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

by Wendy Cartmell

  “But Popal hardly spoke, sir.”

  “Yes, Dudley-Jones I did notice. I wonder why that was?”

  Day 30

  Padam packed the precious letter away in his plastic carrier bag. It had arrived that morning and he wanted to open it when he was alone. He was planning to try to see his friends in the Royal Military Police as he should tell them about the bundle the smudge was carrying. But that was before the letter arrived. So Padam decided he would firstly go and read his letter and then see the Royal Military Police later.

  Peering out of the window he saw the good weather was holding, but he decided to take his army greatcoat with him anyway. For one he was old and felt the cold and for two believed his fellow Gurkhas could not be trusted. Someone could be tempted to take it for himself. He knew it was something of a prize amongst his peers who coveted it in readiness for the winter months ahead.

  He had heard talk that the army practiced on a piece of land called Ash Ranges and he thought that today was a good day to go there. And anyway a nice bit of woodland would make a change from the mean streets of Aldershot or the sentries on the garrison. A friend had shown him the direction to take out of Aldershot and written Ash on a piece of paper, so he could follow the signs.

  As Padam wandered along the road out of Aldershot he came to a large roundabout over a huge road choked with traffic. He saw the sign for Ash as he approached and surmised he had to cross the large circular roundabout. Unfortunately, this meant trying to avoid the fast moving cars every time he had to cross a tributary road, making Padam think of several instances when he had been a serving soldier, where he’d had to run whilst dodging bullets. These smaller roads either fed traffic down to the huge thoroughfare where they were swallowed up once they arrived, or spewed the cars out that wanted to leave. It was as though the road itself was a huge breathing monster expanding and contracting with the flow of traffic.

  By the time Padam was safely across he was covered in sweat and shaking. After a few hundred yards he sat by the side of the road, which already felt like a quiet backwater, shrugging off his coat and taking several gulps from his water bottle. Looking around he realised the huge road he had crossed marked a divide from Aldershot to Ash in more ways than one. On the Aldershot side were industrial units, a plethora of drab Victorian terraces and dilapidated blocks of flats. Yet here on the Ash side there was space, greenery, larger houses and no rubbish. Padam felt the pressure of his life in Aldershot lifting from him and he imagined all his worries were caught in a metaphorical balloon, which he let go of and watched float off into the sky, until it was a tiny speck in the distance. Refreshed Padam struck out for the Ranges.

  He found an entrance to the woodland a few hundred yards from a clutch of shops in what he imagined to be the centre of the village of Ash. All the shop units were taken, there were no boarded up premises here. He walked off the road onto a track, through wooden posts and was immediately engulfed by trees. He decided he would enjoy the scenery later, for now he just wanted a quiet spot to read his letter.

  Padam eventually settled on a shaded knoll some way into the Ranges. He squatted down and pulled the envelope from his bag. Opening the letter with trembling hands, he settled down to read.

  Dearest Padam

  I have the most exciting news. People arrived in our village a few days ago. People from England. They said they were here to help the families of old soldiers who had once served with the British Army. Not to help them get to England, but to assist those who had already travelled there to come back to Nepal if they wanted to. They would be willing to pay for your flight back! Can you imagine? We could all be together again. I know we have nothing left anymore, no farm, no money, no job, but surely it is better to be poor together, than to be destitute so far apart. I told them where you lived and they promised to write to you in Aldershot through a place called the Gurkha Welfare Society.

  Please come home my husband, we miss you so much.

  Padam had to stop reading as he couldn’t see the words any more, his vision blurred by tears. They were pouring down his cheeks, wetting the collar of his shirt. But he didn’t bother to wipe them away. All he could think of was home. He couldn’t believe it. He could go home. Home to his wife, son and daughter. Get away from the misery, poverty and drudgery that made up his life now. Back to everything familiar to him, a world away from this alien country called England. It seemed his wife had forgiven him for selling their small farm and taking out such a huge loan in the hope of a better life in England, which had turned out to be a fallacy. All they both wanted now was to be together in their old age.

  Padam was so caught up with emotion, that he didn’t hear the faint rustling behind him. Didn’t feel the man’s breath on his neck. But he did feel the strong hands encircle it and felt the crack as his head was whipped to one side. He did feel his body go numb and saw the precious letter fall out of his now useless fingers and fly away on the breeze. His last thought was ‘home’ before he too floated up into the blue sky, just like his balloon full of worries.

  Night 30

  “To lose one soldier, Crane, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose two looks like carelessness; but to lose three?” Major Martin couldn’t keep the mirth out of his voice.

  “Thank you, Lady Bracknell,” Crane made a mock bow, acknowledging the misquotation from The Importance of Being Ernest. But their mirth was extinguished as they gazed on the body of the dead man from a respectful distance.

  Crane had been briefed by Staff Sergeant Jones. Originally the RMP who had stumbled across it on Ash Ranges, had thought it was a bundle of old clothes left behind, or deliberately dumped. After all he was searching for an Afghan officer, not piles of discarded clothes. As the young soldier poked the rags with a stick he was using to examine the undergrowth, he realised there was more substance to the abandoned wool and cotton than he’d first thought. He immediately stepped back and called for Staff Sergeant Jones. As darkness fell, Jones called the Adjutant, set up a perimeter around the scene and had lights and a generator brought in. Crane arrived just after the pathologist, the retired Major Martin.

  “Why do you think it’s a third soldier?” Crane asked. Major Martin handed him a document Crane had seen before. A Lal Kitab.

  “Jones found this a few yards from the body. In a Tesco plastic carrier bag.”

  For a moment Crane couldn’t speak as he stared at the red booklet in his hand. Clearing his throat, he said, “You’re right, Major. He was a soldier, albeit many years ago. Padam Gurung served the British Army well in his youth and tried to carry on serving it in his old age. I’ll, um, just go and see Jones.”

  Walking away, Crane took a few moments on his own, before approaching the Staff Sergeant. Upset that not only had an innocent old man been killed, but also his only witness.

  “Sorry, Crane,” was the first thing Jones said. “I was dropped on when I found the documents. I’m still waiting for Major Martin to confirm identity, of course, as we can’t see much of the body at the moment. But judging by the size and the clothes, there’s probably not much doubt.”

  “No, probably not,” Crane said. He then noticed Billy clambering through the undergrowth.

  As he reached Crane, Billy said, “Just heard, boss. Bloody shame. But why him?” he asked indicating the crime scene with his head.

  “He was probably in the wrong place at the wrong time, Billy. I’d say Padam saw something he shouldn’t have and got killed so he couldn’t pass on the information to anyone.”

  “Seen, sir? Seen what?”

  “My best guess is an Afghan officer, hiding out in here somewhere.”

  Crane’s eyes swept the blackness of the rest of the ranges. The area was easily closed to the public by flying the red danger flags. Local residents were well used to military exercises in this area, which closed down the public footpaths and access to the heath land. A number of signs peppered the area explaining the red flag system and warning the public about picking u
p military debris, which may explode. The ranges themselves were part of a vast area of mainly Ash woodland and undulating heath land, which the army had purchased back in the 1920’s for soldiers from the nearby Aldershot Garrison to use for exercises. At the moment Crane and the rest of the team were in an area of low shrub land, just off one of the tarmac roads that ran through the area. He looked into the nearby woodland, the bare trunks of the ash trees illuminated by a full moon hanging low in the sky. What secret was hidden within that army of tall black skeletal sentries?

  Major Martin interrupted Crane’s examination of the woods.

  “Crane,” he called. “Definitely Padam Gurung I’m afraid. Matches his photo identification.”

  “Cause of death? No, let me guess. Broken neck?

  “Looks that way, Crane.”

  “Any idea on time of death?”

  “Bit early to say, but approximately eight to twelve hours ago.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Crane, stuffing his hands in his coat pocket and returning to Billy, with his head down, deep in thought.

  “Why was Padam here, boss?”

  “That’s what I want you to find out,” Crane said, lifting his head. “After you’ve finished collecting forensic evidence, rustle up an interpreter, then go and collect DI Anderson. I want the fellow Gurkhas he shared a flat with interviewed. Maybe one of them knows what Padam was up to.”

  When Billy left Crane went to find Staff Sergeant Jones, to explain what he wanted. Jones, Crane and a couple of men then set out across the ranges.

  The tarmac roadway soon gave way to track. Neither of which were conducive to silent progress. On the tarmac the men’s army boots thudded like a drum beaten with a cloth covered stick and on the track, the dry twigs, leaves and bracken underfoot became firecrackers on Chinese New Year. Moving as stealthily as they could, Jones navigated their way using only the light of the moon. Gradually the sound of the generator running the lights dimmed to a mosquito hum as they traversed deeper into the Ranges. Startled night animals become their only companions.

  Crane was sweating and regretting keeping on the light coat he had on because of the chill of the night. His shoulder was starting to ache deep in the muscle stretched over the bone and during a short halt whilst Jones got his bearings, Crane tried to manipulate it as best he could. He was just wondering how much further they had to go, when the faint shadows in front of them became looming concrete structures. They had arrived at the flag butts, or buttresses, stretched across a section of the ranges, from where the red flags were raised to warn non-army personnel that the ranges were out of bounds due to army exercises. Jones had brought them to the front and side of the structures, so they could approach unobserved. The four men then circled round to search each structure in turn.

  It was at the third butt that they struck lucky. Crane and Jones hung back as the two Royal Military Policemen inched forwards to the edge of the buttresses before flinging themselves around the sides and flashing their torches into the interior. There they found Captain Niaz, huddled in the small space, curled into a foetal position, as though trying to hide within the safety of a womb. He was cocooned in a blanket and surrounded by debris that included an empty water bottle and food wrappers. As Jones and Crane approached they looked down on the man pinned in the powerful torch beams like a hare in headlights. Too stunned to resist, Niaz allowed himself to be prised from the small area where the red flag raising and lowering mechanism was housed.

  Leaving Niaz flanked by the two Royal Military Policemen, Jones and Crane moved to one side. Jones radioed for a vehicle to take them back to Crane’s car and then onward to Aldershot where Niaz could recover at the Royal Military Police Barracks. In custody, of course.

  “Good thinking, Crane, the flag butts,” Jones said. “Do you think he killed Padam?”

  “Probably, but we’ll have to be careful, strictly following procedure in our efforts to prove it. There’s going to be outrage from the other Afghan officers at Niaz’s arrest, as well as from the Coldstream Guards. No doubt Captain Edwards will join in the general debate as well. Make sure Major Martin sends Niaz’s clothes for forensic processing. Maybe there was some transfer from Padam to him, or indeed the other way round. Whatever, we’ll have to be careful and play it by the book. He may be a suspect but it’s still too early to have any evidence.”

  “And Captain Edwards?”

  “I’ll ring him as soon as I get back home. I’ve been on duty for over eighteen hours now and I’m due back again at 07:00 hours, so I need a few hours of sleep before starting any interviews. In the meantime, can you arrange for the interpreter to be there at say 09:00 hours tomorrow morning? Oh and Dudley-Jones too, of course. Better not leave him out of this one.”

  Day 31

  TERRORISTS IN OUR MIDST?

  By Diane Chambers

  Residents of Aldershot are in uproar for the second time in a month, at the draconian way the army have used their stop and search powers on innocent residents as they pass in and out of Aldershot Garrison. Long delays are once again the order of the day as people try to go about their normal daily business.

  An army spokesman explained, “There have been a number of thefts from locations around the garrison and it is particularly important, therefore, to monitor traffic in and out. We must put a stop to this ongoing theft problem and I’m sure the residents of Aldershot will accommodate the extra security that is deemed necessary at the moment.”

  But this reporter has discovered this may not be the real reason for the increased security at Aldershot Garrison. It has come to light that there are a number of Afghan Army officers staying there at the invitation of the Coldstream Guards.

  In these troubling times local residents are worried about the possibility of terrorists in our midst. One local resident said, “It’s absolutely appalling that the army could take such a risk and let Afghanis onto the garrison. Everyone knows the problems our lads are having over in Afghanistan at the moment, so why increase the risk to the soldiers serving on the garrison, never mind the local people?” Another resident Jean Cooper said, “I tell you it makes me afraid to go out! Who knows where they will attack and when?”

  The army press office refused to give an interview, or even publish a statement when approached by this newspaper with the concerns of the local population. Is this a case of on a ‘need to know’ basis and the wider area outside the garrison don’t need to know? Until we get an official explanation, the residents of Aldershot can only wait and wonder what might happen.

  Anderson threw the newspaper at Crane across the desk. “Any comment, Sergeant Major?”

  “Come on, Derek, you know we couldn’t explain the real reason behind the increased security at the garrison.”

  “I know, but now it’s been leaked what the hell am I supposed to do?” Anderson ran his fingers through his unruly hair. “We’ve had local residents on the telephone wanting to know if we’re going to put armed police patrols on the street to protect them!”

  “That bloody Diane Chambers.”

  “Wait a minute, did you know about this, Crane?” Anderson leaned over his desk.

  “Let’s just say she threatened me with it. Unless I gave her an exclusive interview on how the army coped with the Team GB athletes on the garrison, after they’d gone of course. So I had to agree with her request, or should I say demand.”

  “And she reneged on the deal?”

  “Looks like it, and before I could give the heads up to Edwards,” Crane scratched his scar.

  To his surprise Anderson laughed. “Well, she got her own back after all. I’d say this was payback for not giving her an interview about the investigation last year. Wouldn’t you?” Anderson was still chuckling.

  “Alright, Derek, don’t rub it in. Anyway, for now the army are going to release a statement. Captain Edwards is working on that at the moment. It’s going to be something along the lines that our Afghani visitors are all upstanding army officers and there
’s no question that they could be a terrorist threat.”

  “But is that true?” Anderson shrugged his shoulders, becoming serious again. “What about finding Padam Gurung’s body last night and the lost Afghan soldier? How does all that fit together?”

  “To be honest, Derek, I don’t know what the hell’s going on.” Crane shook his head. “Dudley-Jones and I interviewed Niaz this morning, but got nothing out of him. It was a complete waste of time. The whole thing is bloody chaos. I’ve got another dead body, an Afghan officer who refuses to speak at all, a reporter acting like she trying for a Pulitzer Prize and an Officer Commanding who’s wobbling like a jelly.”

  “Are there any connections between the three deaths?”

  “Lots of connections between lots of events, but nothing that adds up to anything. I can’t even come up with a motive.” Crane smoothed down his tie and then not knowing what to do with his hands as he couldn’t smoke in the office, started to play with his scar again.

  “There’s got to be something, Crane,” Anderson examined his own tie, which sported an abstract pattern of food stains, so he dropped it with apparent disgust.

  “I know, but whatever it is I can’t see it at the moment. And being without Billy and Kim during the day makes me feel like I’m working with one hand tied behind my back somehow.”

  “Are they doing alright on their own at night?”

  “Oh they’re fine. Working well together.” After a pause Crane added, “I rather think it’s me that’s not functioning properly.”

  As a grin started to break across his face, Crane stood so fast he knocked over his chair. “That’s it, Derek! You’re brilliant. Thanks a lot,” and rushed out of the office.