by C. D. Neill
“There’s something that has been bugging me.” Hammond used the opportunity to his advantage. “You never told me what happened when you questioned Samuel Lawson.”
Morris looked surprised. “Nothing to tell. He claimed that he had wanted to look at Graham Robert’s house out of curiosity. He hadn’t remembered being approached by Roberts as a young boy but he was curious so wanted to look at the man’s house. Apparently the front door had been left unlocked, so he had let himself in.”
“Did you charge him?”
“What with? He didn’t take anything. There was no way of proving that he was lying.”
“I was convinced I was right about him.” said Hammond.
“Unfortunately, some questions don’t get resolved in the way we would like.”
Hammond slowly nodded his head in resignation.
“Wallace, there is something you should know. We did a check on your friend, Jenny...”
Morris corrected his posture in his seat. “There’s something you should know about her...”
Hammond interrupted Morris by standing up quickly. “I don’t want to know.” He said.
He accepted Morris’ outstretched hand and shook it as he went to leave the room.
“Do you think it is worth it?”
Hammond looked down at Morris in the chair. He wasn’t sure what Morris was referring to exactly.
“The job. Is it worth sacrificing your pride, your energy, your social life, even your marriage for?”
“Yes.” Hammond said simply.
Hammond left the station by 5pm, he went home to his rented apartment in Folkestone and crawled into bed. He slept for twelve hours and awoke with the decision to resolve a question that had plagued his dreams. Later he phoned Mrs Taylor in Saltwood and asked if he could see her. She was surprised but agreed to meet him. When she opened the door, he saw that she had prepared for his visit, the house smelt of furniture polish.
“You said you wanted to talk to me about Thomas, but I don’t understand why. He has been charged.”
Hammond sat down and smiled reassuringly.
“I know.” He said. “But something has been bothering me. You never talked about Thomas’ father. I wondered why.”
She looked baffled “Why?”
“Sometimes I feel the need to find answers, to get to the bottom of things, otherwise the unknown hangs on and gathers dust. It troubles me.”
Her voice carried a hint of sharpness. “I don’t understand why you want to know about him. Even if you did, it won’t undo what has happened. Knowing the answers won’t change anything.”
“You’re right, but I have the feeling that there is more to Thomas’ attack on Mr Roberts than I understand. He seems a good boy, you are evidently very close. I cannot help but wonder whether Thomas reacted the way he did because he was trying to protect you.”
She looked at him with an expression of horror. “I hadn’t thought of that. He’s a bright boy, he’s not cruel, what he did that day...it’s not like him.”
Hammond waited expectantly.
“My husband and I are separated. He left us two years ago in debt. We were kicked out of our home, Thomas had to leave his school. It was a terrible time.” She gazed at the framed photograph of Thomas that stood behind Hammond on the window ledge. “He was a drunk. When he was sober, he was a loving, kind Father but once he had a drink, he was aggressive and controlling towards me. He would come home late and demand sex. For a while I refused him but eventually he wouldn’t take no for an answer. On the last occasion, Thomas walked in and saw us. The next day my husband left us.”
Hammond nodded slowly. “Do you think Thomas needed counselling?”
She looked at him with an expression of guilt. “I guess so. I didn’t think about it, we just got on as if nothing had happened.” She started to cry.
Thomas had tried to stop history repeating itself Hammond thought. When Roberts had approached him, Thomas feared losing his home and his family. He had attacked not because he was frightened of being physically harmed, but because he had feared losing his life.
He left the Taylor’s house soon after and sat in the car for several minutes. In his rear view mirror he saw William Barnes leave the house with Daisy for their walk. They headed towards the woods.
The service lasted an hour. Hammond stood at the back of the packed chapel as the minister delivered the sermon. He bowed his head as the prayers were read out, he laughed at the humorous memories shared by the family and tried to sing the hymns in tune but all the time his eyes stayed focused on the ceiling. He wouldn’t look down, if he did the tears would spill down his cheeks. His throat was tight and painful despite his attempts to exercise the muscles by swallowing. As they filed out the door, he found himself walking beside Galvin’s wife. He looked at the baby being carried in her arms and noted the ways its eyes focused on something unseen as all infants did. Hammond wondered whether Galvin had witnessed his son’s birth after all.
In February, Hammond made the decision to go away for a few days. He had always intended to visit the Lake District and persuaded Paul to join him, he wanted the opportunity to bond with his son. Hammond felt as if he was losing touch with Paul, and it hurt him to think that his son may not need him anymore.
They stayed at a bed and breakfast in Windermere and spent their first day sightseeing by boat on the lake. The second day they walked from the train station to Orrest Head. It was a gentle walk, but it gave Father and Son the opportunity to talk and enjoy each other’s company. By the time they returned back to their room for the evening they were tired but exhilarated. Paul was in high spirits and Hammond felt his son had returned to him again. They toasted their time together, sharing a bottle of cognac that Hammond had bought especially for the occasion.
On their last day in Cumbria they spent the day separately, indulging in their own activities. Whilst Paul depleted his energy partaking in water sports, Hammond spent his morning browsing in an antiquarian bookstore. In the afternoon, he drove to Kendal. He had phoned Eleanor Hayes earlier that day to arrange his visit. She agreed to meet him in a tea shop by the town centre.
She stood out from the other diners with her bright red cardigan and matching beret. She was not as old as she dressed, her skin was clear and taunt. Her eyes bright with an intelligence he found appealing. They sat at a table by the window. Eleanor listened as Hammond explained his visit. Officially the murder of her brother had been solved. Hammond declined to offer too much detail about Thomas, but he explained the circumstances that had surrounded Graham Robert’s death. All the while he spoke, she stayed silent. When he finished she thanked him and poured his tea, as if using the opportunity to think what she would say next. When she spoke, she focused her gaze on the spoon that nestled on the saucer.
“My brother and I did not have a close relationship. We did not get on. I confess that I was ashamed of my brother and his ways. Whilst I do not condone the way in which he died, I cannot help but feel that in some way, his death was an end to his suffering. Does that make me sound cruel?”
She looked at Hammond with genuine interest in his opinion. Instead of answering her Hammond asked her to explain.
“My brother was not perverted, but he was disturbed. He was molested when he was twelve years of age. He confided in my Father who beat him and told him never to repeat such filth. It just wasn’t talked about, not like it is today.”
She ended the conversation by stirring the tea. They drank in silence and watched the world pass by the window.
Hammond had thought about Kathleen several times since he had taken leave. She had attempted to contact Hammond since the night of Galvin’s death but he had refused to take her calls, eventually she had left him a message on his phone. She told him that her interest in him had been real. Her voice had sounded genuinely emotional but Hammond couldn’t trust her, he would forever doubt her intentions towards him, so he had deleted the message and tried to forget her but often found himse
lf remembering her dimples when she smiled, or the way her hair had brushed against his face when he had kissed her.
He saw her for the last time at Lloyd Harris’s funeral. They stood side by side as the coffin was lowered into its resting place. Mentally Hammond bid his friend his farewells. He understood why Harris had asked for his help; he had wanted to see justice served, but whether he had achieved that Hammond couldn’t tell.
“You never allowed me to explain.”
Hammond looked at Kathleen. He realised that he felt nothing, no anger, no resentment, no residue of his former humiliation.
“I don’t think I would understand even if you tried to explain.”
Kathleen positioned herself in front of him so that his path was blocked.
“I was attracted to you Wallace because I saw in you someone who I could relate to, someone who I could understand and who would understand me. Whatever you think of me now, you and I are the same. You said you became a police officer to earn your Father’s approval. Why am I any different? I tried to earn my parent’s respect by doing what they wanted me to do. Just because my parents have a different sense of right and wrong doesn’t mean I didn’t want them to love me. The only difference is that you were given love Wallace, whilst I strived for it.”
“But Harris loved you. He raised you as his own.”
“No, Harris loved my mother, and I was the nearest thing he could have.”
Hammond did not reply. He walked back to his car and left her standing where he had left her. As he drove away from the church, he noticed the daffodils were about to bloom. Spring was on its way.
Epilogue
“Sunset is the promise of dawn.”
Henry Havelock Ellis. The Dance of Life. 1923
The report on Goodchild’s car was completed. The driver’s seat had been removed and the blood sample had been tested. By weighing the passenger seat and comparing it with the weight of the driver’s seat, it was established that over six pints of blood had been in the car, some of it had soaked into the upholstery, most of it had run down and dripped into the foot-well. It would have been impossible for a nine stone woman to have lost such an amount and survived.
The direction of the blood spillage indicated that the source of the bleed had come from a height rather than from an area that had rested against the seat. The driver’s seat was covered in blood, the stain had no obvious shape to it so it wasn’t easy to determine how the body was seated when the blood loss occurred. There were no puncture marks in the upholstery. Neither were there any drag marks in the blood to show that the body had been moved after the injury had incurred. With this thought in mind, further investigation was warranted. The blood was screened. The report that was subsequently compiled from the blood analysis was significant. It was confirmed that the blood had come from Goodchild, but the information was limited due to the fact that the blood cells had been destroyed before the sample was taken. The only explanation for this was that the blood must have been previously frozen and had defrosted too quickly.
Author’s Note
The background of this novel is based on the work and the dedication of law enforcement officers working for the Kent Police and the Kent and Essex Serious Crime Directorate (SCD) however it is a work of fiction. Whilst some references have been made to actual procedures or investigations conducted by British Law Enforcement or the British Home Office during previous eras, it has not been intended to portray a realistic reproduction of events in Kent Police’s History.
I have written what could have happened, not what has happened. Whilst the story takes place in actual locations, the settings and the characters are not real. Not all Police procedures or conductions may be entirely accurate or representative of how Kent Police conduct their investigations in the present day. Since completing this novel in 2011, there have been changes to the organisation of Kent Police so they may differ to the scenarios that have been portrayed in this work of fiction.
I owe my gratitude to everyone who has assisted me in my research whilst writing this book, and my heartfelt appreciation to all those who have shown great patience in helping me with the necessary editing and proof-reading.
The story is entirely my own responsibility and nobody else’s.
CD Neill
Kent. July 2013
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Copyright © CD Neill, 2013
The right of CD Neill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with Section 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
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ISBN 978-1-78148-212-4 in electronic format
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.