by C. D. Neill
“It was just the one person in the car. We’ve got the registration. You want us to check it?”
“If you can. Anything else?”
Hammond heard a voice in the background. “Yep. We’ve got a full description of the driver. Caucasian Male, mid fifties, heavy build. Dark hair with a small bald patch. Does that sound familiar?”
Hammond thought hard. “No, not at all. How did you manage to get that good a look?”
There were muffled noises coming from the other end of the line before Hammond recognised Galvin’s voice. “Sir? There’s two things I am bad at, one is cooking and the other is running. But I am good at dog training sir, so when I say ‘pee’ my old boy cocks his leg and does the job on cue.”
Despite his predicament, Hammond smiled and congratulated the men on their observation, Edwards returned to the line. “Are you going to tell us what this is all about? Do you want us to make an arrest?”
“There’s no need. My house has been broken into and is being watched. I want whoever it is to think I haven’t noticed them and am still inside. But I want to know who they are.”
Edwards promised to get back with the information as soon as he could. Hammond thanked them and arranged to talk in the morning.
When he returned indoors, he pushed the dresser back into position and checked the locks on the doors. He knew it was pointless since the intruder had managed to get into the house undetected before, it was likely they would again. He wondered why the car had remained there. It must be that they are waiting for me to go to bed, to be unprepared. For the first time, Hammond acknowledged that he was scared. He resolved to staying awake all night, maybe even wait for whoever it was to enter the house and surprise them.
The night passed peacefully and without disturbance. Occasionally Hammond would peep through a gap in the upstairs curtains to check that the car was still there. He had made a performance of turning on alternate lights around the house, giving the impression he was blissfully unaware of being watched until all lights were turned off at 11pm. Since then he had waited but nothing had happened. At 3.30am he checked again. The car had left.
Hammond woke himself up by snorting loudly. He sat up in the armchair and checked the room. Nothing had moved. The clock told him it was 6am. Since his voyeur had left, He had tried to occupy his mind by looking at Rachel Turner’s diary and jotter pad but found the pages full of meaningless squiggles he couldn’t decipher. Occasionally he would find stars on the top right of several dates suggesting some significance but there was no star added on the day of her disappearance which he deduced if a meeting had taken place, it was probably unexpected.
The rest of the time had been spent dozing, although his mind wouldn’t allow him to rest. Any sound or movement caused him to over-react. He kept a hold of his crutches at all times, it was the only weapon he was prepared to use if the need warranted it. He updated his log book, and made descriptive notes of everything that had happened during his investigation so far. From time to time he would stop and mutter to himself that doing such a thing was pointless, no conclusion could be reached with what he had uncovered so far. A family of foster children had grown up to become reclusive and withdrawn from society until they eventually killed themselves. The only evidence he had that any criminal activity had taken place was that someone had taken the file by forcibly entering his house. But as Hammond wrote down the facts, he knew that someone was getting nervous and wanted to stop him investigating further, even if it meant harming him. It caused him to feel apprehensive yet at the same time, he felt a glimmer of excitement for it meant he was getting closer to finding out the truth.
Hammond had washed and dressed by the time his doorbell rang, he hobbled towards the door expecting to see Dunn but was irritated to see DCI Brain Morris accompanied by an uniformed officer .
An hour later and Hammond was feeling more than irritated, he was in a rage and Morris looked as if he were enjoying being the instigator of Hammond’s discomfort.
“Hammond, you have a temper, we’ve all seen it. You can’t help it, I know. Sometimes the stress gets too much to cope with and you go ‘pop’, it makes you human. But what did Cheryl Bailey do to make you go pop, Hammond? What did she do that was so bad, you wanted to hurt her?”
Hammond’s head was swimming with confusion. For the last hour he had been seated across a table with Morris in the interview room explaining his visit to Cheryl Bailey. He couldn’t believe that the woman he had spoken to thirty six hours ago was dead. What was more unbelievable was that he was a suspect in her murder.
“I told you, when I left her house she was alive and well. The taxi driver collected me from the end of her road, talk to him.”
“We have. He said you were distant and unresponsive to his friendly chatter. You looked as if you were troubled. His statement doesn’t give the impression you left her house with a smile on your face.”
Hammond swore with impatience. He was bored and frustrated with Morris’ game-play. It was one thing to enjoy making Hammond feel belittled but quite another to accuse a fellow officer of murder. He sat quietly for several moments before deciding to sacrifice his pride.
“Morris, you know that I am not the one guilty of murder. I’ve answered your questions, now let me go and find the real culprit.”
Morris continued to sit with his back straight against the back of his chair. He laughed and wagged a playful finger at Hammond before allowing his face to set straight and serious. He searched Hammond’s face for several seconds before answering.
“You’re right Hammond. I don’t want to believe that a colleague is capable of murdering a defenceless woman. Yet here you are, and it is not for the pleasure of your company. You are here because your fingerprints were found at the scene, and on the knife that stabbed her. We have a sole impression from your trainer at the scene. Witnesses saw you at the woman’s house.”
“I haven’t denied being there! My fingerprints were at the scene because I was interviewing her earlier! As for the knife, look at my hands! If I had stabbed Cheryl Bailey, I would have a cut on my hand from where my hand slipped down the handle onto the blade from the impact, but I haven’t.”
“You’re a detective who has dealt with this kind of investigation before Hammond. You would know how to avoid leaving behind that evidence.”
“In that case, why have I supposedly left a knife at the scene with my fingerprints on it?!”
Morris smiled and opened his arms wide as if to invite further conversation.
“I don’t know Hammond. You tell me.”
Hammond didn’t blame Morris for not telling him at what time Cheryl Bailey had died. It was enough to question why Hammond’s contact details had been left beside her body and as well as the other so-called evidence that had been planted at the scene. It was his sacrificed pride that helped him. By admitting he had asked for help from Edwards and Galvin following the break in at his home, he had inadvertantly provided himself with an alibi for the time of her death and a good enough reason to eliminate himself as a suspect. Yet Hammond felt humiliated and found it difficult to face his colleagues who were waiting for him in the briefing room.
Beech nodded at Hammond, silently acknowledging his presence and continued debriefing the team that had assembled. “I have asked Inspector Hammond to give us details on the investigation that he worked independently on until now. He will debrief us all on his findings because it is possible that what he has discovered is connected to Cheryl Bailey’s murder.”
Beech signalled to Hammond to take his place. Hammond made his way to where Beech had stood, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He scanned the faces in the room noting several familiar faces, people he had worked with over the years and wondered how many of them had thought him capable of murder.
“My business card and kitchen knife were found at the scene of crime. An impression from my training shoe was also at the scene. This is relevant, because it indicates that the same person or people had
entered my home and removed the kitchen knife, shoe and my research before going to Ms Bailey’s house.
Last night, my house was watched by an unknown male. He was seen by my two colleagues, his car registration was a duplicate and therefore untraceable but an e-fit of him will be handed out in a moment. He may not be the person responsible for stabbing Cheryl but it is likely he is connected. Whether he ensured I was at home alone whilst the murder took place to guarantee I would be a suspect in her murder is a plausible theory. The motive for killing Cheryl is one of two possibilities; to stop her sharing information about Salima Abitboul or simply to prevent my investigation from continuing through my incarceration. It is also relevant to note that it is possible my car was sabotaged several months ago for the same reason. This means we are looking at people or a person related to my investigation.”
Hammond paused, he couldn’t decide how much information to give. Lloyd Harris had not been entirely straightforward with the truth when he had asked Hammond for his help, yet Hammond had discovered Harris’ true involvement during his investigation. On impulse he decided to follow by example and withheld information about Kathleen’s background and Harris’ involvement with her mother. He did not mention that Harris had worked as an informer for the Home Office. It was possible that no-one would find out, which was preferable. For some reason he felt protective of Harris, and didn’t want to give the team any reason to be prejudiced. He told them about the murder of Salima Abitboul, hinting that her killer may not have been found as was believed two decades previously. He explained about the hairbrush of Salima’s found at Mark Callum’s apartment and the relationship between Salima and Cheryl Bailey. The connections between the suicides of Salima’s fellow foster children were highlighted before Hammond focused on Rachel Turner, the missing social worker.
“Her disappearance does not suggest a crime, there has been no body found answering to her description, no witnesses to any violent act towards her, no evidence found that suggests her disappearance wasn’t voluntary. However, she is connected to these suicides. She knew all these people as they grew up and was familiar with their routines and home life as did Cheryl Bailey. Cheryl indicated that Mrs Goodchild, as she was known, had fostered the children with the intention of using them. For what purpose, I couldn’t ascertain but Cheryl did give details of the type of care the children received whilst they were in Goodchild’s care. Whilst it wasn’t neglectful, there is a strong suggestion that the children underwent sensory deprivation. They were not allowed to listen to music, to watch television, or sleep in the same room on any consecutive night. Cheryl described the house as being bare of any visual stimulation. Our suicide victims all showed signs of being socially inept as adults, reclusive and lived in similar environments to their former home.” Hammond realised he was bombarding his audience with too much information. He stopped speaking and allowed his words to be digested. There was the sound of rustling paper as the e-fit of the his voyeur was handed out. Hammond waited patiently before proceeding.
“The name that seems to link all the incidents together is Mrs Goodchild. It is possible her first name is Pattie. It is believed that she worked as a prostitute during the 1980’s and then worked up the ladder to become a madam with her own brothel. I stress that, so far, there is no indication that Goodchild used the children to work in the sex trade. However, it is possible that Salima Abitboul had worked with Goodchild before her death. It had been my intention to find out about Goodchild, especially since there is no-one registered under this name as being a foster parent. I did have photographs but unfortunately they were stolen from my house last night so instead I have given a description, you will see her likeness on the pages you have just been handed. The description you have in front of you is from a photograph that is almost thirty years old, so we are looking for a woman who is now in her late fifties to mid sixties.”
Hammond ceased his deliberations and stood quietly. He was relieved to note that all faces turned towards him were engaged. Some faces were confused, others looked neutral as they contemplated the information he had given. He welcomed any questions but was interrupted by Beech who had resumed his original place in front of the team.
“Cheryl Bailey’s death is our priority. Whilst the information Inspector Hammond has given us may be relevant, it is important to focus on what Cheryl was doing before she died. We may have a motive, but it has to be proven. We know that Cheryl met Inspector Hammond. We do not know what happened afterwards and that is what we must concentrate on before we get sidetracked by psychopathic foster carers or missing social workers.”
Beech’s sarcasm hung heavily in the air whilst he surveyed the faces turned towards him. He gestured to DCI Morris who stood with his back against the door, standing tall with his arms crossed. He had watched Hammond throughout the debriefing, his tongue poking his inside cheek like an infant dismissing its mother’s breast. His dismissal of Hammond’s blundering was equally blatant. He spoke across the heads of Beech’s audience causing people to turn around in their chairs to face him.
“I will be your Senior Investigator. All of you will be giving this your priority. There is a strong possibility that the person or people responsible for Cheryl Bailey’s death has also attempted to harm one of our officers. So, we will work through until we get a result. Door to door enquiries are being made with Cheryl’s neighbours as we speak. As well as Cheryl’s house, Hammonds house is also a crime scene therefore SOCO’s will be at his house dusting for fingerprints. Inspector Hammond will be distributing copies of his investigation notes. I want the man watching Hammond’s house to be identified and found.”
Morris barked orders to individual faces until the room was dispersed. After a while, he approached Hammond who sat on a chair with his forehead leaning against his crutches.
“You are giving us everything, right?”
Hammond looked up, he wondered how much information his features were giving away. After a stress filled night and morning, it was becoming difficult to hold things back. “I have given you all my notes, I have opened up my home to forensics. What more is there to give?”
Morris sat down on the chair beside Hammond. “Let’s start with the truth. Why did you start questioning suicides that had been investigated previously with a satisfactory conclusion?”
Hammond hesitated. He knew Morris wasn’t stupid, there seemed no point in trying to justify his actions any more. He was exhausted, physically and mentally. Fulfilling Harris’ request had caused him more stress than any case he had worked on. Maybe it was the emotional ties of his friendship with Harris that had added burden. Most police investigations were ruled by the monotony of writing reports and following protocol but there were times when solving seemingly impossible puzzles became thrilling and compulsive. Admittedly he had enjoyed feeling challenged, but now he was the subject of ridicule amongst colleagues whose professional opinion mattered.
“Off the record?”
Morris studied Hammond. “Don’t play games Hammond. I haven’t the patience. If you are withholding information, you will lose more than your reputation when I am through with you.”
Hammond nodded slowly. “Ok, but I need something to eat first. I haven’t had a decent meal in days.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Hammond’s immediate reaction upon entering DCI Morris’ office was distaste. Everywhere he looked there were framed photographs of Morris and his family. It took an ego-maniac to take delight in his own image and Morris was certainly not shy to show off his attributes at every opportunity. Hammond had no problem working with ambitious people, but Morris took it one step further and it irked him. He fought the urge to remark on the pictures which one couldn’t miss even if they wanted to and sat down at the desk. Morris seated himself beside Hammond rather than at the desk before him.
Hammond felt defeated, he knew the time had come to explain about Lloyd Harris’ request and he spoke frankly but only repeated the information he had offered duri
ng his earlier interrogation. He stopped speaking expecting Morris to conclude the meeting, but he didn’t. Instead the younger man sat and waited, his pen hovering above the notepad. Reluctantly Hammond gave further details, he mentioned the relationship between Harris and the woman he had known as Pattie, later identified as Mrs Goodchild. Then he mentioned Kathleen. Several moments passed until Morris put down his pen and turned to face Hammond directly.
“Your loyalty to your former colleague is admirable but I fear it is misplaced. Lloyd Harris was a bad advertisement of the police force Hammond. I confess I already knew that it was on his request you initiated your investigation.”
Hammond went to interrupt. How did Morris know? But instead he backed down and allowed the man his turn to speak.
“I should warn you Hammond, you may not like what I am about to say but it helps to have the truth even if we don’t always want to hear it. Lloyd Harris was not known to be a trustworthy colleague, you are probably already aware that he was an informer to the Home Office, asked to spy on his work colleagues during the scandal in the 1980’s?” Morris ignored Hammond’s widened eyes and continued.
“What you may not know was that Harris was suspected of deliberately giving false information by accusing the wrong people of coercion. His statements gave names of officers that were later found to have had no dealings with Harris, yet he had given detailed accounts of conversations between himself and them, based on lies and supposition. However, I am digressing..” Morris could see he was going too far for Hammonds’ liking. His tone changed to a lighter note.