by C. D. Neill
“To be honest, Inspector, I don’t really remember Mark Callum. He wasn’t one of my regular patients, but I see we have a record on our database. One moment please...”
There was the sound of slow tapping on a computer keyboard.
“You realise of course Inspector, that I am unable to disclose any medical notes.”
Hammond explained that it wasn’t necessary to protect his patient’s confidentiality since Mark Callum had since died and had no family to protect. He purposely tried to sound reasonable and used an expression he usually hated, explaining that he was simply dotting the i’s and crossing out all the t’s.
“Ah! I see now! Yes, I do remember Mr Callum after all. He came to my surgery a total of three times, the last visit was in July this year complaining of trouble sleeping and wanted sleeping pills which I did not prescribe.”
Hammond asked why.
“Well, I remember he had anxiety problems, He was constantly fidgeting and squirming. On his first visit I was persuaded to prescribe him anti-depressants. The second time he complained of trouble sleeping. Again, I prescribed sleeping tablets but during his third visit I was not convinced that the drugs were working or that he needed them as he indicated. He was a very withdrawn man, didn’t talk much...”
The tapping sound of the keyboard continued.
“I am reading my notes here which are helping my memory and I recall he wouldn’t look me in the eye. He came across as being quite disturbed. I suspected he may have a drug problem but I couldn’t be sure. So, just to play it safe I suggested alternative means like taking more exercise, eating healthily and avoiding stimulants.”
“You said you were persuaded to prescribe anti-depressants. May I ask by whom?”
“It doesn’t say in my notes but I do remember Mr Callum was accompanied by an older woman on his first visit who I presumed was his mother.” There was a pause as if the Doctor suddenly doubted Hammond’s earlier reassurance of Callum having no family.
Hammond’s heart skipped. “His mother? What gave you that impression?”
“Logic I suppose, Inspector. She was older than him as I said, but she seemed to have some kind of authority over him. She explained Mr Callum’s symptoms during the first visit which he confirmed. It was she who asked that I prescribe anti-depressants with the reasoning that nothing else had worked.”
“Did you see any medical notes from his previous doctor?”
Hammond knew that the investigation on Mark Callum’s death had found no medical history to refer to but it was possible that Doctor Kondaveeti had been given some information when Callum had registered as a new patient.
“No, I was told they were in the post.”
Doctor Kondaveeti was trying his best to be helpful. He added that the receptionist couldn’t find any record of the previous doctor’s name or surgery that Callum had given on his registration form and presumed that it had been a misunderstanding
“No doubt the matter would have been chased further if Mr Callum had not died.”
“Did he return after the third visit?”
“No. I guess my advice worked.”
It was evident the doctor couldn’t help Hammond any further. Hammond gave his thanks to the doctor and ended the call. He took another bite from the sandwich causing tomato ketchup to spurt onto his hand. He licked it away. He hadn’t found the conversation with the doctor particularly enlightening, but it had added credibility to the belief that Callum had killed himself. The only question Hammond had now was the identity of the woman whom had accompanied Callum on his first visit to the surgery. There was no doubt that Callum had no family, but it was possible he had an older girlfriend at the time.
His thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the glass. He looked up, licking his lips to see Emma waving a yellow post-it note. He gestured for her to deliver the message.
“There was a message from Mr Ben Dover. He said you could come in the back entrance later.”
She looked at Hammond in astonishment when he spluttered chewed food over his chin and rushed over to slap her hand on his back as he sat choking. His face had turned a purple hue. It took several seconds before his coughing fit had subsided. A perplexed Emma returned to her duties after a rather hysterical Hammond had reassured her that he was well enough to be left alone.
CHAPTER SIX
As Hammond drove past the bronze statue of William Harvey at the hospital, he checked the digital clock on the car dashboard. He was late. He parked his vehicle in the staff car park, hoping Henderson had remembered the car registration correctly when he had pre-warned the parking attendants of his impending visit. The last thing Hammond wanted was to have his car clamped. With the last minute decision to play it safe, he leaned back into the car fumbling in the glove compartment and extracted a laminated sign showing the Kent Police emblem. He placed it in full view on the dashboard and depressed the automatic lock button on his key fob. The smell of boiled cabbages from the hospital kitchens suspended itself in the cold air bringing back memories of Hammond’s childhood visits to his grandmother.
Dr Ed Henderson stubbornly refused to acknowledge Hammond’s presence for several minutes after his arrival; he was studying a cadaver on the stainless steel table, occasionally talking into a small tape recorder. Eventually he paused his examination and walked over to where the Detective Inspector stood patiently. Henderson’s sharp gaze took note of the spluttered ketchup stains on Hammond’s shirt evident under the open overcoat. He placed his tape recorder down on a table next to where Hammond stood.
“With all the muck we inevitably find ourselves working in, I find it helps to keep clean clothes at the office.”
Hammond followed Henderson to the morgue ignoring the comment and waited for Graham’s Roberts remains to be uncovered.
“The good news is that there was no difficulty establishing a cause of death. The bad news is that it may be difficult to prove he died as a result of the attack.”
The sheet covering Robert’s body was pulled back to his waist. Hammond drew in a breath slowly, reminding himself to breathe through the mouth whilst he was there. The body he had seen in the woods had been lying face down. Now the chest and upper body were exposed, he could see that Roberts had not died peacefully and said so, wondering how a beaten corpse could not act as evidence of an attack.
“He had myocardial ischaemic heart disease, or to put it in layman’s terms, reduced blood supply to the heart muscle. His coronary arteries had significant fat rich deposits, so much so, that I found a tear in a vessel wall. I doubt it was as a result of any direct trauma, a blood clot had already formed. There is no doubt that he would have suffered symptoms of unstable angina. In short, the question I have to answer, by looking at his injuries is to establish whether he would have died had the physical assault not taken place.”
“Was he on medication?”
“I am awaiting blood screening results. Either way, any medication would not have cleared his furred arteries, it would only have controlled his cholesterol levels and blood sugars, reduced the rate of occurrence and severity of his angina attacks. I doubt that any medication he would have taken for the angina would have accounted for such an aggressive trigger as the assault.”
Henderson paused whilst he looked pointedly at the clock on the wall above the door. He sighed heavily giving the impression he had better things to do with his time than talk to Hammond and continued pointing with a gloved finger at various points on the corpse lying before them.
“Definite upper body trauma caused by a blunt instrument. I found wood splinters on his clothing so it is likely he was struck by a heavy piece of wood. The extensive subcutaneous damage confirms he took a beating. The internal organs took the force of the attack, there were multiple fractures on the lower left ribs mainly concentrated at the front but the x-rays showed hairline fractures toward the back of the ribcage. There are multiple lacerations to the forearms. Again, the left side has incurred more damage. The spleen
was ruptured, probably from the blows to the ribs and abdomen. His heart had continued beating after the attack, hence the blood loss we found at the scene.”
Hammond studied the body in front of him and waited for the pathologist to continue. It was obvious that Dr Henderson enjoyed being the source of important information. He wasn’t particularly tall, probably no more than five foot eight, but within his own domain, he walked with a straight back and long strides.
“The semen trace found on his palm has yet to be confirmed as being his own but I found no foreign hair around the genitals. It appears he relieved himself of sexual tension whilst he was in the woods.” Henderson shrugged with one shoulder “We all have our fetishes I suppose.”
Speak for yourself, an inner voice in Hammond replied to Henderson’s quip. He pointed towards the legs of the dead victim and enquired with a raised eyebrow if there was anything to report on the lower body. Henderson lifted the sheet off the legs and continued debriefing Hammond with his findings.
“There were several abrasions and bruises evident on the lower limbs, although this one was the most interesting.”
Henderson pulled the overhead lamp over to where they were looking, the light beamed down to where Henderson traced a latex gloved finger over a faint bruise evident on the thigh.
“It looked liked there was a pattern to the bruise, so I photographed it with the UV light.” Henderson ushered Hammond to the computer in the small room at the side of the morgue. After several clicks on the mouse, Henderson pulled up a photograph onto the screen for Hammond to look at. What had seemed a faint mark on the upper thigh of Roberts was now revealed to be a bruise measuring about three inches in length with a scalloped edge. Hammond studied the picture silently. He couldn’t identify the shape of the pattern, even though he knew it was familiar to him. Henderson printed him two copies of the photograph, and the two men returned to their appraisal of Robert’s body.
“Did you find any foreign samples?”
The pathologist looked at Hammond sharply and nodded.
“I was just coming to that. Yes, there are two samples of interest. We found a fragment of nail on the shoulder of the victim. It wasn’t his own. We found vulpes hairs on the right side of the body, not surprising since he had been laying there for a while. A sensitive nose would have smelled him from quite a way away...”
Hammond interrupted. “A vulpes hair?”
“Latin for fox, I take it you do not remember your school lessons?” Henderson continued talking with a rather smug expression.
“Also, there was a dark stain on the trousers. I gave it to the others for analysis but whilst you are waiting for the results, I am guessing there will be components of something like Barium, Lithium or Sodium Soap.”
Henderson coughed, raising a closed fist to his mouth. Too much talking has dried him out, Hammond thought wryly.
“That of course, would explain the patterned bruise on the thigh.”
“It would? How?”
Henderson draped the sheet back over Roberts and sealed him away, indicating their meeting was about to conclude.
“Bike grease transferred to the trousers when the bike pedal hit him.”
Hammond thanked the pathologist and left him in silence, eager to return to the station and share the findings with the rest of the team. He could taste an imminent arrest and was excited. For a second, he was reminded of why he had loved his job.
It was cold inside the car, but he was thankful it had stopped raining. He switched on the air conditioning, letting the engine run in neutral whilst he unlocked his mobile keypad and searched for Jenny’s mobile number. Her phone rang several times before her answer service asked him to leave his message. He lowered his voice and attempted to sound as professional as possible.
“My name is Doctor Yule. B. Sari. I have a message here for Ms Wilma Lecsgro. It is with regret that I must inform you that you will always be short. I apologise for the disappointment this will cause but wish you a good day.”
He hung up giggling like a schoolboy as he depressed the clutch and slid the gearstick into first gear.
The sounds at headquarters were a melody of intense activity. Various conversations happening at the same time within the enclosed area sounded like a hybrid of pitches and tones. As he swiped his security pass by the door to the headquarter offices. Hammond recognised Dunn’s red raincoat that had been left to dry on the back of the chair by the radiator. Soon there would be the exchanging of the information gathered that morning. Hammond was encouraged. If Beech enquired how the investigation was progressing, his positive feedback would be genuine. He saw Edwards at the end of the corridor, talking into a telephone receiver whilst chewing on a bread roll at the same time. Hammond found Edwards rather coarse at times, but he was a good detective and reliable. He held up a hand in greeting as their eyes met. Edwards returned the compliment by taking another bite and turning his back, continuing his conversation on the phone with his mouth full.
“Inspector?” Someone tapped him lightly on his back. He spun around, recognising a woman who worked downstairs in Reception. She smiled at him and informed him that there was someone waiting to see him.
“Who?” It wasn’t the best time to receive visitors at the office, the team meeting was due to start in fifteen minutes.
“Mrs DiMarco. She has been waiting almost an hour already. She is most keen to talk to you.” Wallace Hammond strained his memory, he didn’t recognise the name DiMarco, but he was in a good mood and the name DiMarco suggested a sexy Italian woman. He agreed to follow the receptionist downstairs.
The door lock gave a loud beep as it accepted the pin code, allowing Hammond into the reception area. He looked around, and not seeing anyone, asked the officer behind the reception booth where Mrs DiMarco was. The officer mimicked Hammond’s search by half standing from his chair and leaned over his desk allowing his head to aid his peripheral vision by turning it left and right. He shrugged when he was unable to help and then suddenly pointed to the main doors. A woman dressed in a caramel full length coat was smoking outside the door. Her head was shrouded in a black scarf making it difficult for Hammond to distinguish her features. From the back, she was tall and slim, her left arm crossed in front of her, her fingers hooked around her waist. Her right elbow rested on the left forearm as she slowly dragged from her lit cigarette. The smoke she exhaled escaped into the air in a mesmerising ballet. Hammond walked through the main doors, calling her name as she did so. The woman turned and smiled causing her cheeks to dimple around the contours of her mouth. Hammond stopped. It was Kathleen.
“Hello Wallace.” She stubbed her cigarette against the building wall and took a step toward him. Overcome by a sudden feeling of self-consciousness, Hammond embraced her gently. His mouth had dried up making it difficult to talk. He found himself staring at her which made the situation worse. Beautiful women unnerved him, Harris’s daughter especially. He recovered quickly and guided her back into the reception lobby by placing a hand gently under her elbow.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you in private.” Kathleen seemed uncomfortable. The officer in Reception was staring at them inquisitively. Hammond obliged and led her through the security doors until they entered a room used by family liaison officers. The room was comfortably furnished with a cream sofa and a pine coffee table. It wasn’t an attractive room but it served its purpose of enabling people to relax.
“It is really great to see you. A surprise, but a great one. You should have phoned, I would have been here earlier.” Hammond knew he was gabbling.
Kathleen took off her coat and scarf, flicking her hair loose. It was still long and auburn, darker than he remembered but glossy and soft. She wore a black v-neck sweater and dark trousers with heeled ankle boots. She sat down on the sofa in an expectant manner. Since there was no-where else to sit, Hammond sat beside her, perched on the edge so he could turn his face toward her. They politely exchanged information on how they were and agr
eed how pleasant it was to see each other again.
“I confess I had no idea your surname was DiMarco, I didn’t know it was you.”
Kathleen smoothed a crease in her trousers. “It was my married name.” It was obvious she wanted to concentrate on the reason why she was there.
“Wallace, I understand that my father saw you recently?”
Hammond answered this was correct. She had spoken as if asking a question rather than confirming fact. He wondered how much Harris had told her.
“He asked for your help?” She continued without waiting for a response, and then turned her body slightly so that she was facing him directly.
“I realise what I will say will appear disloyal to my father but I need to say it.” She paused and lowered her eyes to her lap where she had cupped one hand in the other.
After taking a deep breath, she looked back at Hammond until their eyes met.
“I don’t know what my Father has told you, but I am asking you, as a friend to us both, to ignore anything he told you when you met the other day. To not do what he may have asked you to do.”
Kathleen was speaking in code but Hammond understood that she could know more than she was letting on. Either she was pretending to know more as a way of getting him to speak freely and divulge information or she was trying to determine how much he knew already.
“What is this about Kathleen? It is true your Father asked me to help by looking into something, but he understood it may not be possible or even necessary.”
Kathleen listened. “Wallace, I know what my Father asked you to do. He wants you to investigate a suicide that happened recently. Am I right?”
Hammond smiled a reply.
“My father is not well. He gets confused easily, sometimes sees problems where they don’t exist. Ever since his retirement, he has felt the need to investigate. He cannot give up the habit of detecting crime, even when there is no crime to detect. I am sorry to say that helping Dad would be a waste of your time.”