Cordon of Lies: A Sgt Major Crane Novel

by Wendy Cartmell

  Warned by the TV crew not to look behind her, she was nevertheless aware of the looming presence of the shadowy figure following her. She clasped her bag more tightly as she began her descent into the underpass. Jumping from the sound of a noisy truck trundling along the road above, she nevertheless ploughed determinedly on. As she took the final steps into the womb of the underpass, she felt the presence of evil behind her. Turning, she didn’t see the friendly soldier who was playing the part of the killer, but her rapist. Even though she knew he was incarcerated in prison, it made no difference and she screamed as she was plunged into a flashback.

  *

  Unbeknown to Kim, a man had been walking along the outskirts of the crowd, following her every step. His dog collar meant people kept their distance. The onlookers were clearly more interested in getting their faces on the television, than having their souls saved. He, in turn, was more interested in what Kim was doing, than who was watching her. The others could worry about scanning the crowd to see if anyone struck them as unusual. He was completely focused on Kim.

  As she entered the underpass he pushed through the voyeurs and walked behind the camera man who was filming the soldier playing the part of the killer. The man had only taken a few steps into the tunnel when the Padre heard Kim screaming. His instinct took over and he pushed the cameraman out of the way, ignoring his shouts of, “Oy, you’re spoiling the shot!” and ran into the dark tunnel. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, then he saw Kim kneeling on the floor, keening. Rocking backward and forwards shouting, “No, no!”

  He went to her side, but she batted him away. “No, no,” she shouted again. “Get off me, get away!”

  He ignored her shouts and grabbed her flailing arms, pulling her up and enveloping her. He held her tightly as she sobbed into his shoulder. Oh Kim, he thought, you lovely, brave, stupid girl. What am I to do with you? He didn’t know how much longer he could pretend they weren’t having a relationship. He was ignoring the thorny subject of an officer going out with a soldier of a lower rank because she meant so much to him now. He loved her spirit, her strength, her determination and even these bloody awful flashbacks. For they meant she needed him.

  He heard running feet and looked up to see Crane stop a few feet from them, raising his eyebrows, questioning if Kim was alright. The Padre smiled and nodded and was grateful when Crane turned away and left them alone.

  Chapter 16

  Dave Richmond received his second unexpected visitor in as many days. The man looming over him was neither doctor nor investigator, but predator. He had crept into the hospice, cat-like, slipping in through a carelessly left open back door, hugging walls and doors, his rubber soled shoes not giving away his presence. Dressed to blend in, in a ubiquitous white coat, he had a meaningless pass clipped to his pocket. It wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny if he was challenged, but he hoped that wouldn’t happen. He wasn’t going to be in the hospice very long anyway.

  Foster studied Richmond’s face, trying to picture the man he once knew. But the illness had robbed Richmond of any familiar features and reduced him to a bald, hairless skeleton with a fine covering of paper-thin skin. It was of no matter to the predator, if Crane had been to see this excuse for a man, then he was in the right place.

  Mrs Richmond had been very happy to volunteer all the information he needed when he’d spoken to her earlier in the day. She told him she wondered why everyone was so interested in her husband now he was nearly dead, as no one had given a shit about him when he was walking around alive. When he asked who exactly ‘everyone’ was, her tirade had continued to include the fact that not only was his ex-CO, Sir what’s his name, asking for him, but some bloke called Crane from the SIB, no less. At that point he cut her off mid-sentence and got into his van for the short journey to Farnham.

  Richmond’s eyelids began to flutter. He was either dreaming or just on the point of waking, so Foster covered Richmond’s hand with his own latex covered one and administered a dose of morphine, injected straight into Richmond’s blood stream via the self medicating pump.

  After waiting a minute or so for the drug to take effect, Foster then administered his own particular brand of oblivion, by placing his large hand over Richmond’s mouth and pinching his nose at the same time. Like the morphine, it didn’t take long before Richmond was no longer feeling any pain. In fact he would never feel anything ever again. Foster had released Richmond from the chains of his disease. He had also released himself from the chains of Richmond’s evidence. Keeping tabs on Crane and his team had been a good move.

  With the alarms on the bedside machines beeping, the man turned from the bed and hid behind the open door. When the nurse rushed in, he crept out while her back was turned.

  *

  Crane was just double checking the transcript of Dave Richmond’s statement. He hadn’t had chance to go back to The Oaks because of the Crimewatch filming, but he was planning to go shortly and he wanted to make sure all was in order. He needed this statement to be used in evidence if they caught Barry Foster. No, scrub that, when they caught Barry Foster. And, of course, by then David Richmond would no doubt be dead.

  Just then Kim called through to his office. “Sir, I’ve Mrs Richmond on the line, needing to speak to you. She sounds pretty upset.”

  Upset? That sounded ominous to Crane. “Thanks, Kim,” he called and picked up the receiver, pressing the flashing button on his phone.

  “Mrs Richmond, how can I help you?”

  “You can’t Sgt Major. No one can help now.”

  “Sorry?” The woman wasn’t making any sense. “Mrs Richmond what’s happened?”

  “Dave’s dead.”

  The realisation triggered by her words sank in. Crane looked at the typed statement he still held in his hand. “Dead?” he managed.

  “Yes, he passed away this morning.”

  “How did that happen? What did he die from?”

  “Cancer, Sgt Major, remember? Dave died from cancer. Anyway,” she continued, “I thought I should let you know. I wanted to let the other man know too, but he didn’t leave his name or phone number, so I can’t.”

  Crane came out of the soupy fog enveloping his brain. Clearing his throat he said, “Other man?”

  “Yes, another soldier rang this morning. Wanted to know where Dave was.”

  “And you told him?”

  “Of course I told him, Sgt Major. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Why wouldn’t you, indeed, Mrs. Richmond. Thank you for ringing. I’m very sorry for your loss,” and Crane replaced the receiver very slowly and very quietly.

  Chapter 17

  Crane had taken over Anderson’s office at Aldershot Police station and was watching Crimewatch on the television, with Billy by his side. Outside a mixed team of police and Army were ready to man the phones. Headsets on, computers in front of them to log the information straight onto where they were available, pen and paper where they weren’t. The air was thick with anticipation and if Crane had had his way, it would have been thick with smoke. His hands itched and his mouth was dry, but he daren’t leave the room. He needed to watch the screen as much as he needed a cigarette. So he pulled a black electronic e-cigarette from his pocket and began to puff on that.

  “Boss,” Billy hissed. “You can’t smoke in here!”

  “It’s an electronic one, Billy. See?” and Crane puffed on it again, showing Billy that the tip of the cigarette shaped cylinder glowed green as Crane inhaled. “You can’t smell any smoke because it’s not alight,” he explained. “The only thing I’m puffing out is water vapour.”

  “Here, give us a look,” and Billy held out his hand. “Is it helping you give up smoking then?”

  “Not really, it just gives me nicotine when I’m somewhere where I can’t smoke. If I used it properly it would. I’m just not that disciplined when it comes to smoking.”

  A cry from outside interrupted their conversation and someone shouted, “We’re up.” Suddenly the
television screen was filled by the image of Mel Green, which then cut to Derek Anderson answering the interviewer’s questions.

  “We would very much appreciate the public’s assistance with a terrible crime. Mel Green, a young woman in her 20’s, with her whole life before her, was murdered two weeks ago in Aldershot,” said Anderson. Both he and the interviewer were standing in front of a camera, with the large photograph of Mel behind them. Anderson kept putting his hands in his pockets and then taking them out again.

  He reached up to pat down his wayward grey hair but stopped when the interviewer, all designer spiked hair and muscles popping out of a sports-type top asked, “Where did this terrible incident take place?”

  “In the underpass leading from the Tesco superstore to the town centre. It cuts under the main road. This is a popular walkway, so we are sure there must have been other people around at 7pm that night. It was early evening, so the light was fading, but the underpass lights come on automatically at 6pm, so anyone in the underpass would have been able to see both Mrs Green and her attacker.”

  “Do you have any idea who that attacker might be?” the interviewer asked, after a quick consultation of his notes.

  “Unfortunately at the moment we have very few leads as there are no CCTV cameras in the vicinity.” Anderson turned away from the interviewer and spoke directly into the camera. “This is why we urgently need the help of anyone in the area at the time.”

  “Thank you DI Anderson. We are now going to see a reconstruction of Mel Green’s last journey.”

  Crane watched as the reconstruction unfolded before him.

  “Jesus,” whispered Billy, glued to the screen. “Its uncanny how like Mel they made Kim. It’s like she’s come back to life.”

  “It’s bloody creepy, Billy, that’s what it is. No wonder Kim didn’t want to watch it here with us tonight. In fact I don’t think she is going to watch it at all. She was clearly very upset at the end of the filming.”

  “Where is she tonight?”

  “With someone who can hopefully take her mind off the whole experience,” Crane grinned at Billy.

  “Oh, so you know then, boss? About Kim and Padre Symmonds?”

  “Of course I do. That’s been a relationship waiting to happen since Kim was attacked last year.”

  “Do you think it will cause any trouble, you know, as he’s an officer and she’s a sergeant? The fraternisation rules and all that.”

  “Well, that’s something that they are going to have to work out for themselves. It may be alright as they are not in the same regiment, or work together. There’s nothing that can upset either of their chains of command. He couldn’t be accused of favouritism or anything like that. Still they’re probably a way off that yet. For now, even though we all know they are seeing each other, it’s not something we’ll comment on. Fair enough, Billy?”

  “Fair enough, boss,” he agreed and they turned their attention once more to the screen.

  The reconstruction came to a close and once more the viewers were subjected to the sight of DI Anderson in his grey tweed jacket and dark trousers and the smoothly styled interviewer.

  “You say she was stabbed?”

  “Yes,” confirmed Anderson. “A single stab wound to her heart.”

  The picture of Mel Green was replaced by a dagger. “You believe it was this type of knife.”

  “Yes, a Fairborne Sykes type dagger with a thin stiletto blade.”

  “Of the type that is popular with the military?”

  “What?” Anderson was clearly thrown by that question. It mustn’t have been in the script.

  “I said it’s the type of knife that is popular with the military. Do you think the attacker could have a military background?”

  Crane saw Anderson had clenched his jaw and the tendons in his neck were standing out. “At this time,” Anderson seemed to force the words through his teeth, “we are more concerned with finding the murder weapon and urge people to contact us if they see a knife of this description.” Anderson turned from the interviewer and addressed the camera directly. “If you find such a weapon, please do not touch it, but contact the police immediately.”

  “Yes, indeed, that’s right,” the interviewer easily took control again. “There is also someone of interest to the investigation you are trying to trace, isn’t there? I believe we have a photograph of him. Ah yes, here it is. Can you tell us his name, Inspector?”

  “We know him as Barry Foster, but we believe he may be using one or more aliases. We have reason to believe this man could help us with our enquiries into Mel’s death. It may just be a matter of eliminating him, so if anyone has seen him, has information on his name or where he is living, then please call us.”

  “How recent is this photograph?”

  “We have reason to believe it’s about 10 years old. So he may have changed in that time. Hair style, colour, facial hair, that sort of thing. And of course he would look older now.”

  “Thank you, DI Anderson. We do urge anyone who thinks they have any information that can help the police, to call them. No matter how small or insignificant you may think the information is we want to hear from you. The numbers to contact are on your screen now and the police in Aldershot and the team here in the studio are ready to take your calls.”

  The camera cut to the main host of the show and it seemed as though everyone in the office held their breath, as the silence stretched ... and stretched ... and was suddenly broken by a cacophony of bells as the phones began ringing.

  *

  Foster was tempted to throw something at the television, but restrained himself just in time. He couldn’t afford to buy his sister a new television, so he needed to behave himself. Fuck! The bastards had only put up a picture of him on television! He’d watched the Crimewatch programme by chance, there being nothing else on and was initially glad that he had. He’d been fascinated by the reconstruction and how like Mel that bint was. He’d have to find out who she was. A bit more surveillance should give him the answer. As the reconstruction finished he was just thinking back to the moment when he confronted Mel in that underpass. The surge in adrenaline he’d felt. The power he had over her. The power to take her life, or let her live. But his anger at her betrayal meant he hadn’t let her live. She’d let him down badly. He thought she’d been as committed as he was to their relationship, but she proved to be as bad as that other piece of shit - Carol. What was it with Army wives? They said Army lads couldn’t keep their dicks in their trousers, but his experience was that the wives were more than up for casual sex. But clearly not up for long term relationships. He should have known. Should have realised. After all both of them had been married and both happy to cheat on their husbands.

  But now the photograph had ruined his recollection of the kill. The stirring of an erection as he relived the terror on Mel’s face, was gone now. He may as well have taken a cold shower, it had disappeared that quickly. He realised he better start thinking about a way to disguise his appearance. He wasn’t about to stop playing his games, he was just beginning to enjoy himself. Playing with Crane and his team as though he was a cat and they were mice. Striking out at them when they least expected it. Playing with their lives and their families. Bating them around, hurting them. Oh no, he was having too much of a good time, he had too many good ideas, so he better go upstairs and see what he had in his limited wardrobe.

  *

  Crane was sitting in Anderson’s office reading through some of the transcripts of the phone calls, when his mobile rang. He picked it up impatiently, glancing at the caller ID. Seeing it was Tina he answered.

  “Tina.”

  “Oh, Tom, I’m glad you answered. Sorry, I know you’re busy.”

  Realising he had been a bit brusque, he adopted a more conciliatory tone, “Sorry, love, what’s wrong?”

  “I was watching the Crimewatch show.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Yes, well, it’s about the man you’re looking for, t
hat Barry Foster.”

  “What about him?” Crane stopped reading the transcript he had in his hand.

  “He called round earlier today. This afternoon, in fact.”

  “He did what!” Crane pushed back his chair and stood up. “Why the hell didn’t you say so before?”

  “Because I didn’t know you were looking for him before, did I, Tom?”

  “No. Right.” Crane started pacing. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Well, I didn’t think much of it really, not at the time. He just knocked at the door and when I answered he asked if I was Mrs. Crane. He was dressed in fatigues so I assumed he was a soldier. We’d seen him walking a little white dog around the estate a couple of times and Daniel loved it, so I was quite happy to talk to him. I said I was Mrs Crane and he asked if you were in.”

  “Why the hell would I be there during the day?”

  “I don’t know. Anyway, I said that you were at work and asked if I could take a message.”

  “Did he leave one?” Crane stopped pacing and listened intently.

  “He just said, ‘Not to worry, tell Crane I’ll catch up with him in the Sergeant’s Mess. Or I might just call round again when I’m next in the area.’ Then Daniel started crying so we said goodbye and I closed the door.”

  “Have you seen him since?”

  “No. What does it mean, Tom?”

  “I’m not sure. Look, I’ll get home as soon as I can, but in the meantime I’ll send round a couple of RMP lads to guard the house.”

  “Guard the house? What are you doing that for? Are we in danger?”

  “Calm down, Tina, I’m just taking precautions. I’ll get there as soon as I can and explain.”

  Cutting the call, Crane muttered several choice words, then rang Staff Sgt Jones.