Doors Without Numbers (41 page)

He hadn’t noticed before that Morris’ head was bleeding but now, in the aftermath of battle, the injury to the back of Morris’ skull was evident. His hair was matted with the blood that seeped a steady stream onto the collar of his shirt. Morris seemed dazed and Hammond was concerned. He told him to sit down as he attempted to stem the bleeding by grabbing his jacket and rolled it to a ball, pressing firmly against the wound. Morris was groggy but resilient, he made attempts to get up but his concussion caused him to overbalance before he vomited onto the floor. Hammond barked at Edwards to call an ambulance.

With Morris safely despatched to hospital, Hammond and Edwards were free to examine inside Kelsey’s apartment. The living room was confined but furniture had been placed to ensure maximum comfort. A wing-backed armchair faced two televisions connected to several DVD players. Edwards went straight to the players, looking for any DVD’s whilst Hammond checked out the bedroom. A double bed and a wardrobe were the only items of furniture. The wardrobe housed several shirts, a pair of jeans and some trainers. Hammond prodded the items with his pen, part of him expected to see his one trainer that Kelsey had stolen from his house but it wasn’t there. It disappointed him, having Hammond’s trainer in Kelsey’s wardrobe would act as evidence that Kelsey had been at his house as well as at the scene of Cheryl Bailey’s murder. He continued to look under the bed and behind the wardrobe, eventually giving up and checking the bathroom. He met Edwards in the hallway.

“Anything?”

Edwards shook his head. “So far, nothing, the DVD’s are copies of Disney Films!”

Hammond frowned. “You checked them all?”

Edwards nodded. “I didn’t go through them all but so far, there’s nothing incriminating.”

Hammond sighed, he ignored the twinges that were beginning to spread across his back and thighs. “What about the kitchen?”

The two men went towards the kitchen, Hammond looked in the washing machine for laundry. There was none. He checked the fridge-freezer. It was empty.

“That’s odd. Why is the fridge switched on if there is no food in it?”

Edwards looked across from where he was looking in the cupboards. “He hasn’t got much in the way of utensils. Maybe he doesn’t live here full-time.”

Hammond agreed with the possibility but remained standing in front of the fridge. He checked the drawers of the freezer and noted scratch marks and indents in the frost as if something had recently been removed.

“It’s too clean. Do you think he was prepared for us?”

Edwards slammed the cupboard door closed and scratched his head with a gloved finger.

“There’s no smell of burning or anything to suggest he has destroyed any evidence.”

Hammond looked up. “He left the apartment and walked around the building, do you think he could have deposited anything outside?”

Edward’s features set as he concentrated. “No, he wasn’t carrying anything. The only time he could have deposited anything was if he took anything away in the car and that would have been before he knew we were there.”

“In which case, any evidence he had was either left in the car, or was small enough to have been secreted on his person.” Hammond swore, he knew in his gut that Kelsey was guilty but without any proof, he was helpless. Worse still, he would have trouble justifying his search to Beech. The frustration mounted within him, he wanted to shout out his rage but instead he tried to rationalise.

“Ok, Think back to where Kelsey walked. You say he went down London Road. We have to re-trace his steps. Presuming he did see you waiting in the car, maybe he was clever enough not to leave anything in his car with the presumption, that, like his flat, his car may also be searched. So, what would he do? Probably take whatever it was to another place where he could return later and collect it.”

Edward’s nodded hesitantly. “No offence, but we are grasping at straws here. We don’t even know what evidence we are looking for, there may not be anything. What are we trying to prove anyway?”

Hammond met Edward’s eyes and stared him silent. “We need to seal this apartment, get uniform to block the doorway just in case Kelsey comes back. In the meantime, walk me to where you saw him earlier this morning. It’s worth checking.”

Hammond ignored Edward’s sigh as he made his way back out the apartment.

It was luck that the elevator was stuck on the fifth floor. Hammond didn’t believe it at the time, his healing ankle was resisting any weight and the pain was now coming in waves but he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that time was precious. He made for the fire exit where he had chased Kelsey earlier and leaned heavily on the banister to take some of the weight of his ankle. They had descended the stairs to the first floor when Hammond saw the mobile phone lying face down on the step. He picked it up, it could be anyone’s but nonetheless he felt excited at the find. The back of the mobile had cracked so that the battery compartment was exposed; it had fallen with some force, possibly whilst running down steps as had Kelsey. Hammond held his breath, and used his pen to select the menu. First he checked for any photos in the media album. There were pictures of children. Head and shoulder portraits of children of various ages and ethnicity. He passed the phone to Edwards and raised his eyebrows. Edwards scanned the photos one by one.

“They are not incriminating photos, there is nothing here to suggest foul play, it could be quite innocent.”

He returned the phone to Hammond. “Bag it. Check out the contents later, just in case.”

Hammond nodded, but remained staring at the phone. He looked at the call lists and scrolled down. There were only two numbers. One of them was vaguely familiar but he couldn’t work out why. He took his own mobile out of his pocket with the intention of scanning his own contacts list but checked the found phone for any text messages first.

There was a text message alerting a message in voicemail. He dialled the number instructed, selecting the loudspeaker option to avoid putting it against his ear.

“Don’t do it tonight. I tried to keep him here as long as I could. I really tried but he was difficult...please don’t do it tonight.”

The message ended. Hammond felt a shudder run through his body, he felt paralysed on the spot where he stood. Edwards was confused, the message told him nothing. But to Hammond it told him everything. The voice message had been left by Kathleen two nights ago. The night his house had been burnt down.

“
The artist is one who sees life as beauty”
Henry Havelock Ellis. The Dance of Life. 1923

Bradley Kelsey hoped she had watched the news report on the television, that she had seen his artwork, had admired his mastery. She wouldn’t tell him in words or actions but he knew she would be pleased. Deep down he knew there was an appreciation for him and the work he did. He had never declined her requests, he never would. The television was switched on in the sorting office when he returned to the depot. The shift supervisor was standing in front of the television whilst dipping a Garibaldi biscuit into his mug of tea. He nodded a greeting before his eyes returned to the screen, transfixed by the drama that was unfolding. The noise of the machines drowned out the words spoken by the anchorwoman, but it didn’t matter. For a while, Kelsey pretended to be occupied with sorting out the parcels but the temptation to watch his own work was too great. His eyes kept returning to the screen. The flames reminded him of a blazing snake that writhed and licked at the air before contaminating it with its venom.

As soon as his shift ended he returned to the site. He couldn’t help it, he was drawn there. He wanted to relive the experience, breath in the smell of smouldering debris, savour the moment for as long as he could. That was the problem with great works of beauty; most of them were temporary, like the chalk drawings on the pavements or the sand sculptures that were admired for no more than a few hours before the waves took them. Kelsey wasn’t alone standing there. There were others watching. The ignorant few who were more interested in being captured by the television cameras so that they could point at their images during the evening news and prove they had been witnessed the drama. He didn’t mind so much, although he envied their freedom to declare their involvement openly. More than anything he wanted to say “I did that.” But of course, he couldn’t. Only to her.

There had been no news on the Policeman, he read that someone had been pulled out of the burning building. The possibility that the policeman had survived again didn’t disappoint him as much as he thought it would. He was beginning to admire the man who couldn’t be defeated although it would mean she would demand him to do things her way from now on. He knew she would enjoy making the policeman suffer, he had caused too much interference with his meddling. She had reason to be angry, there was a lot to lose if the Policeman discovered everything. He had spoken to her about the possibility of using Katie, even though he had concerns. Katie was weak, he didn’t know how far she would be prepared to go and he suspected she was beginning to like the Policeman more than she let on. He obeyed the instructions and kept his head down during the day that followed. He occupied himself preparing copies of the DVD’s and checked on Katie as he promised he would and then returned to the depot for the night shift. In the morning he returned home to discover the unmarked car parked near the apartment block. He looked casually as he drove past, and saw the two men dressed in shirts and ties. He knew they weren’t covert but his gut churned at the prospect that they were there to watch him, to surprise him with a visit no doubt. He parked the car as usual and went to his flat where he looked down from his window. They were still there. Luckily he was prepared for this eventuality. She had always told him that there was a risk he would be traced, but there was no reason to suspect him of anything as long as he got rid of the evidence before they found it. The package hidden under the wardrobe was removed first, then the frozen bags from the freezer, he wrapped them several times in plastic bags, worried they would defrost. He needed to find somewhere cold to hide them. If he was being surveyed, he couldn’t take the car, they might follow him and he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t be picked up by the street cameras. He had to carry the packages under his clothing and walk to the hiding place. There was no other way. He left the apartment and made a performance of walking around the building, occasionally he would check the reflection in the windows to see if the car was still there behind him. Satisfied it was, he ambled his way towards the road. His pace changed to a brisk walk as he approached the cafe. The proprietor smiled at him as he entered, she recognised him from the deliveries he had fulfilled there several times previously. He returned her smile politely and asked her how she was, hoping she would reply by redirecting his question. She did, and he made a performance of acting frustrated with the explanation that his freezer had broken down and he was worried about his prized fishing trophies defrosting too quickly. The cafe proprietor took the bait immediately and offered to store his package in her freezer which he accepted gratefully. He kissed her on the cheek, wondering if his display of gratitude was over acted. He smiled as he left the cafe; all he had to do now was to find somewhere safe to store the passports.

He returned to the flat, feeling self-conscious as he re-entered the building. Whilst he was there he spent time cleaning all the rooms. He couldn’t take the chance that he hadn’t left some trace evidence on anything. He had watched enough Forensic science programmes on television to learn you could never be too careful. At regular intervals, he checked out the window. It looked as if there was a third person in the back seat of the car but it was too far away to tell. It was possible that he was simply being watched for now, if the Police were going to come to his flat, they would have done so by now but he couldn’t think of a reason why they would. He stood in the middle of the room weighing up the options. He could leave right now, he could make it down the back stairs and out the fire exit on the ground floor or he could stay where he was and carry on as usual. They would get bored eventually. His thoughts were interrupted by the knocking on his door. He froze in the spot where he stood. The knocking became more persistent but he ignored it until the door caved in at the lock.

He didn’t notice he had lost his mobile until he went to phone her. He had driven only a short distance before abandoning the car and making for the bus stop, where he stood, his hands flapping against the sides of his pockets with the futile hope that he would find the phone caught in the folds of his jacket. People were looking at him suspiciously and he knew he looked bloodied from the altercation with the policeman. The Policeman had fought better than he had expected him too, the man was out of shape but he knew how to react quickly and dodge the blows. The policeman wasn’t a boxer, he couldn’t concentrate enough energy behind his fists but Kelsey shouldn’t have underestimated him. He wouldn’t do so again. From now on, there would be no subtlety behind his attacks. He was going to finish the Policeman for good. He turned away from the bus stop until he found a public telephone in the entrance porch of a supermarket. He told her all the details of the mornings’ events, including where he had deposited the frozen bags and passports. Then he told her about his mobile phone. He didn’t know where he had lost it, it was possible it had dropped during the fight. Her voice was calm, but then it always was. There was no way of predicting the consequences of his mistake but he knew it wouldn’t be just him who suffered.

The bitter taste in Hammond’s mouth was still there. He bent over the basin with his head cocked at an angle to allow the water to flow from the tap directly into his mouth. He gargled several times in an effort to rid himself of the resentment that filled him. The mirror above the basin taunted him with the face of a cuckolded fool. An old man who had allowed his vanity to cloud his instincts. A man who had allowed himself to believe that a beautiful woman had wanted him. Or had he believed it? Even now, as he stared back at his reflection he knew he hadn’t been convinced by Kathleen’s attention, he had known she wasn’t to be trusted but his loneliness had over-ridden his need to be cautious. He cursed loudly and head-butted the mirror causing it to crack. A red blotch appeared immediately on his forehead. He was really stupid. Not only for letting himself be fooled into bed, now he had to resort to punishing himself. He was tempted to leave the men’s bathroom, to head straight for the interview room where he knew Kathleen had been brought. He understood why he wasn’t allowed to be there, but the anger within him threatened to disregard all protocol and retaliate against his humiliation by storming in and pinning her against the wall until she told him everything. This wasn’t about the suicides of her former foster brothers and sisters anymore, this was bigger than that. He knew it, he had been right not to have trusted her in the beginning. Kathleen had lied from the start. The bitterness rose up again in the back of his throat and he spat out his disgust watching it crawl its way to the plughole. It wouldn’t drain away, not on its’ own anyway, it needed a force greater than itself to wash its putridity away.