Thirty minutes later he leaned back in his chair and read the notes he had made as he worked his way through the list:
Sgt Winsome “Don’t know what you’re talking about, got to go I’m busy.”
L Cpl Furness “Can’t remember, too long ago, can’t help.”
Mrs Shaw “No idea what you’re on about, you need to speak to my ex-husband. But I’ve no idea where he lives now.”
Cpl Parkin “I’ve nothing to say. It’s all in the statement I made at the time.”
Sir Christopher Dunne “Really, Sgt Major, I don’t feel it’s appropriate for the SIB to contact me about an old case. Good day to you.”
Mrs Richmond “I’ve got more important things to do than listen to you. My husband, Dave, who you should be talking to, is in a hospice, dying of cancer.”
Jill Lampton “Bill is away on business, back in a week or so, you’ll have to wait to speak to him until then. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
Crane sat and fingered his scar, wondering at the attitude of the people on his list. Not one of them offered to help him. In fact they all fobbed him off, one way or another. He recognised people could have trouble recalling an event after 10 years. But on the other hand, surely they would remember a murder. It’s the sort of thing most people weren’t likely to forget. Statistically murder was a rare event and a murder investigation would not be something the majority of people would be affected by, or involved with, in their lifetime. So why were they all so reticent? What was it about Carol Newton’s murder that people were shying away from? Was there some implicit guilt? What were they guilty of doing - or not doing? After a few minutes of deliberation, he picked up the telephone again and dialled a number.
After the third ring, the phone was answered and a voice said, “I told you I’ve nothing to say to you. I don’t know anything.”
“I appreciate that, Mrs Lampton,” Crane replied, “but I need Bill’s mobile phone number. I need to talk to him as soon as possible.”
“Oh for God’s sake. Wait a minute, I’ll have to get my own mobile. That’s where the number is stored and it’s in the other room.” The receiver was unceremoniously banged down on the table, causing Crane to wince at the noise. But Bill’s wife did return and she reeled off a mobile phone number, terminating the call before Crane could utter his thanks.
Mrs Richmond was no more pleased to hear from Crane again than Jill Lampton was.
“What the hell do you want now?” she demanded.
“I need to know where Dave is, Mrs Richmond. Which hospice is he in?”
“You can’t be serious. The man’s dying! Bloody Army, you never leave anyone alone do you? Why should I tell you where Dave is?”
“Because a young woman called Mel Green has been killed, Mrs Richmond, an Army wife, just like you were and it is my sworn duty to bring her killer to justice. And I believe that the death of Mel Green could be linked to that of Carol Newton.”
After a small silence she hissed, “You bastard.”
Crane had been called worst names, so he didn’t bother to respond.
“Oh all right,” she mumbled as she capitulated. “He’s in The Oaks in Farnham.”
Before Crane could ask how Dave Richmond was, the phone buzzed in his ear, as Mrs Richmond cut the call.
*
Billy turned into Williams Park and after getting out of his car, knocked on Angela Taylor’s door. He’d decided that he was more effective at interviewing soldiers, rather than their wives, but Crane had said that in that case, he needed more practice and had physically pushed him out of the office to go and see Angela Taylor again.
“Hello, this is a pleasant surprise. Come in, Sgt Williams,” Angela Taylor said.
“No, it’s okay, thanks, Mrs....”
“I’ve told you to call me Angela.”
“Sorry, Angela, I just need to know if you can help with a text Lance Corporal Green received.”
“Text?” Angela frowned, and then looked up, past Billy, at a man walking his dog on the opposite side of the street.
“Mrs Taylor?”
“Oh, sorry, just clocked someone walking his dog. Don’t remember seeing him before, hope he picks up any mess. Bloody dog shit everywhere, drives me mad.”
“Mrs Taylor, the text. Did you send it to Lance Corporal Green?” and Billy brandished the mobile phone in Angela Taylor’s face.
“So what if I did?”
“It was a pretty nasty thing to do,” said Billy. But once more Angela wasn’t looking at him, but at the soldier walking his dog, which by now had crossed the road and arrived outside number 28.
“Look at that, right by my gate! Oy, mate, make sure you clean that up!”
Billy turned as the soldier, dressed in fatigues, pulled an empty plastic bag out of his trouser pocket, waved it at them, and crouched down next to the little white fluffy dog.
Billy once again tried to get Angela’s attention. “So why did you send the text, Angela and why didn’t you tell me what you’d done the last time I saw you?”
“I told you, Shaun doesn’t like me gossiping or interfering. So I thought I’d keep quiet.”
“That text was definitely interfering in someone else’s business.”
“Well someone needed to tell the poor sod his wife was having an affair.”
“But you didn’t have any proof!”
“I told you, I know these things.”
“And Green was in Afghanistan,” Billy continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “What do you think that did to the man? Fancy telling him his wife is having an affair when he can’t do anything about it! When he had to go out on patrol day after day...”
“Oh for goodness sake,” she interrupted Billy’s tirade with one of her own. “Don’t you think it’s bad for us wives as well? Worrying day after day if our husbands are going to be killed? All those heart stopping moments when you hear on the television that yet another soldier has died in Afghanistan.”
Fuming at Angela’s lack of empathy, Billy started to berate her for it, but realised it would do little good. The woman was just too emotionally selfish. Whether she had always been like that, or if having to put up with being a soldier’s wife had changed her, Billy couldn’t say. Whichever one was the case, he didn’t like her for it.
“So you admit sending the text to Corporal Green?” he said to her.
“Yes, Sgt Williams, I do.”
“Thank you, Mrs Taylor, we’ll be in touch,” said Billy. “Let’s hope the reason Mel was killed, isn’t because you sent that text,” he added as a parting shot. He turned his back on her and tried very hard to walk, not run, back to his car, wanting to get as far from the woman as quickly as possible.
Chapter 11
Kim knocked on Crane’s open office door, a pile of papers in her arms. “Sir, I’ve printed out the military witness statements in the Carol Newton case. You said to tell you as soon as I’d finished.”
Crane looked up from his computer, where he was trawling through pictures of stiletto type daggers. “Oh, thanks, Kim.” Seeing the large amount of paper she was holding he said, “Let’s take that lot to the conference table.”
They spread the statements across the table and then Kim turned to leave.
“I’ll tell you what, Kim, get us both a coffee, then you can help me read through these.”
By the time Kim returned, with two black coffees, Crane had sorted the statements. He’d put husband and wife statements together, pinning to the back of the statements transcripts of any recorded interviews.
“What are we looking for, Sir?” asked Kim.
“At the moment I’m not sure, Kim. I guess we’ll know when we find it. I just want to see if anything strikes you as odd or inconsistent.”
“Very well, Sir,” she said and settled down opposite him, pulling towards her a pile of statements. She had her notebook by her left hand with a pen on it and pulled two highlighters from her uniform pocket, handing one to Crane. “I thought
it might be useful to highlight anything of interest, Sir.”
Taking the highlighter pen Crane grunted his acknowledgement of her simple, effective plan.
After a while, Crane became conscious of his stiff neck and shoulders, so he stopped reading and rolled his neck, trying to get the kinks out.
“Have you found any inconsistencies, Kim?”
“Not inconsistencies exactly, Sir, more like co-incidences.”
“Explain.”
“Well, I’ve three statements where soldiers say one thing and then change their minds when re-interviewed.”
“What sort of thing?”
“Rumours of Carol Newton having an affair. First of all they say she was and then they change their minds. The same goes for their wives. This one’s a particularly good example. Private O’Brien and his wife both said they thought there was ‘a man Carol was seeing’, when first interviewed on the night of her murder. But later they both refuted that and gave statements saying there wasn’t another man in her life.”
“Interesting. Did Private O’Brien and his wife use the same words in their final statement?”
“Um,” Kim quickly flipped through the pages of both statements. “Yes, you’re right, Sir. They both said, ‘I have no reason to believe Carol Newton was having an affair’.”
“And the other two?”
After a quick look at her notepad, Kim reached down the table. “The other two statements were from Corporal Hamilton and Sgt Lampton. They both said ... oh my goodness ... they both said, ‘I have no reason to believe Carol Newton was having an affair’. What does it mean? Surely it’s more than co-incidence that they use exactly the same words?”
“Do you think it’s because they were giving a formal statement?” Crane asked.
“Not necessarily, as, hang on a minute, yes I thought so, both men gave initial formal statements to the RMPs and they used completely different language from each other in those. It’s only on the second statement that they used exactly the same wording. Did you find anything similar, Sir?”
“Yes, I’m very much afraid that I did, Kim,” said Crane.
*
Crane was outside Provost Barracks, having a quick cigarette, very much afraid that something, or someone, had seriously compromised the investigation into the death of Carol Newton. Added to what Kim had established, were his own findings; several witness statements from soldiers using exactly the same wording. Not just about a supposed affair, but when describing where they were and what they were doing at the time of her murder. Even taking into account military language, that peculiar way of describing things loved by soldiers and even civilian policemen, there were just too many co-incidences. Added to that, Crane had checked the police files and only the final statements had been handed over to them by the Military Police. The Aldershot police, at that time, had no idea people had changed their minds and made new statements.
Crane walked backwards and forwards along the front of the barracks as he smoked and ran through some of the repeated phrases in his head.
“At the time of the alleged incident I was in barracks dealing with paperwork.”
“I am not privy to the details of the private life of Mrs Newton.”
“Corporal Newton is merely a colleague, I have no knowledge of, or interest in, his private life.”
“It would not be appropriate for me to speculate on the alleged behaviour of Mrs Newton.”
As he lit a second cigarette, he knew that if he suspected a conspiracy of silence all those years ago, he had to collect evidence. He ground out the cigarette that he hadn’t really wanted and strode back across the car park towards the barracks. But, as he opened the door, the phrases flashed through his head again and he stepped back, letting the door close in his face.
Is that why he was so concerned? Were statements changed to make sure that a particular line of enquiry was closed? They certainly made sure the door was firmly closed on any investigation of inappropriate behaviour by Carol Newton. Or, Crane froze as the thought hit him, what about the inappropriate behaviour of a soldier? That made more sense - a soldier being protected. But would the protection of a soldier be more important than a murder? He thought about Carol Newton, walking through the underpass 10 years ago. Did she feel someone creeping up on her in the darkness? He shivered and rubbed the back of his neck.
Crane turned away from the closed door and looked out across the playing fields, towards the dual carriageway running from Aldershot to Farnborough. He tried to expand his thinking as he looked at the vista laid out before him. That’s what the military police didn’t do all those years ago, he decided. Instead of expanding their thinking, they turned away from the investigation as doors were slammed in their faces, one by one. They accepted the changed statements without delving further. Maybe they were under orders to accept them and send them through to the police in place of the original ones. He spun back around and thrust open the door, banging it against the wall. Crane smiled, stepped purposefully through the door and made his way to Captain Edwards’ office.
*
Whilst Crane was struggling with his conscience, his wife, Tina, was struggling with the baby. Daniel had been fussy and fretful most of the morning, so she decided to take him out for a walk before lunch. Perhaps a change of scene would settle him? She didn’t know, but she certainly hoped so.
She got herself ready first. Tying her long dark hair up in a swinging ponytail, she then accentuated her almond eyes with a touch of eye shadow and a sweep of mascara. Checking her clothes, she was pleased she no longer had to wear baggy jumpers and maternity trousers. It had been a bit of a shock to find how slowly her bump had shrunk, once the baby had been born and she hated still having to wear maternity clothes after the birth. That was one of the things that she had become depressed about, that and feeling a failure when it came to the practicalities of being a mother. The transition, from being a busy valued employee at a bank, to an inexperienced lonely new mother, had hit her harder than she ever could have imagined. But now all that was behind her. She felt much smarter and trimmer in the green wool dress she was wearing and she hummed as she pulled her coat out of the wardrobe.
Daniel grizzled his way into his all-in-one outdoor suit. Blue, to match his eyes and sex, it had a little white dog embroidered into the fabric on the chest. Tina completed the outfit with a blue woolly hat with a pompom on the top. A bit old fashioned she knew, but as it had been a present from her mother, she felt the need for Daniel to wear it. The small blue mittens proved difficult to get on, as she fought against Daniel’s need to put his hands in his mouth. But she made it in the end.
During her recent post natal depression, she had been advised to get out more. She found there was nothing worse than being stuck in the house, not coping, with Daniel becoming more and more fretful and she herself becoming frazzled. So now, if things started to go wrong, she just thought ‘what the hell’, picked Daniel up, plonked him in his pushchair and went out. The fresh air and exercise doing them both good. The household chores could wait.
As she left the house, she waved to her next door neighbour, Julie, who was also the wife of a sergeant, although her husband wasn’t in the Military Police. Sometimes some of the men were a bit cool towards those soldiers who were in the RMP, well more than a bit cool, but generally speaking this attitude didn’t seem to apply to their wives. Tina found she had been accepted for what she was, the wife of a soldier, a woman going through the same things as them. She had to cope with long absences, just as they did. When Tom had been in Afghanistan, she also worried over the mention of a soldier’s death on the television and had to put up with being woken at stupid o’clock, when it was the only time her husband could get a free slot on the phone. It was definitely an emotional roller coaster of a life, being an Army wife. Julie mouthed, “Are you okay?” and Tina responded with a thumbs up sign.
As they made their way out of the cul-de-sac of modern detached houses, on a relatively new garris
on housing estate, she heard Daniel cry out. Stopping the buggy and crouching down to see what the matter was, she realised he was calling, “bow wow”. Straightening, she saw a man walking towards them with a little white dog in tow, its coal black eyes and black button nose nearly hidden by its curly coat.
“Bow wow,” gurgled Daniel, “bow wow.”
The soldier stopped by the pram, smiling down at Daniel, “He seems to like the dog,” he said.
“Yes, he’s got one on his suit, so any small white dog fascinates him.” Tina replied.
“Bow wow, bow wow,” cooed Daniel, waving his hands and feet at the dog, who stopped waving its pom pom tail and ran to hide behind the soldier’s legs.
Tina laughed and said, “Look what you’ve done now, Daniel. You’ve frightened the poor little dog. Come on, let’s get on with our walk,” and they went off down the road to the chimes of, “bow wow, bow wow.”
Chapter 12
Crane had made sure Captain Edwards received his report yesterday afternoon, so he would be fully conversant with Crane’s thinking before they met this morning. No need to waste a load of time having to verbally explain everything, or sit there like a Muppet while Edwards read Crane’s summary and examined the witness statements.
So convinced was he about his conspiracy theory that Crane ran up the steps and bounced into Edwards’ office. “Good morning, Sir,” he said, upbeat and smiling.
“What? Oh, it’s you, Crane. At ease. Sit down for a minute, while I find your report.” Edwards ran his hands through his black hair in seeming exasperation. Pushing it off his high, inherited forehead. Either because he couldn’t find the report, or because he didn’t like it, Crane couldn’t tell which. Crane knew the lustrous hair and forehead was inherited, after meeting Edwards’ father, Colonel Edwards, on an Army Day.
After an interminable silence, Edwards pulled Crane’s report from under a pile of other papers and waved it in Crane’s face, using his long legs to push himself back in his chair. “You know, Crane, we’ve worked together now for...how long?”
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