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

by Wendy Cartmell

  ***

  As Crane arrived home, the first thing he did was pop open a can of beer and sit in the kitchen on his own, savouring every drop. He hadn’t expected Tina to be up, in fact had hoped she wouldn’t be. She needed her sleep and the tablets from the doctor were helping. Opening the fridge, he spied a wedge of cheese and made himself some cheese on toast, while he drunk a second can. The kitchen was gleaming and as Crane wandered through the downstairs of the house, he saw everything was in order in the other rooms as well. He wondered who helped today and looking at the rota saw it was Jean Anderson. Once these two cases are over, they really must take Jean and Derek out for a meal, he thought, to thank them for all their support.

  Before he slipped into bed, he checked on Daniel who was sleeping peacefully. Curling into Tina’s back, he smiled at the thought that things were beginning to return to normal in the Crane household.

  41

  When Crane and Billy arrived at Aldershot Police Station the next morning, DI Anderson was in his office, surrounded by files.

  “You okay, Derek?” Crane asked Anderson from the door, as he was barely visible behind all the paperwork.

  “What? Oh it’s you, Crane,” Anderson looked through a gap in the files. “Come in, as long as you haven’t got more work for me. If that’s the case, then you can bugger off.”

  Crane laughed as he moved into the office. “What on earth is going on?” he pointed to Anderson’s crowded desk.

  “Backlog in my paperwork,” Anderson leaned back and threw the pen he was holding onto his desk. “Fancy a cuppa?” he suggested, standing and grabbing his jacket, not waiting for a reply. “I need to get out of here.”

  Once Crane, Billy and Anderson had moved to the mid-morning quiet of the canteen, and it was there that Crane brought Derek up to date with their theory from last night.

  “Oh, God,” Anderson shook his head, “that means you have got more work for me.”

  “Well, not really, Derek, at least not to start with. First of all, can you get a police artist to have a go at putting blond hair and dark hair on this picture of Seb Turner?” Crane handed over the photograph. “Once that’s been done, then we can re-interview the witnesses, show them the picture and I can also show it to Kim.”

  “And secondly?”

  “Secondly?” asked Crane innocently.

  “Yes, you said firstly. That means there’s a secondly.”

  “Oh, right, well secondly, could you make a phone call to the forensics lab. I want to see if they finger printed all the victims’ personal effects.”

  “Person effects?” asked Anderson as he stirred sugar in his cup of tea.

  “Yes, sir,” explained Billy. “We need to know if there are any finger prints on the handbags, belts, shoes etc. We’re specifically thinking of anything the rapist could have touched before he put on his gloves and attacked the girls.”

  “He just might have been careless and touched something when he met them at the pub, or helped them out of the pub and into his car, after he’d drugged them. Our thinking is that he couldn’t have worn gloves in the pub or going to his car, as someone could have seen him and thought wearing latex gloves suspicious,” Crane finished.

  “Mmmm,” Anderson mulled over the request as he took a drink of his tea. “Alright, tell you what, if Billy here gets me a piece of cake to go with this cup of tea, I’ll make some phone calls when I get back to the office.”

  ***

  As Derek’s office had been taken over by his files, Crane and Billy returned to Provost Barracks to await the results of Anderson’s phone calls. It wasn’t long before Crane heard from him.

  “Right, Crane, I’ve got good news and bad news for you.”

  “Oh alright, give me the good news first then.”

  “The good news is that the artist can help with the photograph and if you come over tomorrow morning, I’ll have copies for you showing Turner with both blond hair and dark hair.”

  “Thanks, Derek that is good news. So hit me with the bad news.”

  “The forensics lab didn’t check the victims’ personal effects for finger prints.”

  It’s a good job Crane was sitting at his desk, otherwise he would have fallen over in shock.

  “Not done them?” he managed to ask.

  “No, it seems they concentrated on the flat itself and once they realised there were no stray finger prints and that the attacker must have worn gloves, they didn’t go over the clothes or bags. You know how it is, backlogs, pressure of work, all those usual excuses.”

  “I take it you’ve asked them to go over the items now,” Crane hissed.

  “Yes, of course and they’re giving them top priority. They’re just waiting for the stuff to come over from storage and then they’ll get right on it. But don’t forget there are four cases to check, so you’re not going to get any results today. Don’t go phoning me every hour demanding answers. I’ve also scheduled CID personnel to go and visit the few witnesses we have in the cases - Becca Henderson’s friend, the bar tender from The Goose and also Smith the van driver - with the photo-fits, to see if anyone can give us a positive identification.”

  “Very well, Derek. Let me know as soon as you hear anything.”

  Crane put the phone down before he shot the messenger and then escaped into the car park for a cigarette.

  ***

  Crane managed to get home on time that evening and after changing out of his dark suit, he joined Tina and Daniel in the lounge. Tina was reading a paper and Daniel was chuckling happily in his bouncing chair, which she was rocking with her foot.

  “Hello, love,” he said bending down to give her a kiss. “Had a good day?” he asked, although he could see with his own eyes that she had.

  She was smiling, the baby was smiling and both those things made Crane smile. And if he wasn’t mistaken, Tina actually had makeup on, just a smudge of lipstick and something that accentuated her eyes, but even those two small things made a big difference.

  “Yes thanks,” she answered. “Daniel and I went over to see Kim at Padre Symmonds’ house. She seems a lot better, so we took a walk along Basingstoke Canal and had a bite of lunch at the pub afterwards.”

  “Well the change of scenery seems to have done you good as well. You seem a lot better yourself tonight and happier.”

  Crane held his breath as he realised what he’d said. The question was would Tina take it as criticism or a compliment?

  “Glad you noticed,” Tina said, her eyes flashing, but with merriment, not anger. “I am feeling better, you know. Those pills from the doctor and all the support you organised has really helped. I’m probably not out of the woods yet, but I’m definitely getting there. Things don’t seem as bleak as they did before and Daniel and I are getting along just fine, aren’t we?” she looked down at the baby and smiled.

  Daniel took this as his cue to make himself heard and started to cry. So Crane went to heat a bottle while Tina comforted the baby.

  As Crane sat feeding Daniel, Tina picked up the newspaper she was reading.

  “Look at this, Tom,” she said and moved to sit down next to him on the sofa. She was pointing to an article in the Aldershot News with the lurid headline, ‘Rapist on the Rampage!’

  “Don’t tell me,” laughed Crane, “it’s another insightful article from Diane Chambers.”

  “Looks like it. According to her, all women living alone have got to be extra vigilant when in their homes alone at night. She writes, ‘Don’t forget to lock up your houses and make sure this maniac can’t get in. It doesn’t matter if you live on the top floor of a block of flats; you need to be extra cautious as the Aldershot Attacker can strike anywhere, anytime!’”

  “For goodness sake, she makes him sound like Spiderman. I’m sure she thinks she writes for a sleazy red-top, not the local weekly paper.” Crane shook his head. “Any quotes in the article from the army?”

  “Mmm, there’s a bit here from Captain Edwards.”

 
; “Go on then, read it to me.”

  “Your reporter approached the army for an interview,” Tina read, “but only a prepared statement was forthcoming, saying that at the moment there was no evidence to suggest that a member of the Armed Forces was involved in the case. However, when this reporter telephoned Captain Edwards of the Special Investigations Branch he said, ‘It’s beyond belief that a soldier would be responsible for these terrible crimes and I am urging Aldershot Police to make sure they do their jobs properly and pursue all lines of enquiry.’”

  “Derek Anderson’s going to love that one,” hooted Crane. “I wonder what Edwards actually said. Diane Chambers isn’t known for printing quotes verbatim. She definitely puts her own spin on them, as I know only too well.”

  “Is a soldier involved in these crimes?” asked Tina.

  “I’m rather afraid one is,” Crane said. “It’s just that Captain Edwards doesn’t know it yet.”

  42

  Time and tide wait for no man, so the saying goes. But in Crane’s case it was a court-martial that waited for no man and the hearing had come around all too quickly, right in the middle of the further investigations in the civilian rape and murder cases. So instead of accompanying DI Anderson, going around showing the photo-fit to local taxi drivers, Crane was forced to wait impatiently outside courtroom No 1 on Bulford Camp.

  Last Saturday evening had produced positive reactions from the bouncers on the door at The Goose. The two men regularly on the door on Saturday nights confirmed that they had seen both men entering the pub; the blond-haired man and the dark-haired one. However, neither could say which man had been there on which night.

  Crane jumped up at the sight of Captain Lisa Nolan coming out of the courtroom and approaching him.

  “Good morning, Ma’am.”

  “Sgt Major,” the captain acknowledged him. “Right, we’re starting with opening arguments and then we can begin presenting our case. You and Staff Sgt Jones are first on our witness list but at the moment I don’t know if you’ll be called before lunch or after. Where is Jones by the way?”

  “Oh, he’s here Ma’am. We travelled up from Aldershot together. He’s just outside.”

  “Right you are,” and as Captain Nolan turned on her heel and walked back into the courtroom, Crane made his way outside to join Jones for a cigarette.

  They spent the rest of the morning walking around outside the modern one story building discussing various cases, in-between phoning Provost Barracks, gossiping about wives and other members of the SIB and the RMP and generally having a good old moan about having to hang around Bulford Camp.

  As expected, their discussions turned to the Turner case and the evidence they would both give and from there, on to Crane and Billy’s suspicions about Seb Turner.

  “I don’t suppose you found anything incriminating in his room in the barracks, did you?” Crane asked Jones.

  “No, Crane sorry. What sort of thing did you have in mind anyway? I probably wouldn’t have known anything was incriminating, as I wasn’t searching for evidence that he was raping women.”

  “I see what you mean, Staff. Was there much in the way of personal effects in his room?”

  “Just the usual. Let me think, oh yes, books, magazines, CDs, DVDs, clothes…”

  “Yes, alright.”

  “Bank statements, pay slips, various medications, eye drops…”

  “Staff!” Crane shouted. “That’s enough.”

  “Well, you did ask.”

  Their altercation was interrupted by Captain Nolan coming outside to inform them the court had recessed for lunch, so they may as well go and get something to eat.

  ***

  Jones was called to give evidence after lunch, but Crane wasn’t. Jones’ testimony and the following cross-examination took longer than anticipated and as a result, Crane was fed up and exhausted by the time he got back to Aldershot Garrison, particularly as he had to return to Bulford again the next day, to give his evidence. After dropping Jones off at Provost Barracks, he made his way to the Padre’s house.

  Kim answered his knock on the front door.

  “Hello, sir. Did you want the Padre? I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment, he’s taking Evensong at the Church.”

  “Actually, I came to see you, Kim,” Crane replied.

  “Oh, right, come in then, sir.”

  Over a cup of coffee, that Crane didn’t really want, being awash with coffee from his protracted visit to Bulford, he told Kim about some new photographs he wanted her to look at and pulled out of his pocket a sheet of photos of 12 different men, including the doctored photograph of Seb Turner with dark hair. He slid it across the table so it was facing Kim, as she took a sip of her drink.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  Kim cast her eyes down and after looking at the photos in silence for a moment, scraped back her chair and went to stand at the sink, looking out over the back garden. Crane wondered what was going on, but decided to keep quiet for the moment.

  As she turned back to look at Crane, he saw beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead and her hands were shaking.

  “Kim?”

  Crane started to stand, but she shook her head and he sat back down without taking his eyes from her. She came back to the table, looked at her shaking hands and sat on them.

  “It’s that smell,” she said, her forehead scrunching up in concentration. “Booze, that’s what I think it is. I keep on smelling it. It comes out of nowhere. I can be doing something, reading a book, watching television and it just seems to waft past my nose. Sweat and alcohol and something else, something indefinable… oh yes, I have it now. It’s the smell of fear. His or mine? I’m not sure, both probably.”

  Kim closed her eyes. Crane was motionless. He didn’t dare break Kim’s recollection, even though he was horrified by what she was going through in front of him.

  “I can feel his hands touching me, tugging and dragging my clothes off,” she continued, her hands breaking free of her legs and plucking at the white blouse she was wearing. “The cloth is ripping; buttons are popping, stockings tearing, hands probing, touching my bare skin. I can feel his weight on me. I can’t move, can’t stop the inevitable. Now I can hear him breathing. His hot breath is directly above me. I’m… I’m going to open my eyes and look at him.”

  Kim bent her head towards the photos on the table in front of her. Crane was mesmerised as she opened her eyes and fixed on the picture of Seb Turner.

  43

  Crane took up his position, once again waiting outside Courtroom No 1. This time the delay was legal arguments or something. In all honesty, he wasn’t really listening to Captain Nolan’s explanation. To give him something to do, he pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and called DI Anderson.

  Predictably Anderson was none too pleased to hear from him.

  “For God’s sake, Crane, I’ve got better things to do than keep you amused whilst you’re waiting to give evidence.”

  “Stop with the histrionics Derek and tell me about ‘blond streak’ and ‘white van man’. What do their statements say?”

  “Well, both of them are fairly sure it’s the same bloke. The barman from The Goose, the one you call ‘blond streak’ said he saw the man in our photo with dark hair with Kim. Smith, the white van man, has positively identified him as the man who asked him to deliver the rose to Kim. Although at that time he had blond hair.”

  “That’s brilliant, Derek,” Crane grinned but stopped short of shouting, having to keep a bit of decorum and show some respect for the court building he was waiting in.

  “Well, don’t get too excited, Crane. As we’ve said before it doesn’t put Turner in any of the girls’ flats or give us any evidence that he raped or killed them come to that.”

  “I know, I know, but each identification inches us that bit closer.”

  “Well, we’re not close enough yet, nowhere near in fact.”

  “Sgt Major Crane,” a disembodied voice
called from courtroom No 1.

  “Sorry, Derek, got to go, I’m up. Speak later.”

  ***

  Crane’s appearance at the court-martial was perfunctory, as expected. It was more a matter of what they’d found in Seb Turner’s room, confirmation of the interviews Crane had with Fitch and affirmation that all procedures had been followed correctly. As he left the courtroom, the clerk was calling for Seb Turner. Giving evidence was intensely boring compared to the excitement of the initial investigation, Crane always felt. Still, it gave him an opportunity, after giving evidence, to have a quick word with the Justice Services.

  Driving back to Aldershot Crane got a call from Derek Anderson.

  “Hi, Derek,” Crane shouted at the hands free microphone.

  “It’s alright, Crane, I can hear you, no need to shout,” grumbled Anderson.

  “Oh, sorry,” Crane reduced the volume. “It’s just I’m in the car and I’m never sure if people can hear me.”

  “I hear you loud and clear, thank you. Anyway, I’ve got news from the forensics lab.”

  “Excellent, go on then.”

  Crane changed lanes on the M3 to the slow lane, so he could concentrate better on what Anderson was saying.

  “Well, they got two good finger prints, one off Madison’s handbag and one from Kim’s belt.”

  “Yes!” Crane punched the air and got a strange look from a lorry driver who was overtaking him. “Details?”

  “Both finger prints are very clear, one index finger and one thumb.” Anderson answered. “But…”

  “But? Come on Derek, this isn’t X Factor, drawing out the announcements to keep the suspense going. What is the but?”

  “The prints don’t match anyone in our databases.”

  “Great,” replied Crane.

  “Great?”

  “Yep, send them over to my office. Now if you can, please. We’ll check them against our records.”

  “Alright, but steady on, Crane. Just because we’ve found finger prints on the handbag and belt doesn’t mean they are from the attacker. It doesn’t mean they are from the same man. It doesn’t mean…