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

by Wendy Cartmell

  But Crane and Anderson couldn’t understand the choked reply, so Crane loosened his grip on the man’s throat, just a bit.

  “Some bloke asked me to do it.”

  “Some bloke? What bloke?” Anderson demanded.

  “I don’t know, he gave me a tenner,” the man managed to gasp out, despite Crane’s grip.

  “Let go of his throat, Crane.”

  “But…”

  “I said let go. We’ll take him down to the station and see what we can get out of him. It’s not the rapist. Look at him. He doesn’t fit the description.”

  Crane had to agree, the man being squat and dumpy and at least fifty years old, so Crane took his hand from the man’s throat. But making sure he still had a hold on the man, Crane took the driver’s arm with one hand and his wrist with the other, twisting his arm so that if he moved he would break it. Anderson made his phone call and within a few minutes a police car arrived.

  “What about my van?” the driver protested, as he was unceremoniously pushed into the back of the police car.

  “You can get it later after I’ve finished with you at the station.” Slamming the door Anderson tapped twice on the roof and stayed in the middle of the road, watching the police car speed away.

  ***

  A little while later Anderson and Crane watched the van driver through the two way mirror of an interview room in Aldershot Police Station.

  “His name’s John Smith,” Anderson commented.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” laughed Crane. “He must get a lot of stick about pints of beer.”

  “Yeah, well, just now he’s going to get a lot of stick off me, for delivering that flower to Kim,” said Anderson.

  “It was bloody bad timing. I was just trying to rally Kim round with thoughts of the army, her career and stuff.” Crane put his hands around the back of his neck, trying to massage away the tightness. “Now she’s back to square one. Bastard.”

  “Who, the attacker or the delivery man?” asked Anderson.

  “Both of them.”

  “Come on,” smiled Anderson, “let’s see what we can get out of him.”

  As Crane and Anderson entered the room, Smith’s head shot up from where he was sitting at the table, examining his filthy nails.

  “Look, just leave me alone will you, I don’t know anything.”

  “Oh, but you do, Mr Smith,” said Anderson. “At least more than you think you do.”

  Joining Smith at the table, Anderson activated the recording system. He then identified himself and Crane, as per procedure when conducting an interview.

  “So, Mr Smith,” said Anderson, “who approached you and asked you to deliver the parcel?”

  “Some bloke I was talking to in the pub.”

  “And what did this bloke look like?” asked Crane.

  “Um, taller than me and slimmer than me…”

  “That’s not difficult,” mumbled Crane under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. You were saying, Mr Smith,” prompted Crane.

  “Yeah, well, he was tall, slim, with blondish hair.”

  “What were you two talking about?” asked Anderson.

  “Um, just stuff, this and that.”

  “Could you be more specific, please, Mr Smith?”

  Crane wanted to add a more sarcastic comment, but stopped himself just in time.

  “Yeah, well, he was in the army, like, so he was telling me war stories and stuff.” Smith leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands and resting them on his rotund stomach.

  At this piece of news Anderson’s eyebrows lifted and he looked at Crane.

  “Did he give you specifics about his rank, or regiment?” Crane demanded.

  “Don’t think so and if he did I wouldn’t have understood it. That army bollocks makes no sense to me.”

  “What did he say about the package?” Anderson steered the conversation back to the matter in hand.

  “He just said he needed it delivering to his girlfriend. He couldn’t do it as he was due back on the Garrison, but he really wanted her to have it today, as it was her birthday. So he wondered if I could help him out, like. I told him I could, for a fee. So he gave me a tenner and wrote down the address.”

  “Wrote it down?”

  “That’s what I just said, innit?”

  “Do you still have the paper?”

  “Yeah, here it is.”

  Smith scrabbled through his pockets, tossing a crumpled piece of paper on the desk. Crane and Anderson both looked at it, without touching it. It was a handwritten note scribbled on a piece of paper, which looked like it had been torn out of a notebook.

  Anderson hunted in his own pockets and came up with a pair of latex gloves and an evidence pouch. Putting on the gloves, he carefully pulled the paper straight and inserted it into the evidence pouch. Laying it back on the table, Crane and Anderson read:

  Kim

  36 Warren Street

  Aldershot.

  “Right, Mr Smith,” Anderson was the first to break the silence. “Thanks very much for being so helpful. If you just wait here, someone will transcribe your statement and bring it back for you to sign.”

  As Crane and Anderson reached the door, Smith shouted after them, “You still haven’t told me what this bloke’s done. I’ve never known such a fuss over delivering a birthday present.”

  Crane was the one who answered. “It wasn’t a birthday present. It was a psychological attack on a vulnerable young woman who had been physically assaulted.”

  “Right,” Smith mumbled. “Sorry, I didn’t know, like. I didn’t mean any harm,” he finished, but Crane and Anderson didn’t reply and shut the door on him.

  ***

  Back in his office, Anderson sat and filled out an evidence form for the piece of paper, then shouted for a PC to take it to forensics.

  “Don’t suppose we’ll get much off it,” he grumbled, fidgeting in his chair. “That bloody man’s had his hands all over it and it’s been crumpled and stuffed into his trouser pocket.”

  “Never mind, it might help with hand writing verification,” mused Crane, fingering his scar.

  “Yes, but that’s not an exact science is it? Not like DNA. Anyway, Smith’s description of Kim’s attacker is way off. He reckons he’s blondish and Kim said he was dark-haired.”

  “Yes, I did notice that,” said Crane. “I wonder what the hell it means.”

  16

  Crane couldn’t believe that he was yet again on the streets of Aldershot on a Saturday night. It was really starting to piss him off, all this work and no results. Or at least the results they had got didn’t mean a bloody thing. Still, at least tonight he didn’t have to worry about Tina. Jean Anderson had arranged to go over and spend the evening with her, complete with a take-away and a romantic comedy film. As he and Derek tramped from pub to pub, Crane almost wished he was at home with them, although he hated Indian food and romantic comedies. Yes, almost wished, but not quite.

  A wall of noise slammed into them whenever they opened the door to a pub, giving Crane a headache. The heat inside meant Crane was constantly taking his coat on and off. If he left it on, he sweated so much he feared he was leaving puddles on the carpet. Not that anyone would notice, as most of the carpets were filthy and felt sticky underfoot. Crane expected that most of the establishments must look a right mess in daylight. After several fruitless questions at most of the pubs in and around Victoria Road, they finished up at The Goose.

  “I don’t know why we didn’t start here in the first place,” Crane grumbled to Anderson. “This was where both girls were picked up, for God’s sake. It made sense to me.”

  “Ah, yes, but if we’d got a result here first, then you’d have pissed off, running away with the information like a Labrador with a ball, potentially missing a vital piece of information from another pub.”

  “But we didn’t pick up any bits of information, or possible sightings, from any of the other pubs, vit
al or otherwise, did we?”

  “Well, no, but my theory is still sound,” insisted Anderson, stuffing his hands in his pockets against the cold night air.

  Crane realised he was not going to win that particular argument, so he stopped moaning and approached the two bouncers on the door.

  Flashing his identification, he said, “Sgt Major Crane, SIB and DI Anderson, Aldershot Police. Have either of you seen these blokes before?”

  “You’ve got to be joking, SIB and the police in one visit? Are you trying to put off our punters or what?”

  “Maybe that’s not a bad idea, seeing as what this bloke’s done,” growled Crane. “So look at the pictures.”

  The two men looked at Anderson, who nodded his agreement.

  The first one took the pictures, holding them up to the light spilling from the open doorway behind him.

  “No, sorry, mate, can’t help.”

  “What about you?”

  Crane grabbed back the photos and thrust them under the nose of the second man.

  “Nah,” he said without really looking.

  “Try again,” said Anderson, taking a couple of steps forward to emphasis his point.

  “Alright, alright.”

  The man looked more carefully this time, frowning over one of them.

  “Hang on,” he said, turning and moving just inside the door, where the light was brighter. “I reckon I’ve seen this one before,” he handed the picture back to Crane.

  “When?”

  “Earlier this evening. He came in on his own, which was unusual, normally you get a few blokes arriving at the same time, on a night out with the lads, that sort of thing. That’s why I noticed him.”

  “Has he left?” asked Anderson.

  “No bloody idea, mate. I don’t look at the ones leaving, only the ones coming in. That’s the general idea of a bouncer, innit?”

  After that piece of information, Crane went through the door to the pub, shouldering away anyone in his path.

  “Crane,” Anderson shouted.

  Crane ignored Anderson and pushed through the crowds, quickly scanning each table. There was no point in checking the photo, the light was too bad, but he didn’t need to. The man’s features were burned into his brain since Kim identified him as possibly being her attacker. Working his way around the large pub Crane eventually found a familiar face, but it wasn’t that of the suspected rapist.

  “Billy! What the hell are you doing here? Get out, now.”

  As Crane walked out of the pub, with Billy scampering behind him and Anderson desperately trying to catch them both up, he pulled out his cigarettes.

  “Thank God. Bloody hell it’s hot and noisy in there. Right, Billy, what are you doing here?”

  “I’m off-duty, sir.”

  “I know that, sergeant. What precisely are you doing in The Goose?”

  Crane dipped his head to light his cigarette.

  “Well, sort of staking out the joint, sir.”

  “Staking out the joint,” Anderson laughed as he joined them. “We’re not in a gangster movie, Billy.”

  Billy had the good grace to blush before he continued.

  “Well, sir, I just thought I might keep an eye out, see if I could see anyone fitting the description in that photo Kim identified. Or see any girls looking a bit worse for wear, being helped out of the pub.”

  “I should think that’s most of them, isn’t it?”

  Anderson was still chuckling and watching a crowd of girls totter up the street.

  “Anyway, you haven’t needed me much lately, sir. You’ve mostly been working with the DI here, so I just thought I’d do my bit to help. You’ve both ruined it for me tonight, though, haven’t you? Pushing me out of the door like that, like a common criminal. I left my coat behind as well and it’s freezing out here.”

  Billy shivered dramatically as he was only dressed in a lightweight short sleeved shirt and thin trousers.

  Crane wasn’t about to apologise for Billy feeling left out. Instead he went on the attack.

  “Well, you didn’t do a very good job, because apparently one of the bouncers reckons he saw our suspect coming in tonight.”

  “Oh,” Billy looked from Crane to Anderson and back. “Well, there were so many blokes in there,” Billy pointed with his thumb over his shoulder, “it was difficult to keep tabs on who I’d looked at and who I hadn’t.”

  “Exactly, Billy, that’s why we’re talking to the doormen, they’re the only ones who get a good look at everyone coming in and out,” said Anderson.

  “Mind you, that’s given me an idea,” Crane said. “How good do you look in a dark overcoat and sunglasses Billy?”

  Once Crane and Anderson had taken the details of the bouncer who recognised the lad in their photo and arranged for him to give a statement at Aldershot Police Station the next day, they turned to the subject of the suspect, Lance Corporal Whadi, as they walked back to their car.

  “Well, I think I ought to pull him in on Monday and interview him. Better involve Billy, I suppose, as he seems to be feeling a bit left out,” said Crane.

  “And me,” added Anderson.

  “And me, what? Ah, are you feeling left out too?” Crane said in a high pitched voice.

  “Alright, very funny, ha ha. I meant include me in the interview. Just tell me where and when.”

  “It’s alright, Derek, this is army business.”

  “Don’t give me that bollocks, Crane. We’re either working this one together or we’re not. If we are, I come to the interview. If we’re not, you get no more special access to the investigation. Got it?”

  Looking at Anderson’s red face and clenched fists, Crane realised he’d made an error of judgement. The case was too important for him not to be fully involved. Otherwise, how could he avenge Kim’s attack?

  After a few moments of staring at Anderson, he relaxed and said, “Of course you can come, Derek.”

  But he didn’t apologise. Crane didn’t really do apologies.

  17

  The following day, Crane’s Sunday was interrupted once again. He was none too pleased when Tina answered the telephone and announced that Anderson wanted to speak to him.

  Leaving the table with a last lingering look at his plate piled high with beef, Yorkshire pudding and vegetables, he went through to the hall to take Anderson’s call.

  “This better be good, Derek,” Crane said without preamble.

  “Good afternoon to you as well, Crane.

  “What? Oh, right. Well, what do you want? Why aren’t you relaxing in front of the television full of food and beer?”

  “Because there’s been another murder.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Exactly, Crane, same method as Becca Henderson, raped then strangled.”

  “Are you at the scene now?”

  “Yes, I’ve just arrived.”

  “Give me the address then and I’ll meet you there.”

  After scribbling down the details on the pad kept by the telephone, Crane went back into the kitchen to apologise yet again to Tina for leaving her, for the second Sunday in a row. She pretended it was okay, but Crane could see tears glinting in her eyes as she took his plate from the table and turned away from him.

  “It’s alright, Tom, I understand.”

  She turned on the taps to fill the sink with hot water.

  “I’ll get on with the chores while Daniel is still asleep. I won’t be able to do much else once he wakes up.”

  “Tina, love, don’t be silly. Why don’t you just leave the kitchen until I get back? Finish your dinner first and then grab a rest while you can. I’ll sort this lot out later.”

  “I can’t do that, though, can I, Tom?”

  Tina turned, her eyes blazing in a face as white as her tee shirt.

  “You’re always telling me not to leave a mess, to get a job finished before I start on the next one. Telling me to keep the house tidy and the nursery tidy, so your bloody systems work properly
. God almighty! Why is it always so difficult living with a soldier? You’re all the bloody same, you know. Do you know that’s what the girls talk about at the mother and baby group? That their husbands have such high standards and how hard it is living up to them.”

  Tears were streaming down Tina’s face as she pushed past him, sitting down at the kitchen table with a thump. She wiped her face with a tea towel, but the tears didn’t stop.

  “Tina, I’m so sorry,” Crane sat next to her and held her hand. “I don’t mean to criticise all the time. It’s just so difficult separating the two halves of my life. The army life and our home life. Come on, you know what they say - old habits die hard!”

  Crane forced a laugh, but Tina didn’t respond to his cajoling. But for once Crane didn’t give up.

  “Come on, love, go through to the other room. Put your feet up on the settee and watch an old Agatha Christie film, or something. I’ll sort the kitchen out now and make you a cup of tea before I leave.

  Tina nodded her agreement and Crane watched her make her way to the front room, her white tee shirt and comfy jogging bottoms looking creased and unkempt. Just about the same as Tina, really, he thought. But he didn’t know what to do about it. Looking down at his watch he wondered how fast he could do the washing up, so he could join Anderson at the crime scene.

  ***

  The next morning Crane has to pass on the awful details of yet another rape and murder to his Officer Commanding, Captain Edwards.

  “I don’t bloody believe this, Crane.” This time the Captain wasn’t red with anger, but white with shock. “Another rape and murder and they think it’s a soldier again?”

  “Yes, sir, there’s no reason not to, really. I reckon it’s the same bloke. All the witnesses say he looks like a soldier and Kim said her attacker told her he was a soldier. The only possible lead we’ve got is a lad from A Company who was seen entering The Goose alone on Saturday night by the doormen. He fits the general description and Kim said he looked familiar. He’s,” Crane consulted the file balanced on his lap, “Lance Corporal Yasin Whadi. So I’m going to pull him in later and have a chat with him.”

  “Alright, but be careful. At the moment you’ve no evidence against him,” Edwards leaned over the table, giving Crane a hard stare.