Keeping up the pretence of a casual meeting between friends, Crane lent forward and lifted his coffee to his lips and managed to take a sip of the weak cup of mostly hot water without grimacing. He wondered if Turner was going to be brave enough to go through with this as at the words ‘deal with it’, what little colour he had in his face, drained away.
“We only want to help, Seb,” Billy said, playing with his own plastic beaker. “Don’t let the bastard get away with it,” he hissed. “Try and fight back.”
Billy’s words had such an impact that Turner’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down several times before he crushed his empty drinks beaker with more force than necessary, stood and hurried out of the cafeteria.
Taking their time, Crane and Billy cleared the table and left the cafe, not saying anything until they were standing by Crane’s car.
“That went well then,” said Crane.
A Letter to Sgt Major Crane
Sir,
I wanted to thank you for taking the time to come and meet me yesterday. I feel ashamed now that I didn’t even have the decency to speak to you. Not one word. Instead I turned tail and ran way.
I’ve been thinking about that a lot, my running away. Not just physically from you, but running away from my problems, not being able to turn and face them. Turn and face the bastard who has ruined my life.
It’s as though I’m in limbo. Torn in two. Half man, half wimp. Half soldier, half coward. I’m just so bloody confused and so ashamed.
I think I need to be more like ‘the mouse who roared’. You know the kid’s book where a mouse is so timid and frightened of everyone. But he discovers that he can roar like a lion and tricks everyone into thinking he is this great big angry beast that all the animals are frightened of. An outward persona of the King of the Jungle, but inside, still a small trembling mouse.
So give me just a bit more time then I’ll slip on my lion’s costume and be ready. Ready to roar at the top of my voice, ready to make the ground shake under my violator’s feet, ready to see him quake in fear when he meets me face to face in court.
In time.
12
Crane suddenly found the red flock wallpaper in Kim’s parents’ house rather interesting. As he minutely examined the repeat pattern, Kim’s sobs subsided and he could hear her trying to control her breathing, every now and then hitching over a held back sob.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said.
Crane looked at her, sitting on the black settee, eyes, nose and mouth red and swollen from her emotional outburst, as though garish, outlandish makeup had been applied with a less than steady hand. A WPC was sitting next to her, holding a box of tissues. Crane and Anderson were sitting in separate armchairs, facing Kim.
“Sorry? Whatever for, Kim?” he asked.
“For all of this,” she spread her arms, palms upward. “I should be at the Garrison, on duty, running the office for you and Billy, not sat here snivelling on the settee. It’s my fault. Everything’s my fault.”
Crane’s mouth opened and then closed again. He just didn’t have the words, didn’t know what to say to this fine young soldier who was falling apart in front of him.
Derek Anderson stepped in and saved him, leaning forward and saying, “Of course it’s not your fault, Kim. It’s the fault of that, that, monster,” Anderson spat out the last word. “Look, if you think you can manage it, the best way to help us is by trying to remember what he looked like. We need a description. We’ve got nothing.”
“I’ll tell you what,” the WPC said, “if I stay here and hold your hand, could you just close your eyes and think back to Saturday night.”
“Okay, I’ll try,”
Kim grabbed the WPC’s hand, her breathing becoming slower as her body went limp and she relaxed back against the cushions.
“What’s the first thing you remember?” the WPC asked.
“Um, being in The Goose.”
“What was it like in there?”
“Busy, hot, noisy.”
“Can you remember being approached by him?”
Crane noticed Kim flinch, but then she took a deep breath and continued.
“Um, yes, I noticed him up at the bar. He caught my eye but I turned and looked at one of the girls at my table. I wasn’t really interested in finding a boyfriend, so I ignored him. When I looked back at the bar, he’d gone. But then he seemed to come out of nowhere and the next thing I knew he was sitting next to me.”
“That’s really good, Kim. Can you describe him?”
But Kim appeared not to have heard the question. In fact she seemed not to be hearing or seeing anything. Nothing here in the room at least. Crane watched in horror as she pressed back into the settee, her legs scrabbling at the floor. Her hand pulled free from the WPC and she started to beat the air in front of her, fighting an invisible opponent.
“What the hell!” Crane jumped to his feet. “What’s wrong with her?” he demanded.
“I think she’s having a flashback, sir. We’ll just have to wait until she comes out of it.”
Just as the WPC finished speaking, Kim screamed, arching her back, then collapsed back onto the settee, subsiding into sobs.
“It’s alright, Kim, shush,” the WPC crooned, smoothing down Kim’s hair, in an effort to calm her down.
“Water, sir?” The WPC asked Crane.
“No thanks,” he said. “Oh, you mean get some for Kim?” Crane moved towards the kitchen as the WPC nodded.
When he returned, with his dignity more or less intact after that blunder, Kim had pulled her legs up onto the settee and was curled into the policewoman’s side. She was talking softly to her. Crane strained to hear, staying where he was, not wanting to break the bond forming between the two women.
“Dark, I remember dark.”
“Hair or skin?” asked the WPC.
“His skin. He wasn’t black, just tanned if you like, foreign sort of, not pale white anyway.”
“What about his hair?”
“It, it, was also dark.”
“What about a beard?”
Kim shook her head in denial.
“Did he have a goatee? How about those razor sharp lines some of the lads sport, you know a bit like the celebrities have.”
“No, no facial hair. Clean shaven.”
“You’re doing really well, Kim. Can you remember if he had any tattoos or marks on his hands or arms?” The WPC was still talking softly, still holding Kim close to her.
“No - I can’t remember any more. No more questions, please. I just want to be left alone now. Sorry,” Kim sniffed back a sob.
“No need to be sorry, Kim. It’s not your fault. You might remember more in time. Here, take this water,” Crane said and held out the glass to her.
But Kim didn’t reach for the water, looking instead at the WPC in horror. “You mean I’m going to have more of those, those, what did you call them, flashbacks?”
“Probably, maybe, who knows? Everyone is different. Everyone’s healing process is different. I know it’s painful and horrific, but if you do have any more and remember anything else, please let us know.”
Kim mutely looked at the WPC, her eyes filling with tears once again, but she managed a small nod.
Crane cleared his throat and handed the WPC the glass of water he was still holding, as he didn’t know what else to do with it. He was very glad she was there. He’d have made a right mess of it without her help. This wasn’t the same as interviewing angry squaddies, or even jumped up officers. This was something completely outside of his experience, leaving him feeling bewildered and exhausted. He hoped he wouldn’t have to go through it again in the future with any more girls. He’d better make sure of that - by catching the bastard.
13
Crane’s eyes were hurting, so he rubbed them and once again returned to the computer print out in front of him.
“I see what you mean, Billy. This is a complete bloody nightmare. There are still hundreds of either blond-h
aired or dark-haired soldiers off duty the previous two Saturdays.”
Billy stood and moved away from his place opposite Crane at the conference table. They had moved from Crane’s office so they had room to spread out the pieces of paper from the computer searches.
“Sorry, boss, even though I changed the search parameters as you suggested, there are still too many lads on the list.”
Crane also stood and prowled, moving over to the two incident boards, one for the rape and murder of Becca Henderson and one for Kim’s rape. Both boards had pictures of the victims on, but no photos of possible perpetrators. Not even any names that needed investigating.
“This is pointless. I’m going to have to speak to DI Anderson, see if he’s got anything more that may help us. Stop going through these, Billy, it’s a waste of time. Let’s look at the records for the blokes in Private Turner’s Company. We may as well concentrate on his rape case for now. Put this lot away,” Crane gestured to the table, “and get out the others, while I have a ciggie.”
Banging his way out of the office, Crane paced around the car park, drawing deeply on his cigarette. This should be his office. He did his best thinking in the car park, at times accompanied by Staff Sergeant Jones. Today, in early October, the weather was surprisingly calm. The whole of the summer had been dominated by rains and floods, so fine, sunny, autumn days were a bonus.
Over the weekend, because of the good weather, he and Tina had taken Daniel out for walks in his pushchair. Crane was glad to get away from the claustrophobic house that seemed to be totally focused on the baby. Also Crane’s predilection for tidiness was putting Tina under some strain. He wished she’d be more diligent about putting things away once they had been used. She still left the nursery in a bloody mess, despite his system, shelves and cupboards. If he had to tidy the place up one more time, he thought he’d scream.
He pulled out his mobile, going to the camera function and looking at the images he had of Daniel. As he smiled at the antics of his young son, he acknowledged that things were gradually getting better at home. Thank God for Jean Anderson. Tina was keeping up the bottle routine with Daniel and it had had the calming effect Crane was hoping for. Tina was less tired, Daniel wasn’t hungry and as a result Crane was happier.
Realising that none of this introspection was helping with the two rape cases on his books, Crane threw away the butt of his cigarette and went to see what Billy had for him.
***
Billy was just finishing printing off the records as Crane walked back in to the office, so he collected a cup of coffee and then returned to the conference table. As he sat down, Billy walked up and plonked down a small stack of paper on the table.
“This looks a bit more manageable.”
“Yes, sir. These are the records of all corporals and lance corporals in A Company.”
“Right then, let’s get started.”
As they reviewed the records, Crane was particularly looking for anyone that had previous incidents of anger, violence or bullying. He thought that just maybe this rape was being perpetrated by a hot head, someone who loved throwing his weight around and who enjoyed controlling the men under his command. If that was the case, there should be hints about it from any brushes with the Military Police, or alluded to in Confidential Reports.
As he sorted through the papers, Crane realised there was a big mix of ethnic backgrounds in the lads, no doubt part of the army recruitment campaigns, ensuring they met the Government targets on open recruitment. Also, officers and sergeants in each company would have paid particular mind to ethnicity when promoting through the ranks. Making sure everyone had the same promotional opportunities, leaving no room for any possible racial or victimisation cases.
Studying the photographs, Crane found there were a number of them who had dark hair and darkish skin. Some of Pakistani or Indian descent, others clearly coming from mixed marriages and others who only had a hint of their original ethnicity, which had been watered down with each generation. He put these to one side.
“Billy,” he said, lifting his head from the records.
“Boss?”
“Sort through your pile of records and pull out the ones who are dark-haired and darker skinned, would you?”
“Okay, boss, but why?”
“Because Kim said she thought her attacker had olive sort of skin, so just get me the records.”
Billy shuffled papers for a few minutes, while Crane tapped his pen on the table and then fingered his scar.
“Here you are, sir,” Billy handed the records over.
“About time,” Crane grumbled and spread the three records from Billy across his side of the table, adding them to the five from his pile. Studying the pictures closely he immediately discarded four of them.
Handing the remainder to Billy he said, “Look up these four on the computer. See if any of them were off-duty last Saturday night.”
“Yes, boss.”
Billy looked at Crane as if to say something else but Crane’s glare stopped him and he walked across the office to his desk. After a few clicks and clacks and ‘bloody hell’s’ Billy was back.
“Right, sir. These two were off-duty on Saturday night, Lance Corporals Whadi and Johnson.” He handed the two records to Crane. “Lance Corporal Hicks was on exercise,” Billy continued, then stopped speaking, no doubt realising he was talking to Crane’s back.
“Sir?”
“I’ll be with DI Anderson if anyone wants me,” Crane called over his shoulder as he left the SIB office clutching the two files.
***
“So, what do you think, Derek?”
Crane was pacing up and down Anderson’s office in Aldershot Police Station. Or more like going round in circles. There was hardly any clear floor space in the office, as papers, files and books littered Anderson’s desk, cabinets and visitor chairs.
“It’s a bit bloody tenuous, Crane. Total speculation, that’s what I think.”
“Well, no it isn’t, not really, Derek.” Crane was stung by Anderson’s words. “If you think about it, Kim said she was chatted up by a soldier, right?”
“Right.”
“And he had dark hair and darkish skin.”
“Right again.”
“So, it makes sense to look at dark-haired, dark-skinned soldiers that were off-duty on Saturday night.”
“I know that, Crane, but you pulled hundreds of dark-haired blokes off the computer. You’ve just told me that yourself. What makes these two soldiers any different? Why do they stand out? Just because you weeded them out whilst investigating another rape case, doesn’t mean to say they had anything to do with Kim’s attack. As I said, it’s pure speculation.”
“Alright, Derek, but isn’t that what we do at the start of a case, speculate? Anyway, we’ve got nothing else to go on, so we may as well at least talk to Kim and show her the photos. I am using some filters, you know. There were a number of lads who were clearly too dark-skinned to fit the frame and one or two even had designer stubble, for Christ’s sake. At least I’ve picked the only two who match her description.”
“Oh, very well, I might as well give in,” Anderson groaned. “If I don’t, you’ll not leave it alone. I know you too well.” As he reached for the telephone on his desk he said, “Let me ring the WPC, see if she’s free and if she is we’ll all go over and see Kim. I’m only doing this interview with someone there who can give Kim emotional support, as showing her photographs of possible suspects could send her over the edge again. As it did the last time we asked her some questions.”
14
To Crane’s disappointment Kim was pretty much in the same state as she was a few days ago. Her eyes were sad and she was still wearing clothes that covered her from head to foot. Her long blond hair was hanging dull and lifeless around her shoulders. The WPC was talking quietly to her, asking her how she was feeling today, whispering words of encouragement, sympathy and support.
Crane was still standing and took a mome
nt to look around Kim’s family home. The home she had been forced to return to, because she felt her own flat had been contaminated. Crane doubted she would ever return to it, which was a shame as it was a lovely property that Kim had made her own. Perhaps she would move onto the Garrison when she felt stronger, he thought, but for now she was staying with her parents. Warm and comforting were words that sprung to mind to describe their home. The old furniture was glowing, there was what appeared to be a television cabinet in the corner and the room was topped off with pretty matching curtains and cushions. Dotted around were several pictures of Kim from her army career. The three that caught Crane’s eyes were her passing out parade, Kim in the middle of a laughing crowd of fellow soldiers and Kim displaying her sergeant’s stripes with pride.
He dragged his eyes from the photos and looked at the WPC, raising his eyebrows, wanting to know if they could get on with it. She nodded her agreement to Crane’s unspoken question and stood up so that Crane and Anderson could move to either side of Kim on the settee.
“We just want you to look at some photos, please, Kim,” said Anderson.
Kim turned to look, not at Anderson, but at Crane and he saw the fear in her eyes.
“Only if you’re up to it,” Crane said, not wanting to put pressure on Kim, but at the same time not really meaning it, as he needed to see her reaction to the photos.
“It’s alright, sir, I don’t mind,” she replied, but she couldn’t keep eye contact with either man for long and soon dropped her gaze to her lap.
Honour Bound: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Page 5
