Doors Without Numbers (18 page)

Having decided that it would do no harm to go home early, Hammond found Jenny in the kitchen painting the walls light blue. She looked at his haircut with mute approval as he entered.

“The phone hasn’t stopped ringing for the last two hours. I answered the first few calls but ignored the last because I was up the ladder. A woman called; apparently your mobile was switched off. When I asked her who she was she said “I’m Done”. I figured it would make sense to you, anyway, she said you must call her back as soon as you get this message.”

Hammond looked at the wet paint and wondered why on earth she had chosen light blue for the kitchen. Magnolia had always been his choice. It was a safe colour and more importantly, economical. Now he would have to get matching blue tea towels. Lyn had taught him well enough that the use of colour had to be synchronised for a finished look. He decided to keep quiet about the new decor and instead picked up the kitchen telephone.

Dunn answered her mobile immediately. “Where are you?”

He told her and apologised for his mobile having been on mute, he had forgotten to turn the sound back on after he had left the hair stylists. He listened as she updated him on news at the office. “I spoke to Beech; I told him that we may have new evidence on Roberts. It was almost true; we still need to identify the payments from his savings accounts and check out a mobile number Roberts had called from his landline the previous evening. Beech has agreed to give us another forty-eight hours. Edwards and Galvin are back at Graham Robert’s house if you want to join them.”

It was a tempting offer but three officers searching a house might seem excessive. Dunn agreed hesitantly and promised to inform him if any invoices were found. He thanked her and promised to keep in touch. He wanted to be updated on any progress, despite Beech’s insistence that he take some time off, it would be possible to work behind the scenes without Beech knowing.

The telephone was replaced and then, after a pause, picked up again as Kathleen’s number was punched into the keypad. When Kathleen answered, Hammond felt shy. He explained that he had left work early so that it would be possible to see her earlier than planned. They arranged to have a meal at The Oak pub restaurant at seven that evening. As he ended the call, Hammond turned to see Jenny watching him with raised eyebrows.

“If you are leaving at half six, that will give you five hours to get ready.”

Hammond looked at her with a bewildered expression as she climbed down the ladder and began untying her apron.

“I’ll come with you; you’ll need new trousers at least. We’ll take your car.”

Yet again, Hammond found himself thrown into a situation where he was under the control of a girl barely half his age.

The Peugeot crunched its way over the gravel drive leading to the Harris’ home. The house was in darkness apart from a splinter of light showing from a window at the top of the house. He approached the door hoping Kathleen wasn’t ready, he wanted the opportunity to talk to Lloyd without Kathleen overhearing. It was obvious she didn’t want her Father’s interest in the suicide investigation to be encouraged and doubtlessly she would hinder their conversation if she were around. Hammond had left earlier than planned. Once he had dressed the adrenaline propelled him to make a move rather than sit around when his mind couldn’t concentrate on anything other than what he would or should say to Kathleen. The door had an old fashioned brass knocker that hadn’t been polished for a long time. He knocked it gently then waited for several seconds before knocking harder a second time until he heard movement behind the door. Harris’ face peered around the partially opened door and gazed at Hammond with a blank expression. Hammond’s heart sank. Harris didn’t recognise him. He shifted his weight slightly unsure whether to introduce himself or to behave normally as if he didn’t know of Harris’ affliction, hoping that the older man would gradually remember.

“Hi Lloyd, I am a bit early, I wanted to talk to you before I took Kathleen out” He cleared his throat and stepped forward towards Harris who nodded and opened the door wider.

“Wallace, come in.”

Hammond patted his friend on the shoulder as he passed. “Every time I see you, I get the impression you don’t know who I am.”

“I don’t.” Harris held out a hand, offering to take Hammond’s jacket from him. Unsure what to say in response, Hammond searched Harris’s face for a clue and was relieved when Harris smiled.

“The Wallace Hammond I know usually looks like a scruffy fat bastard but you look more like an old gigolo!”

Hammond was aware of heat creeping up his neck to his face, he suddenly felt self-conscious. Had he overdone it? Would Kathleen think it was for her sake that he had dressed smarter than usual? It was for her benefit of course, however he didn’t want her to know that. Harris switched on the hallway light and looked up towards the top of the stairs to check if his daughter was within hearing. Satisfied that she wasn’t aware of Hammond’s arrival, he hung the jacket over the banisters and ushered Hammond into a side room that was easily identified as an office. A small desk lamp illuminated books stacked in neat piles on the floor and any available surface. Glancing at the titles, Hammond noted they ranged from subjects as diverse as psychoanalysis and criminology and included several political biographies. The complete works of Noam Chomsky had been placed still open with the pages face down. The book was well thumbed, the edges of the book stained with use. Hammond was vaguely surprised, he had never considered Harris to have any other intellectual interests which he now realised had been a shallow perception of his former colleague. He continued to take in the room and noticed all photo frames had been placed face down on an old desk littered with newspaper cuttings and scribbled notes. He looked enquiringly at Harris whom was busying himself clearing a space for Hammond to sit down. Lowering himself into a chair by the window, he studied Harris’s movements hoping that his former colleague wasn’t fading too quickly from the reality in which they shared. Harris finished his fussing and eventually sat near Hammond, perching on a foot stool that he had retrieved from under the desk.

“Kathleen is getting ready. Do you want a drink?”

The offer was declined as the two men sat quietly in the small room. The silence lingered as both men wondered what the other was thinking. Paul would refer to such awkwardness as comparable to seeing a white elephant in the room, all parties could see there was a white elephant, it was impossible to miss but no-one would broach the subject. In this case, the white elephant that Hammond could see was a man slowly losing his memory. It was painful to think about; he had a great deal of respect for Harris and hated to see intelligence such as his be taken away so cruelly.

“I see Kathleen has told you about my Diagnosis.” Harris didn’t wait for an answer and ignored Hammond’s feigned look of ignorance.

“Yes, I am going through the early stages of Alzheimer’s but don’t you start thinking I am going mad. If you are wondering whether I am fit to make a decision, look at Ronald Regan, he did ok.”

Hammond was surprised. “Regan had Alzheimer’s?”

Harris smiled suggesting a hint of pride in his answer. “Sure, some of the greats had it; Rita Hayworth was another one and Iris Murdoch. I think Charlton Heston did too.”

Hammond felt ashamed that he had been so dismissive of Harris’s suspicions after Kathleen had told him about her Father’s diagnosis. He owed Harris an apology and offered it quietly.

“Wallace. I know who you are; I remember our years working together which is why I’m confident I have asked the right person to continue where I left off before I forget. Oh stop that...” impatiently, Harris waved a hand in front of his face to dismiss Hammond’s attempt to appeal. “You need this...” As he spoke Harris bent down onto his knees and crawled under the armchair on which Hammond sat.” No, don’t get up, I’ve got it...” There were sounds of scurrying from underneath Hammond whilst Harris knelt with his head and arms between the chair legs. Hammond prayed silently that Kathleen wouldn’t walk into the room at that moment and see the two men in such a compromising position. When Harris reversed himself from his hiding place under the chair, he was dragging a large box file.

“Here you go, there should be all the information you need to get your investigation going.” Harris stood up by leaning his weight on the arm of the chair and then bent down to pick up the file before dropping it onto Hammond’s lap.

Hammond gasped as he felt the extraordinary weight of the file and opened the lid. There were pages of written notes scribbled in a furious hand, Hammond estimated there must be about a hundred pages worth, underneath the papers were numerous photographs. A quick glance showed him some of the pictures had been taken decades earlier, the colours were slightly faded with a brownish tinge. The edges of the photos were smooth from where they had been handled frequently.

“This is your research?” His reply was a silent nod of Harris’s head. Hammond whistled between his teeth, it would take him hours to look through the file contents, he swallowed loudly and looked at Harris enquiringly.

“Lloyd, I wouldn’t know where to begin, there is so much here.”

Harris had resumed his place squatting on the footstool. He used his arms to brace his upper body as if to ease the pressure on his lower limbs. As Hammond looked at him, he noticed Harris’ expression had changed from being an enthusiastic conversationalist to someone deep in thought. It took several moments until Harris spoke again, during which time Hammond simply waited. He didn’t know what his friend was going through; how his mind was able to clarify thoughts amongst a dense jungle of confusion that he presumed the Alzheimer’s had bestowed upon its carrier, but he guessed that patience from others helped. So he sat quietly and waited for Harris to share his thoughts.

“I joined the police force in 1968, I was nineteen years old and an innocent in every sense of the word. However, I soon discovered that you couldn’t be a policeman and remain wet behind the ears for long. Bear in mind Wallace, that the police force had just recovered from two major scandals of police corruption in the late 1950’s so the relationship between the public and the police was uneasy.”

Hammond was surprised by Harris’ choice of subject, but he listened carefully. He was aware that the scandals Harris was referring too had influenced the reform of Britain’s police forces in the 1960’s. The subsequent 1964 Police Act had removed policing power from local counties by allowing the Central Government to exercise more control over local forces. It had been an issue of debate for his Father whom had argued that such a move exhibited nothing more than a lack of faith in local democracy, and had only achieved to create a weaker structure for law enforcement. Hammond shared these thoughts with Harris who impatiently dismissed Hammond’s reply to continue talking. I must keep quiet Hammond thought, if I don’t he will lose his train of thought. It was evident that Harris wanted to share something but so far Hammond could not understand the relevance. It must be a need to reminisce, Hammond thought so made an effort to remain silent.

“Of course, the 1970’s was different to how it is today. You can’t just stop a man and search him because he is Asian or black but in those days, it was the norm. If a man had darker skin, it meant he was up to no good, at least that was the opinion of my colleagues. I guess it is no wonder that the public distrusted us, but we believed we were doing our job. We believed that we were protecting the public. We didn’t need what you call ‘reasonable suspicion’ to bring a man in for questioning. The copper’s instinct was the only tool we needed.” Harris shook his head and shrugged. Hammond was unsure how to answer, he wasn’t sure of the relevance of the subject. What was he trying to say? He listened for any sound of Kathleen’s progress but he couldn’t hear anything other Harris’s breathing. Again, he waited and hoped that by doing so he was being helpful in allowing his friend to share what was troubling him.

“Then of course, the police were the prosecutors, which meant that there was the tendency to focus on a suspect and build a case around them. I admit that there were the odd occasions when we couldn’t be entirely sure that evidence leading towards other possible suspects wasn’t ignored. The number of acquittals we experienced was from providing weak prosecution preparation so it meant that we relied heavily on confessions in order to secure a conviction. In those days corroborating a suspects’ confession with forensic evidence wasn’t as important as it is today.”

Hammond found himself fidgeting in his chair, he reminded himself to keep quiet and not interrupt Harris’ reminiscing even though he wasn’t particularly enjoying having a history lesson on policing.

“The pressure on getting results could be crippling, especially on cases with a high public profile, we had to identify a suspect quickly in order to prove we were doing our jobs. Once evidence pointed to one suspect we would focus on it and make damn sure we would get a result that the public expected. We used the philosophy that if a person was found near a scene of a crime or they had a history of committing previous similar offences, it was enough to bring them in for questioning. Police territory could be a very intimidating place, and being interrogated was..well..an intimidating experience.”

Harris whistled through his teeth as if he were judging his own past actions. Hammond sat shocked by what Harris was suggesting but at the same time wondered why he was being told such information. Was Harris’ confession to clear his conscience? Harris looked at Hammond then and raised the corners of his lips in a thin smile.

“There was coercion. No doubt about that. Of course, there were some good police officers who went by the book but we believed we were doing the right thing for the people we were protecting. But then people started asking questions, the public began to distrust us, and we had to regain their trust so it was necessary to compromise; make ourselves known to be fair. We adopted a trading system where a suspect would give us information in exchange for immunity from prosecution.”