“I can’t possibly imagine how you must have felt when your wife died.”
“I can,” said Crane. “And that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? For other people to feel the way you did?”
“Yes.” Clive’s voice was a whisper once again, the emotional energy drained from him like pulling a plug out of a sink full of water.
“That’s why you took the emergency calls and then didn’t send an ambulance.” It wasn’t a question. Rather a statement. An acknowledgement of Clive’s crimes.
“Yes.”
“You took my call. Then when the opportunity arose, you befriended me afterwards. So you had a mate who was going through the same thing.”
Clive nodded.
“A mate who would understand and want to talk about his feelings. Show empathy and sympathy for your own plight.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Butler said, looking up at Crane. “You’re right and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough,” said Crane struggling to his feet. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. Doesn’t make it right. Doesn’t mean I forgive you. I’ll never forgive you and neither will the families of your other victims,” Crane spat. “Remember that as you spend each and every day of the rest of your life locked in a small cell.”
Anderson rose to stand next to Crane. “Interview terminated,” he said and both men left the room, leaving Butler with his solicitor, whose horror-stricken face told Crane that Butler would get no sympathy from him either.
52
Mulling over the case that night, with a beer by his side and the television on with the volume down low, Crane wondered how he had got it so wrong. He’d really believed that Sam Callaghan was the man they were looking for. He’d been completely taken in by Clive Butler.
Crane guessed that with Sam, the problem was they had been so desperate to catch the killer they had convinced themselves it was him. Because he had the right background, he must be the right killer. On paper, it had all seemed so convincing. His mother’s death several years ago when the emergency rule was in place. When operators were told to clear everything except a cardiac arrest. His mother had had a huge stroke and stopped breathing. Yes, it had seemed so obvious on paper, but had become much more complicated when they met him. The young man was a wreck.
He wondered if that was because Sam hadn’t come to terms with his mother’s death. Hadn’t processed it properly? Is that what was going to happen to him if he wasn’t careful? He was feeling more confident around Daniel now. He’d been a good father while Tina was alive, but her death seemed to have knocked his confidence so much that he’d lost his way a bit.
He wasn’t the only one grieving at the hands of Butler. Crane was upset for the families who were also his victims. His worry was that there could be others who had loved ones who had died due to Butler handling their call. Or died due to the emergency rule being in place. The operators couldn’t send an ambulance if there wasn’t one. He was acutely aware of so many people dealing with grief at any one time.
In danger of becoming overwhelmed by his morbid thoughts, Crane walked through the kitchen and out into the garden. It had been a warm day and the heat had lingered on into the evening as Crane pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. He stood looking upwards, able to see a few stars in the cloudless sky, despite the light pollution. He wondered what to do with himself. He didn’t fancy watching the television, the books he was reading held no interest. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to sit in the kitchen and chat to Tina over his beer and her glass of wine, as they had done so many times over the years.
He walked along the length of the garden, noticing a few weeds were taking advantage of Tina’s absence and trying to take over her flowerbeds. That might be something he could do with Daniel. A bit of gardening at the weekend could help them bond. As he walked back towards the house, his leg gave way and he stumbled, ending up sprawled over the grass. A few choice words accompanied his attempts to regain his feet. However, it had given him an idea. He had been neglecting his physiotherapy regime, those exercises he had to do at home, to complement the sessions with the professional. Now was a pretty good time to start them again. It would help exhaust his body and brain and a warm shower afterwards should set him up for bed.
53
Even Crane knew when he was beaten. He had not had the good night’s sleep he’d been hoping for and prepared for. Whirling around in his mind, as always, was Tina’s death. He was groping around in the dark, not knowing what to do, say or think. But, as he got dressed the next morning, he had an idea and picked up his mobile. He had two calls to make.
The first of those had been to Kim and the second to Derek to tell him he’d be in later than planned. As a result, he was sitting with Kim once again in her house on the Garrison. He had just finished telling her how he wasn’t coping.
“I need to try and find a way through this veil of hate and anger,” he said. “I hate Clive Butler for what he’s done. I’m angry with Tina for leaving me alone. I’m even angry with poor little Daniel, because I’m having trouble relating to him. Every time I see his face or hear his voice, I’m reminded that Tina’s dead and we’ll never have that second child we were thinking about. And don’t get me started on God!”
Kim smiled, “I think it’s best to leave religion out of this. But, there is something that you can think about. It might just help to turn things around for you.”
“Don’t tell me to forget her! I’ll never do that.” Even Crane could hear the fear in his voice and he clutched his packet of cigarettes so hard that he crushed it.
“I’ll never do that,” Kim explained. “In fact I want you to concentrate on remembering her.”
“But I do, all the time. I can’t get away from it.”
“You can’t get away from the tragedy you mean, Crane. That’s what you’re focusing on at the moment. How your life has been turned upside down. What I want is for you to focus on Tina in another way.”
Crane lessened his grip on the packet and put it back in his pocket, willing his body to relax.
“I know you’re in a dark place at the moment. However, you need to try to understand that within that dark and ugly place there is a beauty and love so strong that not even death can dislodge it. Can you acknowledge that to start with?”
“So you want me to look beyond my anger and fear and turn towards Tina, instead of away from her, as I am at the moment.”
“That’s a really good way of putting it,” Kim acknowledged. “The beauty of your relationship with Tina, is that the love you have for her continues, even after her death. And that the impact of that trauma can bring you closer to the love that you both shared, if you let it. Think about all the ways your love for Tina has affected your lives and the lives of others. The clearest way is Daniel. Without Tina and your love, Daniel wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t exist. So he should become another way that you can experience the joy of Tina’s love for you both, rather than the face of your sadness and anger at her passing.”
Crane was silent for a moment. Then said, “Turn a negative into a positive.”
Kim smiled, “Exactly.”
“Okay, I can try and do that,” Crane acknowledged.
“It won’t happen straight away,” Kim cautioned. “But you’ll get there, Crane. If anyone can, you can. You’re the most determined person I know.”
Crane wasn’t so sure that was true anymore, but appreciated the compliment.
However, Kim wasn’t quite done with him. She said, “When we can see love where darkness used to reside, we can finally turn our lives and the lives of those around us into something glorious. And that’s got to be worth a try, hasn’t it?”
54
As he’d promised Derek, Crane went straight to the police station from the Garrison. Walking into Derek’s office, he got a round of applause from the team. Even Billy and Dudley-Jones were there. Crane’s face blazed red and he put up his hands to stop them from embarrassing h
im further.
“For God’s sake you lot,” he grinned. “Enough!”
As Crane shook his jacket off and sat down at the conference table, he noticed the cakes and doughnuts spread out across the middle of the table.
“A small celebration for us, courtesy of Grimes,” Derek grinned.
“And as a peace offering for not taking us seriously?”
“Not taking you seriously, boss, you mean,” said Holly as she chose a squidgy cream cake. “You were the only one to start with, who had the instinct that something was badly wrong.” She licked cream off her fingers.
“Well, maybe I did. But it’s all behind us now.”
“Well, sort of.”
Crane turned to Anderson. “What do you mean, sort of? Don’t tell me there’s something wrong with Clive’s arrest and confession.”
“No, no, that’s all fine. He was remanded in custody this morning without bail.”
“Thank God for that. So what do you mean?”
“Grimes wants an audience to say ‘thank you’ himself.”
“Oh, joy,” said Crane. “So now Grimes doesn’t think that I was losing my mind?” At Derek’s shake of the head, Crane said, “In that case I’m going to need something sugary to give me the energy to cope with meeting him.”
“Here,” Ciaran passed him the platter of treats. “Go for it.”
“Hell, have two,” joked Billy.
But one cake was sufficient for Crane, ever mindful of his weight.
“Oh, you’ve been acknowledged in print as well,” Derek handed him his tablet.
“What’s this?” Crane peered at the screen.
“A new story on the Aldershot News website. Read it while Ciaran gets you a coffee to go with that cake.”
Crane took the device from Anderson, and was soon caught up in Diane Chambers’ piece. He had to admit it was an excellent piece of writing. She outlined the investigation and talked about the people who had died and the one who had been saved, namely her husband. She talked warmly of Crane and with sympathy for his loss, which had kicked the whole thing off and exposed a sad, deluded man who hadn’t been able to move on after his wife and daughter had died. She had more forgiveness for Clive Butler than Crane could summon up, at least for the moment.
He thought about the Padre. He was the one person who constantly talked about forgiveness, but for the moment Crane couldn’t forgive Butler, nor God, for letting it happen.
Finally, she interviewed a 999 operator from Winchester, who didn’t wish to be named.
“It’s a hard job. You don’t want to listen to someone on the line who is potentially losing a loved one. No one wants to hear someone die. You just don’t. No one does. That’s why I can’t understand what motivated Clive to let people die, to hear their last breath. It’s just bizarre. I once heard someone die over the phone and it changed me. But in a good way. Because It made me even more motivated to try to save others. It’s important to try. It might not work every time. But you have to try.”
55
Saturday arrived. Mrs Strange didn’t work Saturdays and Sundays, unless Crane was on an active investigation which necessitated him working seven days a week. Now the 999 case was over, he was in sole charge of Daniel for the first time, for two whole days. Crane swallowed down his anxiety with his cereal at breakfast.
Once they’d eaten and cleared everything away, Crane sat Daniel back down at the kitchen table.
“What are we going to do now, Daddy? Can we go outside to play?”
Crane watched the rain smearing the kitchen windows. “Not today. It’s raining.”
“Oh, so we can’t go to the park?”
“No, little man, we can’t.”
Daniel started to pout. “Well, what can we do?”
“I thought that we might make a memory box for mummy.”
“What’s a memory box, Daddy?”
Daniel seemed very interested in his fingers and was twisting them around each other, a clear sign he was a little anxious. Talking about his Mum with Crane was a new thing for both of them.
“It’s a special place where we keep all our memories and things that remind us of her,” Crane explained. “Then you can take them out whenever you feel like it and remember mummy and be happy.”
“Like at night when she’s not here to kiss me and tuck me in?”
“Yes, at times like that,” Crane smiled, a film of tears covering his eyes.
Daniel began to jiggle in his seat. “What shall we put in it?”
“Oh, let me see. A favorite photograph, something special of hers that you’d like to keep, birthday cards that she sent you? Anything and everything that reminds you of her and how much she loved you.”
“Have you got one, Daddy? A memory box for mummy?”
“Not yet, but I’ll be doing one. Definitely. That’s a very good idea, son. We both should have one and keep them by our beds, to help us feel a little less lonely at night.”
Dear Reader
Poor Crane. First, life changing injuries, then life changing events. It’s a wonder he can cope. But then he is a soldier. They are very good at holding in their emotions.
The next adventure sees Derek Anderson suffering loss. Childhood friends are targeted by a serial killer and they call on him to help them.
It all starts with a body in a grave that shouldn’t be there.
A brother and sister dead.
Who’s next?
To find out grab A Grave Death!
Read on for an exceprt…
A Grave Death 1
It was a cold, blustery autumn day, the type of weather befitting a funeral. They were following the swaying, bumping coffin, walking slowly through the cemetery towards the freshly dug, waiting grave. A beam of sunshine broke through the dismal grey sky, illuminating the path, as if to light their way. But it couldn’t lighten anyone’s mood.
‘Where the hell is Jill?’ Paul hissed at Anderson, replacing his mobile in his pocket, clearly annoyed that once again he’d been unable to contact his sister. He’d said to Anderson earlier that to think that she wouldn’t attended her own brother’s funeral was, well, unthinkable.
No one seemed to have seen her since the previous morning. As a result, DI Anderson could only shrug his shoulders in reply to Paul’s question. He’d suggested to his friend that perhaps she’d been overwhelmed with grief and, unable to face the funeral, had gone away. That theory had been met with a snort of derision. She was a Director at Dean Engineering, Paul had said, and was made of sterner stuff.
Anderson turned and looked at the straggling line of mourners following them, as a sudden gust of wind made his beige raincoat flap open, which he wore over his customary work attire of tweed jacket and grey trousers. It lifted the wisps of grey hair off his head and into his eyes. But pushing them aside, he still couldn’t see Jill. The tall figure of Kevin’s son Reece was loping alongside his latest girlfriend, model thin and elegant in her black dress. Jill’s daughter Maggie had steadfastly refused to wear black to her uncle’s funeral and instead was wearing a dress of many colours and layers under a red duffle coat, a headband in her hair and rope espadrilles on her feet, despite the earlier rain. The remaining mourners were dressed in various shades of grey and black and were reminiscent of an undulating sea in winter.
He hurried to catch up with Paul, who had reached the edge of the grave. The coffin was on the grass, set upon the bands of rope that would be used to lower it into the ground and the undertakers were standing ready to complete the task at the appropriate time. Anderson tried to block out the memory of the last funeral he’d attended, that was threatening to take hold with the death grip of a migraine. The passing of Tina Crane, the wife of his friend and fellow investigator Sgt Major Tom Crane, although some three months ago, was still a lump of grief that had settled in his stomach like a stone. No amount of positivity had so far managed to move it.
Anderson looked around in an effort to distract himself from his gr
ief over Tina’s death. The vicar had his bible open in his hands, his white robe rippling in the breeze. Paul was looking down, his thick black-framed glasses slipping down his nose, revealing red-rimmed eyelids. Anderson envied Paul’s coarse thick black hair which was unruffled, despite the wind that was blowing more steadily now. His black cashmere overcoat with black suit underneath added just the right amount of gravitas to the occasion. The elder brother and uncle setting the standard for the family, as usual. Not that they always followed his lead, Maggie being a prime example of that.
By now the remaining mourners had arrived but stood a respectful distance from the yawning mouth of the grave, as though afraid that if they got too close, then they too would be set down inside it, never again to see the light of day. Anderson bowed his head in respect rather than prayer and looked at the freshly turned earth that covered the bottom of the grave. A touch of white caught his eye and he wondered if it was a flower from a wreath? A Lilly perhaps that had made a break for freedom from a tightly woven floral spray.
The words of the burial service washed over him. Not being a religious man, they didn’t particularly touch him. And anyway, his focus was still on that bit of white something or other poking out of the black earth. Deciding he needed a better look, he moved around the edge of the grave until he had another angle on it. He squatted, oblivious to the strange looks from the mourners and the stuttering and spluttering from the man of God, whom Anderson had unceremoniously pushed out of the way. He had a clearer view now. From one side he had only seen white. However, from his change of perspective he could see a slash of deep red. This was no Lilly, but a finger. With blood red nail polish painted on it. Poking out of the empty grave. Pointing at them.
Death Call Page 14
