Cordon of Lies: A Sgt Major Crane Novel

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Jesus, Crane, do you think we should? It’s your family, man! You can’t leave Tina and Daniel exposed. You’d never forgive yourself if anything happened to them. I can’t believe you just said that!” Jones looked at the glowing butt in his hand. Realising he had smoked his entire cigarette, he threw it on the ground and it hissed as it hit a puddle.

  “Yes, I know, Staff, but there are other things we can do instead of just a visible presence. Jeeps outside the house and men posted at the rear isn’t exactly subtle.”

  “But that’s what you wanted!”

  “Indeed I did, at the time. I wanted a highly visible presence. Now I have another plan, but it means you’re not going home just yet tonight.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Crane, I just knew you were bad news when you turned up.”

  “Now, now, Jones, this is for the sake of my family, remember,” Crane laughed as he ushered Jones back into the Barracks.

  *

  Crane had called Tina earlier, to say he would be late home, but it was after 22:00 hours when he eventually arrived home. Stopping just short of the drive, he climbed out of his car, went and had a word with the couple of lads in the jeep and they drove off at his instruction. After pulling the car onto his drive, he was just getting out when Tina opened the door to the house.

  “Tom,” she called, “where are they going? Why are they leaving?”

  After walking over and then kissing her hello, he said, “I’ll tell you all about it inside, come on,” and with one last look over his shoulder, he closed the door behind them.

  She was sitting on the settee a glass of wine in hand, when he came into the lounge with his beer. “So?” she said.

  Crane’s exhaustion was taking over, the adrenaline which had pumped whilst he was putting his plan in place, had now drained away, leaving him tired and not in the mood for a long drawn out explanation.

  “It looks as though Foster will leave us alone,” he said. “As long as I don’t investigate the murder of Carol Newton.”

  “And you know this because?”

  “Because he phoned me.”

  “Oh my God, you actually spoke to him? You spoke to Foster?” Tina’s wine glass wobbled in her hand and she nearly dropped it.

  Crane could only nod his head in agreement.

  “What did he say?”

  “That he’d leave us alone, if I left the case alone.”

  Tina fell back against the settee. “Oh, Tom, what a relief. It’s been such a strain living, not only with the RMP watching my every move, but the worry, you know?” She took a large gulp of her wine. “You don’t know how glad I am you’ve come to your senses.”

  “Come to my senses?” Crane wondered what the hell she was on about now.

  “Yes, Tom, come to your senses about investigating Foster. I knew you wouldn’t put Daniel and me in jeopardy.”

  “Tina,”

  “Do you know they wanted to search my mum yesterday? Can you believe it? You should have heard what she said to them. I had to come out and stop all the shouting.”

  “I don’t think you,”

  “I think I’ll just get another glass of wine to celebrate. Want another beer?”

  Crane looked at his half full bottle and drained it.

  “Tina, sit down.”

  “What? I’m only going to get,”

  “Tina!”

  At his shout she sat.

  “I’ve been trying to tell you. I’m not dropping the Carol Newton case.”

  “Not dropping it! Why the hell not? What about me? What about Daniel?”

  “I’ve put in place extra protection.”

  “Extra protection? Where?” Tina moved to the window and threw open the curtains. “Come on, Tom. Where are they? Where is your bloody extra protection, because I sure as hell can’t see anyone outside.”

  “Tina, close the curtains and come and sit down.”

  She didn’t move, so Crane stood up and took her arm, guiding her to the settee. Squatting down in front of her, he kept his hands on her arms and said, “The house opposite looks empty, doesn’t it?”

  “For God’s sake, Tom, what the hell has that got to do with anything?”

  “I’ve posted some RMP lads there. On surveillance.”

  “Oh dear God, now I’m being spied on.” She shook off Crane’s hands. “I don’t believe this.” After a pause she said, “Okay, so you’ve got us covered at home, but what happens when I go out, to my Mum’s or Tesco’s or the Mother and Baby Group?”

  “Then someone will be shadowing you.”

  “The whole time?”

  “Yes, Tina, the whole time.” Crane stood and returned to his own seat opposite her. Tina stood.

  “Are you going to get another drink?” he asked. “I’d like that beer now if you are.”

  “No, Tom. I’m not going to get a drink. Get your own bloody drink. I’m going to bed. I can’t believe you’ve done this. Maybe to me, but not to Daniel. So as I can’t stand the sight of you I’m going upstairs to bed. Alone. Until you see sense and drop the bloody case, you can sleep in the spare room.”

  She turned and walked to the door. Whirling round, she called, “Let’s see what your surveillance pals make of that, eh? Lights going on in two different bedrooms. I wonder if they’ll ask you about it, or gossip about it?”

  She turned, closed the door and was gone.

  Chapter 24

  Lampton was on somebody else’s mind as well as Crane’s. Sir Peter was pacing his study, plagued by indecision. Wanting to make sure everyone was going to keep quiet about Foster, he had already called Captain Whatsisname, the one in charge of that SIB Sgt Major. He’d told him to rein in his warrant officer, to make him stop investigating an old case that had nothing to do with them.

  Now he was wondering what to do about Lampton. He had made that stupid Captain tell him everything they had on the case, purportedly to prove they had nothing worth investigating, but really to find out as much as he could. The man had given him Lampton’s name, told him he lived in Farnborough, so he hadn’t been difficult to find. The husband, Jack Newton, was in prison apparently, so he couldn’t do anything about him, so he was going to concentrate on contacting Lampton.

  Picking up his mobile phone, Sir Peter called to his wife to say he was going out to speak to the gardeners. Pulling on his wax jacket and wellington boots, he went out of the kitchen and called to the dog. Together they walked as far away from the house as possible. Whilst the dog was rooting around in the undergrowth in a clump of bushes, Dunne took his mobile out of his pocket and looked at it. Turned it over a few times and then put it back.

  Glancing up at the rolling Sussex hills that fell away towards the sea, he wasn’t looking at the view, but inward, at the landscape his life could become. It was all laid out before him, what would happen if this horrible thing didn’t go away. He was under no illusion that things were different now than in the past. Then, you did what was best for the British Army and bugger everyone and everything else. If something needed to be covered up then you did it. People forget that the Army doesn’t report to civilians. The Army is a relentless machine that can’t be stopped and looks after its own.

  But since that debacle at Deepcut, where young soldiers were being bullied and some took their own lives, resulting in a public inquiry, the press were on the lookout for anything else in the British Army they could jump on.

  At the thought of Deepcut, Sir Peter took the mobile phone out of his pocket again. He couldn’t afford to be embroiled in an inquiry. He pressed the switch to light up the display. His wife wouldn’t be able to take the disgrace. He swiped the screen to unlock it. They would be vilified in the village. He pressed the contacts menu. His wife didn’t deserve to lose everything they had worked so hard for. He scrolled down to Lampton’s name. God damm it, he didn’t deserve to lose everything. He swiped the name and made the call.

  The voice that answered sounded hesitant, “Hello?”

  For a m
oment Sir Peter couldn’t speak.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  Clearing his throat Dunne said, “Lampton, it’s your Commanding Officer.”

  There was some interference on the line before Lampton’s voice came through again, “You’re not my Commanding Officer. I’m not in the Army anymore and neither are you.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Lampton. No one ever really leaves the Army.”

  “What do you want, Sir?”

  Dunne riled at the sneer in the word, ‘Sir’ but managed to hold his temper.

  “Has Foster been in touch?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “He called me the other day, to warn me that the SIB had been investigating the Carol Newton murder. I’m sure you remember Carol Newton, don’t you, Lampton?”

  “So what if I do?”

  “Well, I’m just giving you the heads up. Letting you know Foster and or the SIB may be in touch. Just making sure you know what to say.”

  “And what would that be, Sir?”

  “That you know nothing.”

  Lampton laughed, a scratchy, hysterical sound. “Oh, but I do know something, don’t I, Sir.”

  Dunne’s fist clenched in his pocket. He would have struck the man for his sarcastic use of ‘Sir’ if he had been standing in front of him.

  “Okay, Lampton, let’s say you do know something. Let’s say you tell what you know to the military police.”

  “Yeah, well, you can’t stop me doing that. It’s my right.”

  “Indeed it is, Lampton. But the thing is, would you be believed?”

  “Believed, why shouldn’t I be believed?”

  “Because I’ll say you are wrong. I’ll say you’re making it up. And who do you think they’d believe, Lampton? You, once a lowly Sergeant, or me, Brigadier Sir Peter Dunne?”

  There was silence at Lampton’s end.

  “I asked you a question, Lampton. Who do you think they’d believe? You? A nobody, a nothing, just another ex-soldier who can’t make anything of himself in Civvy Street?”

  Dunne heard Lampton’s sharp intake of breath and knew he was hitting home, so he quickly continued, “That’s right. They’d believe me over you. I’m the one with the power, I’m the one with the illustrious career. I’m the one with the title. I’m the one...”

  “Alright, alright, you’ve made your point,” Lampton eventually joined in the conversation again, cutting off Dunne’s diatribe.

  Dunne took a deep breath. “That’s better. I’m glad you see things my way, Lampton.” Dunne used a more conciliatory tone. Now he felt that he had the upper hand. “So, don’t forget, you know nothing. Right?”

  Lampton cut the call by way of reply.

  Sir Peter looked at the phone, nodded and smiled to himself. He’d covered all the bases now. He’d spoken to Lampton - the witness, Edwards - the SIB Captain and the SIB Commanding Officer. Foster was also making sure no one talked, or investigated the case further. Calling the dog, he turned and walked back to the house, a new purpose in his stride.

  Chapter 25

  Driving the few minutes to work the next morning, Crane was in a filthy mood. Sleeping in the spare room and Tina’s silent treatment were doing nothing to help his disposition. She hadn’t spoken a word to him this morning. Not when he went into their bedroom to get his clothes, not when he came downstairs for his coffee and not when he left the house. He hit his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. She had to understand why he was doing this. He’d have another go at making her appreciate what he was doing when he got home that night.

  Walking into Provost Barracks, he was heading for his own cubicle of an office, when Kim stopped him. “Sir, the Commanding Officer wants to see you. Urgently.”

  “Oh, alright, I’ll go and see the Captain in a minute. Perhaps I’ve got time for a quick coffee before I go.”

  “Sorry, Sir, it’s not the Officer Commanding, Captain Edwards, that wants to see you. It’s the Commanding Officer.”

  That piece of information stopped Crane in his tracks. This really was turning out to be a bad day. As Crane put his briefcase in his office and took off his coat, he was turning over in his mind what to say to convince his Commanding Officer that there was a case to answer in the Carol Newton enquiry. Crane was under no illusion about what he was being summoned for. It had to be the Newton case. Why else would he be wanted?

  Crane stopped briefly in the toilets, to make sure his appearance was smart enough. His own self imposed uniform of dark suit, white starched shirt and dark tie had to be every bit as smart as if he was wearing his Number One uniform. He was satisfied that his black curly hair was short enough and not unruly and that his special dispensation close cropped beard was, in fact, close cropped. Looking closely at the right hand side of his face, he could still see the red scar running from his ear to his chin and a sudden chill enveloped him. Was he being posted back to Afghanistan, the place where he got the scar? The place where the side of his face had been ripped open by shrapnel from an IED, as he was training Afghan Police volunteers?

  He wasn’t afraid to go back for himself. He would gladly go where ever the Army decided to send him. He loved the challenge, the excitement, the difference. But he was afraid for Tina if he was posted away.

  Turning his back on the mirror, he decided that speculation was a waste of time and he left the privacy of the toilets and went to the suite of offices where the Commanding Officer reigned. When Crane arrived, he stood to attention by the Adjutant’s desk.

  “Sgt Major Crane, reporting as requested, Sir.”

  “Very well, Sgt Major, at ease. Make yourself comfortable over there,” and the Adjutant pointed to a row of seats. “The old man will be with you shortly.”

  Shortly, turned out to be a fluid timescale, as Crane was left waiting for nearly 30 minutes, under no illusion that he was deliberately being left to his own devices. Left to stew and worry about what was coming. Having to maintain his cool exterior, with the Adjutant watching him, despite the maelstrom of his inner emotions.

  At last the phone rang on the Adjutant’s desk. After listening and replying, “Certainly, Sir,” he replaced the receiver, nodded in Crane’s direction and said, “You’re up.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Crane said and he stood and walked purposefully towards the office door. He couldn’t afford to show fear as he walked into the equivalent of the lion’s den.

  The Adjutant knocked on the CO’s door.

  “Come in,” a voice called.

  The Adjutant opened the door, walked in and stood with his back to the office wall.”Sgt Major Crane, Sir.” he announced.

  Crane marched the five steps to the CO’s desk and banged his foot in, to stand to attention. With his arms stiffly by his side, he barked, “Sir.”

  Formalities complete, the CO said, “Ah, good morning, Sgt Major. At ease man, for goodness sake.”

  Crane stood with legs open and arms behind his back. The CO continued, “Sit down, go on, sit,” and pointed to an empty chair in front of his desk.

  “Good morning, Sir, thank you, Sir,” Crane said and sat as requested, keeping his hands in his lap, his knees together and feet firmly on the floor.

  “So, Crane, how’s things?”

  “Good, thank you, Sir.”

  “That new son of yours keeping you busy I expect?” The old man took his spectacles off and placed them on his desk.

  “Yes, Sir, he is,” replied Crane.

  “Good, good.” The Commanding Officer peered closely at Crane. “I must say you’re looking very well on it. Fatherhood, I mean.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Crane kept his face blank, determined not to show how perplexed he was by this idle chit chat.

  “Not so your wife, though, I hear.” The CO leaned in towards Crane.

  “Pardon, Sir?”

  “Your wife. Tina isn’t it, if I remember rightly.”

  “Yes, Sir, Tina is her name.”

  “I thought so. Lovely lady, C
rane.” The old man leaned back in his chair again. “You’ll do well with her by your side I should think. Anyway, I hear she’s had a bad time of it lately. Needed a lot of help. Not only from you, but from the wider Army support system, eh? It’s a good thing that, her turning to the Army for support. We look after our own, don’t we, Crane?”

  “Yes, indeed, Sir, and very well, if I may say so.”

  “Good, glad you agree. But, you see, the thing is, she’s not a member of the forces, is she?” The CO put his glasses back on and peered myopically at Crane.

  Crane began to get an inkling as to what was going on.

  “No, Sir, strictly speaking she’s a civilian,” he replied.

  “Exactly, Crane. A civilian. She is simply the wife of Sgt Major Crane. You, on the other hand, belong to the British Army. Belong to me, in fact, as your Commanding Officer. Am I right so far, Crane?”

  “Yes, Sir, absolutely.” Crane nodded his head in agreement.

  “Good, glad you agree.”

  Crane felt that was fast becoming the man’s mantra - glad you agree - and it was really getting on his nerves.

  “So, the question is what to do with you, Crane? I’ve got several options.” The CO pushed back in his office chair and stood, walking casually over to the window. “One - I could send you back to Afghanistan as I’ve a need for experienced Warrant Officers to go there on a training assignment. You were pretty good at that, if I recall. Although shame about the face.”

  He walked over to his book case.

  “Two - I could send you to Cyprus. I need a good investigator there at the moment. The Cypriot economy is very unstable, resulting in a lot of thefts from the garrison. I think it’s soldiers taking advantage of the shed load of stuff in the stores and selling it cheap to the desperate local population. But whatever is behind it, it needs addressing. The trouble is that it’s not a married man’s post. So Tina would have to be left behind, for about a year, I’d say.

  The CO finished his walk about at Crane’s chair. Looming over him, he continued his speech. “Three - I could leave you be. Let you stay here in Aldershot. That would probably be best for your family. Best for Tina. Means you can go home every night. Watch little Daniel grow up. Help Tina with her post natal depression. Yes, under the present circumstances, that would probably be the best all round. What do you think?