Doors Without Numbers

by C. D. Neill

  “She abused them emotionally?”

  Cheryl looked at Hammond intently before answering. Her posture had relaxed but her eyes remained alert, her body leaned forwards towards Hammond.

  “She controlled them not by making them fear her, but by making them fear the outside world. She offered them protection from the big bad world outside.”

  “I don’t understand, how would she do that?”

  “By taking away their sense of self, their sense of belonging. All the children had rooms exactly the same as each other. They were constantly moved from one room to another so that they didn’t have their own space, or a sense of privacy. The house was enormous, I think there were about twelve bedrooms, but all of them were identical. Everything was bare, there were no pictures, no brightly coloured walls, nothing to give any indication of the characters that lived there. You couldn’t tell which room was which. The kids would never sleep in the same room on any consecutive night. This was a rule. I remember this particularly because I never knew where to find Salima.”

  “But how did this make them fear the outside world?”

  “Apart from Salima and Katie. All the children were there because they were either delinquent, like Lucas, or deprived in some way of paternal care. Mark’s mother was neglectful, Lucas’s mother, I think, had died of a drug overdose. Theresa’s history was hazy, but I know she had been to numerous foster placements before going to Goodchild. Each one of them had a reason to feel hard done by, and Goodchild never let them forget it. Salima would tell me how Goodchild would lecture them all on how they had to reverse their own fortunes by striking back. We used to laugh about it at first but now I realise it was quite mad.”

  Cheryl paused speaking whilst she stood up and walked to the window. The children were still outside the house, she watched them for several minutes before turning around and facing him.

  “After Salima disappeared, I tried to look after Theresa, I thought it was what Salima would want me to do. Theresa was highly intelligent but also a difficult girl. I think she was as affected by losing Salima as I was. We used to meet in private, just to talk. There were times when I was seriously concerned that Theresa was growing up to be disturbed. Cruel even.”

  Cheryl stopped talking. She returned to the chair but kept her eyes turned away from Hammond’s. “There was a young girl who stayed at the house for a week or so. It was after Salima’s disappearance, I can’t remember the new girl’s name but I do know that Lucas had taken an interest in her. I remember because I was jealous.” She paused as though she was about to divulge a guilty secret.

  “I confess I hated the girl even though I never met her. I suppose you could say that I was so obsessed with Lucas that I didn’t think rationally. When Theresa told me about this girl and how Lucas had taken a shine to her, well, I just saw red. I said that I hated the girl, that we should do something, get rid of her, that kind of thing. It was a jealous rage, Of course I never meant it but, well, Theresa thought that I did.”

  “She did something to the girl?”

  “In a way, yes. Theresa used to give me updates, possibly to reassure me that nothing was happening that I didn’t know about, then one day Theresa came running over to the flat telling me that the girl had been rushed into hospital with some ailment or other. I am not sure what it was now, but it turned out that she had to return to hospital needing surgery. Theresa, in her misguided way, encouraged the girl to take Ginkgo Bilbao herbal tablets prior to the surgery...”

  Hammond was confused. He felt that Cheryl had told him something relevant by the way she avoided looking at him, but he wasn’t sure what she was telling him. He murmured aloud his ignorance.

  “Gingko Bilbao counteracts aesthetic actions.”

  “You mean, Theresa wanted the girl to wake up...” The thought was too malicious to comprehend. He left the sentence unfinished.

  “to wake up during surgery. Yes. That is what Theresa intended.”

  “Jeez...But how was it discovered?”

  “The girl very nearly bled to death. Theresa didn’t know, at least, she claimed not to know, that Ginkgo Bilbao is also an anti-coagulant.”

  “But surely the social services intervened?”

  Cheryl shrugged, “Possibly, I don’t know. The girl left, but Theresa stayed. She was very proud of what she had accomplished, but I unfortunately didn’t offer my thanks. I think I had since realised that Lucas wasn’t for me anyway.”

  “But you stayed in contact?”

  “Not at first, no. Salima’s body had been found soon after and our relationship became strained. But then I recognised Theresa several years later and I approached her. She was very withdrawn, very nervous. She was polite and obviously eager to remember our times with Salima but at the same time, it was very difficult to get to know her. I found her very odd, but at the same time, her new personality intrigued me. I followed her home one day. Nothing had changed as far as how she had lived. Her flat was completely free of personality, there were no pictures, no television, absolutely no trace of the person Theresa was, and then of course I realised.”

  “Realised what?”

  “That Goodchild had brainwashed her so much that her sense of self had completely vanished. Her flat had replaced one of the rooms at the foster home; She had deliberately removed the number on the door of her own apartment! Can you believe that?”

  Her words hit Hammond straight between the eyes. He had missed it before, but now he understood the uneasy feeling he had had when looking at the photographs of Lucas Dean’s apartment. He remembered the WPC from Ashford saying she had gone to the wrong apartment because Mark Callum had no number on his door. All scenes had been identical apart from the method of death.

  “Are you saying that Goodchild manipulated the foster children using some kind of sensory deprivation?”

  Cheryl nodded.

  “Do you have any idea why?”

  Cheryl uttered a sound that resembled a short laugh, yet her tense body language betrayed her lack of amusement.

  “Like I said, she was a bitch. I guess it was to enjoy having control over them. I can’t explain evil, can you?”

  Hammond ignored the question.”Do you know if Theresa maintained contact with Mrs Goodchild?”

  Cheryl shook her head. “I don’t know. But I do know that she was desperate for Goodchild’s approval, it is unlikely that she would have walked away willingly from her. Theresa told me that it had been Goodchild who had told her about the Ginkgo Bilbao in the first place but I don’t know whether this was true, although it wouldn’t surprise me if she did. I know that Goodchild liked to know people’s weaknesses and she would play to them. For example, Salima’s weakness was that she was caring and loving. Goodchild kept telling her to toughen up, she said that Salima should learn that emotion was nothing more than chemicals in the brain.”

  Hammond was interested in what he was being told, but he couldn’t understand why Cheryl had written about Theresa’s death on a bereavement forum.

  “Theresa was terrified of heights, really terrified. I read about her death in the paper and I knew that somehow her death wasn’t as clear cut as it was reported. Theresa was odd, but she wasn’t depressed. She wouldn’t have killed herself.”

  “But you said yourself she wasn’t the same person as she was when you had been friends.”

  “I don’t think you can eradicate fear. Manage it, yes, but sacrifice yourself to the fear itself? I don’t find that plausible.”

  “Do you suspect who was responsible? You wrote in your forum. “the bastards”, plural. There were people rather than one person you suspected of foul play?”

  “Inspector Hammond, what I wrote is immaterial, I cannot prove anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if Goodchild is behind it somehow. When Theresa died, I tried to track down the others but I found absolutely no trace of them which I considered odd, especially now it is so easy to find people with the social networking sites and information so readily available
on the internet. I kept playing over in my mind the last time I had seen Theresa. She was a shell, and I believed that Goodchild had created this..” Her hands moved in synchronised circular motions as if turning a cog in her mind, searching for the appropriate word.

  “... vacant human being with her manipulation. I blamed her for Theresa’s death. And the social workers, all the people who had turned away and done nothing to help. I wanted to find those people and draw them out of their closets. If any of the others had wanted to find her, all they would have had to do is a search on her name and my entry would have come up. I wanted them to read about her, to know that what happened to Theresa, that it wasn’t right. Effectively, Goodchild had murdered her the second she had taken her into her home, the girl had no chance of living a normal life. Now of course, there is no one left. I don’t believe any of it is a coincidence. Mark was frightened of life but he would have never had the courage to kill himself either.”

  Cheryl was becoming agitated, her voice became louder, her speech more rapid. Hammond felt his time with her was running out, he knew he had to be quick in maintaining her attention. He took out the few remaining photographs he had brought with him and laid one on the coffee table beside her. She followed his direction and picked up the photograph showing Salima at a party, her back to a large mirror that reflected a room decorated by flowers and chandeliers.

  “I haven’t seen this picture before. That is one regret I have, that I have nothing to remember her by.”

  Hammond leaned forward, his eyes deliberately met hers.

  “Cheryl, do you know if Salima knew a woman called Pattie? Did she work for her?”

  “I don’t know anyone with the name Pattie. Salima never mentioned anyone of that name but I think she did some work other than the modelling.”

  “What kind of work?”

  Hammond tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible but the way Cheryl looked at him made him realise his enthusiasm had betrayed his intention.

  “Salima told me that Goodchild had chosen each child for their own individual gifts. She liked them to be useful, to earn their keep I suppose. Theresa was highly intelligent, Lucas was charming and devious. Mark was subservient. Salima’s gift was her beauty, her ability to attract wealthy suitors which Goodchild encouraged but Salima was not a whore, Mr Hammond. She would never have sold herself that way.”

  He was losing her co-operation. He held up a hand in a mute apology.

  “You have been really helpful Cheryl and I really appreciate your candour but I need to ask you just one more question...Do you have any idea why Salima was killed?”

  Cheryl shook her head slowly. “Salima wasn’t just beautiful to look at, she had a purity about her that was unique. Men wanted her, but not to have their fun with, they wanted to claim her as their own. She was frightened by it, she would ask me what to do and of course, being the plainer of the two I thought she was lucky! It was Goodchild who taught her to use men for her own needs. To tempt them into giving her whatever she wanted. I don’t think that Salima was comfortable with it though. I always presumed that maybe Salima gave the wrong impression, that she was available but then changed her mind at the last moment causing the man to lose control.”

  Cheryl stopped talking, she looked drained. Hammond took his cue to leave but then had a thought and presented the photograph of Lloyd Harris standing next to the attractive woman in the yellow dress.

  “Do you recognise this woman? Is this Mrs Goodchild?”

  The answer was the one he wanted. “Yes, that’s her.” Her voice trailed off as she continued to stare at the photograph, she bit her lip in concentration for the next few seconds before looking up at Hammond suddenly with widened eyes. “That’s him! The man who took Katie!”

  She pointed to Lloyd Harris. And then Hammond knew. Goodchild’s daughter Katie had grown up to become Kathleen Harris.

  The taxi driver was looking in the rear view mirror hoping to catch Hammond’s eye and resume his one sided conversation that he had initiated as soon as Hammond had sat down on the rear passenger seat but Hammond ignored him. His mind was occupied. He realised he should feel reassured that his suspicions had been proven correct but instead he felt even more frustrated. It was becoming increasingly apparent that all despondents had known each other, although Hammond wondered why Cheryl had not mentioned Fiona Nwasu. It was logical to presume that Fiona had been fostered by Pattie Goodchild at a different time to Salima, so Cheryl would not have had any reason to have known about her, yet, this fact was inconsistent and therefore possibly relevant in some way. Not knowing how it was relevant was already infuriating him. Looking at the information he had gathered so far, no conclusion could be reached to prove that Lloyd Harris had been justified in asking Hammond to investigate the deaths further. Hammond was angry, there was no doubt he had been used. But he couldn’t understand why. Lloyd Harris had known the people that had committed suicide, he must have known that the woman he had known as Pattie had fostered Mark, Claire and Lucas, and possibly also Fiona, as well as being the mother of his daughter so why hadn’t Harris simply given this information at the start? The more information Hammond discovered, the less sense it made. Hammond was being sent on a wild goose chase but the geese were turning out to be tame ducks.

  When he had seen the policeman at the bus stop, he had decided on impulse to wait with him. It was amusing to stand there beside him, knowing the other man was completely unaware that he was in the company of his killer. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought. It hadn’t been necessary to board the bus and sit behind him, it would have been just as simple, and certainly more discreet, to have followed the bus by car and wait for the policemen to disembark, but his enjoyment at watching the man’s ignorance amused him too much. He sat behind the policeman and waited. Occasionally the policeman would utter a discontent sigh as he rubbed his right leg and it gave him a perverse satisfaction to witness that his handiwork had caused the man pain. His plan was to have killed him but even though the plan had failed, he realised it was more enjoyable to watch him suffer. For a while at least.

  The bus journey had been monotonous but his patience was soon rewarded. He waited for the policeman to limp towards the front of the bus before he left his seat and did the same. He crossed the road and watched from a safe distance as the policeman found his bearings and then begin a slow shuffle down the road. He waited and watched until the policeman disappeared from sight and then he sprinted after him.

  The children playing on the pavement were excited by their mission. He had promised them two pounds each if they were successful in eavesdropping on the policeman’s conversation with the woman standing in the doorway of the end house. The children were willing spies and fulfilled their duties as well as he could have expected. The information they brought back wasn’t enlightening. The chubbiest of the group said he had heard the fat man saying he was there to send the curly haired woman an e-mail. His information was instantly contradicted by a girl wearing a Hannah Montana t-shirt who protested that the man had called the woman Mrs Bailey and that he was there to talk to her about Theresa.

  The money was handed over to the children and they ran off excitedly, pleased with their accomplished task. He stood there for several moments and took a note of the address, then, as he walked away back towards the bus stop, he made a call on his mobile.

  “It is not the attainment of the goal that matters, it is the things that are met with along the way.”

  Henry Havelock Ellis. The Dance of Life. 1923

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Dunn had parked her car directly opposite Hammond’s living room window. He saw her sitting in the driving seat as he opened the curtains and checked to see if it had snowed overnight. It hadn’t. He was surprised to see her there and attempted to get her attention by waving to her from the window, but she didn’t see him, so he shuffled to the front door and whistled until she looked up and noticed him. She exited the car immediately and sprint
ed towards the house, entering his premises somewhat hesitantly.

  “You should have rung the bell, Have you been waiting long?”

  Hammond led her to the kitchen at a snails’ pace along the hallway. She followed him patiently as he struggled to open the kitchen door with his crutch.

  “The house was in darkness, I assumed you were in bed.”

  Hammond smiled. It was 6.30am, whatever the reason for Dunn being there, it was obvious it couldn’t wait, although it was unusual for her to come to his house, normally she would phone. She sat down at the kitchen table and accepted his offer of coffee with a quiet nod of her head. He leaned his back against the countertop waiting for the coffee to filter and watched her, waiting for her to speak.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you but I wanted to see you rather than phone. I owe you a confession.”

  Hammond raised an eyebrow out of curiosity but didn’t question her, instead he held out a mug of coffee until she accepted it, wrapping both hands around the warmth as if she was in need of comfort.

  “I inadvertently told Beech that you were investigating a case on your own. I didn’t give details but it was enough for him to get the gist of what you are doing in your own time.”

  “Yes, I know, Beech has spoken to me. Is that the reason why you are here? An apology isn’t necessary.”

  Dunn watched him and then looked down at her coffee as if studying it.

  “Actually no, that is not the reason why I am here, it is a bit delicate but I wanted to tell you that I am considering requesting a transfer.”

  Hammond was surprised but didn’t say anything; instead he busied himself with leaning his crutches against the table whilst he lowered himself into a chair opposite her.