
“Could you tell me everything that happened this morning, from the moment before you found the body up until when the police arrived?”
Hammond skipped over the word body noticing the man winced at the word.
“I come here most days, Daisy likes the woods.” The dog looked up at the mention of her name. She was patted reassuringly whilst the man spoke. “I walk Daisy at the same time every day, morning and afternoon. We usually come here because it is so close to home. Daisy’s hip gets stiff if she walks for too long so we only manage short walks.” He turned
his attention to the dog “We’re not getting any younger, are we girl?”
Hammond waited patiently whilst the dog was stroked. The man’s gaze remained focused on his dog whilst he continued speaking. “We walk along the path that runs behind the houses, and then turn left onto the main bridal-path which exits near the church. But today, because it was so cold I took a shorter route and walked up the bank where the leaves were. Daisy suddenly took off, for what seemed like no apparent reason. I assumed she had seen a rabbit and ran off to chase it, but when she didn’t come back (She usually comes back when I whistle for her) I started to look for her. I came off the path toward the perimeter of the adjoining field...and well...saw him...”
“How long was it before you started to look for her?”
“Not long, about five minutes or so.”
Hammond held in a sigh of disappointment. Five minutes wasn’t long, but it was plenty of time for a dog to contaminate a crime scene by disturbing evidence.
“Did you see anyone else during your walk? Other dog walkers perhaps?”
“No, I didn’t see anyone. I think people go along the bridle-path when it’s been raining, the path is less slippery there.” The man pointed toward another path that steered east.
“You said you normally walk your dog here every day. Is there anyone you would expect to see during your walk at this time?”
“Sometimes I see runners practising for the Boxing Day Run. They run along the main path but it tends to be later in the day.”
It became evident to Hammond that the man could not help them any further, by now he was shivering, and Hammond was concerned for his health. He requested that William Barnes’ hand over his clothes and shoes when he got home, explaining it was for elimination purposes and asked an officer to escort the man home, promising to check on him later in the day and handed him his card for future reference.
