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

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Oh, Tina, of course you are,” Crane took hold of her hand. “Any baby can get colic and it’s bloody awful for the baby and for the mother. Stop feeling guilty the whole time. You’re doing a great job.”

  Crane was not sure where he got these nuggets of wisdom from, but hey, he thought, they sounded good and would hopefully give Tina some much needed confidence.

  “Yes, but I should be able to cope without you having to chip in. I’m the one at home for Christ’s sake. All I have to do is look after the house and the baby and I can’t even do that properly.”

  She took a gulp of the red wine Crane had just poured for her.

  “Tina, stop it. You don’t have to be superwoman, super mum or super anything else. Daniel’s my son as well. I want to take part in his care as much as I can. I don’t want to be pushed to the sidelines with you being focused on the baby and nothing else.”

  “But -”

  “No, Tina, no buts. I know I can’t be here all the time, but when I am I need to be part of this family, not some outsider looking in.”

  “Thank you, Tom.”

  “There’s nothing to thank me for. Anyway, talking about times when I’m not here, sorry, but I’m going to be out next Saturday night again,” and Crane went on to update Tina on his cases.

  “Poor Kim,” Tina said as she cleared away the food cartons. “Do you think I should visit? I could take the baby. Maybe that would cheer her up, or if nothing else, give her a good laugh at my ineptitude. And it would get me out of the house. What do you think?”

  “I think that’s a lovely idea. I’ll go and ring her mum, see what she says. Oh, by the way,” he remembered, “Padre Symmonds asked about Daniel being christened today. Why don’t you think about it? Perhaps see your mum and together come up with some plans.”

  Grateful that Tina now had other things to think about and look forward to, Crane went to make his phone call.

  23

  Crane threw a file onto Anderson’s desk in disgust, the following Monday morning.

  “I don’t bloody believe it, another victim. This is getting ridiculous, Derek.”

  They had just returned to Aldershot Police Station from the crime scene, a shared flat in North Camp. A student, Jackie Glass, had found the body of her fellow student Madison Denton when she returned to their flat in the early hours of Monday morning, after visiting her parents in High Wycombe for the weekend. According to her statement, Jackie had crept in around 02:00 hours as she didn’t want to wake up her flat mate. However, when she passed Madison’s room the door was open. Peering in, she saw her sprawled on top of her bed. Thinking it strange that Madison would fall asleep half-naked like that, she went in to make sure her friend was alright. But, of course, she wasn’t.

  “Seems to me things are spiralling out of control.”

  Crane watched Anderson run his hand through his hair in a vain attempt to control it. But Anderson could no more control his hair, than they could control the current spate of murders.

  “I don’t see how the rapist gets past us all. Billy was on the door at The Goose, there were extra RMP and police patrolling the streets and not one person seems to have seen him supporting a drunken girl.”

  “That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? How many times in one night do you see a drunken girl being helped home? Talk about blending in. I tell you he’d stand out more if he acted sober. There aren’t many sober young people out there at eleven o’clock on a Saturday night.”

  “Are you doing the usual checks?”

  “Don’t start, Crane. Of course we are. What do you take me for? I’ve got uniformed officers going round Madison’s neighbours. Detective constables are talking to the local taxi firms and office staff are checking CCTV, both from Victoria Street and in the vicinity of the flat in North Camp. What the hell else am I supposed to do?”

  “Alright, sorry,” Crane said as he looked at his watch. “Look, its 10:00hours, let’s get down to Frimley Park Hospital where Major Martin is doing the post mortem. Maybe he’ll have something for us. I bloody well hope he has, before I have to face Captain Edwards.”

  ***

  Major Martin had already started the post mortem, by the time Crane and Anderson arrived.

  “Hello, you two, I was wondering if anyone was going to bother coming this morning.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Crane said, “we’re a bit busy at the moment.”

  “Bloody right you are, Crane. What’s this, the third victim?”

  “The third one killed, sir, fourth victim if you count Kim.”

  “Dear God. Right well, let’s see if we can find anything that might help you,” and the Major returned to his task.

  As Crane watched the Major cut, saw and poke, he saw there were more bruises on Madison than on the other girls. Her blond hair was a tangled mess, some of her finger nails were broken and there were bruises on her arms and the inside of her thighs.

  “It looks like she put up a bit of a fight, Derek. See all those bruises?”

  “Yes and as you saw, her room’s in a state as well. Lamps knocked over, bed a right mess, that sort of thing.”

  “I think she came round a bit at some point during the rape,” observed Major Martin. “There’s definite defensive bruising. I’m hopeful I’ll get some skin from under her fingernails to test for DNA. If there is any, your boy could have scratches on him.”

  “How come the drug didn’t work as well with Madison, Major? Sorry, sir, I’m assuming she was drugged as well.”

  “Looks like she was, Crane, but you know you’ll have to wait for the test results to be definite. Anyway, the trouble is, drugging someone is not an exact science. It depends on several factors. The amount of the drug she was given, the amount of alcohol she consumed beforehand, her normal consumption of alcohol and, of course, her height and weight. Usually the girl is left pliable and unable to remember anything until well into the following day. However, in this case, it looks like he didn’t give her enough to start with.”

  “What do you mean, to start with?”

  “Well, she’s not been strangled as there’s no bruising around her neck and her hyoid bone is intact. At the moment my best guess is that he gave her some more of the drug when she started to come round. But with what she’d consumed earlier, it became a fatal dose. I think she died of an overdose, but again I’ll be in a better position to confirm that when I’ve got the toxicology results back.”

  By now the Major had worked his way down Madison’s body to her pubic hair. As he ran a comb through it he shouted, “Got you!”

  “Sir?”

  The Major was holding something aloft in a pair of tweezers.

  “There’s a black hair nestling in her blond pubic hair. It looks like it has a root on it. We should get DNA from this.”

  “Finally, we’ve got a piece of forensic evidence,” Anderson smiled through his tiredness, his face looking as saggy as a bulldog’s.

  “Yes, but how long before we get the results? If it’s going to be several weeks, he could strike again during that time.”

  “Thank you for your optimism, Crane,” the Major commented. “Don’t worry, I’ll put it through as a rush job, bugger the budget.”

  ***

  Crane slowly climbed the stairs to Captain Edwards’ office. He knew before he got there he was going to get a bollocking. Entering the office, he stood to attention in front of Edwards’ desk, who made him wait for some moments before he lifted his haughty head to stare at Crane.

  “Ah, Crane. Bit of a disaster area this isn’t it? I’ve just been reading this report of yours.”

  Edwards threw the offending piece of paper across his desk towards Crane.

  “Sir.”

  “Another rape and murder.”

  “Sir.”

  “By the same attacker, the one who everyone thought was a soldier.”

  “Sir.” Crane was still standing to attention, not having been given permission to stand at ease, nor sit.
<
br />   “Do you know what I’ve been doing all morning, Crane?”

  “No, sir,” Crane answered the rhetorical question, winding Edwards up even more.

  “Firefighting, Sgt Major, that’s what I’ve been doing. Fielding press calls and calls from the brass. The only thing I could do with both parties was to agree that the lack of progress was totally unacceptable. Do you understand Sgt Major? Totally un-ac-cept-a-ble!” The Captain shouted every syllable.

  Crane wondered if Edwards was going to have a heart attack. His face had gone a funny puce colour. He hoped not; he didn’t fancy giving him mouth to mouth resuscitation.

  “Sir.”

  “Now get out of my bloody office and get some results.”

  “Sir.” Crane took it that he was dismissed and did as he was told, leaving the Captain’s office to return to his own, but via the car park for a cigarette, naturally.

  A Letter to Sgt Major Crane

  Sir,

  I firstly want to apologise. Apologise for my behaviour, for being a coward, for being ashamed of what has happened. I know I should be able to sort it out myself, fend for myself, after all that’s what real men do isn’t it?

  Maybe if I’d stood up to Fitch in the first place, none of this would have happened. I should have just punched him, that first time, but I was too afraid. Afraid of the consequences of hitting someone of a higher rank than myself. That alone tells me I am weak, no longer a man, not as strong or assertive as I should have been.

  But finally I am able to stand up to him. This is my revenge for what he has done to me. Turning him in. Showing everyone what sort of man he is. Shaming him as he has shamed me.

  But all this thinking about it is making me angry. Angry at Fitch. Angry at the army. Even angry at you lot for taking so long to do anything about it. You’re ‘keeping an eye on him’. What fucking good is that? You need to arrest him, question him do something – anything!

  24

  Crane entered the interview room, closing the door behind him with exaggerated care, before turning to face the young man standing to attention at the table. DI Anderson had already taken his place opposite Yasin Whadi.

  Standing by the door and staring at Whadi, Crane saw the young man, dressed in his fatigues, straining to hold his position. Beads of sweat were popping up on his forehead, the sinews in his neck straining and his fists clenched by his side. Another sure sign of guilt, Crane thought.

  “At ease, Lance Corporal,” Crane barked.

  Some of the tension drained away as Whadi relaxed into the at ease position. Legs opens and arms behind his back.

  “You may sit, Lance Corporal.”

  As the Lance Corporal fell into his chair he started fiddling, firstly with his tunic, then his hair and finally his fingers.

  Throughout, Anderson had been looking on, a wry smile of amusement on his face. “After all that palaver, are we ready, Crane?”

  Scowling at Anderson, Crane sat next to him, taking some moments to shrug off his jacket and place it over the back of the chair, before he spoke.

  “Right, Lance Corporal. I take it you know why you’re here again?”

  “No, sir, not really. Has it something to do with me going to The Goose?”

  “Damn right it has,” Crane growled.

  Then changing tack, he leaned back in his chair.

  “By the way, your alibi checks out,” he said and indicated the file he’d put in front of him on the table.

  Yasin nodded, blinking rapidly and his shoulders drooped with relief.

  “But one of your friends said something very interesting.”

  Crane opened the file, pulled out a statement, looking first at the paper and then at Whadi.

  “He did, sir?”

  Crane saw Whadi’s eye widen at that piece of information.

  “Yes,” Anderson started a double act with Crane. “We understand you were seen chatting to a young blond-haired girl that night.”

  “Was I, sir?” Yasin didn’t seem sure who he was answering, so his head swivelled from Anderson to Crane and back.

  “Yes. And a young blond-haired woman was found dead the day after in her bedsit,” continued Anderson.

  Whadi’s mouth remained firmly closed.

  “Were you in The Goose this past Saturday, Lance Corporal?” asked Crane.

  “Well, um, I’m not sure, sir,” a smile played at the corners of the young man’s mouth.

  “Why not?”

  “Um, drink. I had quite a bit to drink, trying to blot out all this business,” Whadi nodded his head at the two men interviewing him.

  “So you were drinking in Aldershot on Saturday night, then?”

  “I guess.”

  “Interesting that, wouldn’t you say, Inspector?” Crane looked at Anderson.

  “Very, Sgt Major, considering another young blond girl was raped and murdered on Saturday night.”

  “And a black hair was found on her body,” said Crane. “What do you make of that, Lance Corporal?”

  Whadi didn’t answer, simply stared at them.

  “You have dark hair don’t you Whadi?” Crane pushed.

  The young man merely nodded.

  “I’m sure forensic tests will confirm that it’s one of yours.”

  Crane spoke with authority, sure in his deduction, even though any DNA test results wouldn’t be available for some time.

  “That’s not possible!” Whadi jumped to his feet in rage.

  “Lance Corporal, remember who you’re talking to,” Crane snarled, forcing Whadi to sit down on his chair. “If it’s not possible, then why do we have witnesses saying they saw you chatting up the victim?” Crane was once again stretching the facts.

  “They must be wrong, sir,” Whadi hissed.

  “Really?” Crane asked. “Then why are there unsolved rape cases in two towns near to where you were previously posted?”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, sir,” Whadi said shaking his head.

  “Well, if you’re as innocent as you say you are, then you’ll let me have a DNA sample, won’t you, Lance Corporal?”

  Yasin stared at Crane for a moment and then nodded his agreement.

  Crane stood and went over to the door. Opening it, he called though to the office for Staff Sgt Jones. As Jones arrived Crane looked down at the young man with disgust and said, “Lance Corporal Yasin Whadi here has agreed to a DNA test, Staff Sgt. Would you do the honours please? When you’re done, the Lance Corporal is free to return to his Unit.”

  As the young man was led away, Anderson watched in silence. Once Whadi and Jones were out of the room he said, “So that’s how you do things in the army is it, Crane? You’ve not got any evidence, really, you know. That was all bluff and bluster.”

  “That may be so, Derek, but I’m going for a confession. I’ll get the forensic evidence to back it up later on.”

  As Crane turned to leave, Billy put his head round the door.

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir. You and the DI are wanted round at Kim’s mums. Yet another incident, I’m afraid.”

  ***

  Crane screeched to a halt outside the house, yanking on the hand brake and flinging himself out of the car. Anderson got out of the other side at a more leisurely pace. As Crane hurried through the garden gate, the front door of the house was opened, much to Crane’s surprise, by Captain Symmonds.

  “Sir, I understand something’s happened. Is Kim alright?” Crane tried to peer around the Padre.

  “Well, Crane, I suppose she’s alright, under the circumstances. At the moment she’s upstairs asleep. I made her take one of the tablets the doctor left last time.”

  “Jesus Christ, oh sorry, sir,” Crane mumbled an apology for his blasphemy. “What happened?”

  “Come into the front room.”

  The Padre turned and led the way. Crane noted the Captain was out of uniform and without his dog collar. He must have wanted to project a less threatening figure to Kim, in the hope she would o
pen up to him, Crane deduced.

  As Crane and Anderson filed into the room, they could see broken glass lying on the floor, mingling with the carpet fibres, glistening in the sunlight streaming through the big hole in the bay window. A brick lay in the centre of the mess, a splash of terracotta against the beige carpet. On the floor by the Padre’s feet was a sheet of white crumpled paper.

  “I called round to see Kim, as you suggested, Crane,” the Padre explained. “She got up from the chair to go and make us a cup of tea, when the pane of glass just, just exploded.” Captain Symmonds shook his head. “Luckily we were both too far away for the glass to cause us any injury. But then Kim saw this piece of paper,” Symmonds indicated it with his head. “She picked it up, looked at it in horror and then started screaming. I couldn’t get her to stop, so her mother gave her one of those tablets. What a shock, Crane. I don’t know, how come whenever I work with you, I end up being put in danger?” The Padre tried a lame attempt at humour; a reference to his undercover work with the local churches a few months ago.

  “Who’s handled the note, Padre?”.

  “Oh, only Kim. She dropped it on the floor here and I haven’t touched it. I guessed it could be evidence. I don’t know what it says.”

  “Thank you, sir, it was the right thing to do.”

  Anderson snapped on latex gloves, before bending to pick up the offending piece of paper with one hand. With the other he fumbled to get a plastic cover out of his pocket. As he slipped the note inside it, all three men peered at the large scrawling handwriting.

  Where were you on Saturday? I waited but you didn’t come.

  Why are you doing this?

  This is your last chance!

  Meet me next week or I’ll come and find you.

  That’s a promise.

  25

  As Crane inserted the key into his front door, the shoulders he had been trying to keep up all day, sagged. He hated what was happening to Kim. He felt so responsible. She was one of his team and he was doing a bloody awful job of keeping her safe. He’d got to come up with something to find the bastard who was doing this. Perhaps his brain would work a bit better after some food and a drink.