by C. D. Neill
“What do you mean your Dad’s unwell? Is there something I don’t know? Forgive me Kathleen but I get the impression you are not telling me everything. If there is something that I should know, please tell me.”
Hammond resisted the urge to look at his watch, he didn’t want to be late a second time for the team meeting.
“Dad has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. It’s still the early stages, but he has good days and some days when he gets so confused, he doesn’t make sense. It could be something subtle, like forgetting your name when he talks to you or stopping mid sentence with no idea that you were having a conversation, but there have been occasions when he has gone shopping for groceries and then forgotten the way home.”
It was as if Kathleen had punched Hammond in the stomach, the shock of her confession made him feel sick. He felt ashamed that he had had no idea Harris was unwell. Harris had behaved oddly during their recent meeting, but he had no idea of how severe the situation had been. Harris had always been so sure about life, about his work. He found himself swallowing repeatedly. His throat hurt. He looked around the room for the water dispenser. Spying it by the window, he hastily filled a cup with water, throwing the cool liquid down his throat in large gulps. He remembered his manners too late and offered a drink to Kathleen who declined. The silence that hang in the air between them was interrupted by the sound of his mobile phone vibrating in his pocket. He wanted to ignore it, but instead excused himself to Kathleen and answered the call. Lois Dunn spoke efficiently on the other end, telling him the team had assembled in the briefing room. He told her he was on his way and ended the call.
Kathleen understood Hammond’s predicament. She stood up and picked up her coat and scarf from the sofa, hanging it loosely over her arm. She approached him as he leaned against the water dispenser, pretending not to notice the moisture in Hammond’s eyes.
“I can see this wasn’t the best time. How about we make an arrangement to meet another time? Shall I call you?
“No, I will call you.”
Hammond straightened up and called to her as she started to leave the room.
“Kathleen, thank you for telling me. I am sorry about your Dad.”
She held his gaze for a prolonged moment and then closed the door behind her.
The man had been standing in the cold for over an hour. He had watched her smoking a cigarette outside the police station before a tall grey haired man wearing shabby attire came outside and embraced her. The man hadn’t looked like a policeman, he looked more like a vet but the chances of a vet meeting her at a police station were pretty slim he reasoned. He remained at his post across the road, watching with interest as she was ushered into the building. He waited for several moments, then he crossed the road and entered reception. Using the pretext of having recognised the grey haired man but couldn’t remember his name was all he needed to get the information he wanted. He thanked the officer at reception before exiting the building and pressed re-dial on his mobile. The voice on the other end of the phone was well spoken and gave the impression of good breeding. Each word delivered with articulation, without inflection. The same way the orders were given, no matter how demanding they were; there was never any doubt what was expected. Standing in the cold and wet was something he had to do often, but it was part of the job and he did it with the hope that it would be followed by a more active role. Watching someone was just the start. Eventually he would know his subject so well that he would be able to think like them, to recognise their habits, their preferences, he would be able to predict their next move. This was an invaluable skill he possessed, in some ways it made him invincible.
“Man lives by imagination.”
Henry Havelock Ellis. The Dance of Life. 1923
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I understand we have a name”.
Hammond brushed past Michael Galvin who was seated with his back facing the door. He had not noticed Hammond’s approach and got up hastily as Hammond passed him. The tone of Hammond’s voice was detected as being unusual, but the team were unsure whether it was a positive change in attitude or the opposite. Silent communication between the team members proceeded with stares and facial expressions. With jerks of the head, Galvin and Edwards elected Dunn to speak first.
“Yes we do, Graham Roberts aged 59 years. We have an address in Dymchurch Road. He lived alone, he was a widower, his wife having died from breast cancer in 1998. They had no children. In 2002, he was arrested and charged with driving under the influence of excessive alcohol consumption.”
Hammond sipped his tea. His throat still hurt.
“Apparently we have his fingerprints on our database.” This was spoken directly to Galvin.
“Yes, from the drink driving charge but also there was a disturbance a few years back in Hythe High Street. Roberts was accused of indecently approaching a six year old boy outside the public toilets. The mother of the child caught Roberts exposing himself to the boy and created a scene.”
“When was this?”
“2001. No charges were brought against Roberts. He claimed it had been a misunderstanding; that he had used the urinal and hadn’t fastened his clothing properly. However, his details were kept on record as a precaution.”
It was worth checking with the Public Protection Unit at Canterbury, just to check that Roberts hadn’t caught their attention since the incident in 2001.
“What about the mother and child that made the accusation, are they still local?”
Hammond considered interviewing the mother again. Even if the incident had happened nine years ago, there was a strong possibility the mother would remember her child having been in a possibly dangerous situation. His direct manner was making Galvin nervous.
“I don’t know, I will check.” Galvin stopped short, unsure how to continue. Hammond took another sip of tea and rubbed the back of his neck wearily.
“This is what we have so far. As our Mr Galvin is aware.” He ignored the looks passed between Dunn and Edwards. They probably were not aware of Galvin’s attempt to earn extra house points by talking to Henderson.
“...we now have an identity for our victim, which means we can ask around, get some background information on him, and question the neighbours. He may be a regular at the local pub, check for any family members. Galvin, that will be your job starting first thing in the morning. We know he was spending time with the kids in the woods, what we don’t know is why. Was he there as an invited spectator, as a coach, or simply an interested bystander with nothing else to do on a Saturday or weekday evening? What was Roberts doing the day he died? Look at phone records; check to see if he had arranged to meet anyone in the woods. Dunn, did you have any luck at the school?”
Dunn shook her head.
“We showed an artist sketch of Roberts rather than the post mortem photo, some older children thought they recognised him, but they were very vague. Edwards asked around about the play tracks.” Dunn looked at Edwards, willing him to debrief his own findings which Edwards did with a casual manner, he remained seated on his chair, slouched back with one leg resting on the other knee.
“Fourteen year old Robert Freeman is a regular rider at the track. He reckoned there were two or three others that used the track on a regular basis but he didn’t know their names or recognise them as students from his school. I checked at the local primary school, but no one could help. I guess they’re too young to be allowed to build tracks on their own. I’m going to go to the Grammar School in Folkestone to check there.”
“Good. I would like to get information from as many kids as possible. Galvin, you went to Saltwood today, did you have any luck or were you too busy pestering the pathology department?”
Galvin smirked a little.” I’ve got a list of the regulars who compete in the Boxing Day Run. The audio test proved negative. The trees are too dense for sound to carry far. The door to door enquiries were less productive, although one Saltwood resident remembers Graham Roberts. Her name is Sally Whi
ttaker, she walks her dog through the woods during mid-day. On several occasions she had seen Roberts with a group of boys. The most recent was during the summer holidays, he was laying flexi coil on the tracks. She didn’t know the boys who were with him but said they were about fifteen or older.”
Ok, so let’s look at what we do have. We know that Graham Roberts liked to hang around the play park, the canal and the woods. This could simply be the wanderings of a lonely man, or it could be a deliberate ploy to be near children. Until we can talk to the children he used to hang around with and get more background information on him, we cannot assume he had paedophile tendencies. Therefore it is extremely important that we handle this very sensitively, any indication that this was related to a sex crime, and we will have an uproar.” Hammond made sure this comment was understood. He trusted his team to be discreet but it was important he cautioned them, if only to justify his actions to Beech later on. Hammond repeated the information that Dr Henderson had gathered from the autopsy. “From the injuries Roberts sustained, it appears that he was facing this assailant, possibly with his trousers down, maybe exposing himself when he was first struck. There is evidence that a bike was either thrown at him, or he fell over a bike. But for the sake of argument, let’s say a bike was thrown at him, Roberts turns away as if to run, his trousers still undone and he is struck by a blow to the side or to the chest.”
“That suggests more than one attacker.” Edwards interrupted.
“Yes, it is a possibility, although the scene did not show much evidence of a scuffle. If there had been more than one person beating the crap out of him, the ground would have been disturbed much more.” Dunn surmised.
“Not necessarily, it had rained a lot, maybe the soil was washed over the disturbed ground.” Galvin interjected.
“Either way, it looks as if one of the kids are guilty of something.” This hypothesis was offered by Edwards.
“Or it could be a parent, someone who witnesses Graham Robert’s expose himself to the BMX boys and took objection, reacting violently. There are multiple fractures and lacerations. Our victim was battered by a weapon immediately to hand, therefore, it is unlikely it was a premeditated attack, more of a frenzied rage.”
Hammond realised that they were all presuming Roberts was in some way responsible for his own death, he reminded himself to be objective and consider that Roberts was the victim of a brutal attack. There was still a chance that he was not a sexual deviant but rather a man whom simply enjoyed children’s company. He focused on the identity of the assailant. “There is the suggestion that we are looking for someone shorter than Roberts, as the force of the blows were aimed at the chest and lower body. Roberts was six foot two inches. We can concentrate our search for someone around five foot five inches tall who has good upper body strength.” Lumps of wood are heavy, if the wood was repeatedly swung, it would have been exhausting Hammond deduced.
Edwards spoke up “What if the attacker was originally on his knees? There were traces of semen, what if Roberts was getting a blowjob before he was struck?”
Hammond replied that it was unlikely any DNA would have survived the weather conditions but, presuming that the attacker had reacted after witnessing Roberts getting sexual gratification from another person, there may still be trace evidence. By now Hammond was tired, he needed a hot meal and a good sleep. The day had been an emotional rollercoaster, one minute he had been playing practical jokes with Jenny, the next he was reminded of how vulnerable even the strongest man could be. He swallowed hard, thinking of Harris.
The meeting ended with the conclusion that nothing more could be done until Roberts had been thoroughly checked out, each had their own delegated tasks for the following day. Hammond collected his coat from his chair, he considered distributing the artist sketch of Roberts to the media, appealing for more information, but it would be a gamble. If the media found out about Robert’s police record, it could become extremely difficult. Panic would arise amongst the community with the suggestion children had been put at risk. On the other hand, potential witnesses could come forward, family members could be traced, both of which would be essential to learning more about their victim. Hammond sighed heavily, he was too tired to think about it anymore today, tomorrow he would talk to Beech. He had one more task for the day.
There were no vacant parking spaces in New Road, so Hammond resigned to leaving his car outside the pub and walking across to where William Barnes’ cleaner lived. Hammond rang the doorbell and looked up towards where Barnes lived four doors away, wondering how the man was faring following his shock earlier that week. The door was opened by a serious looking woman in her mid thirties. She looked enquiringly at Hammond as he introduced himself.
“Mrs Taylor?” he waited for her confirmation before continuing, showing his Id card holding it at shoulder level. “My name is Detective Inspector Hammond from the Major Crimes Unit. I would like to talk with your son Thomas, I have been told he could help me.”
Her look was anxious, she stood in the doorway, uncertain whether to invite him in. Seeing her look so concerned, Hammond made an effort to smile with reassurance.
“He is not very well at the moment, perhaps you could talk to him another time.”
Hammond promised her he wouldn’t take up too much of their time, perhaps he could come into the house and talk with her first, just to explain his visit. Reluctantly she obliged by allowing him to enter. She took Hammond into a small living room to the side of the hallway. The sofa had been placed with its back to the bay window, various electrical leads from a Play-station console snaked on the carpet toward a large television that occupied most of the south facing wall. Mrs Taylor offered to call Thomas to come downstairs, but Hammond shook his head, he would like to talk to her first. She sat down on the edge of the sofa, without inviting him to do the same, so he stood looking down at her, trying to appear friendly.
“I understand from Mr Barnes, your neighbour, that Thomas enjoys BMX bike riding in the woods behind Sandling Road.”
“Yes. He is a very sporty boy.”
“Was Thomas riding his bike at the weekend?”
“I think so, he spent most of Saturday with his friends, I was working on Sunday, I clean at the nursing home down Bartholomew Lane, He usually goes out with his friends from school or stays here attached to the play-station.” She affected a laugh as if to say, you know what young boys are like.
Hammond smiled sharing the joke with her. “I understand there is a regular gathering of BMX enthusiasts in the woods other than your son. Do you know the names of Thomas’ friends?”
She didn’t. Hammond changed tack and focused his attention on the framed photographs displayed on the window ledge. A boy, presumably Thomas, was beaming with pride as he held up a gold medal hung around his neck. He was dressed in karate gear and looked about ten years of age. Another photograph showed Mrs Taylor and her son with their arms raised, their faces sharing similar expressions of excitement as they rode a rollercoaster. Hammond emitted a small chuckle. Several years ago, on Paul’s eighth birthday, he and Lyn had accompanied Paul on a rollercoaster ride during a visit to Legoland. Hammond remembered the day vividly. It had been in summer and Lyn had worn her favourite strapless yellow summer dress. When they had gone to collect their memento photos of the ride, Lyn had adamantly refused to buy it as she thought her arms had looked fat.
Mrs Taylor watched as she saw Hammond bend to look at the pictures. She noticed the smile that played around his mouth and was complimented on his interest.
“Thomas has always been a bit of a thrill seeker. He had just won the Open Junior Karate Championship when that photo was taken. It was a great day.”
“What grade is he?” Hammond asked the question with genuine interest.
“He had a green belt when the photograph was taken, but he has since been upgraded to Purple.”
Even though Hammond was ignorant in the grading of Karate, it sounded impressive and he said so to Mrs Ta
ylor, congratulating her on her son’s success. She seemed more relaxed and he used the opportunity to his advantage. “You said Thomas has been feeling unwell, I expect there are lots of bugs going round this time of year.” He turned his body away from her indicating he would like to continue his interview with Thomas. She stood up, believing his latter question to be out of polite concern and walked toward the living room door.
“I am not sure what is wrong with him. When I returned home from work on Sunday afternoon he was a little off colour. He has no appetite, just picks at food. I kept him here on Monday but he hated being at home all day on his own. Unfortunately, he is at that age where he refuses to see a doctor.”
Hammond laughed as if to say he understood what that was like. She responded in kind and then ascended the stairs calling Thomas. He heard her explaining his visit. After a few minutes, she looked down at Hammond and offered to introduce him to Thomas.
Hammond followed her direction to a room she identified as her son’s and entered, purposely leaving the door open. The room was a typical boy’s bedroom with a single bed placed under the window, a wardrobe, with its doors hanging slightly off centre. Clean laundry was stacked on top of sports magazines and books. The walls were painted a dark blue making the room feel small and cramped. Hammond recognised the boy from the photographs. He was sitting on a swivel chair kicking his legs that caused the chair to swing from side to side. His fingers flicked with deft speed on the controls of a hand held games console. He was aware of Hammond standing there but was shy and avoided Hammond’s gaze.
“How old are you Thomas?” Hammond sat on the bed, leaning forward with his arms resting on his lap, his fingers interlocked.
“Twelve”.
“Really? You look older.” Hammond hoped that his words would be taken as a compliment. They were. Thomas swung the chair around to face his visitor.