Honour Bound: A Sgt Major Crane Novel

by Wendy Cartmell

  “That’s an unusual answer, at least judging by this photograph.”

  Billy turned one of the more graphic photographs of Fitch in Seb Turner’s room, to face him.

  Crane noticed Fitch briefly close his eyes before he said, “No comment, sir.”

  “According to Staff Sgt Jones of the Royal Military Police, it seems you have a rather intimate relationship with Turner. At least from what he saw with his own eyes and from what you said to him. What did Fitch here say, Billy?” asked Crane.

  Billy picked up Staff Sgt Jones’ statement and read: “I’ve done nothing wrong. It was consensual. We’ve been having a relationship for some time now.”

  “Is that correct, Fitch? Did you say that to Staff Sgt Jones?” asked Crane.

  This time Fitch didn’t even manage a, ‘no comment’.

  “Are you calling my Staff Sgt a liar, Lance Corporal? I certainly hope not because if you are that’ll be another charge to add to the list.”

  “The list, sir, what list?”

  “Let me see.”

  Crane made a play of looking in the file for the right piece of paper. He held it up and said, “The rape of Private Turner, assault upon the person of the said Private, breaking and entering Private Turner’s room with intent to assault…need I go on?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Excellent, Fitch,” Crane said, putting down the blank piece of paper he was reading from. “Let’s start again. Were you having an intimate relationship with Private Turner?”

  “Yes, sir, but it was consensual,” the sneer briefly returned.

  But it disappeared again when Crane said, “So, do you deny raping Private Turner?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you deny assaulting Private Turner?” Billy asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Fitch turned his head to address Billy.

  “What about breaking and entering Turner’s room. Do you deny that as well?”

  “Sir.” Fitch was looking down at the table and managed a nod.

  “Oh dear,” Crane said. “In that case you’ve got a bit of a problem, Fitch. Because we’ve got the evidence to prove you did all those things and you haven’t got any to prove you didn’t.”

  “It was consensual, sir,” Fitch repeated his mantra.

  “Well, lad, you might say that, but God knows how your brief’s going to persuade a court-martial to believe you. Charge him, Billy,” Crane said and left the room.

  ***

  “What do you think, Jones?”

  Crane and Jones were standing in the cold outside the barracks, having a quick cigarette. Whilst Crane realised he should give up smoking, he welcomed the time he spent in contemplation in the car park, even though he sometimes stood in a biting wind, as he was now.

  “Little shit,” said Jones, as he exhaled his cigarette smoke.

  “Actually, rather a tall little shit, wouldn’t you say? Not exactly the physique I was expecting. He towered over me.”

  “No, he’s not what I expected either,” agreed Jones. “I reckon he’s done a lot of his bullying by pulling rank. Frightening the poor sod Turner into going along with it. Making sure he didn’t say anything by threatening him. Maybe he was picking on him in front of the other lads. That would’ve helped to isolate Turner and made him more reliant on Fitch. Perhaps Turner was hoping that if he didn’t report the bullying, Fitch would stop undermining and humiliating him.”

  “That’s a good point, Staff. I’ll get Billy to get another statement from Turner about that. We’ll also interview the other soldiers in the Unit. See if they witnessed Fitch bullying Turner. I think the lawyers will want that sort of stuff. They’ll want to show bullying and assault over a period of time if they can.”

  32

  The thumping beat of the music emanating from three different pubs within a few yards of each other was giving Crane a headache. He was lurking in the entrance to the shopping centre along Victoria Road. Opposite them was The Queens Head (or the Hogs Head as people called it) and a few yards down the road past The Goose was Yates. The Goose was located on the corner of Victoria Road and Wellington Street. Crane wished he could get closer to the pub. The corner opposite The Goose would have been good, but there was more of a chance of a suspect seeing them there. Crane was dressed casually in cargo pants and polo shirt, with a large jacket on, in an attempt to cut out the cold. As he saw young girls passing him, barely dressed, he wondered how they coped with the low temperature. Or was his age showing? No one else seemed to have coats on apart from him and Anderson.

  They were using radios to keep in touch, not wanting to wear ear pieces, which would raise a few eye brows. So far it had been very quiet, no one of any note passing through the doors of the pub and definitely no sign of Yasin Whadi. Billy had pulled a couple of suspicious looking blond-haired and dark-haired lads to one side on the pretext of checking their IDs. He’d taken a note of their details as a precaution. Inside The Goose at the moment were a couple of RMPs and a couple of off-duty policemen.

  Crane heard two clicks on his radio, pulled it from his pocket and turned his back on the street.

  “Yes, Billy.”

  “Kim’s just walking up Victoria Street towards The Goose, sir.”

  Crane put the radio back in his pocket and motioned to Anderson. Together they strolled down the road, trying to blend in and failing miserably. As they walked up to The Goose they saw Kim and Padre Symmonds at the entrance. Kim had done her best to look normal, dressed in a little black dress, her features emphasised by makeup. The Padre had also made an effort, wearing an open necked shirt and chinos. Crane couldn’t help thinking he didn’t look right without his dog collar.

  As he walked past the pub, Crane managed to catch Kim’s eye and give her an encouraging smile, which she returned by raising her eyebrows. Crane noted that the Padre was oblivious to everyone else apart from Kim and was holding her decorously by the elbow. As they walked into the pub, Crane gave three clicks on his radio, the sign that Kim had arrived. Anderson and Crane then turn away, walking back past The Goose, towards their allotted position.

  “Fuck this,” Crane suddenly said. “I can’t do this waiting outside shit. I’m going in,” and he shrugged off his coat, thrust it at Derek and walked back to the pub.

  Billy’s eyes widened at the sight of Crane approaching him, but as he saw Crane’s glare he said and did nothing.

  Once inside, Crane could understand why no one was wearing a coat. The heat from all the bodies squashed inside had raised the temperature to sweating point. He pushed his way around the bar until he had Kim in his line of sight. Crane stood by a pillar which had a conveniently placed ledge around it for drinks. He pulled a half drunk pint that someone had left towards him, raising the glass to his lips every now and then, but not drinking from it.

  Kim had managed to grab a small table and as Crane watched, the Padre returned from the bar with a glass of wine for Kim and a bottle of beer for himself. The Padre sat protectively close to Kim and they both scanned the crowd. Every so often Symmonds pointed someone out, but each time Kim shook her head.

  As the time passed and Kim and the Padre nursed their drinks, it was becoming clear that either the attacker wasn’t coming, or he had seen that Kim wasn’t on her own and so wouldn’t make a move. The two RMP lads had worked their way around the bar and were standing within striking distance of Kim and the Padre.

  Crane scanned the crowd for anyone looking agitated, or paying too much attention to Kim. But most of the young men were too busy looking at the available girls. The ones provocatively dressed and without an escort. Which, let’s face it, was most of the pub. Why else come here if you’re not available?

  After a couple of hours of nothing but music played too loudly and too many people crammed into too small a space, Kim looked at Crane, then her watch, then back at Crane. After nodding his agreement, Kim and the Padre pushed their drinks away and made to leave. Crane followed them out and stopped at the door to talk to Bi
lly.

  “Here’s your coat, sir,” Billy said, grabbing it off the floor behind him. “DI Anderson said to say he’ll see you later at the police station.”

  “I bet he said more than that,” laughed Crane.

  “Well, yes, sir, he did. But most of it isn’t repeatable.”

  33

  I saw you, you bitch. Did you think I wouldn’t recognise all your army friends? There to protect you were they? Protect you from me? But they didn’t see me, did they? No, but I saw them. Outsmarted them. Out foxed them. Blended into the crowd.

  And who was that wimp with you anyway? Call himself a man does he? A bit too meek and mild if you ask me. How could you even stand talking to him, never mind letting him touch you and at one point put his arm around you?

  No, Kim, what you need is a real man. What you need is a real man like me!

  Strong, brave and loyal.

  Have you forgotten already what a good time we had that night?

  I haven’t. So, if you won’t come to me, then I will have to come to you.

  I’ll find a way.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, Crane picked up the note with gloved hands and put it in an evidence envelope.

  “This came in the post this morning you say?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry but Mum and I touched the note and the envelope before we realised what it was,” replied Kim.

  Crane was glad to see Kim was much calmer this time, after receiving yet another letter from her stalker. Her reaction was nothing compared to when she received the others. It looked like her chats with the Padre were working. But Crane would neither ask about, nor comment on, what seemed to be a developing relationship. She was also looking better in herself. Today she was dressed in smart trousers and a blouse and was beginning to get back that look - the look of a soldier clearly dressed in civvies.

  “That’s okay, Kim, it’s understandable. Still, I’ll get it checked for finger prints anyway. Although I doubt there’ll be any. There hasn’t been before. Thanks for going to The Goose on Saturday as well, Kim, even though it came to nothing.”

  As the kettle boiled Kim got out of her chair to make the coffee.

  “Well we know why now, sir, don’t we,” she said returning to the table with two mugs of coffee in her hand. “He recognised someone. I wonder who?”

  “Thanks for the coffee,” Crane said, blowing on the top before he took a sip. “It’s difficult to say,” he continued. “There were so many squaddies in the pub that night, apart from us, that it could have been anybody.”

  “Still, it does seem to point to the fact that he really is in the army if he recognised someone.”

  “I suppose so, Kim. But it’s difficult to be confident of that as so many of the lads are regulars at The Goose. It stands to reason he knows, or at least recognises, some of them.”

  “Um, sir, I was just wondering….”

  “Wondering what, Kim?”

  “The threat at the end of the letter, ‘I’ll find a way’. How serious is that, do you think?”

  “Serious enough for me to ask you to stay somewhere else. I don’t think you’re safe here with your mum. I’d say the threat level is escalating. I’d be happier if you were somewhere else, maybe somewhere on the Garrison? What do you think?”

  “I don’t want to run away, sir,” Kim shook her head. Her long blond hair was tied up in a ponytail and swung from side to side as she moved her head. “I’m fed up of that. I’m starting to feel stronger, both physically and mentally. I don’t want this bastard to make me frightened to go out, or to be alone.”

  “That’s good, Kim, but you also need to be sensible.”

  Crane’s lecture was interrupted, firstly by a knock on the front door and secondly by the Padre walking into the kitchen.

  “Hello, Kim. Oh, hello, Crane. Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

  “Not at all, sir,” Crane said standing and shaking the Padre’s hand. “In fact you could help me. I’m trying to persuade Kim here to move to somewhere safer, perhaps onto the Garrison.”

  “Why what’s happened?”

  “This arrived this morning.”

  Crane handed the note in its protective cover to the Padre, who blanched as he read the implied threat contained in it. He sat down at the kitchen table next to Kim. Crane returned to his seat.

  “Oh, I see, Crane. Well, I think you may be right. What do you think, Kim?”

  “I don’t want to be bullied by this man and forced to move out. I’ve already had to move out of my flat. I thought I’d be safe here with mum, but now it seems I’m not.”

  Kim was close to tears, despite her earlier determination and claims that she was getting stronger.

  “I’ve got a possible solution,” said Captain Symmonds. “You could move in with me, purely on a temporary basis, of course. But I do live on the Garrison and I’ve got that big house I rattle around in. I know it’s not usual practice for a sergeant to associate with a captain, but I think this situation calls for a little, shall we say, bending of the rules. And Kim will be staying in a separate bedroom, of course.”

  The Captain’s little speech came out all in a rush, making Crane smile to himself and Kim blush.

  “Well, what do you say, Kim? It’s up to you. Are you going to accept the Captain’s proposal?” Crane’s eyes widened as he teased her.

  Before Kim could reply, Crane’s mobile rang. “Crane,” he answered.

  “Sir,” said Billy, “I’m over with DI Anderson. The DNA results have just come back on the black hair found on Madison’s body. You need to see this.”

  “Stay there,” Crane said. “I’m on my way.”

  34

  A stunned Crane sat down on the chair Billy had just cleared for him in DI Anderson’s office in Aldershot Police Station. The three of them were sat around the DI’s desk.

  “They don’t match,” Crane said for third time. “It’s not Yasin Whadi’s hair.”

  “Yes, so you keep saying, Crane. Now do you want to hear the rest?”

  “There’s more? Good news or bad news?” Crane fingered the scar underneath his beard.

  “Well, it depends on which way you look at it. Bad news for me, I guess and good news for you, as we’ve found a DNA match. But, as you’ve just said several times, it’s not your soldier, it’s a local man. He’s got a record, which is why we had his DNA. So it reverts from being your case back to mine, as the suspect this time is a civvy.”

  Anderson handed Crane a buff folder.

  Crane read in the file that Albert Watkins was a local man well known to the police. He was arrested several times as a teenager for minor public order and shoplifting offences. As was the norm, unfortunately, instead of getting his act together and doing something with his life, Watkins progressed to burglary, stealing cars, and more interestingly, violent assault charges. Unfortunately the local police hadn’t had much evidence against Watkins for many of the offences, so most of the time he’d got away with it.

  As far as Crane could see, there were a couple of points which helped build a case against Watkins, apart from the DNA. One was that he had a job as a delivery van driver, so he was a white van man. And secondly, the fact that he was built like a brick shithouse, all muscles and short cropped hair. Crane could see how he could be mistaken for a squaddie from his looks alone.

  “Well, it could be him for the local attacks, but I still fancy Whadi for the others,” was Crane’s opinion.

  “Give Whadi a break, Crane. Don’t you ever give up?”

  “No.” Crane emphasised his point by slamming the file on Watkins on Anderson’s desk, making Billy jump. “He’s still dodgy if you ask me.”

  “Well I’m not.” Anderson picked up his cup of tea. “Whadi is all yours as he’s in the army. My focus now is gathering evidence on Watkins.”

  “With me in tow, don’t forget, Derek.”

  “And what if I say no, Crane?”

  “Then I’ll take no notice and follow you
around anyway.”

  Anderson had no choice but to laugh. “Alright, Crane. Here, you better have a cake and a cup of tea while we wait for Watkins to be brought in.”

  So Crane did just that, sending Billy back to Provost Barracks.

  ***

  Crane was right in his assessment of Watkins. As he and Anderson walked into the interview room, Watkins rose from his chair and towered over the two men.

  “Sit down, Albert. Stop making a tit of yourself, trying to be macho and intimidating. You really should know better.”

  “Sorry, Mr Anderson.”

  “DI Anderson to you.”

  “Who’s this bloke then,” Watkins ignored the rebuke and peered closely at Crane.

  “Army.”

  “Oh, Special Branch innit?”

  “No, Albert, that’s the spooks. Sgt Major Crane here is Special Investigations Branch. SIB to you and me.”

  “Yeah, right, I’ve heard about you lot. Right hard, so I hear.”

  “Yes, well, your thoughts on the SIB are neither here nor there, so stop twittering on and listen to me for a change.”

  “Right you are, Guv. What can I do for you?” Albert turned his attention back to DI Anderson.

  Throughout this exchange Crane tried hard not to sit there with his mouth open. It became clear as soon as Watkins began to speak that he may look like a squaddie but he certainly wasn’t army material. Nor could Crane see him as rapist material. Watkins seemed too much of a gentle giant. Still, Crane decided to keep an open mind as he relaxed back against his chair, crossing his legs, enjoying the pantomime being played out before him.

  “Would you mind telling me where you were last Saturday night, Albert?”

  “Don’t rightly know, Mr Anderson.”

  “What about the previous two Saturdays?”

  “Not really sure about those nights either.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s the night I tend to get plastered, Mr Anderson. And once I get plastered the old memory goes you know? You see I drive during the week, so I have to be good with the old pop, if you know what I mean. But Saturday night, I don’t have to worry, see, because I don’t have work the next day.”