Doors Without Numbers (2 page)

He became aware of a taxi driver watching him. He met the man’s eyes and stared him down. It never occurred to him that the driver was watching him wondering whether he should help the skinny man who was crouched down amongst the pigeon filth, cradling his head in a gesture of despair.

Time had passed unnoticed by the time he had controlled his thoughts and returned to his flat. The light had been switched off and the door closed. He entered the flat and fumbled his way towards the light switch, hoping no-one was waiting for him in the dark. The light blinkered on and focused his attention to the items on the table. An envelope with instructions had been left with a few coins. He read the instructions and frowned. It didn’t make sense.

“
Purchase parcel tape with money provided. Retain receipt and change. Wait to be contacted.”

The residue of his earlier panic bubbled up in the form of a short laugh, he had been paranoid. There was nothing to fear, although the note was ridiculous. Usually the instructions would include a photograph of his proposed charge, their arrival times on a given flight, train or ferry and a delivery address. But this...this was simply a chore. He picked up the coins and left the apartment.

“
Every person of genius is in some degree at once man, woman and child.”
Henry Havelock Ellis. The Dance of Life 1923.

Detective Inspector Wallace Hammond’s heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. Instead of breathing he was gasping for air like a man drowning. He had been jogging for thirty minutes and was now convinced that he was dying. It was his second day on his new healthy lifestyle plan and he felt anything but healthy as a result. Yesterday he had done well resisting the temptation of biscuits with his coffee, had even reduced his sugar down to two spoonfuls instead of the usual three. His evening meal of supermarket bought ready-made three bean casserole had boasted only 430 calories. But now he was craving a bacon sandwich and the muesli he had tentatively eaten two hours ago did nothing but assure him that he deserved better.

He limped towards the park bench and allowed himself to fall back onto it rather than endure the further discomfort of trying to bend his legs first. He allowed his head to fall back and remained slumped. One arm dangling over the side of the bench, the other stretched out sideways on the back rest. He knew he looked ridiculous but at that moment didn’t care. The sweat patches under his arms had spread towards an identical stain from under the elasticated waistband of his jogging trousers. His back felt clammy and the sweatshirt clung to his ample body. His greying but thick hair which didn’t look great on the best of days was now sticking up at remarkable angles as if it were a bunch of flowers reaching towards the sun. He felt nauseous and decided that jogging was not for him. He had lived fifty two years without choosing to run around a park in the early hours of the morning so he was sure that living the remainder of his years without doing so wouldn’t make much of a difference.

The clouds he was staring at were moving fast to make room for the larger grey promise of rain. He decided it was time to move and heaved himself out of the bench. “You sad excuse for a man” he reprimanded himself out loud as he limped towards the park exit.

It was raining heavily by the time Hammond let himself into the house. He kicked his new trainers off dismissively under the coat rack that was over burdened with everything but coats; empty carrier bags, umbrellas of all sizes and colours, clean shirts that were waiting to be ironed, a few tea towels from the occasions when he had answered the door whilst drying up and quickly flung onto the hook before opening the door. A library book, long past its return date teetered precariously between the two hooks on which it rested. He mused, as he shuffled past in his socks, that coat rack hides a multitude of sins. Now, like the many other forgotten objects hidden under the bundles, his new trainers will also be lost. Not a bad thing he winced as the newly formed blisters paid homage to the now abandoned footwear.

Hammond paused to check call minder on the phone before climbing the stairs. The tone alternated between high and low tones indicating he had messages. He sat amongst a pile of folded clean laundry on the bottom stair as he dialled 1571. He had three messages, one was from the sports shop on the high-street telling him that his treadmill will be delivered sometime between 10am and six pm on Friday the sixth of December, he noted to call them back and cancel the order. The second message was from Paul, his twenty-four year old son, asking for some money, the third message more surprising. “Wallace, its Lloyd, Lloyd Harris. I would like to talk to you when you are not in the office so give me a call. Perhaps come down to the club. Speak soon.” the message beeped to the end. Hammond pressed two to save the last message. Lloyd Harris. He hadn’t seen him since his retirement four years previously and there hadn’t been much opportunity to talk due to all the many well wishers competing for Harris’ attention. The last time he had enjoyed a real conversation with Harris must be at least six years ago, he remembered. Harris had come round for a meal when he was still married to Lyn. It had been around the time when Lyn had moved into the spare room. Hammond wondered if Harris had noticed the tension that hung in the air of the house. It had been a difficult time. He expressed his regrets in a long drawn out sigh and phoned Paul’s mobile which rang for several seconds, left a message saying he would transfer money into Paul’s account and pulled himself up the stairs towards the bathroom.

By the time Hammond had encouraged his Peugeot Estate through the downpour onto the M20, he had accomplished three of the mornings’ objectives. The first, after showering and shaving had been to throw the scales away. His expanding stomach was happier being filled with food that tasted good. If the scales tried to make him feel guilty for allowing himself this luxury, they should go. His second task was to call Harris. They hadn’t talked much since the retirement party, so it would be good to catch up. He had arranged to meet his old friend over lunch at the golf club near Maidstone later that day. Thirdly, £400 had been transferred into Paul’s account to pay his son’s rent for the month. Hammond‘s conscience nagged him about Paul. He sighed as he clunked the car into fifth gear, Paul had always been a mummy’s boy so it had been natural that he had chosen to side with Lyn after the divorce. Not that taking sides had been necessary, Hammond had willingly given Lyn whatever she wanted. There had been no point in trying to dissuade her from leaving. It was obvious she had been unhappy for a long time, she had felt second best next to his career, and anyway, she had never liked overweight men, so sex had dried up as soon as the weight began to pile on. Paul couldn’t forgive Hammond for not fighting for the marriage. Hammond remembered the way Paul had confronted him a year ago, “You should have proven that Mum meant more to you than your career, you should have made more of an effort to make yourself attractive”. He knew he could have fought to keep Lyn, but he doubted she would have stayed regardless. Lyn and he were too passionate, too head strong. They had acted as catalysts for each other and now he felt too old, too tired for passion. He steered the car onto the slip road towards Folkestone and pushed his foot gently down on the brake pedal. The thoughts in his mind fading as he turned onto the road towards the police station.

Hammond was annoyed to find that there were no biscuits waiting beside his morning coffee in its usual place on his desk. He signalled to his favourite volunteer worker, Emma, who usually worked at the front desk through the glass screen that divided the offices and pointed with a questioning look. She looked at him equally surprised and gestured that she would come to him. Hammond sat himself on the large swivel chair, grimacing slightly as it groaned in protest. Emma came into the office without knocking.

“Morning, Inspector. How is the diet going?”

Hammond looked at her before becoming aware of DS Lois Dunn standing outside the door. “Failed.” He answered curtly, hoping that a conversation on the subject wouldn’t continue but then remembering his missing biscuits smiled shyly.

Emma leaned her head to one side and sighed. “Typical man” her facial expression said for her and she pointed to the filing cabinet. Following her direction, Hammond got up from his chair and opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet. He found the biscuits lying on top of the printer paper. Emma left him as he opened the packet and pulled out two chocolate digestives with eagerness. He was ravenous already, and it wasn’t even mid morning.

“Do you want the bad news or the good news?” Ds Dunn strode into the room after Emma’s departure and continued without waiting for an answer.

“The good news is that the boy with the burns is going to make it. The bad news is CPS reckons there is not enough evidence to prosecute the ones who set the warehouse alight.”

“What about the witness statement?” Hammond swore with his mouth full of biscuit. This was not good; chances are it would be his neck on the line “Surely they identified the arsonists?”

Dunn looked at him warily “It has been dismissed as being unreliable. The witness has since admitted that they are short sighted and were not wearing glasses at the time.”

Hammond had faith in DS Dunn. She had worked with him on and off for two years now and had shown herself to be hardworking and diligent. Hammond would guarantee that if a witness statement was found to be unreliable, it was unlikely to be due to her carelessness.

“Well, continue to question them, it is still possible that they made out the boys carrying a petrol canister or whatever and perhaps we can match any residue on their clothing. In the meantime, I will speak to the team and come up with alternative enquiries.” Hammond interrupted their thoughts by requesting that she remind him of an important lunch meeting “For Police Business” he had said as an explanation. He wasn’t yet aware of what Harris wanted to talk to him about, but since Harris had been his superior officer twenty years ago, it was still related in some obscure way to work.

Detective Constable Michael Galvin was waiting for Hammond in the Briefing Room. He was perched on the table discussing the politics of football with Detective Constable Tom Edwards but immediately got up from the table and sat on the chair beside it as Hammond greeted them with a nod. Edwards however, continued to mock with sarcastic comments Galvin’s sporting ideals despite Hammond’s interruption. Hammond slammed the file with the original witness statement onto the table and demanded their full attention. Normally he would have waited, maybe even join in the banter between them but he was hungry and tired from his mornings flirt with a fitness regime.

Galvin looked at Hammond with a raised eyebrow questioning the aggressive placement of the file, and then shifted his attention to the file on the table in front of them.

“I understand that the evidence on the arson case has been rendered useless.” Hammond kept his voice level but the team around him knew he was angry, Hammond’s temper tantrums were well known in the Major Crime Unit and sometimes not completely justified.

Edwards spoke first. “The witness can’t provide a positive id as she led us to originally believe, but to be fair she was accurate in her statement about the clothing they wore, there was enough detail for us to find the lads. One of the victims woke up for a few minutes in hospital and gave us a statement that we have recorded on video. It was enough to make an arrest.”

Hammond looked at his team with impatience. The sooner this case was solved, the paperwork examined and ticked off, the more chance the perpetrators would be given the sentences they deserved. A gang of local youths, ranging from fifteen to twenty five, had trapped boys in a disused warehouse and set it alight. Although the two victims were alive, both were in critical care with burns and smoke inhalation. It was important to Hammond that the arsonists not only be identified but apprehended. One mistake could cost a conviction and he had no intention of allowing the injured parties go forgotten whilst their potential murderers got off scot free on some misdemeanour. There was a knock on the door and DS Lois Dunn stuck her head in. “Inspector. Detective Superintendent Beech wants to talk to you.”

Hammond acknowledged her with a raised hand then left the office in search of Beech.

Twenty minutes later, Hammond’s raised voice could still be heard from Beech’s office. Superintendent Philip Beech, despite being Hammond’s superior officer, was sitting at his desk whilst Hammond shouted at him. He seemed unperturbed by the role reversal, he had worked with Hammond for seven years following Hammond’s transfer from Maidstone, if he had learnt anything from Hammond’s explosive temper, it was because he cared about his job. After receiving numerous commendations for acts of bravery and professionalism over the years, Hammond was a respected colleague. But now Beech’s patience was wearing thin. He shouldn’t have to justify himself to anyone, least of all his subordinate.

“Wallace, this is being taken out of your hands. That is final, I am not prepared to negotiate this matter further and I certainly shouldn’t be expected to justify it.”

Hammond was pacing Beech’s office, his blistered feet were not appreciating his burst of activity but Hammond’s temper was not allowing him to be reasonable to his superior officer or his own physical comfort. “Fair enough, the witness statement is compromised but it was good enough to help find the boys seen running from the warehouse. We have another video statement from one of the boys in hospital. That is your evidence! Those hooligans deliberately trapped those boys in a warehouse; they doused the building in petrol, stood back and lit a match. You are telling me that it is not in my control to charge them!”

Beech stood up and walked round his desk, he motioned for Hammond to sit down. Hammond hesitated and then, obeying his sore feet rather than his boss, did so.

“You’re a good Detective Wallace. But you are a crap police officer if you can’t be objective after thirty years in the profession. I am not justifying their actions Wallace, but it isn’t just about those boys who lit the match, it is about whether we have enough evidence to prosecute them, and the CPS does not believe that we do. The only evidence we have is that an accelerant was used to set the warehouse alight. Despite claiming that the attack was in revenge for stolen drugs, No drugs were found at the warehouse or on any of the victims. The witness who claimed seeing the boys running from the scene is short sighted and needs prescription glasses which she was not wearing that day. No canister with any trace of flammable liquid was discovered near the scene, nor were there any traces on the suspects’ clothing. The victim’s video statement was confused and erratic, it could easily be argued that he was pressured to make the statement whilst being vulnerable and on medication. The other boy refuses to make any statement at all and claims he doesn’t remember anything. Without positive identification of their attackers, we have nothing. The forensic evidence is minimal and there is not enough justifiable cause to exceed the budget any further on evidence that is unreliable. Even if the CPS cooperate and make a charge, the jury will laugh us out of the court for being unable to make the charges stick. It is out of our hands.”