Anderson shivered, “Gives you the creeps doesn’t it? You know, the thought of someone keeping tabs on you without your knowledge.”
“Maybe some nosey neighbour in the street has noticed a young man hanging around? Someone who’s not from the area,” Crane fingered his scar. “Is there any chance of another quick knock around the neighbouring properties?”
“Alright, I’ll ask about descriptions, a dark-haired young man and a fair-haired one.”
“Best keep this quiet from Kim, Derek. No point in freaking her out yet again.”
They then turned to the plan of action for Saturday night. Anderson was happy about the increased RMP on the roads of Aldershot, as Crane expected he would be. Let’s face it, Crane reasoned, at the moment Anderson needed all the help he could get.
They were just agreeing that Billy was to do a stint on the door at The Goose, when a young DC put his head round the door. “Sorry to bother you, Guv, Diane Chambers from the Aldershot Mail is making a right nuisance of herself downstairs,” he said. “She insists on speaking to the DI in charge of the rape cases.”
“Oh, very well, put her in an interview room and I’ll be down in a few minutes.” Turning to Crane he asked, “Do you want to come too?”
“Not bloody likely,” Crane replied. “I’ll just sit here for a few minutes until she’s safely out of the way, then I’ll leave.”
“Coward,” laughed Anderson as he left his office.
While Crane was waiting, he pulled out his mobile and called Billy.
“Have you an update for me on the interviews with those friends of Yasin?”
“Yes, boss, I was just going to call you. One of the lads said he saw Yasin talking to a young white girl in The Goose. Getting very pally they were too.”
22
The night was drawing in as Crane pulled up outside his quarter, reminding him it would soon be November. The wind whipped at his coat as he climbed out of the car and then reached back in for his briefcase. If he got a chance, he wanted to go over the statements Billy had taken from Yasin Whadi’s friends about their night out at The Goose last Saturday. Of course, that all depended on what he found behind the front door tonight. Sometimes Tina was organised, happy and relaxed and at other times she was dishevelled, the chores undone and Daniel very fretful. If it was a bad night he wouldn’t be able to get any work done, he’d have to concentrate on helping Tina.
Crane opened the front door, entering cautiously, not wanting to bang in and shout hello for fear of waking the baby when Tina had only just got him settled. He no sooner put his briefcase on the floor when he heard a wail coming from the kitchen. Shit, a bad night, then, he decided.
Walking into the kitchen, he saw Daniel sat in his bouncer, red faced, fists clenched and back arched. The kitchen looked like a bomb had hit it, as did Tina. Her hair, once scraped back, was now falling in tendrils around her face, her blouse was covered in milk splashes and she was as red in the face as Daniel.
“Oh, Tom, thank goodness,” tears welled in her eyes. “I can’t get him to take the colic drops.”
“Alright, love, I’ll get him.”
Crane gave Tina a quick kiss before scooping the child from his carrier.
“Here, quick!”
Tina passed him a piece of muslin but it was too late. Daniel had thrown up all down the back of his suit jacket. Turning, Crane was relieved to see his wife laugh at the sight of him with a screaming baby over his shoulder and vomited milk all down his jacket and joined in the laughter.
“I’ll take him upstairs and clean the both of us up. Why don’t you sort yourself and the kitchen out and then phone for a take-away.”
“Only if I can choose,” she replied.
“Choose away,” he called as he went up the stairs.
The baby was calmer after burping up some of the trapped wind in his stomach and Crane managed to get him to take the colic drops and then cleaned them both up. He spent some time walking around the house with Daniel on his shoulder; rubbing his back and holding him close to help alleviate the pain of the colic. As he wandered, Tina sorted herself out and phoned for a Chinese take-away.
With the baby asleep at last, they dished up their meal.
“Sorry,” Tina said as she wrapped some Peking duck into a pancake, “for not having everything ready when you got home. I’m not very good at this mothering bit am I?”
“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 before hand, 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.
“Do you know what I’ve been doing all morning, Crane?”
“No, sir,” Crane answered the rhetorical question, winding Edwards up even more.
“Fire fighting, 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 interest
ing.”
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.
Honour Bound: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Page 9
