Doors Without Numbers (39 page)

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

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.

Hammond awoke at five feeling hungry, his headache had gone leaving his neck and shoulders tender. He rummaged through his groceries trying to find something that looked appetising before deciding he would walk over to the hotel restaurant. The waitress was a young woman whose ponytail swung like a pendulum as she walked towards him with the menu. He ordered the Mushroom risotto and allowed himself to view the other diners, realising he was the only single one there. He wished he had sat by the window, at least he could observe activity without seeming to be a voyeur.

His mobile rang and he answered it quickly, aware that the noise had disturbed the couple at the next table, he offered an apologetic smile in response to the elderly man’s scowl.

“I can’t believe you’re being kept away.” Dunn’s voice was sympathetic which was unnecessary. He understood why Beech had decided it was for the best, although he had no intention of abiding by the decision. He said so, becoming aware that the waitress had returned with his meal. He declined her offer of black pepper with a shake of his hand and waited for her to leave the table before resuming his conversation with Dunn.

“We are making progress here, but...I want to see you if that’s ok. I think I have found something but I don’t want to run it by Morris until I’m sure.”

“What’s it about?”

“Rachel Turner, the social worker; I think I have sussed out why she was so protective over her case papers.”

Hammond took in a forkful of risotto realising too late that it was hotter than he expected; he blew over his scalded tongue, and took a gulp of his cola before answering.

“You’ll have to come here; I can’t be at the station until I am deemed innocent.”

Dunn pretended not to hear the sarcasm in his tone. She agreed to visit him within the hour. He ended the call and allowed himself to smile with optimism. He knew his faith in Dunn wasn’t misplaced. Her imaginative approach may not be appreciated by those who preferred the methodical and exacting methods of deduction, but if anyone was going to make improbable or even peculiar connections in a case, it would be her. Dunn arrived on time but Hammond was surprised she was accompanied by Galvin, who looked flushed as if he had rushed there. Without any word of greeting, Galvin sprang over to the chairs where Hammond was waiting in the Hotel lobby and thrust some papers onto Hammond’s lap like a child showing his parents an award he’d earned from school. Taken aback by his younger colleague’s apparent enthusiasm, Hammond looked down at Galvin’s offering. The pages he now held were still photographs taken from a bus’ security camera. He recognised a profile view of himself standing beside the driver as he accepted his bus ticket. The next image showed Hammond about to exit the bus, and another with a man standing behind him. The man was balding with a heavy build. It was difficult to tell his age as the camera was positioned so that it looked down towards the door of the bus but Hammond recognised him. It had been the man Galvin had pictured in the e-fit, the one who had watched Hammond’s house on the night Cheryl Bailey was killed, the same man who had stood watching Hammond’s house smouldering with an expression of pride. Hammond looked up at Galvin who was still standing before him, practically hopping from one foot to another in his excitement.

“Wait, there’s more..” Galvin helped himself to the pages on Hammond’s lap and pulled out the last few from the bottom of the pile.

“This was taken from the Oak restaurant in Charing, the camera is positioned by the kitchen exit, so you can’t see much but if you look to the far left, you can just about make out your car in the car park.”

Hammond followed Galvin’s direction. He couldn’t see what Galvin was so excited about, he recognised his car as he had left it the night he had dined with Kathleen. It was the only car in the car park. He looked up enquiring at Galvin.

“What is there to see?”

Galvin leaned over Hammond. “Look carefully, in the back window of your car, you can just about make out a reflection.”

Hammond looked closer, he could see what Galvin meant, there was a definite image of another car, parked behind his own, away from the camera.

“Explain to me what it is you’re trying to tell me, Galvin.”

Galvin sat down on the arm of Hammond’s chair and continued to poke at the images he was holding in front of Hammond’s chest.

“It took them a while, but they were able to maximise the image, it is blurry but you can make out some of the registration and also the silhouette of the driver, it’s the same guy.”

Hammond concentrated his gaze so much, he was now squinting, His eyesight wasn’t as good as the younger constable’s, but he could just about make out the image now he had some direction. “Question is Galvin, who is he?”

Galvin practically clapped his hands together with glee at his own ingenuity. “I looked at the media footage of the fire again, and for a split second, he held onto the plastic tape that was used to cordon your house off. I managed to get the tape and get fingerprints off it. You’d be surprised how many fingerprints were all over it despite our guys wearing gloves...”

Hammond interrupted. “Get on with it Galvin, you got fingerprints?”

“Almost, a partial thumb print that was matched on the database.”

“Did it match any prints taken from my house?”

Noting the negative response, Hammond shuffled his weight forward on his chair, he was aware that Galvin was enjoying his moment of revelation. For a second he was reminded of Poirot addressing a room of suspects about to point the finger at the guilty suspect.

“The thumb print belonged to a Bradley Kelsey.”

Hammond pondered for several moments, the name was familiar but he couldn’t place it. He shook his head hesitantly, slightly disappointed that the name didn’t mean anything to him. He looked at Dunn, hoping she could help to clarify his confusion. She had sat quietly beside him throughout Galvin’s presentation, but now, having Hammond’s attention, she spoke up.

“The name is significant to the case you were working on. Rachel Turner’s diary mentioned a Brad having been involved with the care of adopted children, she was about to write a report on him, complaining that he was an unsuitable warden.”

“You’ve presented this to Morris?” Hammond was aware that the information they had gathered was lacking in evidence, so far it was all circumstantial.

“We’re going to the briefing later this evening, but like I said, I’ve got an idea that I wanted to consult you first.”

Hammond held up a hand. “Hang on, this could be important. Morris is the senior investigator on this case now, not me. He needs to know. If Brad is responsible for cutting my car’s calliper bolts, there could be evidence on the wreckage, in which case that could be enough evidence to bring him in for questioning but otherwise all you have is a man who was photographed following me on a bus and then is seen outside my burning house. That’s not evidence of arson, neither is it evidence of him killing Cheryl Bailey, you only have him being near the scene of the crime committed earlier in the day. So far, you have no motive and more importantly, no evidence. It’s not enough.”

Dunn eye’s focused on Hammond. “But, it’s a start. We’ve got a few hours, then we’ll present what we have, but what is the harm in looking at what we have in the meantime? You should be aware that Morris is investigating you, your ex-wife and Jenny, he will be less interested in anything I have to give him until you three have been cleared.”

Hammond looked at Dunn surprised. “Jenny? But she has nothing to do with this! She’s a witness, that’s all!”

Dunn shrugged. “If it was the other way round, you would investigate her yourself.”

Hammond knew she was right, so he released the thought temporarily and allowed himself to focus on the information to hand. He looked at Dunn as she leant forward, her body bridging the gap between the chairs they were sitting on.

“Rachel Turner’s diary mentions a family with the names Dean. I think she was researching Lucas Dean. So I looked into it, he was born in August 1970 in Bexley Hospital, which is strange because it was a psychiatric hospital and therefore did not have a maternity ward. The hospital isn’t there anymore but some records exist...”

Hammond watched her as she spoke, her tone was calm but contradicted the enthusiasm shown in her stare as she shared the information she had gathered.

“It was confirmed that a baby boy was born 24th August 1970 to a Raquel Burchett, aged seventeen. I looked into the Deed poll archives but it doesn’t seem as if the name change was enrolled so it wasn’t included on any central register.”

Dunn stopped and looked at Hammond whose blank expression showed he couldn’t see the significance of what she was telling him.

“Don’t you see? Rachel Turner was Lucus Dean’s mother! Her husband said that she had given a baby up for adoption when she was seventeen. She probably changed her name to Rachel instead of Raquel before they married. She became a social worker, maybe she was trying to find her son and when she did, she not only discovered that the adopted mother had become a drug addict and that the child was put into care, but also his foster carers were unsuitable, hence her writing a report on this Brad guy.”

Whilst Dunn had been talking, Hammond had restrained himself from interrupting. Dunn’s theories were plausible, but again, they couldn’t be proved and he knew that it was unlikely any evidence could be provided to support her claims. Instead, he nodded encouragingly.

“I guess it’s possible. We’ve presumed that she gave up her son for adoption by choice, but maybe it wasn’t. If she were in a psychiatric hospital, it’s probable she was considered mentally unfit to take parental responsibility so the baby was taken from her by Social Services, in which case she would have been unable to trace the child.”

Dunn was biting her lower lip, a sure sign she was deep in thought. “So the only way of finding her son was to become a social worker herself. It explains the change of name. Rachel’s husband said that she had a sense of shame about being pregnant at seventeen, but maybe the shame was from having her child taken from her.”

Hammond scanned his memory. Rachel Turner’s husband had been co-operative but it was possible he had known about the circumstances of the adoption. Dunn’s instinct had told her he had known more than he let on, it was possible he had known about the circumstances behind the adoption of Rachel’s child. He shifted in his seat as he weighed up the options and asked her what she intended to do with her findings.

Dunn looked at him surprised. “We find the autopsy report on Lucas Dean, compare any samples with samples taken from Rachel Turner’s house..” Her eyes were widened with surprise at Hammond’s lack of enthusiasm.

“We can’t do that Dunn; there is not enough reason to do so. Lucas Dean’s parentage isn’t relevant to the investigation, although I agree that it does provide us with a link. It could also explain Rachel Turner’s disappearance if she had confronted Bradley, he could have tried to scare her into submission hence her injuries before she went missing or he is the person seen with her on the hotel security footage that her husband told us about. But, we can’t prove this. The best we can do is find this Brad guy and take it from there.”

Dunn sighed and leaned back into her chair. She looked at Galvin and then Hammond before lifting a shoulder in resignation. “So, you want me to give this to Morris?”

Hammond nodded. “I can’t be the one who gives the orders Dunn, I probably shouldn’t even be talking to you about this but I have to admit, it is beginning to make sense...” Hammond stopped short, his memory was ignited suddenly. “What was the name again? Brad what?”

Dunn looked at him blankly “Kelsey.”

Hammond slapped his hand down on his knee and swore so loudly that the hotel receptionist looked across in astonishment.