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

by Wendy Cartmell

  They had a drink at the bar whilst waiting for a table, which was accompanied by an appetizer of fresh tomato and garlic on toast. Crane and Tina studied the menu together.

  “What do you think we should have, Tom?”

  “Oh, well, it depends on what you fancy.”

  “So, in other words you don’t have a clue either,” she laughed.

  Rubbing his beard, Crane had to agree that he hadn’t a clue and called over a waiter to help them decipher the menu and advise them what to have. They decided to have a couple of tapas each, which would give them four dishes they could share. He knew Tina was finding it difficult to eat a lot of food, as the baby and her stomach were fighting for the limited space left in her belly. At the moment, the baby seemed to be winning.

  After eating their tapas, which they both declared delicious, Crane kept glancing at the small garden at the rear of the restaurant.

  “Tell you what,” said Tina, “why don’t we take our coffee outside?”

  Crane collected the coffee cups and followed Tina into an oasis of green shimmering under soft lights, pulling out a packet of cigarettes as soon as he sat down.

  “I’ve had a lovely evening, thanks, Tom,” Tina leaned back in her chair.

  “Well, I thought it might be the last chance we’ll get for a while.” Seeing the alarm in Tina’s eyes, he quickly added, “When the baby comes, I mean.”

  “Thank goodness for that. For a minute there I thought you’d brought me here to break the news of a posting.”

  “No love, nothing like that. This was just a nice treat.”

  “We’ll have to do more things during the day when the baby comes, I suppose. Remember, ‘have baby will travel’. I don’t intend to be the sort of mum who won’t go anywhere, who’s afraid to leave the house and who’s careful not to make any noise indoors in case the baby wakes up.”

  “Talking about travelling,” Crane thought out loud. “How would you feel about uprooting when I do get another posting? You know, leaving your mum and all that and moving to the other end of the country, or even abroad?”

  “I must admit I’ve not really wanted to think about it,” Tina tucked her hair behind her ears. “I guess I’ll just have to face it when it happens, unless...” her voice trailed away.

  “Unless?”

  “Well, unless you leave the army,” Tina fiddled with her unused sachet of sugar.

  “What’s brought this on?” Crane struggled to keep his voice even.

  “Oh, obviously having the baby. I’ve been thinking about the future, about stability for our family, about keeping you safe.” Her eyes strayed to his scar.

  “I didn’t realise it was a decision we had to make,” he replied.

  “Well, you’ve nearly done your twelve years. So you can take a lump sum re-settlement grant and still get a pension when you’re sixty-five.”

  “I know that,” Crane lit another cigarette, “but the pension would be much bigger if I left after eighteen years or went all the way to twenty-two. Maybe even taking a commission and serving until I’m fifty-five. Even I appreciate I’ll have to retire then!” Crane tried to inject some humour into the conversation, but it fell flat. So he finished with, “That’s got to be a big consideration, Tina.”

  “So has the family.” She stirred her coffee.

  “I’m sorry. I thought I was considering the family. The future of our family.” Crane crushed his cigarette in the ashtray.

  “What about your safety?”

  “My safety?” Crane’s voice rose.

  “For God’s sake keep your voice down, Tom, or do you want the whole garden joining in our discussion?” Tina hissed. “Your safety record hasn’t been too brilliant lately, has it? What with a piece of shrapnel embedded in your face in Afghanistan and then being shot twice in a bloody church of all places!”

  Tina struggled to move into a more comfortable position on her chair.

  “Yes, well, what exactly do you think I would do if I wasn’t in the Branch?” he asked, deliberately putting her on the spot. Pulling up short of poking a finger in her face as he asked his question.

  “I don’t know. Security or something?”

  “Security? Tina are you out of your mind? I tell you, I would be if I had to take a job like that. I’m an investigator for God’s sake, not a babysitter. That’s what I’ve been moaning about for the last eleven days. And anyway, the army’s not just a job, you know that. It’s a way of life. It’s a community, a family.”

  “I’m not sure I want to join that community.”

  “Sorry?”

  Crane hadn’t the first idea what she was talking about. As far as he was concerned Tina was already part of the army community by virtue of being his wife.

  “I mean moving onto the garrison, Tom. You know I don’t want to do that and join the community of wives.”

  “Not even if I get posted abroad and you can’t come?”

  “No. I’m not sure I could take the gossip and nosiness of the other wives. And the restrictions on whom you can fraternise with. It’s the same for the women as well as the men, Tom. The rank system filters down to the wives. It drove me nuts.”

  Crane finished his coffee and pushed the cup and saucer to one side. Leaning across the table towards Tina he tried to explain.

  “Then we have a problem, Tina. As far as I’m concerned the army made me what I am today. It became the family I never had and gave me a reason to get up every morning. A vehicle to channel my energies into. And I’ve experienced so many things I wouldn’t have had a chance to do in civvy street. But now I’m to have another family. You and our baby son.”

  Crushing out his cigarette, he stood and took the car keys out of his pocket.

  “Both are equally important. Don’t make me choose between the army or you and the baby, Tina. That’s not fair.”

  Day 13

  Crane banged on Staff Sergeant Jones’ window. As Jones raised his head, Crane jerked his, more of a demand that he meet him outside than an invitation. Crane paced up and down the car park as he waited, pulling deeply on a cigarette.

  “Morning, Crane,” Jones called as he ambled out of Provost Barracks into the sunshine, wearing his short sleeved summer uniform. “Much nicer place to have a meeting, out here in the fresh air.”

  Crane didn’t hear the words, however, as a lorry rumbled by, belching diesel fumes into the air. And anyway he was too busy adding to the pollution with his cigarette.

  Once the traffic cleared, Jones tried again.

  “Morning, Crane. What’s up? You’ve got a face like a summer storm.”

  “Indigestion and bloody Edwards!” Crane started to pace, treating Staff Sergeant Jones as the friend he was and not a subordinate.

  “Ah.”

  “And the bloody Intelligence Corp!”

  “Ah,” Jones nodded his sympathies. “That explains it then.”

  Crane stopped his pacing and whirled round to face Jones.

  “Bloody pompous prigs! They’ve just spent the last half an hour going on about intelligence chatter and mobile phone calls. None of which I could make head nor tail of. It’s like chasing shadows, or the wind. None of it means anything in terms of physical evidence or real life sightings.” Crane threw away the dead end of his cigarette which joined a pile of discarded butts and promptly lit another one.

  “Could you just calm down a minute, Crane and tell me in English what the hell you’re going on about.” Jones leaned again the barracks wall his hands in his pockets.

  Forcing himself to relax, Crane joined Jones leaning against the wall.

  “It appears that the Intelligence Corps are getting jittery. They think there’s something going on, but they have no idea who, what, when, where or why. Just monitored mobile phone calls talking about seeing old friends and making new ones. I tell you Jones it’s all double-dutch to me. If there is a threat to the garrison, it should come from proper hard evidence. You know people in the wrong place at the wron
g time, murders, thefts, that sort of thing.”

  Not getting a response, Crane turned to look at Jones.

  “You agree with me don’t you?”

  But Jones was pale and remained silent.

  “Staff?”

  “I think you better come inside,” Jones croaked and hurried off.

  Crane took a couple of minutes to finish his cigarette, before joining Jones in his office. As he arrived at the door, he watched the Staff Sergeant rummaging through the papers on his desk. Obviously not finding what he was looking for, Jones then began lifting up his computer keyboard, in tray, out tray and finally his telephone.

  “Thank God for that,” he breathed, holding a piece of paper in his hand.

  “Thank God for what?”

  “Oh, right, sit down, Crane.”

  As Crane complied Jones explained he received a telephone call from the Gurkha Welfare Office in Aldershot, reporting two sightings at night by an old Gurkha called Padam Gurung. He reported seeing a possible intruder, somewhere in the vicinity of the sports centre, late at night. Jones had to admit he’d forgotten all about it due to other pressures.

  “What night?” Crane demanded.

  Pulling a calendar towards him, Jones calculated. “The first one was thirteen nights ago.”

  “Bloody hell, Staff, that’s about the same time Corporal Simms was murdered.”

  “Murdered? Jesus Christ! I thought it was an accidental death.” Jones ran his hand over his bald head.

  “I never did,” Crane growled. “Especially when we found a jet black hair on his body. And now it looks like we’ve got a bloody witness who can say there was someone acting suspiciously around the sports centre that night.” Crane stood and strode towards the door. “Get the bloody welfare office on the phone, find this Padam Gurung and bring him in.” Crane slammed the door behind him as he left the office, then changing his mind, put his head back around the door shouting, “And don’t forget an interpreter!”

  As Crane climbed into his car, he winced as his indigestion worsened, forcing him to take two Rennies with his cigarette during the uncomfortable journey to Aldershot Police Station.

  Luckily Derek Anderson was in his office when Crane arrived, enjoying his ubiquitous cup of tea and sugary cake.

  “Want one?” he asked, pushing the plate towards Crane.

  “No thanks, Derek, my stomach’s bad enough as it is.” Crane sat opposite Anderson and pushed the plate back towards his friend.

  “Stress?” Derek asked with his mouth full.

  “That and unfamiliar Spanish food. I took Tina out for a meal last night. The food seemed good at the time, but I’m not so sure this morning.”

  “And the cause of the stress?” Anderson tried to brush cake crumbs from his jacket, but merely succeeded in rubbing them in.

  “Need you ask?” Crane smiled. “Anyway, I need to talk to you about the on-going investigation into the thefts from the Team GB living quarters in St Omer Barracks.”

  As Derek brought him up to date, Crane’s concentration kept being broken by thoughts of an old Gurkha possibly being a key witness to the murder of Corporal Simms. Plus, the failing of Staff Sergeant Jones to, firstly see the relevance in the message from the Gurkha Welfare Office and secondly, not acting on it.

  “So, I think it will take a few more days.”

  As the silence stretched, Crane realised Anderson had finished his summing up of the operation.

  “Oh, sorry, thanks, I’ll pass that on,” Crane rose to leave.

  “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, of course, Derek. Just things on my mind.” Crane scratched his scar. It had been itching a lot lately.

  “Anything I can help with?”

  Stopping at the door Crane replied, “Not at the moment, but I’m going to need your co-operation if I have to lock down the garrison.”

  “What the hell? Lock down the garrison. Crane come back!” Anderson’s shouts followed Crane out into the corridor, but he ignored them.

  Night 13

  I am afraid of exposing myself too early. Sometimes I feel like I am being watched; at night when I am scouting out possible targets and during the day when we are undergoing training. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. During the day I am the model Afghan Army officer and during the night a Muslim playing my part in the Jihad.

  The death of the soldier was a tricky one. I was unprepared - but the Prophet Mohammed kept me safe and I was able to engineer a suitable solution. The soldier fell quickly, his dead body unable to defy the force of gravity. Landing in a heap of bones and uniform, never to rise again. I was just about to scour through his belongings when I heard his colleagues call for him on his radio, so I had to leave immediately. Next time I will make sure I get what I need.

  Today we were taken on a tour of some of the facilities on the garrison. On the way we passed the athletes practicing for the Olympic Games. They were parading around half naked, preening and grooming themselves in public, like peacocks. The males strutting around as though they were ready for rutting with the females who were similarly if not more skimpily attired.

  We were shown a stadium where rugby and football teams play each other. Apparently frequent matches are held between various factions of your Army, Navy and Air Force. Personally, I think a stadium where males worship their bodies rather than God should be turned into a meeting place for the people, where they can watch thieves and adulterers take their punishment. A public arena for stoning and whipping. To help the people understand what happens if you ignore the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed and the laws written in the Qur’an.

  But I dared not give voice to my idea. The mask - remember? It is still in place. So as I am unable to persuade with rhetoric, I will have to find another way of teaching you infidels what the punishment is for attacking the one true religion. And believe me, I will.

  Night 14

  Crane put the pair of night vision goggles over his eyes and scanned the surrounding countryside. Taking care to stop and examine each clump of bushes and trees. He’d been with Sergeant Billy Williams for nearly two hours, positioned near the sports centre, searching in vain for any sign of either an intruder or an old Gurkha. His growing unease about the delay in locating and bringing Padam Gurung to the Royal Military Police Barracks had necessitated tonight’s vigil. But he was also plagued with a growing unease about leaving Tina at night. What if something happened to her when he wasn’t there? But conversely, what if he didn’t find Gurung and something happened to the athletes? Either way, he’d have to learn to live with the guilt. Overlaying all of these fears was the growing need for a cigarette. He really had to stop smoking. Looking at the luminous dial of his watch he saw it was nearly 02:00 hours.

  “Boss!” Billy’s whisper interrupted his reverie. “Got something. Heat source at 11 o’clock.”

  Crane swung his head to the left, where he could see a dull orange patch, flickering like the flame of a Bunsen burner through the swirling green mist of the background trees. They continued to watch it for a few minutes and as the heat source remained stationary Crane decided to move.

  “Right, Billy, it seems it could be a man not an animal foraging. Let’s go.”

  Billy led the way through the undergrowth, towards the dim heat source. It looked like Crane’s decision to position themselves far behind the trees bordering the sports centre had been a good one. That way they could creep up behind anyone staking out the building without revealing themselves. Any potential intruder would be facing forwards, towards the target.

  As they drew near, Billy halted and Crane pulled out his 9mm pistol. On Crane’s signal Billy ran and jumped on the figure, with Crane close on his heels. Billy hauled the struggling figure to his feet, smoothly turning him to face Crane’s outstretched hand.

  Crane gazed at the wizened brown face inches from the end of his gun, whose eyes were so wide and wild they dominated his face. His bottom lip was trapped between clenched teeth. Slowly lowering
his arm, Crane put his index finger to his lips, nodded at Billy and together they marched the old Gurkha through the grass towards the car and onwards to Provost Barracks.

  Still not speaking, Crane and Billy entered an empty interview room and sat the person they presumed to be Padam Gurung at the only table, ignoring the pleading looks aimed at them. They left the room, locking the door behind them.

  “Well done, Billy,” Crane spoke for the first time in over ten minutes. “Rustle up the interpreter, oh and cups of tea and sandwiches if you can. I don’t know about the old Gurkha, but I could definitely do with a brew.”

  While Billy was carrying out his orders, Crane sloped off outside for a cigarette. He once again checked that his mobile phone was turned on and set it from vibrate back to ring and vibrate. The last thing he wanted to do was to miss a call from Tina. He really wanted to phone her, but knew that was pointless. Waking her up was not an option.

  Fifteen minutes later they were ready. The interpreter, a serving Gurkha currently based at the garrison and Billy, who had poached refreshments from a nearby mess and arranged them on a large metal tray.

  The interpreter went into the room first and once he had established the person they had detained was indeed Padam Gurung, Billy and Crane joined them and doled out tea and sandwiches. It was clear the kind gesture was appreciated, as Padam enthusiastically attacked the sandwiches. But for some reason Crane couldn’t understand he kept smiling and nodding at them, repeating the word, “Tesco.”

  To Crane’s amusement Billy replied, “Yes, we shop there too,” grinning and nodding his head, before realising he wasn’t being understood.