“I’ll make you pay for this.” Crane had never hated anyone as much as he did this righteous, religious, madman.
“I don’t think so. I’m the one with the gun remember.”
As Crane stared at Elias, desperately thinking how to get out of this situation, his mobile phone began buzzing. In the split second that it took for Elias to glance down at his leg, Crane threw himself to the ground and went for the axe.
The gunshot echoed through the old cinema as Crane’s fingers grasped the axe and threw it at Elias. There wasn’t enough power in the throw to do much damage, but it had the desired effect of startling the Church Elder. Crane saw Elias look at his leg in horror, as blood began to seep from the glancing blow from the axe head. Looking back at Crane, he fired a second shot and then turned and ran up the stairs.
Chapter Forty-Five
Crane sat on the floor of the stalls, stunned for a moment, both by the revelation that Elias was Zechariah and by the fact that he’d been shot. The bullet had caught him high up on the left shoulder so there were no vital organs for it to hit and he was right handed, so that was an advantage as well. But he was bleeding profusely. He could feel, rather than see, the warm, sticky blood seeping from the wound like warm honey. Not having anything to put against it as a pressure pad, Crane just had to hope for the best. He got to his feet, feeling as unsteady as a toddler taking his first steps.
He turned and looked over the railing again. It seemed the auditorium was still full of men and boys, milling around. The floor was littered with knives, all of which were now ignored by the men who just a few minutes ago were going to use them to slit their son’s throats. Crane wondered why they hadn’t left, taking the children to safety.
He saw Billy in the middle of the throng, looking up at the stalls, his head turning this way and that as if trying to catch sight of someone. Then he stopped, stooped down and picked up a knife from the floor. Placing Shaun’s hand firmly into that of the man closest to him, Billy disappeared from Crane’s limited view. Crane realised Billy must have heard the gunshots and was either coming for Crane or going after Zechariah.
Holding the axe in his dangling left hand and pressing his right against his wound, Crane turned and slowly took the steps up the stalls to the exit. By the time he got to the red curtain, he was sweating and his hand was doing as good a job as a sieve trying to staunch the bleeding. Giving up, he wiped the blood off his hand the best he could on his trousers and took the axe in his right hand.
He found the stairs leading down to the auditorium and half ran half fell down them, ending up ignominiously on his bottom. Climbing to his feet, he circled the room, keeping to the shadows as much as he could. For one thing he didn’t want to alarm the men and boys. But neither did he want to alert Zechariah to his presence.
He saw Zechariah, sat on the edge of the staging. The gun wasn’t in sight, but his hands were in the pockets of his suit jacket. None of the congregation seemed scared of him. But then they wouldn’t, Crane thought. To them he was Elias. He also realised they may have very little memory of the hypnotic Zechariah.
As he looked across the crowd, he saw Billy opposite him. Circling the room, as he was. He saw the knife grasped in his hand. They nodded in agreement and Crane motioned with his head for Billy to continue. So, a knife and an axe against a gun. Not such good odds. Crane let the axe hang by his leg and stepped into the space before the stage.
“Good afternoon, Elias,” he called, raising his voice only slightly, so as not to alarm those near him.
“Ah, Sergeant Major. We meet again. How nice.”
Crane took a few steps towards Elias.
“That’s far enough, I think. Don’t you?” the Elder said. Crane was on one side of Elias, close enough for the two men to converse without raising their voices. Elias had a clear view in front of him.
“Elias, this has to stop.”
“Oh, not just yet. I’m in quite a good position, don’t you think? Consider how many of these faithful souls I could shoot before you reach me.” Elias slowly took the gun from his pocket and placed it in his lap, the fold of his suit jacket hiding it from any curious eyes.
“The police will be here soon, Elias, give yourself up now.” Crane kept his voice low but insistent.
“Oh you mean the good Detective Inspector Anderson.” A deep chuckle followed the words. “Such a nice man. Luckily for me, he was very respectful of our church and didn’t investigate me as vigorously as he should have done.”
“Well, he’s vigorously investigating now,” Crane countered. “He knows I’m in here and I’m sure backup will have arrived by now.”
“That may be so, but he’s going to have trouble getting in. Why do you think they are all still in here?” Elias nodded at his followers. “I’ve locked and barred the main door.”
“So why aren’t they panicking and trying to get out?”
“I’ve spread the word that the old locks have become stuck. We’ve been meaning to replace them for a long time, but never seemed to get around to it. They’re just waiting for someone to come and rescue us.”
Crane followed Elias’ gaze towards the front of the cinema and as he did so, took a quick look to check Billy’s position.
Billy was level with Crane and Elias now, on the other side of them, continuing his slow, silent journey towards the back of the staging.
“You surely don’t think you can get away with this?” Crane knew the question was a stupid one, but he had to keep the man talking, whilst Billy continued his stalking.
“Get away with what, Sergeant Major? I am merely Elias, the Church Elder. When I speak to Anderson, I’ll regretfully inform him of your death, claiming that Zechariah killed you and then escaped.”
“Not a bad plan, I guess,” Crane went along with the theory, glancing up to check on Billy’s progress. “But what about your fingerprints on the gun?”
Elias lifted his hands and plucked at the latex gloves encasing them. “What finger prints?”
“Well, it does seem that you’ve thought of everything. What about witnesses?”
“Witnesses?”
“Yes, what if one of these faithful folk sees you killing me?” Crane’s eyes swept around the room as if to make his point, noticing that Billy was no longer in sight.
“No chance of that, Sergeant Major, I shall make sure they’re out before I kill you. I’ll call out to them to go first. The police won’t be able to get in through 40 people all trying to get out at once. And of course, they’ll have to let them through. They won’t risk children getting hurt.”
“Oh, so now you’re concerned about the children? Not 10 minutes ago, you were hoping they would all be killed.”
“Not killed, Sergeant Major,” Elias growled. “Saved. Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve been saying? I was going to save them all from the sins of this world. Ensure the children kept their innocence forever.” Elias continued, his voice low, reminding Crane of a growling dog, aware of a threat but not wanting to pounce just yet.
“But surely murder and suicide are sins? How do you reconcile that with your theory of saving their souls?”
“What an imbecile you are, Sergeant Major. Don’t you know that Jesus forgives all our sins and the sins of our fathers? The men confess their sins before they kill themselves and then cover their children with their healing blood.”
“You’re nothing but a cold blooded murderer,” the words spewing from Crane’s mouth before he could stop them, “hiding behind your religious rhetoric.”
“How dare you!” roared Elias, leaping to his feet and aiming the gun at Crane’s stomach.
Chapter Forty-Six
The force of the explosion knocked Crane off his feet. He staggered backwards but as there was nothing to break his fall he toppled over, knocking the air out of his lungs as he landed. On his way down, he saw vague images shimmering in front of him as if lost in a heat haze. Billy was grappling with Elias, both men trying to wrench control of
the gun and the knife. Then the images slid away and all Crane could see was the ceiling.
The noise of a second explosion caused him to turn his head towards the sound which, seemed to come from the front entrance. Through a mass of legs that were constantly moving, obscuring his view, Crane saw army boots swim in and out of his line of sight. His last conscious thought was, ‘thank God the lads are here.’ The last thing he saw was Anderson leaning over him, before the darkness took him. The light fading, like an eclipse.
“Tina,” he managed to mumble through parched lips. But there was no reply.
Crane floated away once again.
“Sergeant Major,” a voice calls urgently. “Can you hear me?” Crane wanted to say that he could, but his mouth wouldn’t work. His head wouldn’t work either. He couldn’t seem to turn it to look at the speaker. The darkness of the eclipse claimed him once again.
“Damn it, Crane, hang on.”
This time Crane recognised Anderson’s voice. But he couldn’t seem to understand the words. He managed to open his eyes, but seemed to have trouble focusing. It must be that damn heat haze again he thought. Never realised it got this hot in Aldershot. Or maybe he wasn’t in Aldershot. Maybe he was in Iraq or Afghanistan. It was bloody hot there. He was thirsty as well. Maybe that’s why his tongue felt so thick and immobile. Must be dehydration. And he was tired, so very tired. His eyelids fluttered as he fought the tiredness.
Through the heat haze a figure appeared, walking towards him, her dark hair shining in the sunlight, bobbing up and down with each bounce of her step.
“Tina,” he croaked, the word splitting like brittle wood, dried out in the heat of the desert.
“Tom,” he heard her call. “Tom, can you hear me?”
He tried to warn her about the heat, frustration building as he struggled to form the words. He saw the eclipse starting again, threatening to engulf the world in blackness, taking him and Tina with it.
“Tom, no!”
Her voice broke over him, pieces of refreshing ice amid the searing heat. He had so much he wanted to tell her. Gathering all his strength he called, “Tina!” screaming her name over and over again. He struggled against the draining effect of the heat, forcing his limbs to work, struggling to sit, but he was held down by the flowing white robe he seemed to be wearing.
“It’s alright, Tom, I’m here.” Tina’s voice once more soothed and refreshed him, bathing him in coolness, forcing the heat away.
“The fever’s broken,” another voice said. “He’ll be alright now.”
Crane didn’t know who had spoken, or what they were talking about, but he believed them and gave himself up to the cooling ministrations of his wife.
Chapter Forty-Seven
“Ah, Sergeant Major, glad to see you’re awake.” The efficient sounding voice was complemented by efficiency of movement, as the nurse began the routine of noting Crane’s blood pressure and taking his temperature.
“Well, if I wasn’t I certainly am now, sister.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You’ve got a visitor.”
“Tina?”
“No, I’ve sent the poor woman home for some rest. She’s been here constantly for the last week, refusing to leave your side.” She lifted Crane’s hand and felt for his pulse, her other hand holding her watch as she timed the beats. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”
Crane moved slightly in his bed and wasn’t sure which hurt more, the pain in his shoulder, or the pain in his stomach. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he assured her, fed up of being dosed up to the eyeballs with morphine. At least this way he could think straight, even if he could feel the pain.
“Very well. Just push this button if it gets too much, won’t you? You can self-medicate whenever you need it. Don’t worry, you can’t overdose, the machine monitors how much you’ve taken.”
The morphine wasn’t the only thing monitoring him. He had a heart monitor on, which beeped away in the background. A blood pressure machine that woke him every hour with the automatic constriction on his arm. A catheter snaked its way through the sheets and under the bed and a drip attached to his hand that fed him all sorts of stuff that he couldn’t remember the names of.
Satisfied that she had done her job, sister adjusted Crane’s pillows after raising the head of the bed and walked back to the nurses’ station.
A few moments later, Anderson entered the ITU at Frimley Park Hospital.
“Ah, Crane, they got you ready for me then?”
“I was asleep,” grumbled Crane.
“Oh well, never mind. The long arm of the law and all that.” His joviality seemed forced. “Anyway,” Anderson cleared his throat, “it’s much better to see you in here, than down there.” He indicated with his head to the ICU.
“How long was I there? Nobody’s telling me much at the moment.”
“Long enough,” Anderson’s voice dropped. “We, um, thought we’d lost you at one point. Well, several times actually.” This small speech was accompanied by much clearing of the throat.
“Maybe someone was looking down on me,” Crane joked to lift the mood. He’d never seen Anderson with tears in his eyes before.
“Well, if anything, I reckon love and faith got you through.”
Crane frowned at Anderson, not understanding.
“Tina and Padre Symonds. Neither of them hardly ever left your bedside. If they had to, they took it in turns, so one or the other was always here.”
Crane took a few moments. “I don’t remember much,” he admitted. “I remember you and Tina and being very, very hot.”
“That was the fever. The wound in your shoulder became infected. The bullet was lodged in there for quite some time and caused serious infection. The one in your gut was better though,” Anderson smiled. “A clean through and through.”
“Oh joy. Pass me a drink would you and then you could tell me the rest of the good news.”
As Crane sipped the water through a straw, Anderson explained what had happened after Crane was shot for the second time. The black boots Crane thought belonged to the army were worn by the Armed Response Unit of Hampshire Police. Anderson and his team had realised the cinema door was barricaded and were planning to storm the building when they heard the faint sound of the first gunshot.
After a hurried conference, it was decided to risk taking a battering ram to the front doors and everyone was ready when they heard the second shot. The local commander lost no time in ordering his men to force their way in immediately. The explosion Crane heard were the old oak doors falling to the floor. The wood had been stronger than the hinges, which gave way under the unaccustomed force.
“I must admit we were lucky there was no one standing in front of them, but the risk to anyone trapped in there was too great to wait.”
“Thank God for that,” was all Crane managed to say. Not wanting to relive those moments again he encouraged Anderson to continue. “What about Billy?”
Anderson then regaled him with the tale of Billy’s bravery. He reminded Crane that Billy crept up on Elias, armed only with a knife against a gun. After Crane had bitten a bullet, so to speak, Billy pounced from behind. But the door falling in distracted him and Elias managed to escape through to the back of the stage.
Calling to the officers that entered the cinema first, Billy directed them to Crane, shouting that Elias was Zechariah and then ran off in pursuit. Anderson followed the armed officers inside, making sure the paramedics had been called for Crane and then pursued Billy.
“How did you know where he’d gone?” Crane asked as he handed Anderson back the cup of water.
“Simple. I followed the blood.”
“Blood?” Crane’s eyes widen. He sat up, winced with pain and settled back against the pillows.
Anderson explained that at the time he hadn’t known whose blood it was. Billy’s or Elias’. Nor, to be fair, did he really understand the message that Elias was Zechariah. That bit hadn’t c
omputed.
The trail of blood led him to the back of the auditorium. Once Anderson was through the curtains which hung at either side of the stage, darkness had enfolded him. The main room was blocked by the old cinema screen. Anderson could still hear the shouts from the other side. Officers directing the men and boys out of the building. Paramedics working on Crane. As he moved deeper into the bowels of the building, those sounds became muffled and eventually faded altogether.
Something had clattered on the floor to his left and he quickly followed the sound. Not daring to speculate what had caused it. Feeling his way through the gloom across the back of the screen, Anderson had failed to see the two figures at his feet, until he fell over them. Landing on something soft, which grunted under his weight, Anderson had screamed for someone to put the lights on. Luckily his foray to the back of the auditorium hadn’t gone unnoticed and he was being followed by armed officers, who immediately put on their torches.
In the sweeping beams, Anderson had seen a gun on the floor. Immediately picking it up he had swung it at what appeared to be two bodies intertwined. One black male. One white male.
“Billy,” croaked Crane.
Anderson nodded, poured more water into the beaker and handed it back to Crane.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Anderson opened his mouth to continue his story but Crane put his arm out to stop him.
“No, I mean Billy’s here. Now.”
Crane drunk in the sight of him instead of the water, which lay forgotten in his hand. A sight more refreshing than any drink. The blond hair was still as unruly as ever. A sling bound his left arm tightly to his body. He was dressed in a hospital gown, sitting in a wheelchair, being pushed by the same formidable sister who looked after Crane.
A Soldier's Honour Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set) Page 21
