Cordon of Lies: A Sgt Major Crane Novel

by Wendy Cartmell

  Now she could see and explore part of the building, albeit by shuffling along on her bottom, as Foster had crossed her ankles before tying them together. As she moved around, she thought the hut was empty. There was nothing she could use to rub the plastic ties against in an attempt to break them. Realising there was no way she could free her hands or her feet, she shuffled back and leaned against the hut door. She was very thirsty, but of course, the bastard hadn’t left her any water. She wondered if Foster would come back. If he did what would she do? She was pretty bloody helpless if he came back with a weapon; a knife, or even a gun. She wondered if he would rape her before he killed her. Last time she hadn’t known the rape was happening thanks to the Rohypnol, and that was bad enough. But she would know what was happening this time. She’d feel every push, every thrust and she moaned in horror, her body shaking.

  With great will power she shoved those thoughts away not wanting to succumb to a panic attack and replaced them with hard cold facts, not feelings. She was a woman in the military, someone who was tough, hardened and most of all a survivor. Definitely a survivor. She had survived the rape and the stalking and she was damned if Barry Foster was going to frighten her. Whatever he wanted to do to her, she would be ready for him. But in the meantime she needed to conserve her energy for when he returned, so she tried to relax against the door and closed her eyes.

  *

  Crane had tried to get the Padre to go back to either his home or his office in the Garrison Church. But he would do neither. He stuck with Crane as he went to Aldershot Police Station and then back to Provost Barracks. DI Anderson had been alerted to Kim’s abduction and he had given instructions for CCTV cameras to be checked, to see if they could find the van and follow its route. He then issued a bulletin to be sent out to all cars in the area to look out for a white van, possibly driven by a bald headed man who may or may not be wearing a woollen hat. It wasn’t much to go on, but at least it was something.

  From his office, Crane instructed Staff Sgt Jones to get the RMP on high alert and gave them permission to stop and search every white van that came in or out of the garrison. It was as near to a lockdown he could get without having to get permission from Edwards, or even someone of higher authority. Crane couldn’t be bothered with that administrative bollocks; he needed the lads on the roads without delay. He had no idea if Foster was in the area of the garrison or not, he was just covering all possibilities.

  Captain Symmonds sat opposite Crane, staring at the cup of coffee Billy had recently placed in front of him. Every now and then he would pick it up, warm his hands on it and then put it back down, without drinking a drop.

  “Shouldn’t you be somewhere, Sir?” Crane asked. “Didn’t you say you were going away?”

  “Ah, yes,” Captain Symmonds raised his head to look at Crane. “A three day seminar. Isn’t it funny, only yesterday I was so enthusiastic about it, about getting away for three days and doing nothing other than talking about ecclesiastical matters. It seemed so important at the time and even though I’d miss Kim, I was looking forward to going.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, it seems like the most ridiculous thing to be excited about. Who cares about interpretations of the bible, how to attract more people to your congregation, or how to modernise your Sunday worship? I did, then. But now it seems inconsequential. The only thing that matters is Kim. You will find her, won’t you, Crane?”

  But Crane had no answer for him. He could only do his best and hope to God it was enough.

  *

  Kim had plenty of time to think, leaning against the wooden door in the darkness. There was still light filtering through the door, but it was dimming now. Evidence that the day was coming to an end. Kim’s watch had been smashed while she was rolling around in the back of Foster’s van. But even if it had been working, she wouldn’t have been able to see it at night. She was taken at about 12:30 hours she thought. She had no idea what time it was now, but estimated it could be around 18:00 hours because of the fading light.

  She thought about what must be happening back at barracks. Thought about the procedures that would have been put in place to try and find her, with DI Anderson’s help, of course. But she had no idea if they had anything to go on. Even if they found the white van and Foster, they wouldn’t have any clue as to where she was, unless he told them, which was very unlikely.

  She mulled over her career, for something to do as much as anything. Recognising that if you have served in the Army, no job quite matches up to it afterwards. The people you meet, the friends you make and the experiences you have, never really compare to a job in Civvy Street. When you’re a soldier every day is different and challenging. Look at what happened to her today.

  On the other side of the argument, she was beginning to wonder if she could keep working with the sort of pressure she was experiencing in the SIB. And then there was the Padre, Captain Symmonds. She had been unclear about her feelings for him at the start. The rape and all that shit had really messed with her head but he had helped her put things into perspective, restored her faith in people, her fellow soldiers and, there was no denying it, men. He had definitely restored her interest in men. Well, one man in particular.

  Being a woman in a man’s Army, she had tended to repress her sexuality in the past, which is how she, and some of her female soldier friends, coped with the pressure of trying to be equal to the men and coped with having to stay in role at work all the time. Being a cool, calm, efficient sergeant. Mind you, that tended to make some of the men at work see her as being distant. But she appreciated her rank and had to act as a sergeant. It made for a lonely office life at times.

  But equally, out of uniform, people expected that she was able to revert back to a ‘feminine’ role. Play the little woman - the complete antithesis of what she was and who she’d become. That was very difficult for her, meaning she tended not to have any long term relationships, where she was expected to eventually take the expected female role. A role where she would get out of the forces and stay at home. Some soldiers took the view that it was okay for women to ‘play at being soldiers’ as long as they reverted back to being women afterwards.

  But now, after all these years of being in the Military Police, Kim was questioning if she wanted to be ‘one of the lads’ for much longer. All she had ever wanted was to be one of the team as herself - a sergeant who was also a woman. Not a woman in a man’s world, who had to work harder and longer than some of the men, just to be accepted and then noticed for promotion.

  Now, added to the mix, was the Padre. Kim realised they couldn’t keep their relationship secret for much longer, if it even was a secret. It was probably more of an open secret. She wasn’t sure when it had changed from counsellor and client, to man and woman. She had opened up to him and he had accepted her secrets and words as though they were precious stones, needing to be cleaned, polished and kept safe. Kind of what he was doing to her. He’d cleaned away the horrors, helped her regain her self esteem and restored her faith in men, in him. Thank God he was a Church of England minister she decided; it wouldn’t have done to fall for a Catholic one, who had taken a vow of celibacy. Now she just had to get her head around the God bit.

  Chapter 41

  Padre Symmonds had decided to walk around the car park. He’d gone there with Crane, who had needed a cigarette and had then decided to stay outside. Perhaps the fresh air would clear his head, which was buzzing with horrible scenarios about what might have happened to Kim. As the afternoon dragged into night, he felt the pressure of her loss on him. A rock that was becoming too heavy to carry, interfering with his attempts to breathe normally. He ended up sucking in air every now and again, in great gulps, pushing his ribs against the fear and grief.

  Where the hell was she? Was she alright? Was she inside, outside, dead or alive? They didn’t think she had a coat on, as the one she normally wore had been found in the cafe and he shivered in the growing cold that had accompanied the growi
ng gloom. He had never faced this type of loss before. The only thing he had to hold on to was his faith, which he had to admit, was being sorely tested. It was all very well being a minister and comforting soldiers and their families in their times of great need. He didn’t know them personally. He felt compassion for their situation, their injuries and their loss and could empathise, but he was always one step removed. It was probably his Army training. How else could he cope with the horrors he had seen? He had long ago come to terms with a God who could allow such things.

  This horror, though, was in a different league all together. It filled his head and heart. It made his hands tremble and his eyes water. Now he knew exactly how Corporal Green felt, when the death of his wife had shattered him.

  *

  Kim knew she was very definitely in trouble. As time wore on, the cold had increased, until it had become unbearable. She was shivering violently. She had stopped moving around some time ago, when she was trying to find a way out, or finding something to cut her plastic restraints on, realising she needed to conserve energy. She hadn’t been able to sit upright any longer and had slumped on her side on the floor. The very cold floor. The wind appeared to be getting up and Kim was subjected to icy blasts from under and above the door. She had tried to move away from the gusts, but couldn’t seem to get her body to obey the instructions from her brain. The muscles in her legs twitched, but the twitching was ineffective in terms of helping her to move.

  She tried to keep her mind active, but kept forgetting what she was thinking about. So she reverted to singing songs to cheer herself up and fight the fog that kept threatening to wrap itself around her brain. She felt its numbing tentacles taking hold and she fought to push them away. She was singing the Kylie Minogue hit, ‘I just can’t get you out of my head’. A tip to the Padre perhaps?

  Her fingers and feet were now extremely cold and she thought that if she could see them they would be turning blue. Perhaps she shouldn’t have taken off her shoes; they might have helped keep her feet a bit warmer. Her mouth was extremely dry and filled with a tongue that felt far too large. It kept sticking to the roof of her mouth and interfering with her singing, so she had to sing in her head. She had moved on from Kylie to nursery rhymes. They seemed simpler, but she wasn’t sure they were making sense any more. She kept getting confused over the words. Perhaps she should just hum tunes instead, it might be simpler. Her eyes kept closing and her breathing slowing and the desire to fall asleep was all consuming. She resisted it as much as she could, keeping up the humming, hoping Francis was coming for her, would hear her singing and follow the sound to find her. She didn’t realise she had stopped humming some time ago and was slipping into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 42

  It was eight hours since Kim had last been seen. There were a couple of sightings of the white van on the CCTV cameras and it had been tracked along the Farnborough road, but after that they’d lost it. Thinking it may have turned off the main road before the next camera, exploiting the gap in between them, they had RMP and PCs combing the area around the back of Farnborough airport, just in case it was the right place. There were lots of industrial units, housing estates, supermarkets and the odd pub restaurant. They had decided to concentrate on the industrial units first. Perhaps she’d been dumped in an empty or closed one, or the van had been discarded somewhere within the sprawl of buildings.

  Crane was there as well as the Padre. Both feeling that it was better to be doing something rather than nothing. Anderson and Billy were back at the police station and barracks respectively, just in case Foster got in touch, or a member of the public called in with vital information. Anderson had also put an ambulance on standby where they were searching. Kim was bound to need one, if they found her.

  Crane had to admit he was frightened. He didn’t think Foster would kill her, couldn’t think of a reason why he should. But if she was outside, it was dangerously cold. They probably hadn’t much time left if that was the case. He could kill Foster for this, but knew he wouldn’t actually do it. Instead he channelled his anger into a determination to find him and put him away for a long time. A very long time.

  His mobile pinged with a message. Crane pulled it out, hoping it was something about Kim and not anyone else. He didn’t need Tina falling apart on him as well. He immediately realised how irrational that thought was, a sign of how badly affected he was by Foster’s games.

  The message was from an unknown number and Crane frowned as he opened it. The contents astonished him.

  Try the abandoned RAF huts, you’ll find Kim there.

  Now you know how close I can get. None of you are safe from me.

  BACK OFF!

  The abandoned RAF huts? Crane suddenly realised that was where he had met Lampton in the pouring rain one night.

  “We’re in the wrong place!” he called to the Padre and to the paramedics, who were kicking their heels, walking around outside their vehicle, waiting for someone to find Kim. He shouted into his radio, “Everyone to the old RAF huts, the other side of the airport, I repeat the old RAF huts, the other side of Farnborough airport.” After finishing the message he shouted, “Follow me!” to the others.

  Running for his car, he heard the pounding of boots as Captain Symmonds joined him.

  “How do you know?” the Captain gasped, after throwing himself into the passenger seat.

  “That bastard Foster just sent me a text. Here,” and Crane threw his mobile onto the Padre’s lap, before revving the engine and screeching back onto the road, closely followed by the ambulance with its sirens and lights on. Together they raced around the road that followed the perimeter of the airport.

  After about a mile, as Crane approached a roundabout, he slewed left off the road and onto a short track, leading to a gate set in the wire fence surrounding the huts. The gate was open and careering through it, he caught the fence post, putting a nice dent in the back nearside wing. He pulled some way into the enclosure, leaving enough room for the ambulance to follow him and then stopped the car. Facing them were rows of abandoned Nissen-type huts. They would have to search each one.

  Crane ran around to the boot of his car and grabbed two strong torches, handing one of them to the Padre.

  “Here, Sir, come with me, we’ll search the nearest ones.”

  The Nissen huts were set out in rows. Long, low, cylindrical buildings, looking as though the remainder of the cylinder was sunk into the ground, the fronts of five of them faced Crane and the Padre. As Crane played his torch along the sides, he saw each hut stretched back several feet. At the back of the huts was another row. Crane couldn’t see them all in the dark, but knew there were three rows of huts.

  Clambering through the undergrowth that was gradually reclaiming the ground around the huts, Crane was scratched by thorns that grabbed at his clothes and any bare skin they could find. As he approached the nearest hut, Crane could see from his bobbing torch, a double width wooden door set to the right of the semi-circular building and a window set to the left. As he touched the wood of the door, it crumbled under his fingers and easily opened with minimal pressure.

  The floor was hard, probably concrete, with a covering of soil. The Padre played his torch around the walls and they saw many holes in the structure through which the wind blew. There was a row of windows along the side of the hut, most of which were devoid of glass. Walking slowly through the enclosed space, Crane and the Padre swept the floor methodically, but by the time they reached the end they hadn’t found Kim. Retracing their steps they double checked on the way back but an empty hut was all that greeted them.

  “Next one, come on, Padre,” Crane called and stumbled over the uneven ground in the dark to the next hut, where they repeated the process.

  They didn’t find Kim until the third hut, the one with the sturdiest door that was locked. They had to break it open, kicking it in with their boots. It was also a hut that only had a window in the front of it, which had been boarded up. Kim had been left
in the cold and dark. Crane immediately went to her exposed neck to feel for a pulse. Her skin was cold to the touch and grey in the light of his torch.

  “Is she?” the Padre asked, his voice trailing away, not finishing his question. He shrugged out of his coat and handed it to Crane, who placed it over Kim’s prone body.

  “Just,” he replied. “There’s a faint pulse. Here, you stay with her, I’ll get the paramedics.” As Crane ran out, the Padre’s legs crumpled and he landed on the floor at Kim’s side.

  *

  The Padre put his head close to Kim’s and could hear her faint shallow breathing. He tucked his coat around her, and then move to place her head in his lap, pushing tendrils of blond hair from her face. He had no idea what else he could do to help her. The only thing he could offer was prayer and he prayed more fervently than he had ever done. He asked God, if it was His will, to please save Kim. He begged Him not to take her when he’d only just found her. Hoped that God would spare her, because he bloody well needed her here by his side. And he was sure that need was greater than God’s, although he didn’t include that bit in his prayer.

  The paramedics arrived with a thump of boots and rumble of a stretcher and they helped him to his feet, explaining they needed to work on Kim. But he refused to leave her side and fumbled under his coat until he found her hand. He held it to his face and was frightened to feel how cold it was. He started blowing on it and rubbing it in a vain attempt to warm it up. Someone gave him his coat back, but he shouted, “No, Kim needs it more than me. Needs it to keep her warm.”