Honour Bound: A Sgt Major Crane Novel

by Wendy Cartmell

  As a result, he’d talked to friends and family and now had a rota of helpers for Tina. He looked at the timetable on his desk, which he’d hastily sketched out. He’d managed to elicit help from Tina’s mum Carol, Derek Anderson’s wife Jean, a couple of the mums in his street and even Kim, who wanted to be involved to take her mind off her own problems.

  Crane had to admit his own failings in this area. He just didn’t do emotion. He suppressed his emotions so much whilst on duty, that he found it difficult to be ‘a civvy’ when around the family. Since Daniel had been born he had tried harder than ever and acknowledged he loved Tina and Daniel deeply. He’d fight to the death for them, equalling his sense of duty and commitment to the army. But he just didn’t know what to say to Tina when she fell apart, when she wanted to talk about her feelings of guilt and failure. It seemed to him his words of support came out as platitudes.

  So he had come to a realistic decision. Tina needed the help of people who really understood post natal depression and his rota would ensure she was in the company of her women friends during the day and at night if necessary, when he was working. He’d do what he does best. Organise, co-ordinate and provide practical back-up. In other words, he’d employ his skills as a soldier to best help his family.

  Satisfied with his work for the day, he was leaving the office, clutching his precious timetable when his telephone rang.

  28

  “What?” Crane growled into the telephone.

  “It’s Staff Sgt Jones, sir.” Jones used his own formal title and finished with ‘sir’ Crane noted. His voice must have really conveyed his annoyance and the thought made him smile.

  “This better be good, Staff, I’m just leaving to go home.”

  “Oh it is, sir. We’ve just caught Fitch ‘in the act’ so to speak, in Private Turner’s room in the single men’s barracks.”

  “Bloody hell, I’ll bet that was a sight for sore eyes, well done, Staff.”

  Crane couldn’t believe their good luck.

  “Yes, well, Fitch is claiming it was consensual. But I’m a witness to, well, his, um, rape of Turner.”

  “Okay, who is where and who is with them?”

  “Fitch is locked up in the Guard Room. No visitors allowed. I’m just leaving him to think about the predicament he’s in. Private Turner is with the duty doctor at the moment, having a rape kit examination done.”

  “Good. Get Billy to do forensics on the room right away and then keep Turner company and take his statement. I think Billy is the person Turner trusts most, so he should be the one to take his statement. He might not speak freely to anyone else.”

  “Very well, sir. Are you coming over?”

  “No. It’s not that I don’t want to, but tonight I’m needed at home. Tina’s had a, um, bad day. Tell Billy to leave Turner’s statement in my office. I’ll read it first thing in the morning and then we can interview Fitch afterwards.”

  ***

  Tina had somehow lost the shopping she bought, before the fiasco in Tesco. So they were reduced to a plate of pasta covered in a bolognaise sauce for their evening meal. Crane insisted it was one of the best things he had ever eaten and cleared his plate, whilst Tina pushed the pasta around hers, trying to look as though she was eating it. Crane couldn’t watch her not eating anymore, so went to the sink, to wash the dishes from their meagre meal.

  “I’m sorry, Tom,” she mumbled to Crane’s back. As he turned around he saw exhaustion had etched new lines on her face and her normally long sleek dark hair was tied back, to try and hide the fact it needed washing. She was still dressed in the jeans and baggy jumper she was wearing when he collected her from Tesco earlier in the day.

  Drying his hands on a towel, he pulled out a chair and sat back at the table.

  Grasping one of her hands he said, “Tina, please stop apologising.”

  But his words didn’t seem to offer her any comfort, as her tears spilled into the mug she was holding up to her face.

  “I never thought I’d be this useless,” she said hiccupping back sobs. “It’s much harder than working in the bank. I just can’t seem to cope at all.”

  Crane got up and moved his chair so he could sit next to her and put his arm around her, drawing her close. Taking a deep breath Crane decided to embark on the conversation he’d been waiting to have since he got home. It was now or never, he thought.

  “Tina, love, I don’t think you’re very well.”

  “I think you’re right,” she agreed in a small voice, “but I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Well, I think I do. Will you let me help you?”

  “Help me? I’m not sure anyone can. I just can’t seem to shake off this tiredness and guilt. And the more you help around the house and with Daniel, the worse I feel.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant, Tina,” he said and went on to relay his conversation with their doctor.

  To start with Tina stiffened at the thought that she needed to go and see a doctor, especially when Crane uttered the words ‘post natal depression’. But as he explained, she gradually relaxed against him. The first thing he stressed was that having this type of depression didn’t mean Tina was a bad mother, or that she was unable to cope.

  He then said, “The GP said to ask you two questions. This is the first one: during the past month, have you often been bothered by feeling down, depressed or hopeless?”

  Crane knew the answer to this question, but realised Tina had to acknowledge it herself. By acknowledging it, she would be more open to help.

  As Tina nodded her head in reply, he asked his second question. “Okay love, how about; during the past month have you often been bothered by taking little or no pleasure in doing things that normally made you happy?”

  Again the nod.

  So it was a very relieved Crane who went to his briefcase in the hall and took out his timetable. He even got a smile from Tina, when he showed her the legion of people who had agreed to come and help on a rota basis.

  29

  Crane closed his eyes and then rubbed them, as though trying to rub away the words contained in Private Turner’s statement. What a way to start the day, he thought. He was sickened by both the young lad’s experience and the fact that a soldier could do such a thing to anyone. Never mind to a fellow soldier and to someone who Fitch was supposed to be responsible for.

  Turning back to the statement in his hands, he read once again how Lance Corporal Fitch had burst into Private Turner’s bedroom in the single men’s accommodation. He whirled Turner around, pushed him face down on the bed and then forced himself on the hapless young soldier. In the middle of all this, luckily, (or unluckily whichever way you looked at it from Staff Sgt Jones’ point of view) Jones arrived at Turner’s room. Hearing a scuffle and muffled cries, Jones battered down the door, flew into the room and caught Fitch in flagrante. The statement then relayed the examination Turner was subjected to, when the doctor collected forensic evidence from his body. But more importantly Turner named Fitch, in writing, as the man who had been attacking him systematically over the past few months.

  When Billy arrived to do a forensic examination of the room, Turner was discreetly moved into St Omer Village, where he would stay until Crane decided he didn’t need him around anymore. He would also be on compassionate leave until the court-martial of Fitch.

  Crane knew he had to get used to calling St Omer Barracks, St Omer Village. The concrete tower block called St Omer Barracks was demolished some time ago and rebuilt with modular units used to house athletes during the London 2012 Olympic Games.

  The old concrete structure used to house the Army Catering School, where a tribe of Sgt Majors from the Army Catering Corp whipped new chefs into shape. There the recruits undertook a rigorous training programme, ensuring that chefs attached to Regiments were able to cater for hundreds of soldiers, no matter what their location - in barracks, out in the field, or in times of war. Indeed many chefs perished on the Sir Galahad during the
Falkland’s War, where they were waiting to disembark to provide support for the front line troops.

  The other thing St Omer Barracks was famous for was that the chefs there made the cake for Princess Diana’s wedding to Prince Charles, together with all the petit fours for the reception.

  Turner should be quite comfortable in St Omer Village with all its new facilities. It now boasted The HUB, a dining centre for serving personnel. It also had a convenience store, a licensed bar, an internet café and TV screens showing popular sporting events. Other amenities included The Physical and Recreation Training Centre (P&RTC) and The Junior Ranks Pub.

  Aware that he was procrastinating by thinking about how things used to be on Aldershot Garrison, Crane turned his attention back to the file. Turner’s statement was peppered with expletives. The picture emerging was one of a young man who was angry about the attacks. Crane imagined Turner would be relieved it was all over, as he realised Fitch couldn’t touch him anymore. Crane thought the anger a bit strange, but to be honest, knew he had no experience of these things and so had no idea how victims would normally react to being repeatedly raped.

  He knew that young soldiers, generally speaking, got very angry from time to time, mostly at those in authority. But eventually they learned to cope with constantly being shouted at, from shouted orders or from being given a dressing down. Still, Crane made a note of Turner’s anger on the file.

  He was still thinking about Turner when he realised his phone was ringing. Thinking it may be Tina, he snatched it up.

  “Sir, we’re waiting for you in the conference room for the briefing about Saturday night.”

  “Oh, right, thanks, Billy, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Crane didn’t know if he was pleased the phone call wasn’t from Tina, or not. As it wasn’t, it meant she was doing alright. But on the other hand, he couldn’t wait to hear how she went on at the doctors. Either way, he had work to do, so collecting his files he pushed his domestic problems to the back of his mind and strode out of the door.

  30

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this, Crane.”

  “Oh stop moaning, Derek,” Crane grinned, as he put his files in front of the seat next to the policeman. Glad the boot was on the other foot for once and it wasn’t Anderson telling him to stop moaning. After putting his suit jacket across the back of the chair, Crane moved to the whiteboard and began the briefing.

  “First of all, thanks to everyone for coming along and particular thanks to Kim for agreeing to help try and trap her…attacker.”

  Crane noticed Kim’s head was down and she was looking at her hands in her lap. Dressed in civvies, as she was still on compassionate leave, she was sitting next to Padre Symmonds. Crane watched as the Padre touched her arm and she lifted her head to look at him, managing a small smile.

  “Staff Sgt Jones, you first please.”

  Crane dragged his attention away from Kim, determined to get on with the job. He knew this was the best way he could help her, by finding and prosecuting the bastard responsible - even if he was a squaddie.

  “Thank you, sir,” Jones began. He was dressed in fatigues, standing out in his army uniform, as everyone else at the meeting was dressed in civvies.

  “As you know we normally have two jeeps patrolling Aldershot on a Saturday night. This is being increased to four, each with two RMPs in. I can put more on the streets, but I don’t want to make our presence too obvious and scare the bugger away, if that’s alright with you, sir?”

  Crane nodded his agreement and Jones went on to outline the timings and routes the jeeps would take. This information was highlighted with a Power Point presentation, showing maps of Aldershot town centre and the routes the RMPs would take. He also confirmed a group of four RMPs would be dressed in ‘civvies’ in the pub.

  When Jones finished, Crane asked Anderson to take over. He confirmed the presence of extra police on duty patrolling the streets. Also some off-duty policemen had agreed to have a couple of drinks in The Goose as a favour to him, popping in at various times during the evening.

  “The main concern I have at this moment,” Anderson continued, “is that our, or rather Sgt Major Crane’s suspect, Yasin Whadi, may have become so frightened by the vigorous interviewing he’s been subjected to, that he deliberately won’t be on the prowl on Saturday night.”

  “I have to disagree there, Derek,” Crane said. “I think he’s an arrogant little shit. The type who doesn’t thinks he can’t get caught. He probably thinks he can get one over on us. No, I reckon we’ve made sure he’ll be there. He’ll want to prove that he can do what he likes, right under our noses.”

  “Fair enough,” Anderson conceded. “Only time will tell if you’re right, Crane.”

  Anderson, having finished his briefing, returned to his seat around the table.

  It was then Billy’s turn. He confirmed he had his ‘penguin suit’ at the ready and would be on the door with the regular bouncers from 19:00 hours. Should any one ask why there was an extra body helping out, the cover story would be that he was a trainee gaining valuable work experience. Crane knew Billy would take some stick for that from the rest of SIB and smiled at the prospect.

  Kim and the Padre confirmed they would arrive around 21:00 hours. Kim explained that she couldn’t do this on her own, which was why she’d asked the Padre to be her ‘date’ for the night. Crane wondered out loud if this might make the man stalking Kim even angrier, but Anderson disagreed. His opinion was that this could be a good thing. If the suspect was angry he may make a mistake and therefore become more obvious and easier to identify and restrain.

  As the meeting broke up, Crane wandered over to Kim.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Holding up, sir, thank you.”

  “This is a very brave thing you’re doing, you know, Kim.”

  “Is it sir? It doesn’t feel it.”

  “Well it is. It means you’re standing up to your attacker. Not letting him get away with it. So take a deep breath and hold your head up. Come on, you can do it.”

  Crane was pleased to see Kim straighten her shoulders and make an attempt to stand tall. He realised she has a long way to go yet, but hoped his plan would give her some self esteem and self confidence back and give her a sense of taking back control of her life.

  As Crane left the building, he paused for a cigarette in the car park and recognised the similarities in the two cases of rape he was investigating. Similarities for the victims, that was. Both had been subjected to a horrific attack. Both of them had to bear the ignominy of an intimate examination. They were both dealing with the prejudice that comes with being raped, other people taking the view that it was ‘the victim’s fault’ somehow. Kim’s fault for wearing provocative clothes, or Turner’s for displaying homosexual tendencies. Crane had to admit to himself that before these cases, that was his attitude. Very much a case of ‘well they asked for it’. But now he knew better, had learned that lesson, but -was ashamed at the thought of the trauma the victims had gone through in order for him to do so.

  As he ground out his cigarette under foot, he once more pushed his worries that someone could get hurt on Saturday night to the back of his mind and walked into Provost Barracks to interview Fitch.

  A Letter to Billy

  Dear Billy

  I constantly question myself. Is this all my fault? Do I have homosexual tendencies that I unconsciously use to attract other men? Will I ever be able to have a normal heterosexual relationship after this is over, or am I really a closet homosexual? I can’t get past the things he made me do, not only to him but to myself. He made me shave down there, because he preferred me that way. A small matter, you may say, but to me it was another form of control. Of making sure he was in my mind every time I went to the toilet, changed my clothes or took a shower.

  I used to find it easy to get a girlfriend or just a one night stand when I wanted sex. I used to enjoy female company, enjoyed the flirting, th
e banter and then the thrill of a new relationship. But now I fear that is all gone. I fear I’ll never be able to get past what this bastard has done to me. He’s not only ruined my army life, he’s ruined my sex life as well.

  So make sure you lock him up and throw away the key, as they say. He needs to pay for the rest of his life for what he’s done to me. I know I will.

  31

  There were three of them in the interview room in Provost Barracks; Crane, Billy and Lance Corporal Fitch. A blank room, with nothing to catch the eye, nothing to detract from the interview about to take place. As he looked Fitch over, Crane was surprised by the Lance Corporal’s appearance, half expecting a bull of a man, someone big enough to physically overpower Seb Turner. Instead he saw a gangly youth leaning back in his chair, all arms and legs and sharp points.

  “Have you forgotten something, Lance Corporal?” Crane barked.

  Fitch took his time getting off the chair and standing to attention.

  “I should bloody well think so.”

  But instead of an apology, all Crane gets was a barely concealed sneer.

  “Right, sit down.”

  Crane indicated the chair Fitch had just vacated and then sat down himself. He didn’t take off his suit jacket and neither did Billy. Crane wanting this interview to be as formal as possible. He took his time opening his file, glancing at it, then silently studying Fitch. Billy, equally silent, moved to sit next to Crane. But Fitch seemed unmoved, and simply stared back.

  “So, Lance Corporal, I understand you know Private Sebastian Turner?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How do you know him?

  “He’s in my Unit, sir.”

  “I know that, Lance Corporal. Would you say you have a more personal relationship with him?”

  “No comment, sir.”

  “No comment, Lance Corporal?”

  Billy took a photograph out of the file in front of Crane.