Doors Without Numbers

by C. D. Neill

  “They never learn, do they Sir? They always return to the scene of the crime!” Galvin’s voice was excited. “You want me to print the picture?”

  Hammond nodded silently and swallowed the bile that had risen to the back of his throat.

  At first glance, the blackened shape could easily have been mistaken for a pile of burnt rubble which was why the fire investigation officers passed by the charred body several times without recognising it as being human remains. On closer inspection the hands and limbs were more easily recognisable. The fingers were hooked like claws, the legs flexed at the hips and knees, the arms held away from the body. The skin, camouflaged in the blackened environment, was dry and wrinkled. It wasn’t possible to identify the gender of the corpse nor have any idea of the age of the body but the reaction upon seeing it was reflected on all the faces that gathered around it as photographs and video clips were taken. The preliminary investigation into suspected arson had just likely become another murder enquiry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Hammond’s headache was getting worse by the minute, he found the glare of the computer screen intolerable and found himself squinting with discomfort. Galvin, who was whispering earnestly into his mobile phone, mistook Hammonds facial expression as disapproval and ended his call quickly, snapping his phone shut with an apologetic smile.

  “Sorry Sir, my wife has been having Braxton Hicks all day, Panic over now though.” Hammond gazed at the younger man, wondering why the sudden explanation and realised how tired Galvin looked. He had lost weight, not much, but his trousers were evidently loose around the legs and seat. He realised Galvin’s situation wasn’t an easy one. Becoming a Father for the first time was exhausting, more emotionally than physically but nonetheless it was a forecast for the disturbed routine that was to come. Despite a quarter of a century having passed since Hammond had anticipated Paul’s arrival, he remembered the time as being wildly conflicting. He had played the game of appearing obliging and patient with Lyn’s increasing demands. He had fetched the cushions, massaged the swollen ankles, erected the nursery furniture. Even painted the walls pink at Lyn’s insistence that the baby was going to be a girl before repainting yellow, just in case the baby wasn’t a girl and then blue when Lyn decided that the kicking inside her womb indicated a future footballer. He had felt the obligatory guilt at having put Lyn into such a uncomfortable situation, and he had fought the urge to tell the truth and agree she did look fat. But he also remembered the good times, the anticipation of what their baby would look like, what name they would choose, what school the child would attend. He recalled the times when he thought Lyn couldn’t have been more beautiful and also when he thought she couldn’t look any worse. The sex he relived with vivid imagination. It had been incredible during the first few months of her pregnancy, her raging hormones had created an insatiable and adventurous seductress until the day she looked at herself in the mirror and compared herself to a whale in a dress. And then of course, when she did lose the excess weight, the bed was used for nothing more than dropping onto it unconscious with exhaustion. Hammond was lost in his reminiscing before he realised that Galvin had been waiting for Hammond to reply. He wondered whether his facial features had given any clues to what he had just been thinking.

  “It will be all worth it, Galvin. Not long to wait now is it?”

  Galvin looked at Hammond with an expression of appreciation for having been given the opportunity to share his concern.

  “Her due date is three weeks away but I think it wants to come early. My wife is at the nesting phase. Every time I get home, the house looks even cleaner. I reckon by this evening there will be no carpet on the floor she’s vacuuming it that much.”

  Suddenly Hammond felt the urge to steer the conversation away from Galvin’s wife before the subject of hormones became the next topic. He wondered whether he could sneak away and continue looking for the update on Samuel Lawson, but was distracted by Edwards who had come into the office carrying several manila envelopes. Edwards offered his hand to shake Hammond’s before slapping Hammond hard on the upper arm. “Good to see you are almost in one piece Sir.”

  Hammond rubbed his arm. He felt a wimp doing so but Edwards was evidently stronger than he looked. He mumbled words of thanks to Edwards but his reply was unnoticed as Edwards committed himself to Galvin’s conversation.

  “Trust me Galvin, you’ll look back at these days and consider them as the happiest. Make the most of your wife before you become second best.” Edwards winked at Hammond as if inviting him to join in the banter but Hammond was having none of it, he slowly headed towards the door.

  “Is it that bad?” Hammond could feel Galvin’s eyes directed at him and attempted to increase his pace.

  “Nah, only kidding with you. To be honest the day my first came along was the day when everything made sense. I never loved my wife more and as for the kids, well, I have three now and would quite happily settle for three more!”

  Despite his eagerness to get away from the conversation, Hammond found himself faltering at the door, he couldn’t resist the urge to turn around and judge whether Edwards was joking. When he did so, he found himself mimicking the expression of Galvin; complete and utter stupefaction as Edwards grinned with pride. My God, Hammond thought. He’s serious. He left the room quickly before his contribution was due.

  If Hammond’s ignorance of the discovery at his former home was bliss, his time at the coffee machine were the last few seconds he would be spared before the full weight of the morning’s drama came crashing down upon him. From where he stood, stirring the third spoonful of sugar into the creamed liquid, he could hear dribbles of conversation filtering through open doors. The scraping of chairs was immediately followed by hurried footsteps as if activity had suddenly heightened in the offices surrounding him. He leaned back on the heel of his good foot glancing up and down the corridor and wondered what was going on. Replacing the spoon onto the countertop he made his way back to the office when his mobile rang.

  “Hammond. Where are you?”

  Hammond was irritated by Morris’ tone, it would have been nice to have heard the polite “Glad to hear you are Ok” comment, even if it were untrue, yet Hammond’s preferred retort remained unspoken and he confirmed his whereabouts.

  “Good. Stay there. We need to talk to you. Don’t go anywhere.” Morris ended the call before Hammond had the chance to reply. As if expecting an explanation from the phone itself, Hammond studied it in his hand. He hadn’t been mistaken, something was going on.

  Detective chief Inspector Morris had taken charge of the briefing room, he now stood with his usual stance, feet spaced apart at hip width, his hands rested on his haunches, his back straight. His voice was firm and concise.

  “Firstly, the investigation into the cause of the fire is suspected arson. The source of ignition appeared to be from a cracked lighter and burning cigarette. The girl staying at Hammond’s is a smoker but both Inspector Hammond and the girl insist that she does not smoke in the house. The living room window and the letterbox on the front door were both wedged open which makes me inclined to believe that someone intended to increase the oxygen content to fuel the flames. At the moment I am intending to investigate both the fire and the body found in the house as connected incidents. Let’s suppose that the fire was intended to dispose of the body with the added bonus of causing danger to Inspector Hammond. Remember this is not the first attempt to harm him although we cannot presume this is all about him.”

  Morris held the attention of everyone in the room. His manner was authoritative and firm, there was no questioning his determination to have all questions answered. A hand was raised at the back of the room, but whomever it belonged to was stopped from asking any questions by Morris who continued with his briefing.

  “For the time being, let’s assume that the body found after the fire was connected; on the preliminary pathology examination, no soot was found in the airways of the deceased so we know o
ur victim was not breathing when the fire started. They were lying under the kitchen table, but there were no obstacles between where they lay and the nearest exit, suggesting that they made no attempt to escape when the fire took hold. Therefore, we can presume that the person was already unconscious or that they were already deceased before the fire was started. It’s going to take longer for the anthropological examination obviously, so as yet we cannot confirm ethnicity or age of our victim but we have an idea of how they died. Our victim has the typical lesions and fractures that you would expect from being in a burning building but it is significant to note that the skull fractures seen on our victim’s temporal bones terminated at the suture lines rather than run across them, which suggests that the injury was incurred before the fire. So...”

  Morris slapped his hands together in an optimistic gesture. “Our victim was possibly killed by a blow to the head, accidental or otherwise. The e-fit you see before you was taken from media footage of the fire. This man was also seen watching Hammond’s house the night of Cheryl Bailey’s murder. We cannot assume that Inspector Hammond is innocent of starting the fire or for burning the body but we can allow ourselves to think logically; What would he have to gain by knocking someone unconscious and leaving them there or by placing a body in his own kitchen? I want to know more about the girl that is staying with him. Jenny. What do we known about her? I want to know everything about her, could she be the one out to harm our Inspector? Does she know this man?” His eyes swept over his audience. Dunn was standing to the right of him having been called in an hour earlier.

  “Or could it be that this guy is trying to get to Jenny? Either way, Inspector Hammond won’t find it easy to accept we intend to check her out. He is very protective of her.” Dunn bit her bottom lip, she had an uneasy feeling that one way or other the nightmare wasn’t over for Hammond. Morris glanced at Dunn before his eyes returned to the rest of the group.

  “All the more reason to suspect her. Hammond is downstairs, he doesn’t know what we are talking about here so there is no need for him to know what or who we intend to investigate at this time.” Dunn answered by tilting her head slightly to one side as she contemplated that maybe it wouldn’t hurt just to do a check on Jenny, if only to eliminate her. There was no doubt that the trouble had started almost the same time as Jenny had appeared.

  “What about Cheryl Bailey? Do you think that the arson and the body are connected to her murder?”

  The question was raised from the back of the room. Morris shook his head slightly.

  “It is possible, but so far the only link between the two is Hammond. Preferably I would prefer to treat both as separate incidents. The problem of course is that we are now pushed to our limit. The media are aware of the house fire, so the pressure is on but there is no reason for them to know it is anything other than it is being treated as suspicious for the time being. As yet they do not know about the discovery of the body, and I do not want them to know. It is likely that they know Hammond survived the fire because he was witnessed helping the neighbour. The problem is that if there is a potential killer out there, they will know their plan failed and they may try again.”

  Morris paused, he took a sip of water from the bottle beside him and surveyed his audience. “For now, I want to know what information we have gathered on Cheryl Bailey, if there is another link between her and Hammond’s fire, we will find it. So, what have you got?”

  There was a rustle of papers and files as information was slowly offered by all members of the investigating team.

  “The door to door enquiries have proved slightly helpful. Three people have confirmed that a man was seen talking to a group of children from the neighbourhood. The same children have given a description. The only problem is, their descriptions are slightly contradictory. The only detail they agreed on was that he was of heavy build.”

  “Do we know how our man travelled to the scene?”

  Edwards looked up at Morris and confirmed that this had been checked. “It couldn’t be definite but the all the statements we gathered indicated he had walked from an easterly direction towards the Cul-de-Sac where Cheryl Bailey lived. It is possible that, like Hammond, he arrived by bus. We are collecting the security footage from the bus company after this meeting.”

  Dunn glanced at Morris as if unsure how he would receive her information, he had a habit of dismissing her input sometimes, but she persisted regardless and handed over photocopies of Rachel Turner’s diary that she had produced earlier.

  “I managed to decipher Rachel Turner’s notes. Basically she wrote everything in Pitman’s shorthand only normally there are diacritical marks added to indicate vowels but these were omitted, probably for speed. Anyway, the notes mention the name ‘Brad’ quite often. It looks as if she were compiling a report about this Brad, suggesting he was unsuitable to be working with children. She had issues with the way he ignored the children in his care, avoided eye contact and suggested he had an intimidating manner. Then, further up...” Dunn shuffled a few pages until she found the one she was looking for.

  “This one is the most interesting. She had written about a married couple under the name of Dean, according to her notes, the husband left the wife soon after they adopted a baby boy, she turned to drugs and she lost custody of the boy before taking an overdose.” Dunn stopped speaking and suddenly her face reddened. She looked up from her notes and paused as if were suddenly distracted.

  “What if...?” She walked over to the stack of files that had been brought in and placed to the side before rummaging through them. Morris called to her and asked the relevance of the notes on Rachel Turner, how was it connected to Cheryl Bailey?

  Dunn turned around to face him. “I am not sure yet, it may be nothing, I need more time.” Her mouth opened again as if to speak some more but she was interrupted by Beech who had come into the room.

  “We don’t have the luxury of time Sergeant Dunn. So, we need to stick to what we can prove is relevant.” He turned to Morris. “I want you in my office as soon as you are finished here.” Morris waited for Beech to leave.

  “Like I said, there is pressure on all sides so let’s pull together on this. We’ll meet this evening and I want the following; the security footage from the bus. I want information on Hammond’s friend, Jenny what’s-her-name. Also, no matter how back stabbing you may believe this to be we need to check Hammond’s expenses. Is he in debt? Does he have a house insurance policy? Has he been threatened by any debt collectors lately? Any items of significant value taken out of the house before the fire? Also, Hammond has been rather vague about where he was last night. I want an alibi from when he left me here at eleven last night. He was going to question Lloyd Harris’s daughter. What time did he leave her? He said he came home about two thirty in the morning by taxi. He paid by credit card so it shouldn’t be difficult to check that out. I want this information no matter how rotten you may feel getting it. If Hammond is as innocent as we all believe him to be, he will understand that we are simply doing our jobs. But first, I want everyone to dig deep into their pockets and put a donation in that tin over there. Hammond needs all the help he can get right now, the least we can do is buy him a comfortable night at a hotel and a good meal.”

  The team dribbled out the door with their tasks to complete. Dunn watched as Morris checked his mobile phone, he stood looking crestfallen at his phone for several moments. Then, as if snapping himself out of his reverie, he paused by the collection tin at the door before leaving the room and heading for Beech’s office.

  “The place where optimism most flourishes is the lunatic asylum.”

  Henry Havelock Ellis. The Dance of Life.1923

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The hotel room was basic but comfortable with twin beds placed on either side of a three drawer cabinet. Hammond dumped the carrier bag of groceries beside the desk and sat on the bed nearest the window. Despite his headache and the need to sleep, he spent several minutes surveying the room
that was to be his home indefinitely. He opened the top drawer of the cabinet and found a bible. It wasn’t his choice of reading matter but he opened the book anyway and flicked through the pages. Hammond did not consider himself to be a man of faith. He did not believe in one God, a master of divine providence, but he did have faith that life was set on a path on some kind, that there was always a way ahead, a way around obstacles. Why he believed this he couldn’t explain, perhaps it was simply a method that allowed him to keep looking ahead towards a future. He wondered whether his belief stemmed from his Father. A man who had thrived on optimism and inner strength. He had raised Hammond with a firm hand but had guided him with the gentle philosophy. “To climb a mountain, you just have to put one foot in front of the other until you reach the summit.” Thinking of his Father now made Hammond wonder what he would have said if he could see his son now. Would he be disappointed? Hammond knew his mother wouldn’t be, she had never shown anything other than motherly pride. He sat there, slouched on the single bed, lost in his musings. He could afford to dwell on sentimentality, he needed to remind himself of his good fortune despite the overwhelming feeling of loss that threatened to anchor him in the one spot where he sat. If he give in to despair, he knew he wouldn’t leave the room at all. He allowed himself to lay back and stared at the ceiling for several moments feeling his eyelids get heavier until his eyes closed and he slept.