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

by Wendy Cartmell

  “That’s really good, Kim. Can you describe him?”

  But Kim appeared not to have heard the question. In fact, she seemed not to be hearing or seeing anything. Nothing here in the room at least. Crane watched in horror as she pressed back into the settee, her legs scrabbling at the floor. Her hand pulled free from the WPC and she started to beat the air in front of her, fighting an invisible opponent.

  “What the hell!” Crane jumped to his feet. “What’s wrong with her?” he demanded.

  “I think she’s having a flashback, sir. We’ll just have to wait until she comes out of it.”

  Just as the WPC finished speaking, Kim screamed, arching her back, then collapsed back onto the settee, subsiding into sobs.

  “It’s alright, Kim, shush,” the WPC crooned, smoothing down Kim’s hair, in an effort to calm her down.

  “Water, sir?” The WPC asked Crane.

  “No thanks,” he said. “Oh, you mean get some for Kim?” Crane moved towards the kitchen as the WPC nodded.

  When he returned, with his dignity more or less intact after that blunder, Kim had pulled her legs up onto the settee and was curled into the policewoman’s side. She was talking softly to her. Crane strained to hear, staying where he was, not wanting to break the bond forming between the two women.

  “Dark, I remember dark.”

  “Hair or skin?” asked the WPC.

  “His skin. He wasn’t black, just tanned if you like, foreign sort of, not pale white anyway.”

  “What about his hair?”

  “It, it, was also dark.”

  “What about a beard?”

  Kim shook her head in denial.

  “Did he have a goatee? How about those razor sharp lines some of the lads’ sport, you know a bit like the celebrities have?”

  “No, no facial hair. Clean shaven.”

  “You’re doing really well, Kim. Can you remember if he had any tattoos or marks on his hands or arms?” The WPC was still talking softly, still holding Kim close to her.

  “No - I can’t remember any more. No more questions, please. I just want to be left alone now. Sorry,” Kim sniffed back a sob.

  “No need to be sorry, Kim. It’s not your fault. You might remember more in time. Here, take this water,” Crane said and held out the glass to her.

  But Kim didn’t reach for the water, looking instead at the WPC in horror. “You mean I’m going to have more of those, those, what did you call them, flashbacks?”

  “Probably, maybe, who knows? Everyone is different. Everyone’s healing process is different. I know it’s painful and horrific, but if you do have any more and remember anything else, please let us know.”

  Kim mutely looked at the WPC, her eyes filling with tears once again, but she managed a small nod.

  Crane cleared his throat and handed the WPC the glass of water he was still holding, as he didn’t know what else to do with it. He was very glad she was there. He’d have made a right mess of it without her help. This wasn’t the same as interviewing angry squaddies, or even jumped up officers. This was something completely outside of his experience, leaving him feeling bewildered and exhausted. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go through it again in the future with any more girls. He’d better make sure of that - by catching the bastard.

  13

  Crane’s eyes were hurting, so he rubbed them and once again returned to the computer print out in front of him.

  “I see what you mean, Billy. This is a complete bloody nightmare. There are still hundreds of either blond-haired or dark-haired soldiers off duty the previous two Saturdays.”

  Billy stood and moved away from his place opposite Crane at the conference table. They had moved from Crane’s office so they had room to spread out the pieces of paper from the computer searches.

  “Sorry, boss, even though I changed the search parameters as you suggested, there are still too many lads on the list.”

  Crane also stood and prowled, moving over to the two incident boards, one for the rape and murder of Becca Henderson and one for Kim’s rape. Both boards had pictures of the victims on, but no photos of possible perpetrators. Not even any names that needed investigating.

  “This is pointless. I’m going to have to speak to DI Anderson, see if he’s got anything more that may help us. Stop going through these, Billy, it’s a waste of time. Let’s look at the records for the blokes in Private Turner’s Company. We may as well concentrate on his rape case for now. Put this lot away,” Crane gestured to the table, “and get out the others, while I have a ciggie.”

  Banging his way out of the office, Crane paced around the car park, drawing deeply on his cigarette. This should be his office. He did his best thinking in the car park, at times accompanied by Staff Sergeant Jones. Today, in early October, the weather was surprisingly calm. The whole of the summer had been dominated by rains and floods, so fine, sunny, autumn days were a bonus.

  Over the weekend, because of the good weather, he and Tina had taken Daniel out for walks in his pushchair. Crane was glad to get away from the claustrophobic house that seemed to be totally focused on the baby. Also Crane’s predilection for tidiness was putting Tina under some strain. He wished she’d be more diligent about putting things away once they had been used. She still left the nursery in a bloody mess, despite his system, shelves and cupboards. If he had to tidy the place up one more time, he thought he’d scream.

  He pulled out his mobile, going to the camera function and looking at the images he had of Daniel. As he smiled at the antics of his young son, he acknowledged that things were gradually getting better at home. Thank God for Jean Anderson. Tina was keeping up the bottle routine with Daniel and it had had the calming effect Crane was hoping for. Tina was less tired, Daniel wasn’t hungry and as a result Crane was happier.

  Realising that none of this introspection was helping with the two rape cases on his books, Crane threw away the butt of his cigarette and went to see what Billy had for him.

  ***

  Billy was just finishing printing off the records as Crane walked back in to the office, so he collected a cup of coffee and then returned to the conference table. As he sat down, Billy walked up and plonked down a small stack of paper on the table.

  “This looks a bit more manageable.”

  “Yes, sir. These are the records of all corporals and lance corporals in A Company.”

  “Right then, let’s get started.”

  As they reviewed the records, Crane was particularly looking for anyone that had previous incidents of anger, violence or bullying. He thought that just maybe this rape was being perpetrated by a hot head, someone who loved throwing his weight around and who enjoyed controlling the men under his command. If that was the case, there should be hints about it from any brushes with the Military Police, or alluded to in Confidential Reports.

  As he sorted through the papers, Crane realised there was a big mix of ethnic backgrounds in the lads, no doubt part of the army recruitment campaigns, ensuring they met the Government targets on open recruitment. Also, officers and sergeants in each company would have paid particular mind to ethnicity when promoting through the ranks. Making sure everyone had the same promotional opportunities, leaving no room for any possible racial or victimisation cases.

  Studying the photographs, Crane found there were a number of them who had dark hair and darkish skin. Some of Pakistani or Indian descent, others clearly coming from mixed marriages and others who only had a hint of their original ethnicity, which had been watered down with each generation. He put these to one side.

  “Billy,” he said, lifting his head from the records.

  “Boss?”

  “Sort through your pile of records and pull out the ones who are dark-haired and darker skinned, would you?”

  “Okay, boss, but why?”

  “Because Kim said she thought her attacker had olive sort of skin, so just get me the records.”

  Billy shuffled papers for a few minutes, while Crane tapp
ed his pen on the table and then fingered his scar.

  “Here you are, sir,” Billy handed the records over.

  “About time,” Crane grumbled and spread the three records from Billy across his side of the table, adding them to the five from his pile. Studying the pictures closely he immediately discarded four of them.

  Handing the remainder to Billy he said, “Look up these four on the computer. See if any of them were off-duty last Saturday night.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  Billy looked at Crane as if to say something else but Crane’s glare stopped him and he walked across the office to his desk. After a few clicks and clacks and ‘bloody hell’s’ Billy was back.

  “Right, sir. These two were off-duty on Saturday night, Lance Corporals Whadi and Johnson.” He handed the two records to Crane. “Lance Corporal Hicks was on exercise,” Billy continued, then stopped speaking, no doubt realising he was talking to Crane’s back.

  “Sir?”

  “I’ll be with DI Anderson if anyone wants me,” Crane called over his shoulder as he left the SIB office clutching the two files.

  ***

  “So, what do you think, Derek?”

  Crane was pacing up and down Anderson’s office in Aldershot Police Station. Or more like going round in circles. There was hardly any clear floor space in the office, as papers, files and books littered Anderson’s desk, cabinets and visitor chairs.

  “It’s a bit bloody tenuous, Crane. Total speculation, that’s what I think.”

  “Well, no it isn’t, not really, Derek.” Crane was stung by Anderson’s words. “If you think about it, Kim said she was chatted up by a soldier, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And he had dark hair and darkish skin.”

  “Right again.”

  “So, it makes sense to look at dark-haired, dark-skinned soldiers that were off-duty on Saturday night.”

  “I know that, Crane, but you pulled hundreds of dark-haired blokes off the computer. You’ve just told me that yourself. What makes these two soldiers any different? Why do they stand out? Just because you weeded them out whilst investigating another rape case, doesn’t mean to say they had anything to do with Kim’s attack. As I said, it’s pure speculation.”

  “Alright, Derek, but isn’t that what we do at the start of a case, speculate? Anyway, we’ve got nothing else to go on, so we may as well at least talk to Kim and show her the photos. I am using some filters, you know. There were a number of lads who were clearly too dark-skinned to fit the frame and one or two even had designer stubble, for Christ’s sake. At least I’ve picked the only two who match her description.”

  “Oh, very well, I might as well give in,” Anderson groaned. “If I don’t, you’ll not leave it alone. I know you too well.” As he reached for the telephone on his desk he said, “Let me ring the WPC, see if she’s free and if she is we’ll all go over and see Kim. I’m only doing this interview with someone there who can give Kim emotional support, as showing her photographs of possible suspects could send her over the edge again. As it did the last time we asked her some questions.”

  14

  To Crane’s disappointment Kim was pretty much in the same state as she was a few days ago. Her eyes were sad and she was still wearing clothes that covered her from head to foot. Her long blond hair was hanging dull and lifeless around her shoulders. The WPC was talking quietly to her, asking her how she was feeling today, whispering words of encouragement, sympathy and support.

  Crane was still standing and took a moment to look around Kim’s family home. The home she had been forced to return to, because she felt her own flat had been contaminated. Crane doubted she would ever return to it, which was a shame as it was a lovely property that Kim had made her own. Perhaps she would move onto the Garrison when she felt stronger, he thought, but for now she was staying with her parents. Warm and comforting were words that sprung to mind to describe their home. The old furniture was glowing, there was what appeared to be a television cabinet in the corner and the room was topped off with pretty matching curtains and cushions. Dotted around were several pictures of Kim from her army career. The three that caught Crane’s eyes were her passing out parade, Kim in the middle of a laughing crowd of fellow soldiers and Kim displaying her sergeant’s stripes with pride.

  He dragged his eyes from the photos and looked at the WPC, raising his eyebrows, wanting to know if they could get on with it. She nodded her agreement to Crane’s unspoken question and stood up so that Crane and Anderson could move to either side of Kim on the settee.

  “We just want you to look at some photos, please, Kim,” said Anderson.

  Kim turned to look, not at Anderson, but at Crane and he saw the fear in her eyes.

  “Only if you’re up to it,” Crane said, not wanting to put pressure on Kim, but at the same time not really meaning it, as he needed to see her reaction to the photos.

  “It’s alright, sir, I don’t mind,” she replied, but she couldn’t keep eye contact with either man for long and soon dropped her gaze to her lap.

  Crane got several pictures out of his pocket. “We wondered, well I did,” Crane quickly added after a glare from Anderson, “if either of these men look familiar.”

  He put the pictures on Kim’s lap.

  Kim picked them up, looking at each one in turn.

  “Take your time, Kim, there’s no rush,” Anderson said as Kim repeatedly looked though them.

  “I don’t know,” she said so quietly, Crane had to strain to hear her. “If anything, it’s this one,” she passed a photo to Crane. “He looks familiar, but I can’t say where from. I just know I’ve seen him before.”

  A shudder passed through Kim’s body.

  “Thanks, Kim, that’s really helpful,” said Anderson lifting his arm as though to put it around Kim, but putting it up to his head instead, trying to flatten what was left of his wispy grey hair.

  Crane retrieved the other photos from Kim and moved from the settee, taking down one of her army pictures.

  “I was looking at this when we came in,” he said, showing it to her. “When was this taken? About a year ago?”

  Kim nodded.

  “It’s a brilliant photo, don’t you think, Derek?”

  Anderson nodded his agreement.

  “I bet you felt really proud then, didn’t you Kim?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kim replied, lifting her head just a little.

  “It’s no mean feat that, you know, getting your sergeant’s stripes. You got them just before you transferred to SIB, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kim said, this time looking up at Crane.

  “Bloody good achievement that. Not many make the grade, you know, men or women. You have to be something special to get into SIB.”

  “You think so, sir?”

  “I know so, Kim,” Crane squatted down in front of her. “You are a fine soldier, Kim. One of the best and don’t ever forget that.”

  “No, sir, thank you, sir,” Kim’s voice was gaining strength and she was looking Crane in the eye.

  “Good, so remember, don’t let the bastards grind you down. You’re better than that, worth more than that, understood?”

  At those words, Kim smiled, “Understood, sir, thank you.”

  Crane’s little pep talk was interrupted by a tap on the living room door and he got up as her mother came in.

  “Sorry to bother you all, but this has just arrived for Kim,” she said, holding out a slim box.

  The WPC moved to take it from Mrs Weston and passed the box onto Kim.

  As Anderson and Crane stood around awkwardly, not knowing if they should leave, Kim unwrapped the box. In it was a single red rose with a small card nestling in the petals. She picked up the card and read it.

  “Who’s it from, Kim?” the WPC asked.

  But all Kim could do was shake her head saying, “No, no, get it off me, get it away from me!”

  The box and card went flying and Kim lifted her feet off the
floor pushing backwards on the settee, as though in fear of a mouse or spider on the floor. She was clearly desperate to get as far away as possible from the flower.

  With some trepidation Crane picked up the card from the floor and read it:

  I enjoyed our date on Saturday night.

  I hope you did too.

  As he silently passed it to Anderson, Kim started screaming.

  15

  Crane and Anderson immediately moved to the living room door.

  “When did this arrive?” Crane asked Kim’s mother, having to raise his voice over Kim’s screams.

  “Just now,” Mrs Weston looked bewildered by the havoc she had caused.

  “Was it a delivery?” Anderson asked.

  Kim’s mother nodded in reply.

  As Crane and Anderson burst out of the front door, a man was just getting into the driver’s side of a plain white van, parked on the opposite side of the street. Anderson rushed across the road, grabbed him and pulled him from the vehicle before the man could close the door.

  “Oy, what are you doing?” the man shouted.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Anderson said, pushing his ID in the man’s bespectacled face, simultaneously pushing him up against the side of his van. “Police.”

  “This is police brutality,” he spat at Anderson.

  “How about a bit of army brutality?”

  Crane pushed Anderson out of the way and slammed into the man, putting his hand on his throat and squeezing.

  “Who the hell are you and why did you just make a delivery here?”

  But Crane and Anderson couldn’t understand the choked reply, so Crane loosened his grip on the man’s throat, just a bit.

  “Some bloke asked me to do it.”

  “Some bloke? What bloke?” Anderson demanded.

  “I don’t know, he gave me a tenner,” the man managed to gasp out, despite Crane’s grip.

  “Let go of his throat, Crane.”

  “But…”