Turning his attention away from the on-going interview, Derek said to Saunders, “What about the other three girls? Any chance of justice for them?”
“Well, it doesn’t look as though we’ve any evidence to tie him to those murders, so whilst we’re convinced he killed them, we can’t arrest him for them.”
“So it’s a case of two out of five isn’t bad?”
“Something like that, Derek, but he won’t be seeing anything of the outside world until the day he dies and he’ll only leave prison in his coffin. So at least they’ll get poetic justice. Which is better than no justice at all.”
61
…Zane had been left alone at last. He looked around the impersonal space of the police cell. Plastic coated walls, a CCTV camera in the corner, a moulded plastic bed and a door. Not much to hold his attention. He swung his feet off the floor and laid down on the hard surface, linking his hands behind his head. It looked like all he would have to look forward to for the rest of his life was reliving his memories. Who’d have thought the scientists could come up with a way to make such a detailed analysis of DNA? And who’d have thought the police would pay up for it?
Still, he’d had a good run. He smiled to himself at the thought of his encounters at the Mayfair Club. He also smiled at the memory of his cat and mouse games with Tyler. But at the thought of his twin brother, Zane’s good thoughts threatened to fly right out of his head, to be replaced by the dark envy he harboured against his brother.
But the one person he hated above all others, of course, was his mother.
Things had been going so well with her. He’d been happy to pay for her services, he earned enough and the experience was worth every penny. Nothing needed to change, but she’d had other ideas.
That last afternoon she’d told him it was to be their last encounter. When he’d pressed her for information, she’d told him she no longer needed to earn money that way. He’d been about to congratulate her on getting more modelling work, but the words had died on his lips when she’d confessed to having fallen in love. She was leaving the Major, modelling and her sexual exploits and running away with the new man in her life. Her face had lit up at the thought of her new gigolo and her eyes had shone as they’d never done for him.
That’s was when, for the first time in his life, he’d begged. Begged her to go away with him instead, for wasn’t he the one who worshiped and adored her? Wasn’t he the one who couldn’t bear to be apart from her and had found her again after that pig of her husband had kept her from him. He should be the love of her life, he, Zane, no one else. If he couldn’t have her, then no one else would either.
He’d moved quickly and put her hands through the loops of plastic already placed on the bed posts. One of their favourite sexual games was to have Janey tied up, lying underneath him, helpless, ready to be ravished. Once she was in his power he’d said, “You can’t leave me. Don’t you realise who I really am?”
She’d shaken her head in confusion. But when he’d told her he was her long lost son, instead of arching her body to receive him, she’d begun to struggle.
His hands had found their way to her throat as she’d taunted him. “Get off me you filthy bastard, you’re no son of mine, how could you be? Screwing your mother? What sort of sick, twisted individual are you?”
“I’m what you made me, you bitch,” he said, slapping her face. “You left me. Abandoned me.”
“It’s a good thing I did if this is what you’ve turned out to be….”
Those were the last words she’d ever spoken. His hands had tightened around her neck until she was unconscious, but she couldn’t be allowed to die straight away. He’d yet to take his revenge. He’d ripped a lamp from the side of the bed and begun to beat her body with it. Her perfect skin split and bled, bruises appeared on her arms, torso and legs and then, with one final cry, he smashed the lamp into her head.
Spent, he’d climbed off her inert body. After he’d untied her hands and feet, he wiped down the apartment as best he could, using cleaning fluid and a cloth he’d found in the kitchen.
With one last look at what he’d thought was her dead body he’d walked out.
62
The cold lager slid down Crane’s throat and he put down his glass with a sigh of appreciation and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Thanks, Derek, did I ever need that.”
Anderson smiled, “I think we all did.”
“So, now you’ve told us about the arrest of Zane,” Draper turned from Anderson to Crane, “how did it go with Tyler Wells?”
Crane glanced around the pub before speaking. There was the usual early evening crowd in the Goose, most of them strung out around the long bar. He, Anderson and Draper were sat towards the back of the large room. No one was sitting near them, which was why they’d chosen that table, for privacy.
Crane said, “He led us into the kitchen, confused and to be honest more than a little frightened by our visit, which you’d expect. Once I explained about the results of the extended DNA testing and confirmed that we’d arrested and charged Zane, he just crumpled. He’d been leaning against the wall and he literally slid down it, put his arms around his knees and sobbed with relief.”
“He’d been under tremendous pressure,” said Draper. “Everyone had doubted him for months. Does he have any plans for the future?”
“Well, just then, Penny came into the kitchen and after she’d comforted her husband and helped him into a chair, she said that as it was all over they’d be moving.”
“Where are they going?”
“She said anywhere that isn’t obsessed with the case. But they thought that somewhere like the Lake District sounded good. It would take some while before Tyler was recovered enough to get a job, after his mental breakdown following the confrontation with his brother, and the constant publicity and intrusive presence of the press wasn’t helping him. They’re desperate for a fresh start.”
“What about the Major?” Anderson asked Draper.
“When he’d finished blustering and shouting at me for long enough to hear me out, I got pretty much the same emotional reaction as Crane did. He sagged against the table, put his head in his hands and sobbed.”
“What do you think will become of him?”
“I think his army career is finished. His father was telling me that they’re talking about Clive going back home and learning how to run the family estate from his brother. They’ve been talking about it apparently and Quentin has some good ideas about increasing the production of the farmland and his father was thinking about opening the house to the public. To be honest, I think that’s for the best, the Major’s reputation within the army is too tarnished. I don’t think he’d ever recover from the scandal, as least not as far as the army are concerned.”
“This case has wreaked havoc on all their lives,” Crane mused. “Families have been decimated. Mrs Carlton has lost her daughter and found her twin grandsons, only to find out that one of them is a serial killer and the other doesn’t want anything to do with her. Major Cunningham has lost his wife and ruined his career and Tyler Wells has been scarred for life, even though he was found to be innocent.”
“People never fail to astound me,” said Anderson. “Even after all my years on the force it seems I can still be surprised. The ramifications of this case are pretty damn wide reaching. Families ruined, an army career ruined, a career in the City ruined and five women dead.”
“It just shows,” said Crane, “how the vagaries of the human psyche can come back to haunt you. A mistake over 30 years ago, ended up with Janey losing her life and ruining the lives of countless others.” He fell silent.
“Jesus Christ,” said Draper. “I think we’re getting too maudlin here. We’re supposed to be celebrating the successful conclusion of the case, not getting depressed by people who seem to have no control over their impulses. So,” he said draining his beer glass and holding it up. “Anyone want another?”
&n
bsp; ***
By Wendy Cartmell
Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers:
Steps to Heaven
40 Days 40 Nights
Honour Bound
Cordon of Lies
Hijack
Regenerate
Glass Cutter
Solid Proof
A Soldier’s Honour (Omnibus Edition Books 1-3)
Emma Harrison Mysteries:
Past Judgement
Mortal Judgement
Joint Judgement
Crane and Anderson crime thrillers:
Death Rites
Death Elements
http://author.to/WendyCartmell
From Wendy
I do hope you’ve enjoyed Solid Proof. If so, perhaps you would be kind enough to post a review on Amazon. Reviews really do make all the difference to authors and it is great to get feedback from you, the reader. Just one or two sentences would be fine.
If you haven’t read one of my novels before, you may be interested in the other Sgt Major Crane books, following Tom Crane and DI Anderson as they take on the worst crimes committed in and around Aldershot Garrison. At the time of writing there are eight Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers.
Past Judgment, Mortal Judgment and Joint Judgement are a new series. It is a spin-off from the Sgt Major Crane novels and features Emma Harrison from Hijack and Sgt Billy Williams of the Special Investigations Branch of the Royal Military Police.
Crane and Anderson crime thrillers, follow Crane’s latest investigations. At the moment there are two books, Death Rites and Death Elements.
All my books are available on Amazon:
http://author.to/WendyCartmell
You can keep in touch through my website.
http://www.wendycartmell.webs.com
I’m also on Twitter @wendycartmell
and can be contacted directly by email:
[email protected]
Happy reading until the next time...
Oh, and if you haven’t read the new Emma Harrison series, here’s a sample of Past Judgement.
Joint Judgement
Author Note
Her Majesty’s Young Offenders Institute (HMYOI) in Reading is no longer a working institute. However, the building is still there and plans are being considered by Reading Council to turn it into a hotel and leisure complex.
The prison has a long and rich history and its most notable prisoner was Oscar Wilde, who wrote the Ballad of Reading Goal, based on his incarceration there.
I worked as a teacher in the Education Department at Reading HMYOI, teaching a range of subjects including English, Maths, Computer Skills, Art and, rather badly, Cookery. I loved my time at Reading and also at other nearby prisons, where I did supply teaching. My family has experience in prison education. My father was Deputy Chief Education Officer for Prisons and Borstals in England and Wales in the 1970’s and 1980’s and my mother taught at Reading Prison and Broadmoor. Both had the dubious pleasure of meeting some of Britain’s most notorious prisoners.
Whilst the Judgment series may draw on our experiences from time to time, all characters and events are fictitious. Although I try and be true to policies and procedures, this is a work of fiction. Therefore, all mistakes are my own.
1
Present day...
The prison transport vehicle Leroy was expected to climb into loomed into view. It was very large and very white and would carry him away from Reading Young Offenders Institute. He would leave behind the security of all things known: his well-practiced and comfortable routine; his cell mate, John; his courses in the Education Block and, of course, Emma, or rather Miss Harrison. He shrank back, fearful, unwilling to get into the claustrophobic cell he would be locked in. He turned slightly as if to run away, but the prison escort officer he was handcuffed to wasn’t having any of it.
‘Come on, lad. Leroy isn’t it? In you go, it’s not that bad when you get in there.’
Leroy had to disagree with that one and wondered if the escort had ever had to travel in one of those ‘cells’ for any length of time.
‘But...’
‘No buts, in you go,’ and Leroy took one last deep breath of fresh air before he and his three travelling companions were pushed and pulled into the vehicle as though they were no more than cattle being herded into a milking shed or an abattoir. As Leroy climbed the two steps into the transport, he was told to stop opposite the second cubicle on his left. When he was told to get in it, Leroy looked at the escort then at the cubicle and wondered how the hell he was supposed to do that. There was very little room in the narrow space to even turn around, especially for someone as tall and gangly as he was. Standing at over six foot, but without the bulk and muscle to make him intimidating, Leroy had taken to stooping over slightly. A posture that screamed leave me alone, I’m trying to make myself small so as not to be noticed.
‘Back in, then I’ll close the door and you can hold out your hands through the space in the bars,’ the exasperated officer told him. ‘Then I’ll un-cuff you and you can turn and sit down.’
Leroy managed to do as he was told and then the door of his cell was banged shut and locked. Breathing deeply to try and stop the feeling of claustrophobia flooding through his body, he looked out of the window, glad for the small glimpse of the world outside. Focusing on the small pane of glass, he tried to block out the noises of the back door of the vehicle being slammed and locked and then the cab doors being opened and closed. As the rumble of the diesel engine started its soundtrack to their journey, the van left Reading HMYOI, rumbling along the urban roads on its way to the motorway.
As they started their creaky, bumpy journey, Leroy’s fellow prisoners made their feelings known at the top of their voices. From abuse hurled at the escort officers and each other, to sexual references tossed in the direction of any woman unlucky enough to be passing by. They seemed to have an opinion on everything and everyone. Leroy added an extra feeling on top of his claustrophobia, that of fear. He was straight out scared of his fellow travellers. He hoped this noise and abuse wasn’t a sign of things to come at Dartmoor Prison. So far the whole experience wasn’t a good start to his new life in a new prison. He shrunk away from the noise, trying to blot it out, pushing back into the seat and turning slightly, trying to keep his back to the other prisoners.
Once on the motorway, the gentle rumble of tyres on asphalt calmed Leroy and he was able to relax a little and inspect his surroundings. Not that it took very long. He was sat on a grey plastic seat in a space smaller than an old fashioned telephone box, but a Dr Who Tardis this was not, it wasn’t larger on the inside than it seemed on the outside. White plastic was everywhere, gouged with irreverent messages from previous occupants. There was nothing to read, nothing to occupy his mind and he sunk into a daze. He became drowsy and must have dozed off, for he was woken by a dramatic clap of thunder.
The view outside his aircraft-type window was obscured by dark heavy clouds. They looked full of rain they appeared determined to dump on the road. He watched with mounting fascination as the big fat heavy rain drops began to fall. One, two, four, eight, sixteen... until they fell so fast Leroy couldn’t count them anymore. The drops fell faster and harder, bouncing ankle high off the ground, their rapid tattoo drilling into his brain. A tattoo that became louder as the raindrops turned into hailstones, some as large as golf balls. They carpeted the road, turning it into a white, icy, highway to hell.
The van, unable to find purchase on the road, began to veer first one way and then the other and Leroy, with nothing to hold onto, put his arms out and placed his hands palm up on each wall. Wet with sweat, they simply slid off the plastic. As the van swerved, Leroy went with it, unable to do anything but ride the storm. He heard tyres squeal as the van slewed sideways, then with a bang, the van hit an unseen object and fell over, sliding along the road as though it were still on its wheels, not on its side. Leroy was thrown out of his seat and ended up lying, face down on the side wall that ha
d suddenly become the floor.
After several seconds of screeching metal grinding against the road and Leroy feeling like he was on fairground ride, the transport ground to a halt. For a moment all was still. The kind of pregnant pause found inside the eye of a tornado. The brief period of calm, before the world descended into chaos once again. The other prisoners all began shouting at once; cursing the weather, the officers and the van. But underneath their yells Leroy could hear something else. He tuned out the yelling from his fellow prisoners as best he could and concentrated on the underlying sound. He recognised it as water, that was gushing and gurgling along. That’s when Leroy realised the van must have fallen into a river. His fears were confirmed when he felt his trousers getting wet. Water was permeating the prison van, seeking out and finding the smallest of gaps, unchecked. Leroy and his fellow prisoners couldn’t get away. The cubicles, so small and narrow, meant they were unable to stand. The doors were locked so they were unable to escape, there was no sign of the escorts and the water was rising.
2
Three years earlier...
Leroy Carter was fed up, fed up with being him, nothing more than a thin, reedy, black kid, too tall for his trousers, with feet too big for his trainers. His mother had thrown him out of the house, again, telling him to get out from under her feet. She’d said that he was a useless lump of good for nothing, as she’d pushed him out of the door. Shouting at his retreating back she’d yelled that he’d better get a job, or else. Then she’d slammed the door shut with such force that one of the numbers fell off it, joining the peeling paint covering the front step, that reminded Leroy of fallen ash from his mother’s cigarettes.
Solid Proof: A dark, disturbing, detective mystery (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Book 8) Page 19
