“It’s that smell,” she said, her forehead scrunching up in concentration. “Booze, that’s what I think it is. I keep on smelling it. It comes out of nowhere. I can be doing something, reading a book, watching television and it just seems to waft past my nose. Sweat and alcohol and something else, something indefinable… oh yes, I have it now. It’s the smell of fear. His or mine? I’m not sure, both probably.”
Kim closed her eyes. Crane was motionless. He didn’t dare break Kim’s recollection, even though he was horrified by what she was going through in front of him.
“I can feel his hands touching me, tugging and dragging my clothes off,” she continued, her hands breaking free of her legs and plucking at the white blouse she was wearing. “The cloth is ripping; buttons are popping, stockings tearing, hands probing, touching my bare skin. I can feel his weight on me. I can’t move, can’t stop the inevitable. Now I can hear him breathing. His hot breath is directly above me. I’m… I’m going to open my eyes and look at him.”
Kim bent her head towards the photos on the table in front of her. Crane was mesmerised as she opened her eyes and fixed on the picture of Seb Turner.
43
Crane took up his position, once again waiting outside Courtroom No 1. This time the delay was legal arguments or something. In all honesty, he wasn’t really listening to Captain Nolan’s explanation. To give him something to do, he pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and called DI Anderson.
Predictably Anderson was none too pleased to hear from him.
“For God’s sake, Crane, I’ve got better things to do than keep you amused whilst you’re waiting to give evidence.”
“Stop with the histrionics Derek and tell me about ‘blond streak’ and ‘white van man’. What do their statements say?”
“Well, both of them are fairly sure it’s the same bloke. The barman from The Goose, the one you call ‘blond streak’ said he saw the man in our photo with dark hair with Kim. Smith, the white van man, has positively identified him as the man who asked him to deliver the rose to Kim. Although at that time he had blond hair.”
“That’s brilliant, Derek,” Crane grinned but stopped short of shouting, having to keep a bit of decorum and show some respect for the court building he was waiting in.
“Well, don’t get too excited, Crane. As we’ve said before it doesn’t put Turner in any of the girls’ flats or give us any evidence that he raped or killed them come to that.”
“I know, I know, but each identification inches us that bit closer.”
“Well, we’re not close enough yet, nowhere near in fact.”
“Sgt Major Crane,” a disembodied voice called from courtroom No 1.
“Sorry, Derek, got to go, I’m up. Speak later.”
***
Crane’s appearance at the court-martial was perfunctory, as expected. It was more a matter of what they’d found in Seb Turner’s room, confirmation of the interviews Crane had with Fitch and affirmation that all procedures had been followed correctly. As he left the courtroom, the clerk was calling for Seb Turner. Giving evidence was intensely boring compared to the excitement of the initial investigation, Crane always felt. Still, it gave him an opportunity, after giving evidence, to have a quick word with the Justice Services.
Driving back to Aldershot Crane got a call from Derek Anderson.
“Hi, Derek,” Crane shouted at the hands free microphone.
“It’s alright, Crane, I can hear you, no need to shout,” grumbled Anderson.
“Oh, sorry,” Crane reduced the volume. “It’s just I’m in the car and I’m never sure if people can hear me.”
“I hear you loud and clear, thank you. Anyway, I’ve got news from the forensics lab.”
“Excellent, go on then.”
Crane changed lanes on the M3 to the slow lane, so he could concentrate better on what Anderson was saying.
“Well, they got two good finger prints, one off Madison’s handbag and one from Kim’s belt.”
“Yes!” Crane punched the air and got a strange look from a lorry driver who was overtaking him. “Details?”
“Both finger prints are very clear, one index finger and one thumb.” Anderson answered. “But…”
“But? Come on Derek, this isn’t X Factor, drawing out the announcements to keep the suspense going. What is the but?”
“The prints don’t match anyone in our databases.”
“Great,” replied Crane.
“Great?”
“Yep, send them over to my office. Now if you can, please. We’ll check them against our records.”
“Alright, but steady on, Crane. Just because we’ve found finger prints on the handbag and belt doesn’t mean they are from the attacker. It doesn’t mean they are from the same man. It doesn’t mean…
“Yes, yes, I understand, Derek, don’t go on. I’m not stupid.”
“No, just headstrong, impulsive, blunt…”
“Thank you very much for that character assassination, but I need to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.
“Crane!”
But Crane ignored Anderson, disconnected and immediately phoned Billy, arranging for him to check the prints against their records overnight.
44
“Right, Billy, what have we got?”
Crane was in the office the next morning, eager to find out the results from the overnight finger print check Billy had run on the computer.
“You were right, sir, the prints belong to Seb Turner.” Billy handed Crane a welcome coffee. “But that doesn’t mean he raped Kim or raped and killed Madison, or any of the other victims.”
“No it doesn’t. But it puts him near them, talking to them, even in The Goose with them. What we now need is evidence that proves he is our suspect.”
The ringing of Crane’s phone interrupted their conversation.
“Crane.”
“Sgt Major, Justice Services here. You asked us to call this morning.”
“So I did. It’s good news, we have a finger print match.”
“Very well, expect a fax in about thirty minutes.”
“Thank you very much.”
Crane terminated the call and saw Billy looking at him with a wry smile.
“Boss?”
“The Search Warrant for Seb Turner’s bedsit and effects will be faxed over in about half an hour. So go away and get a selection of evidence bags and sort out your forensics kit while we’re waiting.”
Billy dutifully went off to fulfil his orders, while Crane collected his files to present to Captain Edwards, thinking how much easier it was that SIB investigators were trained in forensic evidence collection, saving them time waiting for a specialist team to arrive. He ran up the office stairs to the first floor, to deliver a report which was sure to make Captain Edwards’ day.
***
A short time later, Crane and Billy were standing outside the room Seb Turner had been moved to, in St Omer Village.
“Are you sure he isn’t here, boss?”
“Yes I’m sure. I called Captain Nolan and he’s still giving evidence up at Bulford. The hearing ran over from yesterday afternoon apparently and the Judge adjourned the case until today because Turner got very upset giving evidence. He’s going to be cross examined this morning by Fitch’s defence team.”
“Poor bugger.” Billy went pink as he realised what he’d just said. “Sorry, sir, Freudian slip.”
Crane grinned and then composed himself.
“Yes, well, let’s leave out the sympathy shall we? He may have been very badly treated by Fitch, but it looks like he focused all that anger and projected it onto women, who he then raped and killed.”
Billy unlocked the door with the master key given to them by Aspire Defence Services, who run St Omer Village.
The door swung open to reveal a pristine room. The bed was made up with linen so sharp and clean the bed looked hard and uninviting. Very few personal effects were on display, just a small alarm clock radio and a pictur
e of an older couple, who Crane guessed were Turner’s parents.
“Seems a shame to make a mess,” observed Billy.
“Yes, but make a mess we must, let’s get on with it.”
The room was so small that it felt claustrophobic with two men in, so Crane stepped into the small bathroom while Billy worked in the main room. He opened the bathroom cabinet and noted the usual things, shaving foam, razor, pain killers and such, dropping them into an evidence bag, together with a bottle of eye drops. He checked above and in the cistern of the toilet and tipped up the dirty linen basket, bagging its contents. There was nothing else to search in the room which was tiled from floor to ceiling.
Crane carried his evidence bags through to the main room where Billy was surrounded by his own evidence bags.
“Nothing incriminating here, sir.”
“Where have you checked?”
“That cupboard unit - I’ve bagged the contents - and I’ve also searched the bed, but there’s nothing hidden there.”
The bed was now stripped of the starched linen which was lying at the foot of the bed on the floor. Placing his bags on the bare mattress Crane told Billy to get out of the way and moved towards the storage unit. Now empty, it was light enough for Crane to turn upside down by himself. Taped to the underneath was a package.
Making sure he didn’t do any damage, Crane slowly turned over the padded envelope. There were no markings on it. No address, no name, nothing. The flap was closed with a small brass clip, which Crane opened and looked inside the envelope. Drawing out a slim hard backed book, Crane placed the now empty envelope in an evidence bag which Billy was holding open for him.
Billy moved closer to Crane and they both read the contents of the slim volume.
Written in bold, childlike handwriting were letters, addressed to Fitch, Billy and Crane, chilling in their stark honesty and intensity of feeling.
“Poor sod,” said Billy, as he stepped back from the book and gazed out of the window. “You can’t even begin to imagine what he’s been through. Do you think he ever meant to send these as letters, boss?”
“Probably not, it was perhaps more a way of getting his feelings out, a cathartic exercise.”
“Do you think he has raped and killed those girls?” Billy asked Crane, as he turned back. “Are we going to find anything incriminating?”
“Oh yes, Billy, we are. Just take a look at this one.”
A Letter to Kim
My dearest Kim,
I think of you often. Do you think of me? I expect so, but probably not in the best possible light. This is a shame, as I did so want our relationship to work.
I saw you for the first time one day on the Garrison and followed you to Provost Barracks. From then on I kept returning to the outskirts of the Barracks in the hope of catching a glimpse of you. I was drawn to your beautiful hair, your demeanour and your confidence. But I didn’t have the courage to approach you as I also saw your sergeant’s stripes. So I just carried on watching from afar. Following you to work and back, out shopping, to the gym, to your parents.
I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you in The Goose. The fact that you were off-duty gave me the confidence to approach you. But as we talked I could tell you weren’t really interested. You were just being polite. That’s when I got carried away. I just couldn’t help myself.
The anger just keeps building up inside of me, until it explodes. That’s when I’m not responsible for my actions. That’s when I just want to lash out. That’s when I take what I need to prove I’m still a man.
Perhaps under different circumstances we could have been friends. Maybe more. Who knows?
Sorry.
45
Crane and Billy both sat on the bare mattress in Seb Turner’s room. To be honest, Crane wasn’t thinking clearly. His mind was a maelstrom of thoughts. To give him some extra thinking time, he carefully stowed the diary in an evidence bag, making sure he filled out the slip on the front. Memories of Kim having a flashback, the post mortems he’d had to attend, hours spent looking at crime scene photos reverberated in his mind and he could feel his own anger building.
Determined to focus that anger, he said to Billy, “This diary will help with two things. One, extra proof, if needed, that Fitch was systematically raping and bullying Turner. And two, it also goes a long way to proving that Turner was Kim’s attacker and stalker. But there’s nothing else, nothing to tie him to Becca, Madison, or Summer.
“It doesn’t even give us any evidence that he’s the man that has been wearing wigs,” said Billy. “Where the hell would he stash those?”
“Hang on a minute, didn’t you say you met him in the gym?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Come on, then, let’s try his locker at the Sports Centre. The search warrant covers any place he would store personal effects.”
They quickly covered the short mile from St Omer Village to the Sports Centre. As they parked in the car park opposite the main entrance, Crane was reminded of the hours he’d spent inside and outside this building, during the summer months. When he was in his own personal wilderness, acting as security liaison, watching over the Olympic athletes as they trained for the London 2012 Games.
This time there were no terrorists to battle with, just the staff who ran the Centre.
“We need to see the manager,” Billy said to a spotty faced youth on the reception desk.
“He’s not available,” was the mumbled reply.
“Then who’s in charge,” Crane asked.
“Well, I dunno, me I suppose, until he gets back from his break anyway.”
“In that case, I need the key to the locker used by Sebastian Turner.”
“I can’t give you any keys,” the young man managed to shake his head and scratch a spot on his chin at the same time.
“I’ve got a search warrant,” Crane thrust the copy of the warrant under his nose.
“I think you better wait until the manager gets back.”
“Alright have it your own way,” sighed Crane, having had quite enough of the boy’s attitude. “I’m going to get into that locker with or without the key. Billy, lead on.”
Crane and Billy left with the receptionist shouting after them, “Oy you can’t, come back, wait…”
They pushed through the Men’s Changing Room doors and Billy led the way through the maze of metal containers.
“This is the one,” Billy pointed at number 269. “I’ve seen him use it loads of times, so I’m sure I’m right.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
Crane nodded his approval and Billy got a small crowbar from the bottom of his forensics case. It took just a few seconds to prise the door open. Crane put on a pair of latex gloves and lifted out a sports bag, which was the only thing in there.
Billy spread out a plastic sheet on the floor so Crane could put it down. Slowly Crane unzipped the bag. There were three items in there. Two wigs, lying nestled together, one made of blond hair and the other dark brown, placed on top of a white plastic crime scene jump suit.
“Got you, you bastard,” hissed Crane through his teeth.
Back in the car on their way to Provost Barracks, Billy asked, “How do you think he drugged the girls, sir? I wonder what he used and how he got it past the bouncers on the door of The Goose. They regularly do body checks to make sure there are no drugs being taken in.
After a moment, a smile broke out on Crane’s face.
“Eye drops, that’s how he got the drug into the drinks. It would also provide a legitimate excuse for a bouncer, should he get searched. Dry eyes that need eye drops or an eye infection that needs drops every few hours. I bet you both those eye drop bottles - the one we’ve just found and the one Staff Sgt Jones found in Turner’s old room - will have traces of Rohypnol in them,” said Crane as he pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket.
46
“The verdict of the court is guilty.”
Crane watched from the back of Co
urtroom No 1 as Fitch blanched, swaying on his feet, before being held up by two RMP. As he was led away Crane turned to look at Private Turner. The young soldier was sitting down, his head in his hands, obviously weeping, his shoulders hitching up and down. Crane indicated to Billy that they should wait outside.
As Turner pushed through the door of the courtroom, into the corridor, Crane and Billy moved to greet him, stationing themselves one on either side of him.
“Well, done, Seb,” Crane offered his hand, which the Private firstly looked at in horror and then gave a weak handshake.
“Great job, mate,” Billy clapped Turner on the shoulder. “You must be so relieved.”
“Yes, Billy, you’ve no idea…”
“Should think it lifts a big weight off your shoulders, knowing he’s locked away and can’t hurt you anymore,” butted in Crane.
“Too right, sir.” Turner swivelled round to look at Crane.
“Bet you’re really proud of yourself for being so brave,” added Billy.
“Well, yes.”
“Must make you feel good facing your fears, facing your tormentor,” Crane said as he and Billy kept pace with Private Turner as they headed for the exit.
“Um…”
“A very brave thing to do that, identifying your rapist,” Billy said as they jostled through the revolving main door and out into the dull, grey, mid-afternoon.
“Just like Kim,” Crane added.
“Kim? What about Kim?” Seb stopped.
“So you know our Kim then?” Billy asked.
“Know, I…”
“Well you must do, otherwise you would have said, ‘Kim who?’ don’t you think?” Crane said.
“Know? Kim? Well I suppose I must do.”
“Where from?” Billy looked at Seb keenly
“Um…”
“Must have heard us mention her, eh lad?” Crane put in.
“Yes, yes, sir, that must be it.” Turner was keen to agree with Crane.
“The thing is, though, I haven’t. Mentioned her that is,” Crane said as he gripped Seb’s elbow. “Have you ever mentioned her, Billy?”
Honour Bound: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Page 16
