by C. D. Neill
Hammond studied the photographs. “Did you go up there yourself?” He noted her negative gesture. “It may be worth going there again, try to see a different perspective of the site. You are right, it isn’t very visible from where the photograph was taken, but this photograph was taken early morning. There is a chance that later in the day when there is more daylight it is possible to see people standing near the sight. Also, we should do an audio test, check if it is possible to have heard any arguing or raised voices from both positions.” Hammond’s audience nodded in agreement. Tom Edwards wondered aloud how it had taken thirty hours before the body had been discovered since the woods were in constant use by the local public. He was reminded by Michael Galvin of the cold and wet weather conditions that had undoubtedly compromised the footpaths. A lot could go unnoticed when people are concentrating where they are going without slipping in the mud with their heads bowed Galvin reasoned. Edwards muttered a reply and continued scrutinizing his fingernails.
Dunn waited for several seconds, unsure whether to continue sharing the information she had gathered during the day, then, prompted by Hammond, directed their attention to highlighted yellow lines spreading across the map like a spider’s web.
“These tracks highlighted in yellow are the bike tracks. They are designed specifically for dirt tracking stunts and have been built by the bikers themselves, (most likely without the Councils permission). Horse riders trek through the woods using the main bridle path but they are not allowed to venture onto the smaller footpaths.” She paused, having lost her train of thought.
Galvin spoke up addressing Dunn’s report but his eyes focused on Hammond.
“I looked at the bike tracks, there are five separate areas covering 40 by 20 meters, but they all contribute to one play track. Whoever built the track were amateurs but did a good job.” He got up from his chair, flashing Dunn a smile as he took her place in front of the whiteboard. He pointed to Dunn’s map. “Here, about thirty meters from where the body was found is the start hill. They have used most of the natural resources from the woods by piling up sub soil to create a steep incline here...a platform here...and a slope. Next, there is the table top, which again is a steep incline, a platform and then a decline, before double jump, then the berm which bends downwards towards this area, to a swooping step-up. This part here is designed to be a speed jump.”
His finger rested on the red X that showed where the body had been found.
“The hole in which our victim was found was not intended to be a grave. I think it was part of the track, the aim being to jump the bikes over the hole where logs have been placed across.”
Hammond listened in silence; He tried to hide the fact that he had only partially understood what Galvin had explained. He had no idea what a swooping step-up was but assumed it had something to do with a mound of soil that was used to perform bike stunts. He was tired and still hungry. It was tempting to call the meeting to a close but he wanted to get the investigation going as soon as possible.
“The next twenty-four hours are crucial. We’ll start with door to door enquiries. Is our man local? How did he get to the woods? Was he seen walking or is there a car parked nearby unaccounted for? Until we get a formal identification of our victim we will concentrate on prospective witnesses or people who may have known him. We can assume that the tracks were built by the kids themselves, but it means they would have had access to tools somehow. It must have taken them weeks to design and build the tracks which suggest they plan to continue using it for a while. We need to go back to the woods, try to identify the BMX enthusiasts. Barnes said that our victim would watch them often, in which case they may give us some more information about him. Perhaps he was their coach. It is worth finding out where the kids were between Sunday and Monday morning.”
Edward’s examination of his fingernails was interrupted for a second whilst he called to Hammond across the room.
“The secondary school is on the other side of Sandling Road, there is a chance they saw our victim on Monday morning on their way to school if they used the woods as a shortcut.”
Dunn looked at Edwards with exasperation.
“It’s hardly a short cut, especially when it is so muddy. By the time the kids get to school; they’ll be dragging half the country-side behind them.”
She refrained from patronising Edwards further and turned her attention back to Hammond.
“You think it is worth going to the school?”
There was a good chance that the BMX enthusiasts were pupils at the local school. William Barnes had implied as much. Hammond nodded at Dunn.
“Yes, take Edwards with you in the morning, start with the corner shop opposite New Road, apparently the kids congregate there often, then go to the school; address the kids in assembly, just indicate that we are there for help gathering local information. There is no point in making them panic. They probably already know that a body has been found in the woods since the area has been sealed off, and a small village like Saltwood is bound to have its share of gossip, especially now the media has been informed.”
He delegated Galvin to taking another look at the bike tracks in the morning, using the opportunity to interview other dog walkers and runners who frequented the woodland paths. Hammond announced that he would chase up on Forensics. The team arranged to regroup the following afternoon before spilling out the room in undisguised eagerness to get home.
Wallace Hammond sank into a chair allowing himself to digest the day. He stayed there quietly for several minutes hypnotised by the sound of the wall clock ticking until he saw Dunn through the glass door walking down the corridor with a mug in her hand. He called to her, surprised that she hadn’t yet left the building like her peers. She responded to his call by walking back to the briefing room, poking her head around the door until she saw him in his crumbled state.
“You are not going home?”
Hammond gave her a lop-sided smile. “I am waiting for my body to get up and move.”
Dunn laughed and walked further into the room, still swinging her mug by its handle at her side. “I am going to stay here a few minutes longer, catch up on some e-mails.” She saw Hammond’s raised eyebrow and blushed slightly.
“Well...truth is, I don’t want to go home yet. My boyfriend is there, waiting for an answer that I cannot give him.”
“Oh.” Hammond felt this comment was heading towards unchartered territory. He had only known Dunn professionally for two years; their private lives had never been discussed, until now. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Don’t worry Sir. I am not going to spill my inner soul over the carpet, I just...” She stopped herself from saying anything more with sigh and sat down heavily on a chair next to Hammond, studying her cup as if looking for coffee grounds that could guide her.
“My life is great. I love my job; I’ve got a great apartment. Everything I ever wanted. I’ve met this amazing guy and we have fun, but now he wants commitment and everything is ruined.”
Hammond looked at her sympathetically. Lois Dunn was still so young; he guessed she was about thirty years of age. It was unusual to know a woman so driven in life without the desperation to be married or have children. He admired her tenacity.
“Do you like being with him?”
Dunn shrugged her shoulders hopelessly.
“Yes, but not enough to want to give up my independence.” She looked at Hammond and blushed again, apologising with a wave of her hand as if to wipe away her candour. The two colleagues sat there in silence, lost in their own thoughts before Hammond spoke.
“There is something I have been asked to investigate, something that is not really my responsibility but I feel the need to do it anyway.”
He was surprised by his own admittance although now he had spoken aloud of the thoughts that had tormented him throughout the day; it felt as if he were unburdening a heavy load. Dunn looked at him, surprised. She turned her chair so she could face him and listened as Hamm
ond told her about Lloyd Harris’s request. She didn’t say a word until Hammond relayed the details of Mark Callum’s death.
“Well, there are no rules to suicide.” She said simply in response to Hammond’s questioning the method of suicide. Hammond agreed but then explained his puzzlement over the missing paper and pen, Callum’s lack of a social life, the unexplained rent payments. As he spoke, he became aware that Harris’s instinct warranted more attention. A detective had no tools of the trade other than their instinct. It couldn’t be handed to a young rookie with an id card and a pair of handcuffs, it was instinctual, organic. Hammond shouldn’t have doubted Harris’s instinct, especially now that his own was beginning to gnaw at him. There was something that wasn’t right. Mark Callum’s death had been as neat and tidy as his apartment and as such, it bordered on implausible. He shared these thoughts with Dunn as she sat there silently. When he had finished talking, she looked at him intently.
“I know I don’t have to remind you that it is going to be practically impossible to justify spending resources on reviewing suicides. Do you want me to help in any way? We could do it in our free time. Galvin will help as well, you know he would do anything for you if you asked him.”
Hammond looked at Dunn sharply. He saw she wasn’t being sarcastic but was taken aback by her comment. He had noticed Galvin’s enthusiasm for the job but had never considered it was in any way related to himself. He waited for Dunn to explain her comment but instead she stood up from her chair.
“Just ask if you need me to check on anything or to help with the investigation in any way.”
Hammond thanked her, he was confident it would only be a matter of time before he took her up on her offer.
Hammond was convinced the car was on autopilot, he couldn’t remember driving to his house in Stanford yet he arrived outside his front door within twenty minutes after leaving Police Headquarters. He was annoyed to find a battered Volkswagen camper van parked in his usual place, leaving him with no choice but to park further up the road. As he walked toward his house, he noted that the curtains were drawn. He knew that the curtains had been open when he had left that morning. He paused outside his neighbour’s house, unsure whether to proceed, his eyes automatically scanning the road for his son’s car. It was possible that Paul had come home unexpectedly, but unlikely he would bother to draw the curtains. Hammond considered the possibility and thought again. If Paul didn’t have his car, he would have phoned to be collected from the train station and he hadn’t heard from Paul. His heart started beating fast in his chest. He crouched down by the wall and considered what to do. If there were burglars, it was likely there would be more than one. He focused on each car parked in close proximity in turn, looking for someone in a car that was a possible look-out. He saw no-one. Whoever was in the house were confident they wouldn’t be disturbed. He breathed slowly and crept across to his garden wall, waiting several seconds before skulking across the small front garden to underneath the living room window. He crouched low, confident he was hidden in the darkness. There was a gap in the curtains, he attempted to see through it by raising his head from his crouched position, but could only see the light from the table lamp nearest the window that had been switched on during his absence. For a moment he considered phoning the police, but pride got the better of him and he decided to approach the front door. He rang the doorbell and listened, expecting activity on the other side, there was nothing. Hammond took a deep breath and turned the key in the lock, slamming the door open, causing it to swing dramatically before it concluded its dance with a resounding thud against the wall. Still silence. The house was in darkness apart from the light that was showing from underneath the living room door. He stood with his back against the hallway wall and raised one leg until his foot rested on the door handle. With one push he depressed the door lever and spun into the room with a shout that resembled a tribal war cry. There was a yelp from behind one of the sofas. A black mass of hair slowly raised itself from the other side of the room, followed by two dark rimmed eyes. Hammond swallowed; he was being burgled by a monkey.
“Wally! You frightened the shit out of me!”
The reprimanding voice was accompanied by the petite figure of a young woman dressed in tightly fitted jeans and a black t-shirt with the slogan “If you can afford me, I’m yours!” Hammond’s face broke into a relieved smile.
“Jenny! I didn’t know you would be here.” He wasn’t sure how to continue. It wasn’t every day that his son’s best friend visited him uninvited. In fact, he had never officially invited her. Jenny had a habit of doing what she wanted when she wanted regardless of any unspoken protocol.
“It’s cool.” Jenny continued pulling at the sofa, speaking as if she were accepting an apology from him. “Paul said he had left a message for you. How do you get this sofa to turn into a bed?”
She didn’t look at him as she spoke, being so preoccupied with pulling his sofa apart. Her blasé attitude made Hammond feel as if it were he who was intruding into her private domain. He stood there, completely bewildered before walking across the room to assist her unfolding the metal sprung mattress base and rearranged the sofa cushions for her.
“It’s bloody freezing in here, Wally”
Jenny looked at him then, and reached her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. The gesture was so unexpected that Hammond, with some embarrassment returned the embrace, patting his hands on her upper back. Then he remembered the front door was still open and returned to the hallway, shutting the door firmly.
Jenny called to him as he returned along the hallway, kicking his shoes off as he passed the coat rack.
“I’ve made you some dinner, it’s in the oven.”
He proceeded to the kitchen, questions popping into his thoughts as he did so but decided not to ask, not yet. He headed for the telephone that was mounted on the wall inside the kitchen and dialled 1571 to retrieve his phone messages.
“Hey Dad. I need a favour. Jen’s going through a bad time, I told her she could come and stay with you for a while, just until she gets her head sorted. I have given her my keys so don’t feel you have to get home early to let her in. I will phone soon.” The message ended. It was typical that his son had not thought to ring his mobile rather than the home phone to ensure his message would be retrieved before Jenny had arrived. The female call-minder voice instructed Hammond to save or delete the message by pressing three. He pressed three before replacing the handset and looked around the kitchen. It was unusually tidy despite the faint aroma of burnt toast. He felt un-nerved suddenly and strode back into the living room.
“Jenny, it’s lovely to see you of course. I haven’t seen you in a while and you look great.” He lied; she looked like a small child who had attacked the Halloween face paints. “Although, I have to ask...why the sudden visit? Paul’s message said you are going through a tough time. Are you alright?”
He perched on the arm of the chair nearest the door and waited for her to face him. When she did turn, he was taken aback by her response.
“No, Wally. I am not alright. No, I do not want to talk about it, and no, I don’t know how long I will be here, but it’s probably for a few days, unless you want to be like a typical misogynistic male and kick a vulnerable woman out on the street so you can stay here and be cosy with your smug self?!”
The words were shouted at him with childish aggression, but Hammond stayed where he was, concentrating on keeping his face as neutral as possible. He was unsure how to respond.
“Ok. Where did you say my dinner was?”
“All human work, under natural conditions, is a kind of dance.”
Henry Havelock Ellis. The Dance of Life. 1923.
CHAPTER FIVE
The temperature had dropped to several degrees above freezing. The cold air shocked Wallace Hammond awake as he blearily opened his front door. Ideally he would have stayed in bed an extra hour but wanted to get into the office before it got too busy. He stepped out into the co
ld air and then with second thoughts, returned indoors to retrieve his overcoat. He would have liked to have found his scarf, but the coat rack mountain refused to divulge any clues as to where his scarf could be so he gave up. Wrapping his coat around his shoulders he headed towards his usual parking space forgetting the Volkswagen van was parked there instead. He swore and in his annoyance got out his pen and notebook from his inside pocket and scribbled a hasty message for the car owner. “To whoever owns this piece of junk. Please note this is residential parking only. Cars will be clamped if parked illegally.”
He knew it was a childish act, but he admitted to himself that it was somewhat enjoyable too. It was unlikely the car owner would trace the message to him. Hammond chuckled quietly to himself as he strolled up to the road to his car, imagining the facial expression of the reader when the message was discovered. He hoped it would give him his car space back.
If there was such a thing as karma, it presented itself to Hammond immediately. The Peugeot’s windscreen was covered in a sheet of ice. Hammond remembered too late that he had lost the window scraper last winter and resigned himself to sitting in the front seat with the engine running and the heater on full blast. Minutes past and the windscreen showed no sign of defrosting. Deciding to make his house-guest earn her keep, he called his own home number from his mobile letting it ring repeatedly until he heard a groggy “Who and what?”
Using an encouraging tone, Hammond persuaded Jenny to fill a jug of warm water and bring it up the road to his car. She was not impressed but after reminders that it could be her way of returning a favour she put the phone down. It wasn’t long before he saw her unsmiling face, bare of make-up looking down at him through a shower of water. She followed his directions, pouring warmth over all the windows and then walked back towards the house with the empty jug and no word of farewell. As Hammond used his wipers to clear the windscreen of excess moisture, he saw Jenny stop at the Volkswagen van and read his message pinned under the campervan’s wipers. She pulled the note away and looked around at the row of neighbouring houses with a look of agitation. He put the car into first gear and withdrew from his parking space. As he passed his own house, he saw Jenny, seemingly unaware of the icy temperature, dressed only in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and shorts crouched down in the next door neighbour’s porch. It looked as if she was shouting through the letterbox.
