Death Call

by Wendy Cartmell

  With difficulty, he dragged himself back to the present, as he saw Diane Chambers at the door of the café. In many ways, he would have preferred to be alone with his thoughts, instead of facing Tina’s death all over again by meeting Diane and another victim of a fake 999 operator. As she saw him sat in a booth in the back, she waved and turned to speak to a man following her. As they made their way towards Crane, he looked at the man with her. His dirty-blond hair was dishevelled, curling over his shirt collar and his beard was half way between designer stubble and a beard. He wore black rimmed glasses that he kept pushing up his nose, making Crane stupidly think of the advert, ‘should have gone to Specsavers’. Suppressing a totally inappropriate grin, and wondering what the hell was wrong with him, he motioned for Diane and the man to sit opposite him.

  Once the introductions were over and an order for coffees made, Diane said, “Jeff, would you like to start?”

  Jeff nodded his head and explained that a few weeks ago his father had been visiting from Newcastle and was playing in the garden with his grandchildren. “We’ve got a trampoline in the garden and he was supervising Winter and Summer,” he said.

  Crane nodded. Tina and he had agreed they would get one for Daniel when he was a bit older. Crane wasn’t sure he’d be able to buy one now. It would be a constant reminder. Yet another one. Then Crane realised what Jeff had said.

  “Winter and Summer?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I know. Bloody stupid names. It was the wife’s idea. It was the season when they were born. Anyway,” Jeff continued, pushing up his glasses yet again, “all of a sudden we heard a scream from the garden. It was one of the girls. I ran outside thinking she had fallen off the bloody thing, but when I got there, it was Dad who was on the floor, not one of the girls. He seemed to be having trouble breathing and speaking, when I asked him what had happened.

  “Summer told me that Grandad was swotting away a wasp that was annoying them. Then all of a sudden, he fell down. Just then, my wife ran up the garden towards us. She was holding the phone in her hand. She pointed out that Dad’s neck and face seemed swollen and said she thought he was suffering from anaphylactic shock from a sting. She pushed the phone into my hand and told me to call for an ambulance.”

  “Let me guess,” said Crane. “You spoke to a fake operator and an ambulance didn’t come.”

  Jeff nodded his head and his eyes filled with tears, swallowing hard and appearing to grind his teeth as he battled to gain control over his emotions. After a slurp of coffee he continued. “The voice, I’m still not sure if it was a man or women, who I thought was a 999 operator, told me to make Dad comfortable, loosen any clothing and make sure his mouth was free of obstructions.”

  Crane remembered that last instruction all too clearly. “What happened once you’d done that?”

  Jeff was silent for a while, taking deep breaths. Diane put one hand over his and the other one on Jeff’s back. “It’s alright, Jeff,” she said. “Just take your time.”

  Jeff nodded, then rose and stumbled over to the toilets. Once alone with Diane, Crane said, “Poor bugger.”

  “I know,” agreed Diane. “But are you okay? You know, with having to hear all this?”

  Crane had never known Diane to be empathetic, but she was doing a good job of it so far.

  “Thanks for asking,” he said gruffly. “But I’ll be alright.”

  Just then, Jeff returned to the table, saving Crane from any further discussion with Diane about Tina.

  “Sorry about that,” Jeff said as he sat back down, his hands and face still glistening with water from his visit to the toilets. “Anyway,” he continued, “I’ve got a recording of it.”

  “You’ve what?” Crane couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “I’ve got a recording of the call, all of it, even when the operator asked me to put the phone to Dad’s mouth and he took his last strangled breath.”

  “Bloody hell! But why? How?

  “I’m a salesman and I often forget what deal I’ve agreed to, so I record the calls as a reminder. Any call, incoming or outgoing, triggers the recorder automatically.”

  “But it’s illegal, if the person on the other end doesn’t give their agreement to being recorded.” Crane couldn’t shake his police persona despite his grief.

  “I suppose. But I never use it for anything other than an aide memoire.”

  “Well give me a copy otherwise I’ll report you and your bloody aide memoires.” Crane finally cracked. The strain of being civil and pretending there was nothing wrong, becoming too much to bear.

  Jeff said, “There’s no need to be nasty, I was going to anyway. Here, I’ve put it on a memory stick for you already. There’s only one condition,” Jeff said, keeping hold of the stick as Crane grabbed at it. “Let me know when you nick the bastard. A few minutes alone with him is all I’m asking for.”

  “Join the queue, mate,” said Crane snatching the stick. “I’ll be in front of you and there might not be much left of him, or her, by the time I’ve finished.”

  23

  It was after dinner before Anderson plucked up the courage to talk to Jean about Crane. The couple of beers he’d drunk helped to loosen his tongue.

  “I had a call from Crane this afternoon,” he started.

  “Oh good,” said Jean. “How is he?”

  “Pretty much as you’d expect.”

  “Which is?”

  Anderson turned to look properly at his wife, sat on a two-seater sofa, set at a right angle to his in the lounge of their home in Aldershot. The one they’d shared for nearly 20 years, since they’d got married. Her cheeks still flushed from cooking and eating the curry she’d made for dinner, damp tendrils of her short hair stuck to her face.

  “He’s still going on about this 999 call thing.”

  “I don’t blame him.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. Crane may be in a bad place at the moment, but he’s not a stupid man. And he’s a bloody good investigator. At least that’s what you’ve always said.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Mmmm what, Derek? You’ve clearly something on your mind.”

  “Crane and Diane Chambers have found someone else.” Derek took a deep breath and looked away from Jean and back at the television.

  Snapping the TV off, Jean said, “Dear God, this is like pulling teeth. Just spit it out, Derek.”

  “Oy, I was watching that,” he retorted.

  “Not anymore you’re not. So spill.”

  Left with no choice, Derek recalled Crane’s phone call and what he had heard on the recording when he’d called round to his house.

  “Well surely that’s evidence?”

  “Yes and no,” Derek said. “There will be questions asked about the authenticity of the recording. It could be as fake as this so-called fake operator. In addition to that, the evidence was obtained illegally.”

  Jean paused for a moment. “What does your gut tell you?”

  Derek took a couple of mouthfuls of beer before answering. “I’m not sure. I’m being pulled both ways. I want to believe Crane, but Grimes says Crane is just deranged with grief and wants someone to blame and has ordered me to leave the whole thing alone.”

  Jean picked up her own glass, but instead of drinking the wine, looked at Derek. “So Grimes doesn’t believe Crane and you’re not sure. What about the others?”

  “Well there’s Diane Chambers. But she could just be after a good story; you know what she’s like.” Jean acknowledged that theory with a nod of her head. “But Billy Williams is helping, as is Dudley-Jones.”

  “Dudley-Jones?”

  “Don’t you remember? The computer boffin who was around at the time of that attack on Team GB.”

  “Oh yes, and he helped with the train hijack.”

  “Yes, he’s the one.”

  Jean rose from the settee, smoothing her dark skirt and pulling down the hem of her white sweater. “So, others are helping him and you’re not. He
’s your best friend and you’ve turned your back on him.”

  “Come on, Jean, don’t be so melodramatic!”

  “I’m not being melodramatic. I have never been more serious. I’m disappointed in you, Derek. I thought you were made of better stuff.”

  Derek could have sworn she sniffed at him, but before he could say anything in his defence, she walked out of the room. “I’m going to do the washing-up,” she called over her shoulder.

  Left on his own, Anderson was convinced she had sniffed at him. He knew what that meant. She was seriously pissed off. As he finished his beer, he weighed up the odds. What would be worse? Sleeping on the sofa and dealing with Jean’s silent treatment or a battle of words and wills with Grimes. He knew from past experience what being banished to the sofa felt like. He wondered if Grimes would be convinced by the recording. Perhaps, if Derek put a strong positive spin on it.

  Jean appearing at the door put an abrupt end to his deliberations. “Well?” she said. “Have you come to a decision?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake woman, I’ll sort it in the morning. I’ll persuade Grimes that we should help Crane.”

  “Excellent. See you upstairs.”

  Derek watched his wife’s retreating back, laughing silently to himself and conceding that she’d won, as usual.

  24

  Crane was waiting for Derek the next morning, pacing his makeshift incident room as he pondered if Grimes was going to give them the go ahead for an investigation. Crane was still on compassionate leave, so Derek had advised it would be best for him to stay at home and that he would call round as soon as he knew anything.

  “Um, could you sit for a minute, boss?” Dudley-Jones lifted his head from his monitor.

  “Why? I’m having trouble sitting this morning.”

  “Don’t I know it?” At a stare from Crane, Dudley-Jones blushed, then swallowed and continued, “I’ve got a theory.”

  “Oh, all right, I’ll sit down and listen,” conceded Crane. “But I need coffee first.”

  A tap at the door made them both turn around and Dudley-Jones leapt to open it.

  “Thank you, young man,” said Mrs Strange handing him a tray. “I thought you might like a fresh coffee.”

  Once she had left the room and closed the door, Dudley-Jones said, “That woman gives me the willies. It’s spooky how she always knows what to bring and just at the right time.”

  “I know,” grinned Crane. “It’s great isn’t it?”

  “I suppose so. Anyway,” he said as he took a cup of coffee off the tray, “I’ve been thinking. It takes a high level of skill to do this shit. You know, hacking into the Emergency Response Centre call system.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So we’re not necessarily just looking for someone with a criminal record. Someone who has been convicted of computer crimes. Mostly that sort send emails with key loggers in, or steal people’s identities. We’re looking for someone with a degree in computer programming, computer sciences, etc.”

  Crane thought for a moment. “There’s a university in Winchester. But…”

  “Exactly, boss,” interrupted Dudley-Jones, “and they offer that type of degree. I’ve already checked.”

  Crane nodded. “Good work, as always. But what we need now is access to their records. Graduates of their computer courses for, say, the past five years, just to be on the safe side.”

  “They won’t do it without a proper police investigation. And even then they’ll probably insist on a court order.”

  “Bugger. It might all hinge on what Grimes says. Where the bloody hell is Derek, by the way?” Crane glanced at his watch. “He’s taking his time. Maybe he’s having trouble persuading his boss.”

  “If Grimes says no…” Crane saw the glimmer in Dudley-Jones’ eyes. “Then I’ll just have to hack in, won’t I?”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Crane, grinning and finishing his coffee.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said a familiar voice from the door.

  “Derek!” Crane said. “Of course not, just kidding, eh Dudley-Jones?”

  The poor boy was unable to get any words out of a mouth that was opening and shutting like a fish stranded on the riverbank.

  “Mrs Strange let me in,” said Derek.

  “That’s why we didn’t hear anything,” said Crane. “That bloody woman and her slippers and her intuition. I bet you didn’t even have to knock?”

  Derek raised his eyebrows in agreement.

  “Anyway, what news?”

  A grin from Anderson confirmed that Crane had what he’d hoped for. Co-operation from the police. “You managed to persuade him?”

  “Yes. The recording helped a lot, actually. I pointed out to Grimes that even if it was a fake recording – which I doubt by the way before you have a go at me – we couldn’t overlook Jeff himself and his very dead father. So, that’s what swung it. Now, get me a coffee and something nice to eat and we’ll draw up a warrant requesting the student records from Winchester University as well as the personnel records from the 999 centre. That is what you want isn’t it?” he grinned.

  25

  Crane was satisfied with the events of the day. Getting Grimes on board was a big plus. Not that he’d put any resources into their investigation. He’d just said that Derek could liaise with them and arrange for anything that they needed. That was more than enough for Crane. He had his little team around him and Derek on hand if required.

  Now all they could do was wait for the records to arrive. However, Crane wasn’t good at waiting. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues. That was why he’d become a detective, he supposed, instead of say a sniper. The thought of perhaps spending hours or days getting to a position and then waiting for the target and take the shot, filled him with horror. No, he was much better at keeping moving, both physically and intellectually.

  He was sitting in the incident room, as usual. He couldn’t seem to relax anymore. If he went into the sitting room he couldn’t sit still, because once he relaxed thoughts of Tina crowded in and he couldn’t handle that.

  Daniel was sleeping upstairs. He had seemed to settle well, at least so far. The only bad part was when he’d asked if Mummy was at home, or if she was still in Heaven. Crane couldn’t reply, seemingly having something large and immobile in his throat that his voice couldn’t get past. Mrs Strange had stepped in and matter of factly said that she was in Heaven, but looking down on us, keeping us safe. Daniel looked at the ceiling, then back at Mrs Strange and said, “Okay,” before running off to play. If only it was that easy for the grown-ups, Crane had thought.

  So, as relaxing in front of the TV wasn’t an option and Daniel didn’t need him, he needed something else to do. Then he remembered Clive. Digging around in his coat hanging in the hall he found the crumpled card. Laying it flat out on the table, he rang the mobile number, thinking that if Clive was at work he wouldn’t answer. But if he was on a break, or at home, then he might catch him.

  The phone rang a few times then a voice said, “Clive Butler.”

  Crane puffed out the breath he was holding. “Hi, Clive. This is…”

  “Crane,” finished Clive. “I remembered your voice. How are you?”

  “Oh, you know…”

  “Yes, I do. So how can I help?”

  Crane brought him up to date with the results of their efforts, including a third fake operator call. That seemed to hit Clive hard.

  “I wish I could get my hands on this bastard,” he said and from the tone of his voice, Crane had no doubts as to what Clive would do to him if he did.

  Crane said, “The thing is, though, we’re not sure if it’s a man or a woman.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I thought I was talking to a man, but Jeff isn’t sure and is leaning more towards a woman.”

  “That’s what Josie said, that she thought she was talking to a woman.”

  “So the jury is still out on that one. But I was wondering…”
<
br />   “Yes?”

  “Have you seen anyone acting strangely in the control room?”

  “What sort of strangely?”

  “Furtive? Sweating? Constantly checking out the others in the room, as though they think they’re being watched.”

  “Can’t say as I’ve noticed.”

  “No, but would you? Observe them I mean?”

  “Sure. But I thought you were leaning towards some sort of computer genius. What would one of them be doing in our control room?”

  “I’m not good with this sort of stuff, but they could have hacked-in and got a back-door, but need to be in the control room to answer the line. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just clutching at straws, trying to make sense of something I don’t really understand.”

  “Well, I’ll certainly keep an eye out for you.”

  “Thanks, Clive, that makes me feel better. It’s good to know we have someone on the inside. I’m not sure that your boss Terry is taking us too seriously.”

  “He’s a pen pushing wanker.”

  Crane burst out laughing.

  Clive said, “And that’s being kind to him. I’ll be in touch, Crane. For now, I’m off to bed.”

  “Thanks, Clive, appreciate your help.”

  “No worries.”

  26

  Crane plonked a piece of toast on his plate, grabbed his knife and reached for the butter. He was wondering what kind of person would want to hear people dying over the phone. It was a bit of a conundrum, as he wasn’t faced with someone who was strictly a serial killer, as there was no ‘hands on’ as it were. No knife in the heart, bullet to the brain, hands around a neck. It was ‘remote killing’ almost. Killing without actually killing… more letting people die.