‘There,’ I said, ‘I told you I wanted retribution.’
As recognition flooded his eyes, his mouth opened and shut and his hands grabbed at his neck. So I pulled out the glass shard for him, as that was what he seemed to want me to do, allowing his blood to pump out of his body. Once he was still and quiet and the gurgling and choking noises had stopped, I left his office. As good as her word, his receptionist had gone home for the night. I was fairly certain his body wouldn’t be found until the following morning.
Thirty Six
Louise dressed with more than a little trepidation that evening. Would Peter approve of her choice of dress? Would he think it too daring? Think it exposed too much flesh? The long black dress clung to her slim figure showing off her flat stomach that had not been stretched by pregnancy. Her breasts were still pert as they had never known the suckling of a child. The dress showed just a hint of cleavage and a slit at the front accentuated her long legs. She had left her hair down and it bounced on her shoulders, the red and brown colours catching the light, showing off the perfect highlights from her latest hairdresser. She had accentuated her green eyes with eyeliner and mascara, giving a look which spoke of promise and hidden depths. Twisting this way and that in the mirror in the bathroom, for they had still not replaced the broken one in the bedroom, Louise told herself to stop worrying. She liked the dress even if he didn’t. She picked up her clutch bag, draped a shawl around her shoulders and strode to the bedroom door. And stopped. Hand in mid-air. Frozen.
All her bravado had faded away to nothing, as though it were nothing more than a mirage.
But then she pulled herself together. Told herself she had to do this. Told herself it was nothing more than her job. She would be fine. Meeting new people was no problem at all, she tried to convince herself. Tucking the bag under her arm, taking a deep breath and clutching the edge of the shawl to try and still her shaking hands, Louise left the bedroom and walked down the stairs.
She needn’t have worried so much about the dress. For Peter merely glanced up once as she walked towards him and said, ‘Oh good, you’re ready, let’s be off then,’ and he grabbed his car keys from the hall table and walked out of the front door. She followed out him into the night wondering how she had managed to become so invisible to her husband. The cold air chilled not only her body, but her heart.
They said little on the short drive to the Mess. She glanced at Peter, dressed in his best uniform, all buttons and braids, and the ice around her heart thawed a little. She thought how handsome he looked. How proud she was to be his wife. She very much hoped his awful episodes of dalliance with prostitutes were over. Maybe two of them dying had put him off, shaken him up, brought him to his senses. She certainly hoped so. Perhaps tonight would be the night they would experience the true meaning of being a married couple once again, for she’d never been able to resist him dressed in his finery and in the past neither had he, when she was dressed in hers.
The Officer’s Mess looked wonderful and the sight of the gleaming glassware, cutlery and candles lifted Louise’s spirits and a glass of wine warmed her a little. Waiters weaved in and out of the guests, trays of drinks held high, as everyone greeted their friends and colleagues.
She stood by Peter’s side, smiling and nodding as he talked to everyone else and not to her. She felt his hand on her elbow a few times, as though he wanted to make sure she was still there. Towards the end of the melee that was drinks before dinner, she took a second glass of wine from a passing waitress.
‘Are you sure you should have another one, dear?’ Peter said without looking at her, his gaze travelling around the room. ‘Maybe wait until dinner, eh?’ and he glanced down, taking the glass out of her hand and placing it on a nearby table, before grabbing a whisky and downing it in one swallow. As he emptied his glass, the gong sounded for dinner. He gave the crystal tumbler to a waiter and held out his elbow.
‘Shall we go in?’ he said to the subordinates surrounding them, his smile encompassing them all. As they parted to allow the Colonel and his lady to pass first, Peter glanced down at her. The smile was still in place, but his eyes were hard. As if daring her to do anything but what was expected of her. So she took his proffered elbow and with a gracious nod of her head to his sycophants, allowed him to lead her into the dining room.
Louise assumed the food was good, it always was, but that night she tasted nothing. She simply chewed and swallowed. Chewed and swallowed. It was essential for her to maintain a steady rhythm; otherwise she was afraid she would lose her grip on her knife and fork and also on her sanity. She took his advice, though, and stayed clear of the alcohol, as she watched him down glass after glass. Whisky, wine (red and white), port and back to whisky again. She wondered if he would be able to stand when it was time to leave, for she couldn’t have if she’d consumed that much alcohol.
At the end of the night, he was surprisingly pliable. They said their goodbyes and he managed to walk out of the Officers’ Mess, clutching her arm. But this time not to keep her close, but to keep himself upright.
She drove the short distance back to their house in silence, her reflecting on the evening, he fast asleep, snoring. Once at the house, he walked up the stairs, went into the bedroom and promptly passed out on the bed, fully clothed. And there ended the evening.
Even though Louise had dressed up for him, looked beautiful, played the part of the Colonel’s wife to perfection, it seemed it wasn’t enough to tempt him. She clearly wasn’t good enough. She was never good enough. It appeared that all that mattered to Peter was that she was there. By his side. Like some sort of mannequin. A parody of a member of the royal family, who did nothing more than smile, wave and occasionally incline a head. She didn’t know what to do to get his attention. To get him to see her as a person, not the robot he obviously expected her to be.
She took off her beautiful dress, hanging it carefully in the wardrobe and pulled on a pair of pyjamas. She then cleaned her teeth and wiped away her makeup, before slipping between the icy sheets.
Thirty Seven
Walking into the Mess for a function, never failed to fill Crane with pride. Tonight was something different, though, a departure from the usual Mess nights. Some bright spark had come up with the idea of having a charity function. It was all about raising money for an Aldershot youth intervention charity which was doing good work in the local community. Trying to stop local youths from committing crimes and if they had, working with them towards giving their lives a new direction. Urging them to live a more positive way of life away from crime and gangs. A number of the boys had joined the army and were well on their way to becoming valued members of the forces.
Captain Draper loved the idea of the local garrison supporting this cause, especially as it was a particularly good fit for the military police and he therefore asked (army speak for told) that all his men and women of the rank of sergeant and above, attend the event. It also didn’t hurt that a number of high ranking officers were also supporting the charitable evening and had thrown open the doors of the Officers’ Mess for the occasion. Draper was also keen to raise the visibility and reputation of the military police in general and the SIB in particular.
Mingling with the other guests during the requisite drinks before the meal, Draper collared Crane and introduced Crane and Tina to Colonel Marshall, who had recently returned from Germany. The look that passed between Crane and Draper confirmed that this was no accidental meeting.
At the introduction, Crane said, ‘Very pleased to meet you, sir. May I present my wife, Tina.’
Peter Marshall duly introduced his own wife, Louise and the two couples settled down to make small talk. Crane found this easy as he was particularly interested in the Colonel’s time in Germany, as it wasn’t without the realms of possibility that Crane would do a stint there one day. However, glancing over at his wife, Crane noticed Tina was struggling to make conversation with Louise Marshall.
‘Do you have any children?’ he he
ard Tina ask.
Louise Marshall mumbled her reply into her drink’s glass, ‘No, no, we don’t.’
‘Oh, what a shame,’ said Tina. ‘My little one, Daniel, is the light of my life. He’s two now and growing like a weed. He’s such a joy. We’re not sure if we’ll have any more yet, though...’
As Tina talked, her mouth running away with her, the Colonel’s wife said less and less and Tina appeared to be trying her best to keep the conversation going. Mrs Marshall’s face closed down. Her eyes went blank and she dropped her gaze away from Tina’s face towards the drink in her hand.
It seemed the Colonel noticed his wife’s problem as well, for he stopped talking to Crane mid-sentence and drew his wife away from them. As they moved away, the Colonel mumbled excuses about there being many others they had to meet that night.
Once on their own Tina hissed to Crane, ‘That was like pulling teeth.’
‘I saw you were having a bad time there.’
‘Wasn’t I just. I tried several topics until I hit on talking about children. But that seemed to make her worse. She shut down completely then.’
‘There must be something going on there that we know nothing about,’ Crane said and grabbed a glass off a passing tray.
‘What was the Colonel like?’ Tina asked him.
‘Like every other Colonel, to be honest. He used a lot of words to say very little. They remind me of MPs, you know, officers.’
‘Toeing the party line?’
‘Exactly,’ Crane grinned. ‘They all say absolutely nothing of any importance. Oh and they never reply to a direct question.’
They both laughed and then the gong interrupted their conversation. It was time to take their seats for dinner.
Throughout the evening Crane watched Mrs Marshall, who was seated on a nearby table in his line of sight. She seemed uncomfortable all through the meal. She ate and drank very little. Spoke very little as well. She mostly sat with her hands in her lap, head slightly bowed, reminiscent of a quiet person of faith, as she let the whole evening wash over her head.
Occasionally she did raise her eyes to look at someone who was attempting to draw her into conversation. When she did that Crane thought there’s something about her. He felt that he’d seen her, or her eyes before, but he just couldn’t say when or where. She was definitely familiar, but Crane was unable to pin point why.
Thirty Eight
Ah, so you’re back. I was hoping you would want to continue reading my story. So, stay with me awhile. I’ve more to tell. Let’s continue our journey through the narrative of my life.
After I dealt with Doctor Harmon, all was quiet and stable for a while and my life took on a more conservative rhythm. I was emotionally drained from facing my past and bringing my tormentors to justice and took some time out to help me heal, both mentally and physically. I had thought my mission complete. I had had my retribution on the three men who had used and abused me. The men who had passed me from pillar to post and stolen my childhood.
I concentrated on the house. I buffed the wood to a new shine, cleaned the kitchen until it sparkled, banished the spiders and their cobwebs from both the cellar and the attic. I was happy. Well, as happy as I could be, I supposed. Perhaps resigned is a better description. I accepted my lot, such as it was. That was until I read an article in the local newspaper. See, here it is. I’ve cut it out and pasted it into the book, so you can read it for yourself
Joy for local couple
Fred and Sylvia Brown thought that they couldn’t have children. After years of trying to get pregnant without success, Sylvia was finally diagnosed with blocked fallopian tubes, that it appeared could have been caused by a childhood illness. To help them come to terms with this terrible blow, the couple decided to selflessly devote their lives to others less fortunate than themselves. They had a large house and Fred Brown had a steady job that paid well, so they decided to share their good fortune. They became foster parents, raising young, needy and troubled children from differing backgrounds. The more disturbed the better, it seemed.
‘We decided to take in those children who other foster parents wouldn’t. The children we welcomed into our home had various issues. Anger. Despair. Loss. All of them were lonely, unloved, unwanted, confused and bewildered. Some stayed with us for several years, others only for a few weeks. We dedicated our lives to those children and it was a privilege to help them.’
And now after all the years of selfless sacrifice, Fred and Sylvia have become proud parents themselves.
‘It’s a miracle,’ said Sylvia. ‘Who would have thought it? A baby of our very own. We have looked after other people’s children for years and years, taken in those whose own mothers had rejected them and now our reward is a child of our own. We are very fortunate and very thankful.’
Well, that’s all very lovely, you might say. A bit cloying, a bit Disney all-American happy ending, but what has it to do with me? Well I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you the truth about Fred Brown. Show you the side of him that he hid from the world.
Louise turned the page of the red leather book expectantly. How alike they were, her and Matilda, Louise was realising more and more. Louise could relate to Matilda’s description of her life. Feel her resignation. Understand her acceptance of her lot. Those were the words she’d use to describe herself; resigned and accepting. They were uncannily similar. There were parts of Louise’s life that were good, her work in the community, the house, Matilda’s book and others that...
The slam of the front door made her jerk her head up from Matilda’s book. Peter? What on earth was he doing here? Louise scrambled off the bed, pushing the book underneath it. She was just straightening the pleats of the bed valance when he walked in to the bedroom.
‘Hello,’ she said, still on her knees by the side of the bed.
‘Louise, what on earth are you doing?’
‘Um, just, um. Well, I was dusting, you see and I knocked an ear ring off the bedside table and I’m trying to find it.’ Louise hoped he wouldn’t notice that there was no duster, or tin of polish. The two items she would need if she really were cleaning. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked, getting up from the floor.
‘I left my mobile phone, it should be on the table there. If you’ve not knocked that off as well, that is.’
‘No, no, here it is,’ she picked up the mobile and handed it to him. ‘See you later,’ she said and got down on the floor again, continuing with her charade, running her hand over the carpet as though trying to find her lost piece of jewellery. The irony was not lost on her. For once she wanted rid of Peter, instead of the other way round.
Thirty Nine
The morning briefing over, Captain Draper relaxed, pushing back his chair and crossing his legs. Crane took the hint and relaxed back in his chair also.
‘What did you think of the jamboree the other night then, Tom?’
‘Thoroughly enjoyed it, boss, as did Tina.’
‘Excellent. I thought it was a good idea of mine, to join in with a charity function. It also got the ranks together. Too often we are segregated and having been a Sgt Major before I took a commission, I have first-hand experience of the practice of keeping the ranks apart. So as a bit of an experiment, I think it worked rather well don’t you think?’
‘Yes, sir.’ If Draper wanted his ego stroked, Crane was happy to oblige.
‘It was interesting to meet the Colonel and Mrs Marshall, come to that. Had you met her before, Crane?’
‘No, sir, I hadn’t.’
‘Striking woman, wouldn’t you say, with that auburn hair, pale skin and green eyes,’ Draper said.
And that’s when the penny dropped. Crane sat stock still in his chair, as though turned to stone. Trying to comprehend what had just popped unbidden into his mind. The image of the woman on the CCTV that Anderson had shown him. It was the eyes, those striking green eyes. The CCTV may be black and white but it couldn’t hide the almond shape, or the long sweeping lashes.
Draper was still talking, but Crane didn’t hear him. Draper stopped speaking and looked at Crane with the air of a perplexed man who had just seen his subordinate take absolutely no notice of him whatsoever.
‘Crane, are you alright?’
‘What? Oh, sorry, sir, yes, yes, I am. Or at least I think I am. I’m not altogether sure.’
‘Stop spouting nonsense, Crane.’
Crane looked at his Captain. ‘Sorry, sir, I need to speak to DI Anderson, urgently.’
And then Crane did something he’d never done in his life before. He walked out of the boss’ office without being dismissed.
‘Colonel Marshall’s wife. Are you mad!’ spluttered Anderson.
Crane had just completed a three mile journey in three minutes and was breathing hard from running into Aldershot Police Station and all the way up the office block to the CID offices. For some reason, in his madness, he’d thought the stairs would be quicker than the lift and had just run up five floors. Crane sat on a chair, ignoring the pile of papers already on it, which crinkled and crumpled beneath him.
‘Yes, the Colonel’s wife, Louise Marshall. There’s something about her, Derek. I thought she was a bit strange when we met her at the function. Tina tried to talk to her, but she said very little. It was very definitely a one way conversation they had, with Tina doing all the talking. And he seems to speak for her, replies to questions for her. And another thing. He doesn’t take much notice of her, but on the other hand, won’t let her leave his side.’
Glass Cutter: A Sgt Major Crane crime thriller (A Sgt Major Crane Novel Book 7) Page 11
