Deadly Duty Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set)

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Excellent. And Staff Sergeant Williams?”

  “Equally as good,” Crane replied.

  “Any problems?” Edwards was still relaxing back in his chair, but his gaze had hardened.

  “No, sir. Why do you ask?” Crane uncrossed his legs and crossed his arms to stop him fiddling with the files on the desk.

  “It’s just that I’ve noticed he’s out of the office quite a lot at the moment. Is there a good reason for that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Crane responded, resisting the temptation to cross his fingers as the lie slid easily from his lips. “He’s being extremely helpful at the moment, especially during this difficult investigation and following up leads on other on-going investigations for me as well.”

  “Very well. As long as you’re sure?” Edwards raised his eyebrows.

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  Damn, Crane thought as he left the office. So it wasn’t just Kim that had noticed Billy’s absences. The last thing he needed right now was interference from Edwards, so he’d have to hope that Kim complied with his request.

  However, his first priority was to find out what was happening with the other SIB investigators, so he placed a call to Harris in Catterick, who had seen his local Church Elder that morning.

  “Bingo!” was Harris’ answer to Crane’s question about any visits by Zechariah to the Church.

  “That’s good then I take it?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, sorry, sir. I’ve found out that Zechariah visited our Church on the 9th of August, which was about 2 months before Fisher killed his son. He couldn’t identify him though, as the Church Elder was away when Zechariah preached here.”

  “Excellent, Harris, well done.”

  While he was waiting for Brown to have his meeting later that afternoon, he called Billy into the office as he wanted a report on Mrs Fisher’s computer.

  “Computer, sir?”

  “Yes, Billy, her bloody computer. Does she have one? Have you got it?”

  “Sir?” Billy’s eyes were darting from one side of his head to the other.

  “Don’t you remember, lad? I asked you a couple of days ago to ring Mrs Fisher to see if she had a computer or laptop. If she did you were to go and collect it. I wanted you to go so I didn’t have to meet her again.”

  Billy’s eyes were still unfocused and it was clear he didn’t recollect the request. Deciding to leave it at that, Crane told him in no uncertain terms to get out of his bloody office and get onto it right away.

  Once on his own he consulted the copy of the office log Kim printed off for him. Clearly marked for two afternoons ago was an entry logging Billy out of the office, visiting Mrs Fisher in Reading.

  Feeling the need for a cigarette, Crane went outside and leaned against his car, gazing over the playing fields where an inter-services rugby match was being played. Although he was too far away to see the actual action, the cheering of the crowds told him that the army were doing well. Either that or the navy had brought along coach loads of supporters, outnumbering those who had bothered to turn out from the camp. Pride dictated the decision that the army were winning and so he turned his attention to the traffic passing up and down Queens Avenue.

  A learner driver was stationary in front of him in a queue of traffic and he could see the young man’s knuckles whitening as he gripped the steering wheel, as a drowning man would grip a life ring. Without warning the traffic started to move again, startling the driver, who kangarooed his way down the road. Crane likened the car’s progress to this investigation. Stop, start, stop, start. The whole thing seemed so drawn out, with spurts of action and activity, followed by times when the investigation seemed becalmed. But Crane thought that at last he was getting somewhere. His determination to keep the investigation alive had paid off in the end and they were closing in on Zechariah.

  He wondered whether his prey had any idea that he was being circled, could feel their closeness and was worried. He decided not. Zechariah was too egotistical to think that anyone could stop him. At least he hoped not. For he needed the action to play out. Hopefully not to the end. But close enough to it for a result. But it all hinged on Billy playing his part unwittingly. Pushing aside his fears that things may go too far before he could stop them, he reminded himself that manipulation was what he was good at. Grinding out his cigarette underfoot, he marched back into the office.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The next trip Billy made out of the office really was to Mrs Fisher in Reading. She agreed to give the laptop computer to him, on the promise that she got it back and nothing relating to her son would be destroyed. In fact, charmed by Billy as she was, she even gave them the passwords to all the email addresses she knew about. So Crane was able to pass the machine to Kim to have a look at first, instead of sending it to the IT Department. Crane stayed while she started up the machine.

  “Just be careful, for God’s sake, Kim. I know we’re trying to save time but the last thing I want is anything vital being deleted by mistake.”

  “Don’t worry, sir, that’s why I’m doing it not Billy,” she grinned and Crane was glad to see her saying that with a smile on her face, instead of with her usual antagonistic attitude towards her colleague.

  The first thing they saw when the machine booted up was a large picture of Mrs Fisher’s son on the desktop. They both stared at the photograph. The boy was looking directly into the camera, grinning widely. He had an ice cream in his hand, with most of it plastered around his face. His hair was ruffled from the breeze and he was wearing a pair of swimming trunks. Crane dragged his gaze from the heart breaking picture, to see Kim looking at him with haunted eyes that held an unspoken question he just couldn’t answer. Clearing his throat, he motioned Kim to carry on.

  They worked together on the computer for more than an hour, at one point loading their printer software onto it, so they could print off various pages. Crane took these into his office and left Kim searching for anything else she could find of interest. It seemed that Corporal Fisher had been less paranoid than Solomon and hadn’t deleted some of the emails from Zechariah. Attached to one was the following piece of rhetoric.

  STEPS TO HEAVEN

  Remember how the Lord our God sent his only son Jesus to die for us on the cross? Jesus is the saviour, a fountain whose blood covers and cleanses the sins of all who come to Him for salvation.

  Do you want to live in eternal damnation for your sins? Do you want your sins to be passed onto your sons? No. But the question is how can you save their innocent lives and ensure their salvation?

  I can show you the way. “I am the light,” said Jesus. And I, as his prophet can shine that light and show you the steps you can take to reach Heaven.

  There is no time to lose; the day of salvation is nearly upon us. There will be rivers of blood. But at the same time, there will be rivers of healing blood. Blood that brings salvation to the true followers of Jesus.

  Are you ready to be redeemed in a fountain of blood, covering your sins and the sins of your children? This is the only way to eternal salvation. Drench yourself in the blood and drench your sons too, so that you may all be saved.

  ***

  As Crane sat in Derek Anderson’s office, and reread the rhetoric, the words had lost none of their horror. He slumped in the chair opposite Anderson and watched the policeman’s ruddy face drain of colour.

  “And you think this lunatic is here in Aldershot?” he demanded of Crane.

  “Yes, there’s definitely something going on here. We’ve got to find this man, Derek.”

  “Well, Crane, it’s not for the want of trying. Every copper in Aldershot has been briefed on what’s going on. They’ve all got the description and there are copies in every police car.”

  “Do you think it’s time to go public? Put out a call to the press. I know none of us wants them involved, but I think we need more help here. Let’s just say he was wanted in connection with an attack on Padre Symonds.”

  “Okay, Crane, I thi
nk you’re right. I’ll get approval from above and you get it from Captain Edwards and then I’ll set up a press conference.”

  ***

  The following morning, they were ready to meet the press. They called it a joint public appeal for information by the Aldershot Police and Aldershot Royal Military Police. The wording of the press statement having been thrashed out the previous afternoon.

  Crane and Anderson walked into the room together and took their places. They shared a single desk with two chairs placed behind it. In the room were six people and that included some police officers. Not exactly big news then. Not even a TV crew, as BBC South Today and ITV Meridian News had declined to attend, simply requesting a copy of the statement and artist’s impression by email. A lot different to the all-day news channels when there was a large breaking story, Crane thought. Then, hundreds of journalists and several TV crews hung on the police’s every word, all shouting questions at once afterwards, demanding to be heard, desperate to ask that key searching question that gives an illuminating reply. Realising he was grinning, Crane quickly composed himself and listened to Derek read the statement.

  “We are appealing to members of the public for their help in finding this man. We believe he is still in the Aldershot area, following an attack on Padre Symonds from Aldershot Garrison nearly two weeks ago. The attack took place in the Padre’s office in the Royal Garrison Church of All Saints. The Padre is currently in Frimley Park Hospital, suffering from head wounds but recovering well. We would ask that members of the public do not approach the man themselves but instead contact the police at Aldershot Police Station on 01252 645103. Thank you.”

  On a screen behind Derek flashed the head and shoulders picture the police artist had drawn of Zechariah. They had decided not to use the one where he was dressed in robes, as they didn’t want to draw attention to the religious connection, nor alarm any innocent members of the Church of Jesus is King.

  Nobody seemed to have any questions and the bored looking members of the press were gathering up their papers when the door to the room opened, slamming against the wall. Looking up in annoyance, Crane saw a young woman rush into the room and grab a press pack as the door banged closed behind her.

  “Sorry,” she apologised, pulling the statement out of the folder. “Have I missed anything?”

  “Missed anything? Diane you’ve missed the whole thing!” Anderson shook his head, a grin on his face.

  “Diane?” whispered Crane leaning towards Anderson.

  “Diane is the local crime reporter from the Aldershot Mail, aren’t you, Diane?” Anderson said as he stood up. Crane did the same and they gathered their papers and prepared to leave.

  “Hang on a minute, Derek,” she called, “So what’s the story behind this then?”

  “No story, Diane, just what’s in the statement.”

  Around them the other members of the press were leaving and the police were packing up their equipment.

  “Sergeant Major Crane,” she called. Approaching the table, she held out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Diane Chambers, Aldershot Mail. I’ve tried to speak to you several times in the past, but you never seem to be available.”

  Crane shook her hand, expecting it to be hot and clammy as she should have been flustered about arriving late, but it was surprisingly cool and dry.

  “Miss Chambers,” he acknowledged. Looking at her properly for the first time, he saw she was dressed in jeans and trainers with a checked tailored shirt partially unbuttoned to show a white tee shirt underneath. Her dark curly hair was cut short and framed her face.

  “So why are you here, Sergeant Major?”

  “Because the investigation involves Padre Symonds, a member of the army.” Crane held his papers to his chest.

  “Isn’t it unusual for the police and army to work together?”

  “Not at all, Miss Chambers, we work together more than people realise.”

  “So in that case it’s unusual for you to make a joint investigation public?” It seemed Diane Chambers was determined to ask that key question. As Crane refused to be drawn and remained silent, she turned her attention to Anderson, “Don’t you think so, Derek?”

  “There’s nothing here, Diane, other than the need to find this un-named person who we believe attacked the Padre. So stop looking for things that aren’t there.”

  Crane and Anderson turned to leave again and this time got as far as the door before she called out, “Who gave you the description? Was it Padre Symonds? Did he see his attacker? Is it possible to interview him?”

  Sighing, Anderson turned to face her, “Diane, he’s still in hospital. You won’t be able to interview him I’m afraid. Stop acting as though you’re an investigative reporter on a tabloid newspaper. You’re just making a fool of yourself.”

  “No, Derek, I’m not,” she replied with a confident tone, her head held high. “I’m just doing my job. Don’t worry, I’ll be in touch.”

  Crane watched the exchange in silence, which he believed to be the better part of valour under the circumstances. As he and Derek left the room, he realised he would have to be careful of Diane Chambers, if she was as good as her implied threat.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  When Crane got home that evening, he asked Tina if they had a copy of the Aldershot Mail.

  “Sure, somewhere here, I think,” she replied. “Go and drink your beer in the front room and I’ll bring it in.”

  Just as he settled down with his beer, his slippered feet propped up on the coffee table, she returned.

  “Here you are, love. Why do you want it?”

  Crane sat up and spread the paper on the table. Whilst he was skimming through it he told Tina about the press conference and Diane Chambers.

  “I just wanted to see what sort of stories she writes and how well she writes them. She did a piece a while back on local evangelical churches,” he finished.

  “What have you found?” Tina asked looking over his shoulder.

  “Only local crime, her reports on cases heard in the local courts, stuff like that.”

  “Well, let’s face it,” laughed Tina, “Aldershot isn’t usually the crime Mecca of the South East.

  “Oh but it is, Tina, it’s just that we don’t tell anyone about it!”

  They smiled at each other and then over dinner Crane brought Tina up to date with the investigation, all thoughts of Diane Chambers pushed to the back of his mind for now. But, she didn’t go away as Crane had hoped.

  ***

  The following morning Crane had just finished a call to Sergeant Major Brown in Colchester, who confirmed that Zechariah had also preached at his local evangelical church. Crane was feeling pretty pleased with himself, when Kim popped her head around the door.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir,” she said, “but Diane Chambers is on the phone. She won’t tell me what the call is about and insists that she met you yesterday and may be able to help your investigation into the attack on Padre Symonds.”

  Smiling, Crane realised he had half been expecting such a call.

  “Put her through, Kim, let’s see what she wants.”

  Diane started with an apology.

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant Major, but I could only persuade the editor to put the picture of your un-named suspect in the middle of the paper.”

  Crane feigned disappointment. “Oh dear, Diane, is there nothing you could do about that?”

  He could hear her tapping a pen or pencil on her desk. “Well….I’ve tried everything I can think of. But there may be a way we could persuade him to treat it a bit more seriously.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Look, it’s probably better to talk about this face to face,” she suggested.

  Smiling, Crane agreed to meet her at the health food cafe in the Arcade.

  ***

  “Really, Sergeant Major,” Diane Chambers grimaced as she took a sip of her coffee. “Couldn’t we have met at Starbucks? Their coffee’s a damn sight b
etter.”

  “I’m sure it is, but it’s quieter here, Diane. And by the way, call me Crane, most people do.” Crane looked at her across the small metal table. She was still dressed in jeans and trainers, but this time complemented by a small t-shirt that emphasised her breasts and slim waist.

  “Tell me about your problem with your editor.”

  Diane launched into an account of her discussion with the editor, who felt that he couldn’t put the story on the front page because there was a distinct lack of information.

  “So?”

  “So, I did a bit of homework. I looked through back issues of the paper for stories about the garrison and wondered if this un-named suspect was connected with the murder/suicide of Lance Corporal Crooks?”

  Crane looked at her but refused to speak.

  “Shall I take your silence as a yes, Crane?”

  He still refused to speak. She pushed her coffee away, half finished.

  “So,” she continued, “if it did, I could possibly persuade my editor that there’s more to this than meets the eye. And, if I could convince him that our co-operation with an un-named source at the garrison, would ensure further information in the future that no other paper would get...” she paused for dramatic effect, “then I am sure I could persuade him that this is worthy of the front page.”

  Unable to contain himself any longer, Crane burst out laughing.

  But he hadn’t rattled Diane, who continued to stare at him.

  “Diane, how old are you?” Crane pushed back his chair, stretched his legs and put his hands in his trouser pockets.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “How old are you?” he persisted.

  “22.”

  “And how long have you worked at the Mail?”

  “Six months. It’s my first job since leaving University, where I got a degree in Journalism. Look, I—”

  “So you’re a bit green to say the least,” Crane cut in.

  At that remark Diane had the grace to blush. “Maybe I am,” she said recovering and sitting up straight in the metal chair, “but it doesn’t mean I’m not good at my job.”