A Soldier's Honour Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set)

by Wendy Cartmell

  Crane exhaled loudly before speaking. “Yes, fine, just fed up with all this bloody stuff. Meetings, co-ordination, liaison. If I’d have wanted all this shit I’d had gone into Administration or Logistics, not the Special Investigations Branch.”

  “Fair comment, but it’s a good learning curve you know. Different skills can come to the fore when you’re placed in stressful situations.”

  “Stop spouting that official line bollocks, Jones.” Crane snapped.

  “Well stop bloody whingeing then,” Jones shouted.

  The silence between them became a roar in Crane’s ears as he stared at Jones, every muscle in his body taut. Incensed that a man of inferior rank, albeit a friend, would talk to him like that.

  But Jones wouldn’t back down and held the stare. Eventually breaking the silence by asking, “How’s Tina?”

  The simple question diffused Crane’s anger, turning it into hot tears only held back by sheer willpower. He realised this was what his anger was all about. Not just the job, but also the uncertainty over Tina and the baby. Averting his gaze, he said, “Still in hospital.”

  “But doing well?”

  “Yes thanks.” Crane coughed the emotion from his voice. “Should be home today or tomorrow.”

  “Look, Crane, it’s not for much longer. Twenty days. Just under three weeks.”

  “If that’s the case then,” Crane said after a moment, turning to smile at Jones, “could we still keep the Afghan officers under close observation?”

  “Fucking hell! Oh all right then. But it’s not produced anything so far.”

  “Maybe not, but it just might. You never know. Anyway,” Crane threw away his cigarette and pulled his car keys from his pocket, “I’m off. A meeting with the Wicked Witch of the North.”

  “Who in hell’s name is that? No, let me guess, Ms Juliette Stone.” Jones emphasised the Ms.

  “The very one. See you later.”

  During the short drive to St Omer Barracks, Crane was delayed by a cavalcade of motorised armoured vehicles. Whilst waiting for them to turn right into Clayton Barracks, Crane used the hands free set on his mobile phone to call the hospital, where he was once again re-assured that Tina was fine. Her vital signs were good and she was resting. He urged the nurse to tell Tina he rang, before ending the call.

  During the conversation, his eyes were drawn to the soldiers and machinery passing in front of him. The men standing proudly in the turrets, at one with their vehicles; dressed in muted colours to match the body work, with the same camouflage nets on their helmets as those draped over their transport. Crane knew that clearly defined roles were the mainstay of the British Army. Everyone had a job to do. They knew exactly what it was and what was expected of them. He didn’t have that certainty. Not in his professional life, where he felt like a leopard stuck in a cage of tigers, nor his personal life, where he seemed to be separated from Tina and the baby by a pane of glass. He felt helpless. He could see them, but was unable to reach them. The last of the vehicles moved away, allowing the traffic to flow again along Queens Avenue. As Crane drove to his destination, he wondered if a leopard could change his spots.

  ***

  For once Juliette Stone was not prowling the corridors and rooms of St Omer Barracks, but sat in her office.

  “Come in,” she called, “Coffee?”

  “No thanks, this is just a quick visit to make sure everything’s alright.”

  “All in order, Sergeant Major.” The abrupt reply tempered by a smile in her eyes, if not in her lips. “By the way, thanks for your help in catching the thieves.”

  “All in a day’s work, Ms Stone.”

  “Maybe so, but it’s still appreciated.” Now the smile reached her lips and she lifted her cup of coffee, looking at Crane over the rim.

  Oh my God. Is she flirting with me? Crane’s stomach tensed at the thought and he was part flattered, part terrified.

  The telephone interrupted their exchange much to Crane’s relief and he got up as Juliette answered the phone. But she reached out to him and motioned he should stay where he was with a flap of her hand. Pulling a clean piece of paper towards her, she started scribbling. After asking the caller for a written report as soon as possible, she replaced the receiver and handed the paper to Crane, accompanied by a flick of her ponytail and a question.

  “Are you going back to your barracks, Sergeant Major?”

  “Yes, why?” Crane glanced at the scribbled message.

  “Could you pass this onto Staff Sergeant Jones for me? It appears we’ve had a break in at the stores. They’re doing a full inventory at the moment and will let me know in writing what’s missing as soon as they can.”

  “Any initial ideas?”

  “It seems to be cleaning materials. But the landscape contractors were storing stuff there too, so I guess we’ll have to check with them. Tell the Staff Sergeant I’ll let him know as soon as we know.”

  “So in the meantime I’m to act as messenger boy?”

  After running her index finger along her bottom lip she asked him, “Why? Do you have a problem with that?”

  Night 20

  The absence of barriers with armed soldiers was good news. It meant he could enter the garrison at night again. Not that there weren’t any armed soldiers around, of course. There were still lots of Royal Military Police on patrol. Driving around the garrison in jeeps, or walking around with dogs. But it was easy for someone with military training, such as himself, to keep out of sight, in the shadows.

  Padam was not going to the sports centre tonight. He saw the athletes in their buses a couple of days ago, so he knew they weren’t on the garrison anymore.

  As he ambled along, he found himself in an area of the garrison he had not explored before, beyond the Military Cemetery. Walking up the steep hill, on his right hand side he saw a long, squat building, with an outside area sporting benches. Thinking it may be a mess, he walked past without much interest, deciding to cut across the field behind the building, hoping it would bring him back into the main body of the garrison. It was a dark night, with clouds obscuring the moon, making it difficult to see. He walked over extremely hard grass. It scrunched under his feet, as though all the life had been sucked out of it. A legacy of the fine weather perhaps? It made walking quite difficult and Padam stumbled. Suddenly the grass under his feet on his left hand side was gone and he tumbled sideways, sliding down a large incline. The hard, prickly surface scratched his hands and face. He was glad he had trousers on and a pair of shoes he found discarded in a bin, as protection for his legs and feet. It was several moments before he reached the bottom and stopped sliding.

  Taking a few moments to recover, he rolled over onto his back, slowly wiggling his fingers. They all worked, so there was nothing broken. He touched his face, wincing at the pain, his fingers sliding over some of the cuts, which must be bleeding. He struggled to his feet, hampered by the pain in his hands, his old knees joining in the protest. As soon as he stood, his legs felt cold from a slight breeze. Examining the only pair of trousers he owned, he found they were torn.

  He limped along the bottom of the hill, reluctant to try and climb back up the incline. As he walked he felt a change underfoot. Here the grass was soft and springy. Intrigued, Padam squatted down to feel the two different surfaces. How could the grass be so dry on one side, as hard and unyielding as a stiff brush, yet green and soft on the other? As he looked around, the moon peeped out from behind a cloud, the cold white light glinting off poles in front of him, reaching skyward, back up the hill. One behind the other, as if on parade. Grabbing the first pole by the T bar at the bottom, he made his way carefully upwards. The poles were not fixed and swung backwards and forward making them difficult to use. Still they were better than nothing and he needed assistance to climb back up the hill. He couldn’t imagine what they were for, or why they were there. Once at the top, he decided to return the way he had come, down the road, having had enough adventures for one night. As he walked he
passed a large sign with ‘Alpine Snowsports Centre’, written on it, which he didn’t understand.

  As Padam walked down the road the quiet of the night was disturbed by the chugging of a diesel engine. Ducking down behind a low hedge, he watched through the foliage as three soldiers drove by in a military vehicle. Just before a curve in the road, they stopped. Two of them got out, with the third one staying behind the wheel and driving away. The two on foot then split up, one running off in the direction of nearby houses and the other staying where he was. After a few moments, the remaining soldier inclined his head as though listening to something. Padam remained motionless. The soldier walked towards the entrance of the Military Cemetery, on the opposite side of the road from Padam, and disappeared inside. As he couldn’t be sure how long the soldier would be, Padam sat down, made himself comfortable and settled down to wait.

  After a while Padam saw a soldier emerge from the entrance. A different soldier. Dressed in an entirely different uniform. A short dark moustache on his face. Not the soldier who had run towards the houses earlier, nor the man who had gone into the cemetery. Moustache man made his way down the road. Padam decided to wait some more. After Padam estimated he’d waited an hour and as no one emerged from either the houses or the cemetery, he made his way to the end of the road, deciding to return to his flat. He had no idea what was happening, but perhaps the Royal Military Policemen he met several days before would be interested. He would go and see them in the morning. In the meantime, he had the feeling it would be safer to leave the garrison to the soldiers.

  Day 21

  Crane’s mobile rang just before 07:00 hours, as he was driving into work. Punching the button on his hands free set he said, “Tina?”

  “Sorry, boss, it’s me.”

  “Oh, morning, Billy, what’s the matter?”

  “Missing soldier, sir. Last seen on Gallwey Road, opposite the Military Cemetery.”

  “Are you up there?” Crane negotiated a sharp right hand bend.

  “Yes, boss, with Kim and Staff Sergeant Jones.”

  “Okay, I’m just entering the garrison; I’ll meet you in a couple of minutes.”

  Crane clicked off the phone and muttered, “Oh shit.” A missing soldier. And if that wasn’t enough he had to pick Tina up from the hospital later that morning. “Shit!” Crane accelerated past St Omer Barracks, ignoring the speed limit, pulling up behind Billy’s car a few minutes later.

  He was greeted by Jones who succinctly explained the situation. “Good morning, sir. One of my guards is missing. Corporal John McInnes. He wasn’t in place, here outside the cemetery, when the duty driver arrived to pick him and his partner Private Stuart Cable up at about 05:00 hours.”

  “Was Private Cable there?”

  “Yes. The duty driver brought him straight back to barracks and reported to the Guard Commander. Apparently McInnes and Cable decided to split up for a bit.” Jones emphasised the ‘apparently’.

  “That isn’t normal procedure is it? To split up and patrol alone?

  “Strictly speaking, no. Looks like the silly sods were pulling a flanker and it’s backfired on them. Cable is in the Guard Room now, trying to explain himself. Although the word amongst the lads is that his baby is ill and he was worried about it. So,” Jones paused, “I think it could be that McInnes thought he would help out by letting Cable pop off home and check everything was alright, as he only lives a few hundred yards away. If that’s the case, it’s the end of Cable’s army career.”

  Crane closed his eyes and breathed deeply as he listened to the story, wondering at the stupidity of the Corporal, whilst understanding how torn the man must feel. There but for the grace of God and all that. “You’ve started a search of the cemetery?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, some of the Royal Military Police are in there together with search teams from A Company. But it’s a large area to cover, over 15 acres. Some of it heavily wooded. And the whole bloody lot is enclosed by large holly hedging. If something’s happened to McInnes in there, it could take us some time to find him. If anyone sees anything the first signal is a whistle.”

  “Alright, thanks, Jones.” Crane turned away and called, “Billy? With me.”

  “Okay, boss,” Billy bounded over like an excited puppy, forcing a smile from Crane. How could someone who’s just finished a twelve-hour shift be so bloody energetic?

  Crane crossed the road and paused at the entrance. He couldn’t help but be intimidated by the cemetery. Even after all these years. When he was younger, much younger, he had pulled a night guard duty that included patrolling the cemetery. He was with a black lad called Cobb. When you worked at night with Cobb, all you could see were the whites of his eyes and teeth and the red of his lips and tongue. He was reminiscent of a voodoo doctor when the idiot insisted on prancing around. As he was doing that night. Giving Crane the creeps.

  They were on patrol checking along the perimeter of the cemetery. It was slowly beginning to get light, with a mist floating just above the ground, as though the clouds had fallen from the sky to coat the earth. As they went through a particularly dense patch of mist, Crane saw something hanging from a tree. As the mist swirled around it, he glimpsed what he thought was a broken branch, hanging lifeless from the tree, held on by a thread. But it turned out to be a broken man. Swinging from the end of a rope. As the man’s face came into view, covered with vaporous tendrils of mist, Crane had to stifle a scream. But Cobb seemed less affected. Commenting that maybe the soldier had decided to commit suicide in the cemetery, so he’d have company when he passed over to the other side.

  Taking deep breath and pushing the image away, Crane pulled on his coat for protection against the early morning chill.

  “Pretty old this place isn’t it, boss?” Billy kept pace with Crane as they ventured down one of the many tarmac paths that criss-cross the area.

  “Mmm, it was established soon after the army first set up camp here in Aldershot in the 1850’s.”

  “It’s well looked after.”

  Looking at the undulating landscape, Crane could see what Billy meant. Neat crisp rows of white headstones, set amongst close cut turf. For Crane the atmosphere in here was different from that of other military cemeteries. Not just because of his earlier experience, but because of the landscape. Numerous trees had been allowed to grow; breaking up what would otherwise be a stark scene. The harsh lines were softened by Oak, Pines, Firs and Chestnut trees and yet in other, older parts, the cemetery had intentionally been allowed to return to the natural heath land it once was.

  So in one section you could clearly see the difference between the recent white headstones and the older, grey ones alongside them. Crane found these areas particularly poignant. The old stones looked like they were slipping and sliding down the hill, canting at odd angles and for him were visual illustrations of the passage of time. He wondered if he himself would be buried here and if in a hundred years anyone would know, or care, where his plot was. Shivering, Crane wrapped his open coat around him.

  The shrill call of a whistle made Crane jump out of his reverie and he and Billy set off at a run towards a remote part of the cemetery. They stopped at the outskirts of a dense group of bushes, where a Royal Military Policeman was waiting.

  “Corporal McInnes?” Crane nodded into the undergrowth.

  “Think so, sir. He’s jammed in behind the pillbox. All I could see was a pair of boots, so I immediately retreated and whistled.”

  “No sign of life?”

  “None, sir. There were drag marks in the leaves and earth, but I couldn’t see any footmarks. The ground’s too hard.”

  “Good work, lad.” Crane reached for his phone.

  Jones answered, breathless, as though he too was running towards the sound of the whistle.

  “Looks like we’ve found him, Jones. Bring the tape and we’ll seal off the area. Doesn’t look like the scene’s been contaminated. I’ll call Major Martin and Billy can do forensics.”

  After th
at there was nothing else to do but wait. Crane sent Billy off in search of coffee and his forensic kit and Kim back to the office to prepare the paperwork, including pulling Corporal McInnes’ Military Record. He also put in a courtesy call to Captain Edwards, who was still at home enjoying his breakfast and seemed fully intent on staying there. “No need for me to attend, Crane,” he said. “This one’s down to you.”

  Luckily the Captain then terminated the call, obviating the need for Crane to confirm the order with a ‘sir’, which he hadn’t felt like doing.

  At 09:00 hours he called Tina’s mother. The silence that followed his request saying more than any insult she could have thrown at him. He then called the hospital, asking them to pass a message onto Tina, that due to an ‘incident’ at work, he wouldn’t be able to go to the hospital and take her home but had arranged for her mother to be there. He was diverted from the stab of guilt from his hot pin by Major Martin emerging from the bushes.

  “Right, Crane, you can go in now. The body was jammed behind the pillbox with just the boots visible. I’ve had to move him for ease of examination, but don’t worry, Billy’s taken lots of photos. The whole area is surrounded by Holly bushes and overhanging trees, so we’ve found pieces of cloth attached to some of them, along with a couple of blood stains. Not sure yet who’s blood it is obviously. Could be from scratches on McInnes as he was dragged in, or from the perpetrator.”

  “Time of death, sir?”

  “Difficult to say straight off as you very well know. I need to take into account the ambient temperature overnight and this morning and do some calculations, but I’d say maybe between 04:00 and 06:00 hours. Give or take. Once you’ve had a look I’ll have him moved.”

  “Cause of death, sir?”

  “Looks like a broken neck.”

  Crane and Billy looked at each other. Words were not necessary. But Crane uttered one anyway, “Shit.”