Doors Without Numbers (6 page)

Hammond picked up his empty cup and returned the file to the officer at a nearby desk. At his request, a copy of a photograph of Mark Callum was produced. It was unfortunate that the only photographs they had of Callum were taken post-mortem but it could help with identification later if necessary. The officer smiled at Hammond, and this polite response to his presence encouraged Hammond to speak aloud his curiosity. “Who investigated the suicide of Mark Callum?”

The officer pointed to the file, just returned to him. “Their names are in the report Sir.”

“Yes, I know, but I meant are they here? I wouldn’t recognise them.”

He was directed to a young woman seated at a desk, tentatively tapping at a computer keyboard as if she were intimidated by the technology. She looked at him as he approached and smiled shyly. He introduced himself. “I understand you were part of the investigative team that looked into a suicide a few months ago?”

“I didn’t investigate as such; my partner and I were first on the scene.”

She identified herself as WPC Manvell. Hammond was familiar with her name as he had read her report only an hour earlier, but he proceeded with his questions regardless.

“I’ve seen the photographs and read the reports but I am curious what your personal reaction was when you first arrived.” Hammond was aware his question was unorthodox but he was sensitive to his ex-wife’s belief that every room had a story to tell. He had laughed at her when she had said it, but he had since understood what she had meant. Every building had a memory, as if the walls retained energy. He had first felt this when he had entered a house, seemingly normal from the outside, but upon entering, he had inexplicably felt frightened, like a child scared of the dark. He hoped that WPC Manvell would have had the same feeling if something had been amiss.

“My reaction?” The reply was spoken hesitantly but politely.

“If I remember your report correctly. A parcel delivery man knocked at the door of Mark Callum’s apartment, the door was open so he looked inside and saw Callum with a plastic bag over his head in the bedroom. He phoned the emergency services and as you were closest to the scene you were the first one to arrive, is that correct?” Hammond continued following an affirmative nod “When you arrived at Mr Callum’s flat, did you feel anything was particularly odd?”

She thought for a moment, sub-consciously tilting her head to one side as if waiting for the memory to slide to the forefront of her mind.

“I thought it was depressing, but I didn’t really have time to think to be honest. I was just trying to get to the right flat in time, in case the guy wasn’t dead. Sometimes a call comes in from someone in a panic saying they have found a dead body and it turns out to be someone unconscious, so I was just desperate to get there as quickly as I could. The paramedics arrived a few minutes after me. We accidently went to the neighbour’s flat first because we were told to go to Flat 3b but I went to Flat 3a”

She revised her words as she spoke “I was thinking quickly so was looking for door numbers, but he didn’t have a number on his door which is why I missed it at first.”

Hammond thanked her and started for the door when he suddenly stopped. A thought had crossed his mind, a thought that was so obvious he was shocked to realise it had only now flashed into his conscience. He returned quickly to the WPC who looked up from her computer with a hint of annoyance.

“The writing paper and pen. Was it moved when you looked at the body?”

The look of puzzlement that was given as a reply made Hammond feel suddenly impatient.

“I don’t understand. What writing paper?”

“The note he had written, it had come from a pad, and the pen he used to write the suicide note. Where was the pen?”

At her look of continued bafflement, Hammond quickly excused himself and went back to retrieve the file.

It had taken Hammond another twenty minutes to scour Mark Callum’s file again. The contents of Callum’s pocket had been catalogued. There had been a receipt for the parcel tape, £2.40 in change and his door key. Nothing else. No paper or pen was evident in any of the photographs or listed in the inventory. This bothered Hammond. He did not like to have any indiscrepancies, and this was an obvious one. Nonetheless, he was not overly concerned. A missing pen and paper could have been moved by the attending paramedics and mistaken for their own and taken away. The Parcel Force courier could have mistakenly picked it up. From what he had read in the file, he was not convinced that there was any reason for Callum’s death to be considered suspicious, he needed to think about this logically he told himself. There seemed little point in re-opening a case that had been closed with a satisfactory and rational outcome. If there was future evidence to suggest Callum had been murdered, it would be investigated further by the Serious Case Review Team. Hammond would not find it easy to justify the time and resources spent on rationalising a suspicion of a retired colleague. He would speak to Harris; explain that he couldn’t continue the investigation without probable cause. With this decision reached, Hammond allowed his hunger to direct the car to MacDonald’s. It hadn’t been his intention to stop for lunch, having only minutes earlier phoned William Barnes, arranging to meet him at his home in Saltwood for a few more questions. Now he was here, Hammond was surprised to discover that he automatically chose a chicken burger rather than his preferred beef. He patted his stomach unconsciously as if to reassure his padded friend that it would soon be satisfied and justified his choice of burger as being a healthier option. He wanted to switch his mind off for a few minutes to digest his meal but instead found his mind wandering to Mark Callum’s death.

Despite his earlier decision, his conscience told him he owed it to Harris to consider all possibilities. There were four other suicides that Harris had wanted him to look into. Four deaths that Harris believed were related. Hammond shook his head as he argued with himself. Surely, there would be no harm in looking at the other deaths. If he traced a connection as Harris believed and found any suggestion to collaborate Harris’ conviction that the deaths were not suicides, or that they were linked in some way to the death of Salima Abitboul, he would hand the information over to Chatham. Let the Cold Case Investigation Team take over the investigation. At least, he would keep his promise to Harris, even though Hammond was not convinced his friend was thinking entirely logically. Discounting the odd behaviour displayed at the Golf Club, Harris had chosen to concern himself with a case that held no personal relevance to him whatsoever. It was this thought alone that confused Hammond more than the discrepancies of the death itself. Using a paper napkin, Hammond wrote down the thoughts floating in his mind. The most obvious source of confusion was why Salima’s hairbrush was in Callum’s apartment, the next concern was the lack of information on Callum. Harris was correct when he said that Callum had not existed before a year previously. There had been no information on Callum’s employment in the file, nothing to suggest he had any financial income other than the fact his bills and rent were paid regularly. Callum did not claim any benefits and according to the report, did not have a bank account. The investigating team had looked into the possibility that Callum had previously lived abroad but this question remained unresolved. A doctor’s report had been included in the police file. A local GP had confirmed Mark Callum as being a patient when he prescribed an anti-depressant Tricyclics. It was suggested that Callum had displayed symptoms of extreme anxiety although this was not substantiated by any psychological assessment. No other pre-mortem medical information had been included as the investigation had only been concerned with the cause of the death, and depression had been seen to be a cause for the suicide. Hammond took a large bite from the burger and wrote
Speak to Doctor,
he wanted to know why there were no other medical notes and if possible, get the doctors opinion on his patient’s mental health. Depression was a dehabilitating disease but didn’t necessarily result in suicide if it was managed. Hammond remembered that the toxicology report had shown no traces of drugs in Callum’s body. Is this why he killed himself? Because he hadn’t taken his medication, allowing the depression to become overwhelming and cause him to withdraw from society before his suicide? It was possible but Hammond wanted to answer the questions without relying on possibilities. It was unlikely the cause of the depression could be discovered as there were no psychiatric reports, no friends or family to speak to. Yet, this was another indescrepancy. If Mark Callum did not have any contact with any other person, where did he work? Where did his money come from? No money apart from a small amount of change in Callum’s jeans pocket had been found at Callum’s apartment. How did he survive? The paper napkin was now tattooed in scribbled blue biro, Hammond’s curiosity was aroused. He reasoned that there was no harm in asking questions. With this conclusion, Hammond squashed the burger box and threw it from his table into the bin by the door. He congratulated himself on his good aim as he ventured again into the cold air towards his parked car.

William Barnes opened the door to Hammond immediately after the doorbell had been rung giving the impression he had been waiting longer than he had expected for Hammond to arrive. Hammond quickly brushed his hand over his lips in an attempt to wipe off any undiscovered mayonnaise from his impromptu lunch. He offered his hand politely as to signal that he was here on official business and was shown into a small living room heated by an electric fire. After acknowledging Daisy’s welcoming wag with a pat on her head, Hammond obeyed Barnes’s instruction to make himself comfortable. The two men sat on opposite armchairs upholstered in brown with a large floral design, making Hammond feel as if he had stepped back in time to the 1970’s. William Barnes was evidently nervous. He offered Hammond a plate of biscuits which Hammond refused and then feeling guilty for having refused the older man’s hospitality, reached out and took two off the plate.

“They combed Daisy.” Barnes spoke quietly as he poured two cups of tea from the large teapot on the tray beside him.

Hammond handled the biscuits awkwardly in his hand, looking at Barnes for clarification. “Excuse me?” He took the filled tea cup presented to him, sliding the tea spoon to the side of the saucer allowing his thumb to grip the delicate china.

“They combed Daisy. They stood her on a plastic sheet and combed her, the people in the white body-suits.”

“Yes, there may be evidence on her from where she dug around the corpse. I’m sure the Forensic team were gentle with Daisy.” Hammond said this as fact rather than as a question, he wanted to keep the interview short so he could get back to the briefing room at Head Quarters.

“She seemed fine. I had to collect her faeces earlier and hand them over.”

Hammond nodded, unsure whether to explain the reasoning behind this task and steered the conversation to the dog’s morning discovery. “You had a shock this morning; I am hoping that you are feeling better now?” Hammond didn’t wait for an answer; the man’s affirmative nod was interpreted as such.

“Perhaps now you have had a chance to reflect on the morning’s activities, you may have remembered anything that perhaps you may have forgotten earlier?” Hammond realised he sounded patronising but hoped that Barnes had something more to add to his mornings account.

“No, I am sorry, there is nothing more I can think of. I have been thinking all morning of the poor man, lying there in the cold. Do you think he was hurt on purpose?”

He was answered by a discreet shrug of Hammond’s shoulders.

“We don’t know that for sure, but it is necessary to treat the death as suspicious until we can prove otherwise. I have a photograph of the man’s face which you would not have seen earlier due to the position he was in. Could I ask you to look at him and see if you recognise him?” Hammond gingerly retrieved a close up photograph of the dead man’s face from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to the man opposite. William Barnes took the photograph nervously averting his gaze for several seconds before looking at the man in the picture. Hammond was relieved that the dead man’s features had not been grotesquely distorted in the aftermath of death. A dried residue was evident around the swollen nostrils and open mouth. The eyes, open and protruding from their sockets, looked the most disturbing. The brown triangular spots covering the corneas were a grim reminder of a lost life, but did not hide the original features entirely. Barnes gulped and shook his head quickly, his hand trembling slightly. For a moment Hammond was concerned the old man was going to be sick but kept the picture within the man’s sight. “Are you sure you don’t recognise him? Please, look again.”

The man did as he was asked; taking deep breaths he studied the photograph, frowning with concentration. Then suddenly his eyebrows shot up and he looked at Hammond with enthusiasm.

“Yes! I recognise him! I don’t know his name, but he was often in the woods, just wandered around on his own most of the time. Sometimes he would say hello, when Daisy and I passed him during our walks but I think he was more interested in the bike enthusiasts.”

Hammond remembered seeing bike tracks in the woods, he gestured with his hand for Barnes to continue.

“Daisy and I would see him during the summer afternoons or at the weekends during the day. I don’t think he knew the boys personally but he would stand there just watching them. They ignored him most of the time, but he didn’t seem to mind.”

“Do you know the boys on the bikes, enough to recognise them again? Are they local?”

“Yes, I see them around the village a lot, usually milling outside the corner shop before school. I don’t know the boys by name, apart from Thomas who lives at the end of this road. His mother cleans for me sometimes.”

Hammond noted the details in his jotter and cleared his throat. It was possible that they now had a lead. His heart was hammering inside his chest wanting to get the information to the team as soon as possible. He politely finished his tea with Barnes and got up to leave when his mobile rang. Lois Dunn sounded stressed at the other end.