To Crane’s amusement Billy replied, “Yes, we shop there too,” grinning and nodding his head, before realising he wasn’t being understood.
They then began the slow and painstaking process of interviewing Padam through the interpreter.
Padam’s initial reaction was fear and confusion, but Crane explained that he wasn’t in any trouble. He said they were glad Padam was watching the sports centre two weeks ago and were very interested to hear what happened. But Padam was insistent they hear about both occasions when he saw the smudge and proceeded to go through both events in detail.
Crane bit back his frustration and listened carefully while Billy took notes, but his interest wasn’t piqued until, between bites of sandwich, Padam recalled the second time he saw the smudge. When it apparently disappeared and then magically reappeared. Deciding to come back to that point, Crane allowed the old man to describe what happened when the smudge ran towards him.
“I stayed as still as I could, hoping that whoever it was would mistake me for a rock or mound of earth under the trees. I held my breath so I wouldn’t move and rustle the leaves or break a twig.” Padam smiled with satisfaction and looked at Crane and Billy as if for confirmation he had done the right thing. “I remembered these things from when I was in the army,” he finished proudly.
“Well done, Padam. You did very well, but what happened next?”
“This person, he or she, ran straight to me, suddenly swerving out of my way and disappearing behind me. I stayed still for a long time, to make sure I was out of danger before finally coming out from underneath my coat and leaves. So it seems I did look like a rock after all.” Once again Padam beamed and nodded at the three men in the room in turn.
“Yes,” Crane agreed. “You did look like a rock, but what did the shadowy figure look like?”
“Just that. A shadowy figure. Dressed from head to foot in black. I think the face was covered by something, as I could dimly see eyes and a mouth, but nothing else.”
Unable to get any further information from Padam, who clearly had no idea of the height, weight or sex of the person, Crane suggested they go back outside so Padam could show them where the smudge had disappeared against the sports centre wall. Padam readily agreed, as long as he could take the uneaten sandwiches with him.
At the end of their recce, the interpreter drove the old man back to his flat in Aldershot. Crane and Billy stood outside the SIB office talking, before Billy continued his night shift and Crane went home for a few hours of sleep, before returning to do the twelve-hour day shift.
“So what do you think, boss?”
“I think I’m going to give Captain Edwards a headache tomorrow when I tell him I’ve got evidence that Corporal Simms was murdered and I’m locking down the garrison.”
Day 15
It was only 09:00 hours and already Crane was fed up of people shouting at him. First of all Tina, when he told her what was about to happen and then Staff Sergeant Jones when he got to the office. Captain Edwards would be next to have a go, although he didn’t know it yet, quickly followed, no doubt, by DI Anderson.
Crane stood outside the Captain’s door, took a deep breath, knocked and entered.
Edwards was pouring over Dudley-Jones’ Intel and raised his head as Crane walked in. “Morning, Crane, glad you could join us,” looking at his watch as Crane sat down.
“Sorry, sir just had to go and see Staff Sergeant Jones.”
“Really? Why was that more important than being on time for our morning briefing?”
“To give him the heads up that I’m going to have to shut down the garrison.” Crane lobbed his grenade and waited for the explosion.
Captain Edwards was just taking a mouthful of coffee as Crane spoke and spluttered most of it out of his mouth. “What did you just say? Shut down the garrison?”
Crane nodded.
“Are you mad? What the hell for?” Edwards managed to control himself this time and his voice returned to something like normal. Dudley-Jones, the Intelligence Operative, didn’t say anything. Anyway he couldn’t because he was of a lower rank. Who would think that those four simple words ‘shut down the garrison’ could cause such a furore! Crane thought they were emotive responses to his carefully considered and necessary action.
Edwards spoke again. “Come on, Crane, let’s have it. And it better be bloody good.”
“Well, let’s look at the facts, sir. A soldier has been killed on the base.” Crane continued despite Edwards trying to interrupt. “I have a witness who saw a black clad figure disappear through a back door of the sports centre and then reappear some thirty minutes later, at the very time Corporal Simms was killed. And there was a rogue black hair found on Corporal Simm’s shoulder.” Crane was stretching the truth somewhat as Padam wasn’t on the base the night that Corporal Simms was killed, it was the night after. But that particular small detail didn’t bother Crane.
“I’m not sure that I can totally agree with that assessment,” Captain Edwards made to rise from his chair.
Unwilling to let Edwards try his usual superior ploy Crane said, “If I could carry on, please, sir?”
As Edwards slowly sat back down Crane continued, “And of course there’s the intelligence angle.”
Edward’s face froze. “Intelligence angle?” he finally managed.
“Yes, sir. Unless I’m very much mistaken, you and Dudley-Jones here have been strongly advocating that I should take notice of all the intelligence chatter that’s been going on. Seriously consider it as a threat. So you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve also taken that into account. In fact, the Intel persuaded me that locking down the garrison was my only option. I’m sure the higher echelons of command will want us to be doing our best to protect not only our soldiers but Team GB as well.” Crane finished speaking looking around in satisfaction.
In the end he agreed to increased security rather than a complete lock-down. That meant armed soldiers at every entrance to the garrison, with the right to stop and search each vehicle and person that entered. A right which Crane would make sure the lads fulfilled with enthusiasm.
After the negotiation was complete, Crane said, “Well, if there’s nothing else, sir, I think I better visit St Omer Barracks. Speak to the Olympic representatives and then the local police. Unless, of course, you’d like to do that, sir?”
Receiving no reply Crane retreated from the office before anyone noticed the grin breaking out from behind his rigid mask of respect. The last thing Crane wanted was for Edwards to realise that increased security was his goal all along. He needed to save total lock down for another day. Keeping it as his ace up his sleeve.
After telephoning Jones and confirming the increased security, authorising barricades at every entrance, he then faced the Olympic representatives and athletes. He explained that due to a higher level intelligence threat, the army felt increased security was necessary. Nothing to alarm anyone. Just a precautionary measure. And, as the athletes didn’t leave the garrison, it wouldn’t affect them at all. In fact, it could make things a lot quieter for them, he reasoned. There should be less gawkers, as local people probably wouldn’t be bothered to wait in traffic jams and undergo a vehicle search just to come and watch the athletes train.
Driving to Aldershot Police Station, Crane was rather proud of his diplomatic skills, or was that manipulative skills? Crane didn’t really care as long as it got him the desired result.
DI Anderson was just leaving the police station when Crane arrived, so he had to walk alongside him back to the car park, pleased to be out in the fresh air after the interminable morning meetings. On the way to Anderson’s car, Crane outlined the reasons for the tighter security and vehicle searches at the garrison. Swearing Anderson to secrecy as to the real reason, of course.
“Alright, Crane,” Anderson sighed as they reached his car and he fished his car keys out of his pocket. “I understand what you had to do, but I’m not happy about it. Purely because of the crap we’ll get from
angry residents. But my more immediate problem is these petty thefts from St Omer Barracks. The undercover WPC reported that a couple of the cleaners are acting suspiciously but she has no hard evidence. And on top of that the Witch of the North is ringing me daily for a report! I’d really like to get her off my back. Any suggestions?”
Crane leaned against Anderson’s car. “Well, you never know, the increased security may throw something up. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
At that point Crane’s mobile rang. Looking at the caller display he grinned at Anderson and said, “Speaking of the devil,” before answering the phone call from Juliette Stone.
He immediately held the phone away from his ear as Juliette Stone launched into a very loud tirade of complaints. The volume was such that even Anderson winced before laughing and waving to Crane as he drove away. This time Crane didn’t bother with his diplomatic skills, not that they would have done any good, as he couldn’t get a word in. The veritable Ms Stone didn’t seem to pause for breath. At the end of the diatribe he was ordered to attend her office, in person, immediately and she then put the phone down. A bemused Crane simply added her to the list of people who had shouted at him that morning and made his way back to the garrison.
He didn’t get very far.
The queue started just past Hospital Hill. With a smile playing across his lips Crane settled down to wait, deciding to take the opportunity to check in with Tina. By the time they had finished chatting he was near the front of the long line of vehicles waiting to drive through the garrison. Now he could see what had caused the inordinate wait.
After showing his ID to the armed soldiers on duty and driving through the barricade, he parked up and wandered back down to the cordon, with the air of a man out for a stroll in the warm sun. He watched a small knot of very angry people converging on the young soldiers, demanding to know what was going on. The placid yet determined air of the soldiers fuelled their anger rather than dissipating it. But they stoically continued to refuse to let any vehicle through without a thorough search. Any pedestrians and those on bicycles, were subjected to a personal search.
Crane heard a strident voice ring out, “This is absolutely ridiculous. You can rest assured I will be putting all this down in my article!”
The voice belonged to Diane Chambers, self-appointed investigative reporter for the Aldershot Mail. Crane watched the young woman direct her photographer, encouraging him to snap the most inflammatory pictures he could, to go with what would probably be her equally inciting article. Unfortunately, Diane Chambers caught sight of the smiling Crane.
“Ah, Sergeant Major Crane,” she called, striding towards him in her uniform of jeans and tee-shirt, her short dark curly hair framing her young face. “I’m glad you find the anger of the Aldershot people so amusing. Perhaps you could let us in on the joke?”
Diane Chambers thrust a small recorder in his face.
“Good morning to you as well. I’m afraid my smile is nothing more sinister than enjoyment of this beautiful weather. Or doesn’t the sun make you feel happy Diane?”
“Quite frankly, the weather is irrelevant to me. I’m working. And personally I find it difficult to smile when the decent hard working population of Aldershot are subject to bullying by the army.”
“Bullying?” Crane looked around, his incredulity equally directed at both the bullying accusation and the claim that the population of Aldershot were decent and hardworking. “I don’t see any incidents of bullying, Miss Chambers.”
“What do you call this then?” Diane emphasised her point with a large sweep of her arm.
“Soldiers carrying out their job of protecting Team GB and the local community, with dignity. I don’t see one soldier being rude or abusive to anyone. They are merely trying to do their job in what is clearly a very difficult situation. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go and give them a hand.”
Crane walked away. He wanted to say much more, but knew he had to curb his tongue. The last thing he needed was to be misquoted by a zealous reporter. He was sure the article was going to be bad enough without him adding to the damage. And anyway, something had caught his eye.
The people going through the barrier into the garrison weren’t the only ones being searched. Those leaving the garrison were also subjected to the same procedure. This applied equally to those merely travelling through the garrison as to those leaving after visiting or working there. Crane’s eye had been caught by a group of people waiting to go through the barrier from the garrison side, towards Aldershot town centre. They were travelling in an Aspire Defence mini-bus and had been obliged to leave the vehicle and wait in turn to be searched.
What Crane had seen was the young WPC from Aldershot Police Station, currently working undercover in St Omer Barracks. She looked at Crane and very slightly inclined her gaze towards two women standing to one side of the group from the minibus. The two women were agitated, eyes averted from the soldiers, their arms crossed as though hugging themselves to keep warm.
Crane casually approached the soldiers and stood next to them whispering instructions. As the queue shuffled forward, Crane saw the WPC join the two women, attempting to distract them and thus separate them further from their Aspire Defence colleagues. So the three women were the last of the group to approach the barrier where they were confronted by two armed soldiers and shepherded to one side of the road.
Speaking over their protests Crane explained that the soldiers needed to search the carrier bags they were holding.
“Bloody army!” shouted one, “who the hell do you think you are?” Her garishly painted mouth twisted into a snarl and she pushed back hair as yellow and brittle as the drought stricken grass she was standing on. Her Aspire Defence bib, worn over a tired once white shirt, was blotched and stained.
“Why can’t you leave decent people alone and concentrate on catching bloody terrorists?” her companion spat, her words slurred by the tongue and mouth piercings she sported. She tried to pull her tattooed arm out of the grasp of soldier.
“Ladies, please.” Crane used the description sarcastically but doubted it would register with either woman. “We simply want to check your bags.”
“Not fucking likely!” Straw hair swung her bag into the face of an unprepared soldier, twisting out of his grasp and turned to run back towards the garrison. But she only made it as far as the WPC’s foot. As she sprawled on the floor, displaying her laddered tights and red underwear, the two soldiers quickly pounced, taking a woman each and handcuffing them, ignoring the foul words spewing from two equally unattractive mouths.
Night 16
Crane replaced the telephone and slumped back in his office chair before stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. A large yawn reminded him how tired he was and how much he was looking forward to going home to Tina. As the time for the birth of their son drew nearer, he was finding it more and more difficult to detach himself from his personal life whilst at work. He often found his hand caressing the mobile phone in his pocket, in fear of missing the vital call. The one calling him to her side at the hospital as labour had started. No more had been said about him leaving the army since their visit to the restaurant. As though by tacit agreement, neither had raised the subject again. But he was well aware that didn’t mean it would go away. His musings were interrupted by a knock on his door.
“Boss?”
“Yes, Billy what is it?”
“DI Anderson would like a word.”
“Okay, put him through.” Crane nodded towards the telephone.
“No, he’s here in the office.”
“Oh! Fair enough, rustle up some coffee would you?”
Crane stood up and tried to smarten his appearance, although as he tucked in his white shirt and did up his tie, he realised there was not much he could do to improve it. His shirt looked like it had been put in the tumble dryer for too long with the resulting creases fused into the material by the heat. No amount of smoothing down made a difference. Gl
ancing at the glass panels in his office wall, he saw his face reflected back at him, showing the strain of the past few days. New lines were appearing around his eyes and his beard was beginning to look straggly instead of short and smart.
The man who walked into his office looked no better. Anderson clearly didn’t do warm weather. His shirt was damp, his tie long since discarded and his trousers had the appearance of clothing purchased from a pile of screwed up garments in a charity shop sale bin.
“Jesus, it’s hot,” Anderson exclaimed sitting in the chair opposite Crane. “I thought it would get cooler at night.”
“Coffee, sir?” Billy had followed the DI into the office and placed a mug in front of Anderson and then Crane.
“Rather have a cold pint of larger,” Anderson grumbled, but grabbed the mug anyway.
“How’s things?”
“That’s why I came. Thought I’d bring you up to date on my way home.”
“About the thefts?”
“Mmm,” Anderson slurped his coffee. “Got those two women banged up for theft. Well done on that one, Crane.”
“Thanks, but it was more a case of being in the right place at the right time than any detective work. If you remember, yesterday the Witch of the North had just ripped my head off over the phone, as more items had been stolen. She was annoyed to say the least that we hadn’t got the people who took the first ring and watch and more jewellery going missing added insult to injury.”
“The WPC was closing in on them, though. She’d already identified them as being the most likely suspects.”
“Yes, but she had no proof until they were stopped at the barrier. Then by running, they gave us the excuse we needed to apprehend them. A shifty couple of women they were too. It didn’t take much to figure out that they were probably holding the stolen items.”
A Soldier's Honour Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set) Page 29
