Doors Without Numbers (13 page)

Hammond bit off the soggy end of his biscuit, wondering whether to phone his son Paul. He had enjoyed his evening with Jenny and had delighted in her ravenous appreciation of his homemade vegetable lasagne. He had been rather put out when she had rebuked him for using soya milk and cheese, so had questioned her vegetarian preferences. She had responded with her usual shrug and short explanation. “Been there, done that, missed the meat.” He smiled as he thought of Jenny, there was no doubt that her presence at home made a pleasant change from eating microwave meals alone in front of the television. However, he was concerned. On several occasions he had seen Jenny lost in thought looking miserable. He picked up the phone and punched in Paul’s number with one finger.

“Hey.” Paul answered the phone on the first ring, Hammond was surprised and wondered aloud if perhaps Paul had been looking forward to hearing from him.

“No. I was waiting for a call from someone else.”

Hammond apologised for the disappointment to his son but explained his predicament with Jenny. He still had no idea how long Jenny was going to stay. How could he help her if he didn’t know what was wrong? Paul gave a long sigh at the other end of the telephone. Hammond imagined his son sitting with crossed legs on the sofa, probably still with his shoes on as he usually did despite frequent reprimands for doing so.

“I can’t tell you what is wrong with Jen Dad. I promised her I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Is she in trouble? She’s not pregnant is she? She has been eating a lot.”

Paul’s laughter bounced against Hammond’s eardrum before his retort that pregnancy would be the last of Jenny’s worries. The conversation drifted toward the subject of Paul’s university studies on which he was evasive. Hammond was tempted to ask about Lyn, but knew that Paul’s loyalty toward his mother meant he would not divulge any details. He was proud of his son’s trustworthy attitude. He missed him and told Paul this, suggesting they meet nearer Christmas. Paul promised to keep in contact and hung up reminding his father that he was expecting another call.

Hammond looked at the wall clock and wondered if it was too early to call Kathleen, decided it wasn’t but then replaced the receiver when Tom Edwards walked into the office.”I’m about to go to the Grammar School. You want to come along?”

It was luck that Hammond remembered Thomas had given him names of the Folkestone pupils who shared his interest in BMX. He collected his jacket from where he had hung it on the back of the open door and followed Edwards. He had names, all he had to do was to put faces with them and hope that they would be helpful.

The school was only minutes away and it would have been pleasant to have walked the journey. Despite the icy temperatures the night before, the sun was breaking through the clouds making the morning frost sparkle on the wet grass. Dog walkers were out, their hoods pulled over the heads, hands shoved deep in their pockets, most walking briskly whilst their companions trotted beside them, their tails wagging. For a brief moment Hammond thought of William Barnes and Daisy and wondered if they had returned to the woods since their discovery. He thought it was unlikely and sympathised with the elderly man who obviously enjoyed his ramblings with his four legged friend. That could be me in thirty years time, he thought. No-one to share my life with apart from an animal who loves me just for feeding it.

“So, how shall we do this?” Edwards was leaning back in the seat. He had a remarkable ability to relax wherever he was.

“I took some notes last night. There are some names of pupils that go here, have a look if you like, then you are prepared.” As Hammond stopped the car at the pedestrian crossing, he passed his notebook over to Edwards who started to thumb through the pages.

“Mark Callum? Is he one of the BMX kids?”

“No! It will be a few pages further up.”

Hammond had answered so abruptly, that Edwards stopped turning the pages and looked at Hammond enquiringly. He wanted to ask Hammond if Mark Callum was a potential witness in Saltwood woods, but Hammonds’ red face showed him it wasn’t advisable. So instead Edwards left the notebook on his lap.

Samuel Lawson was a good looking boy with dark blonde hair swept across his forehead in a pop-star style. He was tall and broad shouldered like a swimmer. Hammond thought reflectively, that if he had looked like that at sixteen years of age, he would have spent most of his adolescence looking in the mirror. Samuel Lawson soon made it apparent he felt the same, his eyes kept wandering onto the door reflection behind Edwards as Hammond questioned him.

“How often do you practise in the woods?”

Lawson’s gaze held Hammonds for a second before wandering back to his reflection for another check. “Dunno, most nights after school.”

“Why Saltwood? There are woods in Folkestone.”

This question was asked by Edwards who had pulled himself up to his full height. He felt Lawson should be reminded who was boss in this situation.

“Saltwood is not too close to home nor too far away either, plus, the ground has good rich soil.”

Edwards looked confused, Hammond interjected “Why don’t you want to practise nearer home?”

“I don’t want anyone to see the competition.”

This last comment sounded sarcastic as if Lawson had wanted to include “Dhur!” at the end of his explanation, but he had thought better of it.

“The soil? What has that got to do with it?”

Lawson focused his attention on Edwards whose face flushed.

“If you are going to build a track for BMXing, you need soil that is gritty so it has grip. We couldn’t bring in crushed rock sand so that is important. The good thing about the woods in Saltwood is that it has everything to hand naturally; there are expressive obstacles already so it takes less to make a track. Since most of it is already there, it just needs to be exaggerated. Also, the track has to be regularly maintained.”

It was obvious to Hammond that Lawson was passionate about this subject. Lawson motioned as if he were moulding the track with his hands.

“After a lot of use, there is settlement in the soil so it needs to be regularly re-dusted and compacted. If we used the woods in Folkestone, chances are that there will be too many people traipsing around the tracks, or taking over it. But Saltwood is quieter. As long as we don’t make a nuisance of ourselves people tend to leave us alone.”

Edwards twitched the corners of his mouth at Lawson as if thanking him for such a detailed answer, then he turned to Hammond and rolled his eyes in sarcasm. Hammond took over, he handed Lawson the artist sketch of Graham Roberts.

“We have witnesses who saw you with this man laying flexi-coil under the tracks in summer. I understand you saw him regularly at the woods?

Hammond was bluffing slightly. Lawson had not been identified by a witness. The youth looked at the portrait of Roberts and nodded.

“Yes, I knew him. Well, kind of. He used to follow us around like a kid at school wanting to be invited to play. My mate Danny thought he would like to help us build the drainage system so we asked him..” Samuel Lawson was interrupted by Hammond asking for Danny’s full name. Hammond looked at his notebook then grunted as he found it, Danny Culver had been identified as a regular at the track by Thomas. Hammond nodded at Lawson, asking him to continue giving information on Graham Roberts.

“I saw him regularly, but not to talk to. He was a bit weird to be honest.”

“Weird? In what way?” It occurred to Hammond that maybe Roberts had been simple, not mentally retarded in any way but extraordinarily innocent. It was possible.

“Well, like I said, he would just watch us all the time, or follow us around. Even if we ignored him.”

“Did he speak to you?”

“No.” Lawson stopped suddenly and looked at the two officers with renewed curiosity.

“Was he murdered? Is that why you are asking all these questions?”

Hammond decided to be honest, it was important that he came across as being mutually cooperative, especially now the press release was about to be updated.

“It looks that way.” He said simply.

“Do you know of anyone who wished Mr Roberts harm, or had cause to do so?”

Samuel Lawson looked surprised by the question, but then his face changed as if he had just thought of something.

“Adam Schaffer. He couldn’t stand him. Used to call him a freak. One time he pissed in a bottle and threw it at him.”

Hammond checked his notes, Schaffer wasn’t on the list. He looked at Lawson for more information.

“Where is Adam Schaffer now?”

Lawson laughed, tossing his hair like he was posing for L’Oreal. “You won’t find him here. He left school years ago. Spends most of his time fishing at Hythe Canal.”

Lawson wasn’t able to give more information, he knew Shaffer more as an acquaintance having met the older man near the Castle Inn. Schaffer, he said, wasn’t a BMX enthusiast; more of a getting pissed all the time enthusiast.

The two other boys interviewed by Hammond and Edwards were less helpful. Danny Culver remembered Roberts laying the flexi coil with himself and Samuel Lawson but couldn’t offer any more information. Neither boy had been in the woods at the time questioned, or had anything more to add to Lawson’s account. They did however, know Thomas and described him as “an annoying brat” who wouldn’t leave them alone. Gavin Mason, a spotty thirteen year old, was indignant when Hammond referred to Thomas as being a friend of his.

“He is not my friend! He is so annoying, always showing us his stunts on his bike like we are going to be impressed. He hasn’t even got a real BMX! Just some cheap ATB bike with pegs on the wheels.”

Lois Dunn answered the call on the first ring.

“Dunn, how are you doing?”

Dunn replied that she wasn’t doing too badly. So far, she said, she had been checking Graham Robert’s family records, bank statements and employment history.

Hammond enquired if she was near a computer at the office, she replied that she was. “Can you do a check on an Adam Schaffer, possibly aged between eighteen to early twenties?” She said she would call him back.

Edwards looked at Hammond quietly, watching Hammond unpeel a Satsuma.

“So, dare I ask who Mark Callum is? You seemed a bit hot under the collar earlier when I mentioned his name.”

It was with annoyance that Hammond wanted to tell Edwards to mind his own business, but now, following Kathleen’s news on her Dad’s deteriorating mental health, continuing the investigation into Mark Callum’s death seemed pointless. He repeated to Edwards what he had told Dunn about Lloyd Harris’ request, the investigation into Callum’s death and the lack of information he had gathered so far. Tom Edwards listened. He was keen to know more and kept interrupting Hammond with questions. Eventually, Hammond finished his tale and allowed the sound of Edwards slurping the remnants of his canned drink to fill the silence.

“How trustworthy is this Kathleen?”

The question surprised Hammond. He responded as such, wondering what relevance Kathleen’s character had to do with Lloyd Harris’s forwarded investigation.

“Admittedly, I am not an expert on knowing how a woman’s mind works. However, it sounds like she is using her charms to get what she wants.”

“Which is?”

“To stop your investigation.”

Hammond sucked the juice out of his Satsuma segment and then chewed the pith slowly. He remarked that Kathleen had wanted him to stop the investigation because she knew it would be a waste of his time.

“Qui Bono?”

“What are you talking about?” Hammond was starting to think Edwards was being deliberately annoying.

“Who benefits, from the investigation being stopped?”

“Me, obviously.”

“So she asked you to stop your own investigation simply because she cares that an officer (whom she hasn’t had any contact with for several years) might be wasting his time?” Edwards scoffed and squashed his can with both hands.

“She asked me to stop because she knew it was a waste of time, and perhaps she didn’t want her Father to be humiliated.”

“Her father has Alzheimer’s. Would he know if he was being humiliated? Maybe now he would, but later, he won’t remember. What I don’t understand is what makes a man who knows he will soon lose his mental faculties call an ex-colleague for help with a case? Why now?”

Hammond didn’t reply, he was wondering what Edwards was thinking and wished he would just come out and say it.

“Why now?” Edwards repeated and then answered his own question. “He calls you because he knows he won’t be fit enough to continue the investigation himself. He trusts you to do as he asks, out of respect for a man who spent his whole career seeking truth. Harris hasn’t forgotten his vocation despite his illness. That should at least tell you that it is worth trusting his instinct to investigate, like he trusted you to carry out his wishes.”

Hammond listened to Tom Edwards. Begrudgingly, he admitted that his companion was making sense. He was surprised by Edward’s almost compassionate support for Harris whom he had never met. His thoughts were interrupted when his mobile phone rang, he held up a finger to indicate to Edwards to wait whilst he wrote down the address and information Dunn was giving him from the office. After several minutes, Hammond finished scribbling in his notebook, thanked Dunn and ended the call.

“We have an address. He lives in Sandgate.” The car left its parking space in the lay-by and headed westerly towards Adam Schaffer’s house.

Adam Schaffer had no objection in telling the two officers at his door exactly what he had thought of Graham Roberts. He described the man in the picture Edwards showed him as a “freak” finishing his sentence by spitting on the portrait, narrowly missing Edwards hand who scowled in disgust. Hammond was interested in knowing why. Schaffer looked at Hammond and evaded the question.

“I’ve just realised why you are working for the pigs, it’s ‘cos your name’s Hammond...get it?” He revelled in his own joke, tossing his head back with an open mouth, displaying several silver fillings in his upper teeth. His breath smelt strongly of liquor. Hammond made an attempt to smile and repeated his question. He was cold standing in Schaffer’s porch, but it was obvious the man had no intention of letting them in the house. The way Edwards was wrinkling his nose suggested it was preferable to have fresh air around him.