Doors Without Numbers

by C. D. Neill

  “The lesser good, our own or that of others, is merged in a larger good, and that cannot be without some rendering of the heart.”

  Henry Havelock Ellis. The Dance of Life.1923

  CHAPTER NINE

  The car inched its way to Folkestone with Hammond muttering words of encouragement to get it through the snow. His hands were fixed onto the driving wheel, his head bent low as he peered through the flashing windscreen wipers that couldn’t clear the large flakes from his window quick enough. The rear brake lights of the cars in front were a constant warning that his journey would be no more than a slow crawl. Grumbling to himself in frustration Hammond contemplated leaving the car and walking to work. He phoned the office and listened to the phone ring unanswered before it was re-directed to switchboard. The unusual wait for the phone to be picked up made him wonder aloud where Dunn, Edwards and Galvin were and hoped they would reach the headquarters safely. The car in front, frustrated by the wait, tried to reverse and turn around. It was a futile attempt, the snow was laying so thick that the wheels couldn’t grip and just spun as the car coasted too close for Hammond’s liking.

  For the third time that morning he checked his mobile phone and contemplated whether to phone Kathleen and cancel their meeting that evening. It had not been his intention to take her to dinner but he had been so surprised, and he admitted to himself, flattered, that he had found himself agreeing to her suggestion with enthusiasm. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t have any decent trousers to wear. His black trousers (usually reserved for weddings or funerals) would be too tight. Even if he eat a minimum amount, the skin under the waistband would pinch from the inevitable bloating. He contemplated his current attire that didn’t differ much to any other day. Navy corduroys, a plain white shirt and navy tie under a matching jacket was his usual dress, for his expanding waistline limited his choices nowadays. Clothed with comfort in mind with a tie for a professional finish. His quick glance in the side mirror reminded him he needed a haircut.

  He checked the clock display and switched on the radio to listen to the hourly local news. Snow had covered most of the South East causing disruptions to all public transport and roads, schools had been closed. Emergency services were advising people to stay at home. Hammond grunted. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly the country ground to a stop at the slightest provocation from Mother Nature. He wondered how Paul was and hoped that London wasn’t affected by snow. Paul wouldn’t attempt to drive in such weather. He wished the journey to work would be worth the trouble. If he was lucky, murder and mayhem would also slow to a stop and let him leave work early.

  When Hammond reached his desk almost two hours later, he was pleasantly surprised to see an A4 envelope from Forensics waiting for him on his desk. The contents were enlarged photographs of bike pedals. The accompanying note had been sent from the forensics team explaining that the pedals on the bikes searched had not matched the patterned bruise found on Graham Robert’s thigh. He laid the photographs on the table examining them closely. The pictures had been taken from the bikes belonging to the three boys questioned by himself and DC Tom Edwards the previous day. All the pedals had smooth edges. He sighed with disappointment and left the office to get himself a coffee. Edwards had arrived, he was shaking his head free from the melted flakes that ran down the back of his neck. His hair looked thinner when it was wet and was a reminder of his middle age. He looked up as Hammond approached him from the corridor and joined him on his walk towards the coffee machine. As they walked, Hammond told him about the photographs from Forensics.

  “Ah well, it was worth a shot. Just because Roberts had a bruise on his leg from a bike pedal doesn’t mean he was attacked by a cyclist.”

  Hammond agreed, he realised that he had automatically assumed there had only been the one assailant. It was possible that the bike had knocked Roberts accidently hours before the other injuries were incurred. He spoke these thoughts aloud to Edwards who spooned fresh ground coffee into the machine filter whilst listening to Hammond.

  “It is unlikely the bruise was caused much earlier than the attack. If the bruising on Robert’s thigh was caused by impact from the bike pedal, the blood vessels didn’t have a chance to bleed before the heart stopped. Surely that suggests it had just happened?”

  Edwards wasn’t a eloquent speaker but often the content of his speeches were relevant.

  Hammond nodded. “I thought that each bruise is individual, some take longer than others to appear.” He hoped that the toxicology report would allow them a better idea of when the impact of the pedal had happened. The medical notes from Robert’s G.P had confirmed Roberts had been prescribed a cocktail of medication including Beta-Blockers and Statins but Hammond was unsure whether these could delay the breakdown of haemoglobin which in turn would affect the time scale of a bruise appearing. He vaguely remembered a case he had investigated years ago on a suspicious death. The victim’s body was badly bruised and it was suspected that they had suffered a beating contributing to their death. It was later discovered that the time of the suspected attack had been complicated by the victim having taken anti-malaria medication. The consequences were that alibi’s given for the victim’s attack were given for the wrong time and therefore invalid. It had caused weeks of delays and frustrations before it was discovered the victim’s injuries had been incurred hours before his death. Hammond knew that Aspirin could have some influence on the formation of bruises because it was an anticoagulant, but he wouldn’t know for sure that Roberts had taken Aspirin until they got the toxicology results. Either way, the bruise on Roberts thigh was relevant because even if it was caused by an innocent party, it meant there were potential witnesses in the woods during the time when Roberts died.

  Edwards took a gulp of his coffee and suggested Dr Henderson could help. Hammond hoped that he would volunteer to speak to the coroner but he didn’t, instead he told Hammond that DS Dunn was delayed because her car was stuck in snow and Galvin’s wife was having pregnancy complications so he was taking her to the doctor before making his way to headquarters.

  Hammond was disappointed, he had hoped to discuss any further information Dunn had gathered on Robert’s financial status. He ushered Edwards into his office to discuss the pedal comparisons. Each photograph showed what looked like ordinary bike pedals, He wondered aloud whether there was a way of identifying different pedals, but then he had an idea and grabbed the photographs before exiting the office leaving Edwards sitting alone in the office wondering what Hammond was thinking.

  It took Hammond ten minutes to identify the police officer whose bicycle was parked in the lobby of the headquarters every day regardless of the weather outside. Constable Mike Andrews was happy to look at the photographs Hammond produced before he started his shift.

  “These are platform pedals, typical for the BMX or mountain bikes. They are used to enable the foot to be positioned freely which rests the joints. However, stunt bikers prefer them because they allow the foot to be removed instantly.”

  A thought struck Hammond suddenly. “If a rider wanted to avoid putting his foot down too much. What pedal would be used then?”

  Andrews looked up from the photos. “Not these, you’d probably go for a clip-less pedal. They are usually used with a cycling shoe that has a cleat fitted to the sole, so you’d snap your foot into place on the pedal and it will stay there even in the roughest terrain making it easier to jump over obstacles. Then perform a quick side rotation to release the connection when you wanted to put your foot down.” Hammond thanked him and waited for the photographs to be returned. Constable Andrews pointed to the top photograph. “That one’s not cheap, you’ve got a dedicated BMX cyclist owning this! Do they build the bikes themselves?”

  Hammond replied he didn’t know as he turned to leave, before curiosity got the better of him and he asked how expensive the pedal was.

  “Those are made of magnesium with light titanium axles, probably about a hundred quid. It doesn’t sound much, b
ut if they’re building their own bike, I reckon it’s going to be worth a small fortune by the time they’ve included all the best components.”

  It was doubtful that any of the boys questioned by himself and Edwards the previous morning had used Clip-less pedals, a young cyclist probably wouldn’t bother to change shoes before and after using the tracks, or be able to afford such sophisticated equipment. However, the photographs taken of the bikes owed by Samuel Lawson, Danny Culver and Gavin Mason showed that one of the three boys had expensive taste. Hammond ran his fingers through his hair as if giving his thoughts space to develop. Samuel Lawson and Danny Culver were training for the freestyle competition, there was a chance they were sponsored competitors, in which case their expenses may be shared. Hammond sighed as he dismissed this latter thought. His priority was to identify the bike that had bruised Graham Roberts. So far the information he had gained had been irrelevant. Instead of identifying the type of pedal that had impacted against Roberts, he had eliminated Lawson, Culver and Mason from being around at the time of the attack on Roberts. A thought struck him. Gavin Mason had mocked Thomas Taylor’s bike as being a cheaper imitation of a BMX bike. He quickly retraced his steps to where he had spoken to Andrews and found him heading outside to the car park with a colleague, He called to them to wait whilst he sprinted across the heaped snow ignoring the look of annoyance that crossed the constables’ features.

  “What would the cheaper alternative be? If a ATM bike was used instead of a BMX?”

  Andrews looked perplexed for a moment. “It depends on whether they modify their bike by using BMX components, but if the bike isn’t adapted in any way, I would guess a platform pedal, although cage style pedals are used on the cheaper designs because they are economical for the manufacturer.”

  “Would they work in the same way as a clip-less pedal?”

  “Only by making it more difficult to put your foot down quickly. To be honest, cage style pedals are no good for free-styling, they offer less grip than a platform pedal and can cause nasty injuries to the rider if they stop short and lose their footing.”

  Andrews turned away impatiently and continued his conversation with his colleague as Hammond ventured his way back toward the office where he had left Tom Edwards. He wished he could remember the bike that Thomas had shown him but it had been his intention to question a possible witness rather than look for evidence at the time of his interview with the boy. Hammond sighed heavily, he was angry at his stupidity for visiting Thomas alone, he should have taken Dunn with him.

  When he had returned upstairs Hammond saw that Dunn and Galvin had arrived. Galvin looked tired after an evident lack of sleep. Hammond poured him a fresh coffee and handed it to his younger colleague with an understanding slap on the shoulder. He didn’t enquire after Galvin’s wife, but hoped that Galvin’s presence was confirmation of her recovery.

  Edwards had discussed the photographs of the bike pedals to the others. They were interested but unsure whether to draw any conclusions until the full forensics report had been completed, it will take longer for any trace evidence to be processed. Hammond found it easier to contribute to the conversation now he had the information provided by Constable Andrews. With refreshed enthusiasm he directed their attention to the computer in the office where he headed an internet search for cage style pedals. It wasn’t an easy task but eventually he found what he was looking for. He printed the page off and laid it on the table. They were all silent for several seconds as they compared the autopsy photograph with the image before them. Hammond drew a large question mark under the image before faxing it to Ed Henderson. Whilst they waited for the coroner’s reply, Dunn discussed her earlier conversation with Eleanor, Graham Roberts’ sister.

  “She was adamant that she had not loaned any money from her brother and could not offer an explanation as to why he had made the withdrawals. I got the impression that she didn’t take much interest in her brother, she hadn’t had much contact with him apart from phoning him on his birthday or at Christmas.”

  “Did you find any receipts?”

  Galvin replied quickly, “I am going to look at the house again, the receipts I have found so far are for electrical goods and the usual household appliances, but none have accounted for the large withdrawals.”

  Hammond nodded. “We are going to keep looking. It is worth checking his post to see if any invoices arrive.”

  It took half an hour before they received a reply from Henderson. The conversation that took place between Galvin and the coroner was brief. Galvin replaced the receiver and turned to Hammond. The news was encouraging. The cage pedal had been identified as the pedal that had struck Robert’s leg. Now they were one step closer to identifying the bike owner. It didn’t mean the person was guilty of assault, but it did mean that they had found a witness whom had been near Graham Roberts at the time of his assault. Hammond dialled the number of the forensic team. It was necessary to look at Thomas Taylor’s bike.

  Detective Superintendant Beech looked slimmer in his uniform; he sat at the table, leaning towards the microphone as he waited for the hubbub in the room to die down. Hammond felt less self-conscious sitting next to Beech but hoped that the media briefing would be short. Beech welcomed the reporters and photographers warmly, thanking them for attending and apologising for the lapse of judgement in not giving out more detail earlier. Hammond felt his ears burn.

  Beech confirmed that Graham Roberts was the man who had died in Saltwood woods following an assault, but was interrupted by a reporter Hammond didn’t recognise. “How can you reassure our readers that they are safe?”

  Beech smiled, reassuringly. “I am confident that my colleagues will be treating this case with the utmost proficiency. They are dedicated to finding out the circumstances of Mr Roberts’ death. I assure your readers and members of the public that the person or people responsible will be apprehended very soon.”

  “Have you made any arrests?”

  “There are people currently helping us with our enquiries.”

  There were groans from around the room as the media members made it obvious they wanted more. Beech held up his hand and added “I promise to keep you informed of any arrests that we make, but in the meantime, we welcome the public to bring to our attention any information on Mr Roberts that they believe will be of help.”

  Hammond couldn’t believe his ears. A knot formed in his stomach. When the room had cleared, he turned to Beech.

  “How could you promise that? If my suspicions are correct we may be looking at a child being exposed to public scrutiny.”

  Beech looked at Hammond with a stance of superiority.

  “Well, bring him in for questioning and see if you’re right. Either way, the media will find out eventually and it is better to look as if we are being as co-operative as possible. Wallace, you do your job, I’ll do mine.”

  The roads had been cleared of snow during the day but DC Michael Galvin drove slowly. Hammond sat in the passenger seat feeling an inexplicable nervousness. From the moment he had received the call from the forensic team he had dreaded reaching the Taylor’s house but at the same time hoped that Thomas had returned from school. He checked his watch, it was 3.30pm, the school had finished half an hour earlier. The sooner the boy was brought in for questioning and his bike properly examined, the sooner the loose ends could be tied. For several moments, Hammond tried to think of Paul as he had been at twelve years but then forced himself to stop. He had instructed the car to arrive outside the house quietly, with the intention of being as discreet as possible, but, seeing there were no parking spaces, they were forced to double park outside the house. A uniformed officer accompanied Hammond to the front door whilst Galvin crept toward the back garden in case Thomas attempted to exit out the back door.

  Mrs Taylor opened the door looking alarmed. She had obviously seen the car draw up outside the house. She ushered them into the hallway and quickly shut the door behind them. She knew from Hammond’s face that he
was here on official business and it scared her into submission, her teeth bit down on her fist as she struggled to understand what the uniformed officer was telling her. Thomas appeared from the kitchen and saw Hammond. He started to smile a greeting but then stopped seeing his Mother’s fearful reaction. His eyes flicked from his mother to Hammond and then he started to run back into the kitchen. Mrs Taylor yelled his name, she was crying now, but Hammond ignored her attempts to call her son back. He moved quickly toward the kitchen door, slipping on the lino floor as he ventured his way around the door toward the back entrance that lead into the garden. He shouted for Galvin but couldn’t see him. Thomas was at the far end of the garden, piling up garden rubbish in a crude attempt to make a step enabling him to climb over the fence. He looked around as Hammond approached him with the police officer close behind. Thomas’ nose was running. His eyes large with panic. Hammond slowed to a stop, holding his arm out for the officer to do the same. The two men stood there, waiting as Thomas decided what to do. Not wanting to scare the boy, Hammond spoke quietly to Thomas, explaining that they only wanted to talk to him. He was distracted momentarily by the sound of the garden gate being forced open. Then Galvin stood there as he assessed the scene before him. But now, Thomas was crowded and he wriggled over the fence into the next door neighbour’s garden. Hammond ran to the fence, attempting to jump over it, but his arms couldn’t support his weight enough to heave himself up. He called to the police officer to pursue Thomas over the fence and exited with Galvin through the gate. They were now by the front of the house, running down New Road after Thomas who kept looking over his shoulder at his pursuers. By now Mrs Taylor had followed them out the side gate, she was shouting for her son to be left alone, but Hammond didn’t stop. He needed to talk to Thomas, if only to reassure him. Thomas veered off to the left at the end of the road, he ran alongside the main road before seizing the opportunity to run through a gap in the traffic to get to the other side. Hammond chased, his lungs were now bursting, but he couldn’t stop, he ran on the path opposite where Thomas had crossed, the slamming of his feet against the pavement made a thudding sound that filled his head, muffling the noises of chattering school children waiting at the bus stop for their ride home. Hammond looked across to where he had last seen Thomas, wanting to get across the road, but the school traffic was dense with distracted bus drivers and stressed parents wanting to get home before it became dark. He raised his hand to stop the oncoming cars as he attempted to run across but instead was met by angered horns. In the distance he heard a driver shout after him as a car swung around Hammond, not slowing, causing him to step back onto the pavement. Hammond looked over to where he had last seen Thomas, but the boy was now too far away to see. He looked to the right of him in desperation, persistently edging away from the pavement into the road. Eventually the uniformed officer stepped out into the oncoming traffic, forcing the cars to stop. Running to the junction on the other side, Hammond’s eyes frantically searched left and right until he saw Thomas heading south down Bartholomew Lane about 200 meters away. A car screeched to a stop beside Hammond, Galvin shouted at him to get inside; he clumsily vaulted over the bonnet and crashed into the passenger seat as he yelled at Galvin to drive on. Thomas’s legs were flashing stripes as he ran. By now he was so panicked, he lost all sense of caution and was dodging past oncoming cars as he overtook school children and dog walkers on the pavement. Galvin braked suddenly as he approached parked cars on the left, frustrated by the oncoming cars that refused to give way. He switched on the siren, the noise attracting attention from onlookers as they stopped what they were doing to watch the pursuit of Thomas sprinting southbound. Hammond swayed left and right bracing himself with his hands against the dashboard as Galvin sped after the boy. Hearing the sirens, Thomas turned and then lost his footing, he wobbled and fell sideways. His hands breaking his fall. Galvin pressed his foot hard on the brake to stop. Hammond exited the car. He walked over to where Thomas lay and bent down to the boy, covering him with his jacket and smoothed stray hairs from the boys face, trying his best to calm him.