Honour Bound: A Sgt Major Crane Novel

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Where do you drink?” Crane had had enough of this nonsense and decided to join in.

  “Normally at the bar, don’t like sitting down, a bit poncy if you ask me.”

  “No. I. Mean. Which. Pub?” Oh dear God save me, thought Crane, trying hard not to put his head in his hands.

  “Here and there, Guv. Wherever the fancy, or the lads, take me, I suppose.”

  “Do you drink in The Goose?” Anderson asked.

  “The Goose?”

  “Yes, The Goose,” Crane confirmed.

  “Why ever would I do that? It’s full of your lot,” Watkins said, looking at Crane.

  “I’ll tell you what, Albert, why don’t you just wait here while Sgt Major Crane and I just go and check on something?”

  “If you say so, Mr Anderson. Any chance of a cup of tea while I’m waiting?”

  Crane and Anderson staggered out of the room, bursting out laughing as they closed the door behind them.

  “In the words of the great John McEnroe ‘you cannot be serious’,” Crane quipped.

  “Don’t start or we’ll never stop laughing,” said Anderson wiping tears from his eyes.

  “Dear God, Derek, where ever did you find him?” Crane took deep breaths to calm himself down. “Surely he can’t have done it. Anyway I can’t see the uptight, straight laced, hard working Kim finding him attractive, can you?”

  “No, can’t say as I do, Crane and he said he doesn’t go in The Goose. But he’s a delivery driver, so he could have done the other rapes if his routes take him there. Plus you can’t get away from the fact that a hair with his DNA was found on the body of one of the victims.”

  That sobered Crane up.

  “No, you’re right about the hair, Derek. I wonder how that happened.”

  35

  Crane was standing at his white boards, as Billy came up and handed him a coffee.

  “Any new insights, sir?”

  “Not so as you’d notice, Billy, but while you’re here, let’s have a look at each case in turn.”

  “Now how did I know you were going to say that, boss?”

  “Because it’s what we do, Billy. We look at the evidence, discuss it, speculate and then follow up on that speculation to see if the lead goes anywhere. Right, update me on Lance Corporal Fitch.”

  “Well, sir, nothing new on that one really, it’s just about wrapped up. I went to see Private Turner and took another statement about Fitch’s behaviour as you suggested. You were right; the bullying had been going on for a long time. In fact it started before the physical attacks. By the time Fitch was ready to rape him, Turner had been brow beaten into believing he was worthless anyway. His self esteem was non-existent and he was mentally unable to protest about the rape, never mind physically.”

  “I can’t believe no one noticed,” Crane said after taking a sip of his coffee. “What about the other lads in the Unit?”

  “The RMP have taken statements from them and the consensus seems to be that they made sure they didn’t get on the wrong side of Fitch. Some of them were actually glad Turner was the victim, because it could just as easily have been them. Also Fitch was quite subtle; he left the really nasty remarks and punishments for when he was on his own with Turner. That way no one really understood how bad the bullying was.”

  “It’s remarkable that Private Turner was brave enough to report it at all. You did a good job there, Billy, gaining his trust and helping him through the reporting procedure.”

  “Thanks, sir. I’m pretty pleased with that myself. Just shows I’m not all brawn and no brains, eh, boss?”

  That made Crane smile but he declined to comment and turned to the next board.

  “Right, Becca Henderson. Still no forensics?”

  “No, boss,” Billy said, sitting down on the corner of a desk. “Not a bloody thing. Stuff taken from her flat and from her body has gone through the lab and there’s nothing.”

  “So we’re only left with the witness statements?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s about it. A description of a tall blond squaddie, from Becca’s friend and from the bartender. The one you call ‘blond streak’.”

  But Crane was too involved with his white boards to raise a smile. “Next in line is Kim’s board. This time the attacker is described as tall and dark,” he said.

  “Yes, sir, by both Kim and a couple of her girl friends. Also he’s still around as he’s stalking her.”

  Billy nodded at copies of the notes pinned next to photographs of Kim and her small apartment.

  “Yes, so that case could be Yasin, but the blond cases can’t be him. But I still fancy him for those unsolved cases you found in other Garrison towns as well.”

  Crane decided to sit down and pulled up a chair, sitting on it backwards and leaning on the upright.

  “I’m still waiting for copies of the files to come through. At the moment, though, it could just be coincidence, sir.” As Crane glared at him, Billy quickly said, “Or maybe not,” and looked down at his drink.

  “Let me know when you’ve got the files and looked through them.”

  “Sir.” Billy agreed.

  “So, the next one is Madison. Yet again dark-haired suspect and this time we have a hair.”

  “But it matches Watkins, sir and even you don’t think it’s him.”

  “No, I don’t. But I’m going to get Kim to do an identification parade anyway. Arrange it with DI Anderson will you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Billy?”

  “Sir?”

  “How are you remembering these instructions?”

  “Remembering, sir?”

  “Yes, where’s your bloody note book!”

  “Oh, shit, sorry, boss. I’m used to Kim taking notes for me.”

  “Yes, well, we’re used to Kim doing a lot of things around the office that aren’t getting done as well as usual. Let’s just hope she’s back with us soon.”

  As Crane was speaking, Billy was scrabbling for his notebook and Crane gave him a minute to make sure he had everything written down.

  “Any forensics back from Madison’s flat?”

  “Not yet, boss. I’ll chase up the lab.”

  Crane was pleased to see Billy making a note of that instruction.

  “Right, now the last two boards. We’ll do Summer in a moment, firstly Fitch and Turner, what’s happening there?”

  “All the paperwork has gone through the channels and is with the Military Justice System. We’re just waiting for a hearing date.”

  “Excellent, at least one case has gone smoothly.”

  “Which case is that, sir?”

  Crane and Billy whirled round at the sound of Kim’s voice.

  “Kim! Um, how are you? Good to see you. Billy get Kim a chair.”

  Billy pulled a chair away from the conference table, with all the flourish of a magician.

  “There you are milady,” he said with a grin.

  “Bugger off, Williams,” Kim grinned back and remained standing.

  “Good idea that, Kim. Billy, bugger off and get us some drinks. It’s good to see you, Kim. How are you feeling?”

  Crane moved to stand in front of the board detailing Kim’s attack, to spare her, but he wasn’t quick enough.

  “Alright, sir, considering.” But Kim seemed more interested in where Crane was standing, than in his questions. “Who’s that, sir?”

  “Who’s who?”

  “The photograph on my board, sir. It’s alright, you know. I’ve come into the office to see how I feel about being back. Captain Symmonds came with me.”

  “Oh, sorry, sir didn’t see you back there.” Crane nodded in Symmonds direction.

  Captain Symmonds moved to stand protectively next to Kim.

  “So, what photograph are you hiding, then, Sgt Major?” he asked.

  Crane realised he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what they were talking about, so moved away from the board where he was trying to cover up a picture of Watkins.
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br />   “This is the picture of the man whose hair was found on Madison’s body.”

  “So why is it on my board?”

  As Kim seemed determined to talk about the case, Crane thought it may do her good. So he went on to explain that he had put the picture of Watkins on her board as he wanted to do an identification parade, to see if she recognised him.

  Kim moved to stand in front of the photograph.

  “Can’t say as I do, sir, at least not from the photograph.”

  Crane tried to hide his disappointment.

  “Oh well, perhaps it might be better when you see him in an ID parade.”

  “Can we still do one, sir? I’ve seen his photo.”

  “Seen what photo?” Billy had returned with refreshments and passed mugs of tea around.

  “The photo of this bloke, Watkins,” Crane said.

  “Oh, him, yeah, fancy finding a longish black hair of his on Madison’s body. Seems a bit odd that, especially as he’s got a buzz hair cut.”

  Kim moved and took the photo off the board, looking closely at it.

  “When was this taken, sir?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s a police photo taken when he was arrested at some time or other.”

  “Well if he’s got a buzz cut now, this must be an old photo.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I think he has long hair that’s scraped back. You can’t really see any of it, so at first glance he could have a short haircut, as it’s only a face-on picture. Look, sir.”

  Kim held the photograph next to her face, where she had her long blond hair scraped off her face.

  “See what I mean? If you look at me straight on you can’t see my hair is tied back. It just looks short.”

  “Bloody hell, you’re right, Kim. I wonder when he had it cut.” Crane put down his cup. “Right, better get onto DI Anderson, thanks, Kim,” and Crane walked off to his own office to make the call.

  36

  DI Anderson thought Crane’s question hilarious.

  “You want me to ask him when he had his hair cut?” he laughed.

  “Yes, Derek. We think at one stage he had long hair and had it cut off. Can you find out if that’s true?”

  “I can go and ask him. We’re still holding him here, pending the background checks.”

  “Good, wait for me, I’m coming over.”

  Crane put down the phone, grabbed his jacket and returned to the conference table, to find Kim and Captain Symmonds had gone.

  “Is Kim alright?” Crane asked, immediately worried that seeing her incident board could have brought on another flashback.

  “Yes, she’s fine, boss,” replied Billy. “She just said that she didn’t want to get in the way.”

  “Get in the way?”

  “Well, she actually said, ‘I better be off, Billy, as you’ll use my presence as an excuse not to work.’”

  Billy looked offended, but Crane thought Kim’s assessment was spot on.

  “Never mind that, we’re off to see DI Anderson, come on,” and Crane swept out of the room, leaving Billy to follow in his wake.

  ***

  Watkins looked anxious as Crane and Anderson confronted him in an interview room. Crane was all business with his files in front of him on the table. Anderson just looked bemused by the whole hair thing.

  “Can’t I go, Mr Anderson?” Watkins whined. “I’ve told you I haven’t anything to do with these girls getting hurt.”

  Crane saw Watkins was looking decidedly fed up and was plonked on his chair like a sack of potatoes.

  “Just as soon as we get something cleared up,” replied Anderson.

  Watkins brightened, sitting up straighter, “What’s that then?”

  “Your hair, Albert.”

  “What about it?” asked Watkins, running his hand over his buzz cut.

  “Did you have long hair?”

  “Oh, yes, now you mention it, Mr Anderson, I did. See, I got it cut for charity, like. Wanted to do a bit of good for a change, so I had it all off.”

  Watkins looked proud of himself.

  “When was that?”

  “Oh, must be about three months ago now. A few of us had it done at the same time. It was for a local hospice if I remember rightly. You know them that are dying…”

  “Yes, thank you, Albert,” cut in Anderson.

  “Where did this take place?” Crane got out his notebook.

  “Oh, let me think, that barber near the bottom of Victoria Street.”

  “Right, thank you, Mr Watkins,” said Crane and left the room with Anderson following.

  “What are you thinking, Crane?”

  “It’ll all become clear soon enough, be back in a minute.”

  Crane nodded to Billy and they left the station and made their way to the barbers.

  ***

  From the outside, the place looked like two different shops, on one side the men’s barber and on the other a ladies hairdresser. But on entering the barber’s side, Crane saw that in fact it was one huge unit, with a waist high wall separating the two businesses. A girl cutting the hair of a squaddie looked over at them.

  “Take a seat,” she mumbled. “Giorgio will be out in a minute.”

  Crane and Billy took a seat and Billy started to thumb through a motor magazine left on the table. But he didn’t get very far before a small dark-haired man hurried out to meet them.

  “Right, gents, who’s first? Hum, you I reckon,” he said looking closely at Crane’s hair. “Army, right?” and without waiting for an answer went on to say, “Well your hair’s a bit too long I’d say and your beard needs a trim.”

  “Thank you for your interest in my hair, Giorgio is it?”

  The barber nodded his assent.

  “But I’m not here about a haircut. We’re SIB.”

  Crane and Billy flashed their identifications. Crane watched the barber stiffen and the lad in the chair having his hair done, who was watching them a minute ago, began intently studying his reflection in the mirror.

  “Oh, I see. What can I do for you?”

  “I understand you cut the hair of Albert Watkins, for a charity stunt.”

  Billy handed Giorgio the photograph.

  “Oh, yes, I remember, about four of them had their hair off at the same time. What a bloody mess it made I can tell you. They all had hair long enough to put in a ponytail. But there’s nothing wrong in that, is there?”

  “No, sir, nothing at all,” said Billy retrieving the photo.

  “What did you do with all that hair?” asked Crane.

  But Giorgio won’t meet his glare and his eyes slid away.

  “It’s a simple question, sir,” added Billy.

  “I, um, I um,”

  “Come on, Giorgio, we’re only interested in the hair. We’re investigating a particularly nasty crime, so unless you want to come to the police station and talk to DI Anderson about it, perhaps you better tell me now.”

  Giorgio’s legs gave way and he dropped down onto a sofa covered with red plastic, intended to resemble leather.

  Putting his head in his hands, he mumbled, “I sold it.”

  “Sold it?”

  “Yes, I sold it to a wig maker.”

  “And didn’t declare the money, I suppose.”

  “Yes, I mean no, I…”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not interested in your tax free money making schemes, just go and get us the details of the wig maker, please.”

  “Bloody hell, boss,” Billy said as Giorgio scurried to his office to get the information, “nice one. Our attacker’s been wearing a wig!”

  “Yes. It seems he’s definitely been wearing a black one and possibly a blond one as well, which would account for the different descriptions. Let’s get the information back to Anderson and he can make enquiries of the wigmaker.”

  37

  With the conundrum of the black hair sorted out and in DI Anderson’s hands, Crane felt he could concentrate once again on Yasin W
hadi, so he was sitting in his office, going through Yasin’s records and statements. In an interview room in the Guard House, the young lad was still protesting his innocence, although not as vehemently as he did when he was first interviewed.

  Gathering up his papers, Crane decided to go outside and have a cigarette before interviewing Whadi. As he paced up and down the car park outside Provost Barracks, Staff Sgt Jones came out to join him.

  “Morning, Jones,” called Crane and offered the Staff Sergeant a cigarette.

  “Cheers, Crane,” Jones bent to light the cigarette. “It’s getting bloody cold out here,” he complained, stamping his feet. “How are Tina and Daniel?”

  “Fine, thanks.”

  But Crane’s face must have belied his words as Jones peered and asked, “Are you sure, Crane?”

  “Well, you know, it’s always a bit of an upheaval having a new baby in the house, takes time to adjust and all that. He’s growing quick, mind,” and Crane showed Jones a few photos on his mobile phone, as a way of avoiding any further conversation about the precarious state of his domestic arrangements and Tina’s health.

  All the pictures viewed and cigarettes stubbed, Crane followed Jones to the Guard House, where Yasin was in an interview room.

  “Any particular line of enquiry today, boss?” asked Billy as he joined Crane, looking through the two way glass at the young soldier who had an air of defeat about him. His shoulders were slumped; he was dishevelled and looked pale under his olive hued skin.

  “Just follow my lead, Billy. It’ll all become clear in due course.”

  Billy threw Crane a strange look, but didn’t speak as they entered the interview room. Yasin turned bloodshot eyes towards Crane, before dropping his head to look at the floor once more.

  “Haven’t you forgotten something again, soldier?” Crane barked.

  “No, sir, I haven’t, I just don’t seem to have the energy to move. Anyway what are you going to do to me? Put me on report? What difference would that make? I couldn’t be in a worse predicament than I am already. I’m being accused of raping and killing girls here in Aldershot and in other Garrison towns.”