“At the moment, Sir, we are exploring every possibility. Just normal police procedure. Nothing to worry about. But I do need an answer to my question. Did anyone seem different than normal when they arrived?”
“No, Inspector, not that we saw,” said Moore speaking for them both.
“Very well. If you write down your names, address and mobile number, you can go and do whatever it is you do before you go home. I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions.”
Nodding, the men looked relieved and quickly wrote down their details, before rushing off back stage.
Chapter 3
Meanwhile, Sgt Major Crane was preparing to go door to door along the rows of houses where Mel Green lived.
“Right number 26 here is in a row of 12 houses,” Crane said to Sgt Billy Williams and Staff Sgt Jones. “We obviously check this row, but also the one behind. The usual questions need answering; did the couple have any rows, money problems, extra marital activities, or just a change in personality or moods? Did Mel have a particular friend? Any tittle tattle from the women could be particularly vital.”
“Isn’t that a bit sexist, boss?” quipped Billy. “Won’t the blokes know about any gossip as well?”
“Sexist? That’s a bit rich coming from you, Billy, you’re one of the most chauvinistic pigs I know,” Crane laughed. “You think women are only good for one thing. Oh sorry, two. Sex and gossip.”
It was well known around Provost Barracks, indeed throughout the wider garrison community, that Billy thought he was God’s gift to women. All blond hair and rippling muscles, Billy spent many hours of his spare time in the gym and pounding the pavements, to keep his fitness levels up and to maintain a physique not only envied by his mates, but also eye catching to the women. There was never any shortage of young girls glad to go out with a soldier, hoping for marriage. Billy often took advantage of their willingness to go out with him, but none of the relationships were serious. At least not as far as Billy was concerned. He always made it clear he wasn’t nearly ready to settle down.
“Think about it, lad,” continued Crane. “Most of the soldiers here have just come back from a six-month tour of Afghanistan, so the wives have been left on their own for months. That means they band together for support. But it also means they know what each other are up to, or not up to, as the case may be.”
“Won’t the blokes in his unit know if anything seemed wrong with Green whilst he was out there?”
“Yes,” said Staff Sgt Jones. “But I think it’s best to talk to them together. Shall I do that tomorrow morning?” he asked Crane.
“Yes please, Staff. Right then, let’s get to it.”
Crane decided to go back to number 28, to interview Shaun Taylor. Once inside the house, he asked to speak to Taylor alone and his wife, Angela, went reluctantly out of the room, leaving the door open, which Crane pointedly closed after her.
Turning to look at Taylor, he said, “Where were you this evening?”
“Here, with the wife, Sir.”
“Doing what?”
Taylor looked at Crane with a sardonic smile. “What do you think we were doing, Sir? I’m not long back from a tour, so let’s just say I was with the wife, shall we?”
“So you were together all evening?”
“Definitely, Sir.”
“Did you happen to notice if there was any noise coming from next door, before Mel left, for instance? Shouting? Rowing? Anything like that?”
“Sorry, Sir, I didn’t hear anything resembling a row. I heard their front door close about 19:00 hours, so I assumed it was Mel going to that amateur dramatics stuff she does. We were eating about then and the telly wasn’t on, so that’s why I could hear it.
“Did you hear anything after that? The front door again? I’m trying to establish if Green went out and followed his wife. He says he was in all night and that I should ask you. He said you’d tell me. You’d be able to corroborate his story.”
“No can do, Sir. After we ate, well, um, shall we say Angie was making enough noise of her own to drown out any from next door.”
Crane sighed. “Alright, thanks, Corporal,” and he left, feeling just slightly envious of the younger man, who was enjoying his homecoming. Those were the days, he thought, the days with his wife Tina before their son, Daniel, was born. But now he was a responsible parent and to be honest he wouldn’t have it any other way. Thoughts of Daniel buoyed him as he went on with his grim task of breaking the news of Mel’s murder to her neighbours and trying to solicit what information he could from them.
***
By now Anderson had moved on from the producer and director and was interviewing a group of women, huddled together at the end of a row.
“Good evening ladies, sorry to keep you waiting,” Anderson began. “What I really want to know is if any of you were particularly close to Mel Green.”
Three of the women turned to look at a lady dressed in a peasant costume, with a large apron tied under her bosom. Her skin was as grey and drab as her clothes and Anderson noticed her eyes were red and puffy from crying.
“I suppose I was,” she said.
“And your name is?”
“Kath Sears. I’ve been a friend of Mel’s since she started coming to the group. In fact, we joined at the same time.”
“Were you close?”
“Well, close-ish, I suppose.”
“Meaning?” Anderson’s voice betrayed his exasperation.
“Meaning we always sat together, worked on the staging together, had coffee afterwards sometimes.”
“Did she open up to you about her personal life?”
“She didn’t talk about it much, but she was always happy and never complained of marital problems.”
“Do you think Mel could have been having an affair?”
“Oh, no I don’t think so,” she said.
But Anderson noticed she didn’t look at him as she said it, her eyes sliding away from him, which could be construed as a sign of lying. But he decided to leave it for now and speak to her on her own, another time. She might be more forthcoming without an audience and so he asked for her contact details and pushed on with his interviews.
Chapter 4
Unable to let his cold case go, Anderson spent the following morning clambering through the police archives. In the large echoing basement, folders of papers were everywhere, bundled on metal shelving, in boxes stacked against walls and in cardboard tubes cascading across the floor. Dust motes swirled lazily in the air, illuminated by small windows set high in the walls.
Taking his time, Anderson was methodically checking all the boxes from 2003. According to the Records Clerk, the paperwork was there somewhere. Earlier he’d found the case easily enough on the computer:
Case number - 2003/54938,
Name - Carol Newton
Cause of death - stabbing
Location - the underpass from Tesco to the town centre.
The case details were on HOLMES 2, a computer system for recording all incidents, which connected the 56 police forces and authorities. Cases could also be linked together, by searching relevant keywords.
But Anderson was an old fashioned copper. He much preferred paper files to computer files, sound bites on tape as opposed to data bytes, so he was on his knees, occasionally coughing and spluttering from the dust he was disturbing, but determined to find every box, file and piece of paper with the case number 2003/54938 on it. What he really needed, but was proving elusive, was the complete case file, which included evidential material, photographs, autopsy reports and witness statements. It even included any unused material, which was still relevant to the case in some way. Oblivious to the time, and pretty much everything else, Anderson kept on digging.
***
Crane, on the other hand, was very much in the present, about to head a team meeting. He’d been waiting for Anderson, but the policeman was proving difficult to contact, so Crane made the decision to start without him. Straightening the
files on his desk, he picked them up and strode into the large open plan space that housed the Special Investigation Branch in Provost Barracks.
The soldiers waiting for him around the conference table stood to attention as he approached. “Morning, everyone, at ease.”
At his command they all sat, looking expectantly at Crane, who had remained standing by the already crowded white incident board.
“Right, first of all thanks to Kim for managing to provide a comprehensive incident board by,” Crane looked at his watch, “10:00 hours.”
Crane glanced at his Office Manager, Sgt Kim Weston, pleased to see her back with the team, sporting a glowing face, gleaming hair and immaculate Army uniform. It looked as though the horrors of the past few months were behind her and she was ready and more than able to take her well-deserved place on the team.
Crane had to admit she’d had him frightened on more than one occasion, when she’d had flashbacks, after her drink had been spiked in The Goose and she was subsequently raped. She’d got through it with the help of Padre Symmonds, who had proved to be a rock for Kim and, just maybe, had restored her faith in the opposite sex. Whatever he’d done, though, Kim was transformed from the terrified girl after the rape, back into a competent and hardworking soldier.
Sgt Billy Williams on the other hand, looked knackered, after being up late last night canvassing the neighbours of Lance Corporal Green. Dressed in his usual SIB attire of dark suit, white shirt and dark tie, Billy couldn’t seem to stop yawning and rubbing his eyes. Crane saw Staff Sgt Jones cast a glance at Billy and nudge him, mouthing “wake-up”, which made Crane smile to himself. Jones was the experienced Staff Sergeant in charge of a large number of RMPs who patrolled the streets of Aldershot Garrison and the town centre as required, most typically late at night on the weekends. He was dressed in Army fatigues, as only Branch investigators wear civilian clothes.
The other member of the team was missing. Crane’s direct superior, Captain James Edwards, had cited a more important meeting that he had to attend and told Crane to “get on with it as he saw fit, as long as he produced results.” So no surprise there then. Edwards and Crane had a long running personal battle as to who was the most experienced and important. Edwards was fairly new to SIB and therefore had to rely heavily on his older and more experienced Sgt Major. The problem with that, for Edwards at least, was that Crane therefore felt he had free reign to investigate where and when he liked, with little regard to the orders of his Officer Commanding.
After Crane summed up what they knew to date about the Mel Green murder, which was precious little really, he started a brainstorming session.
“First of all, what can we surmise from the evidence we have at the moment? Who would want to kill Melanie Green and why?” Crane began.
At a nudge from Jones, Billy opened his eyes and sat up straighter in his chair. “Sorry, Boss, um, it could be a domestic, we need to check out her husband and his alibi for last night, if he had one.”
“Done that,” said Crane, scribbling husband under a heading of possible suspects. “He doesn’t seem to have one. Says he was sat at home alone watching the television. Any others?”
“Neighbours, Army buddies, anyone of them could have been having an affair with Mel,” said Jones.
“Or,” joined in Kim, “Corporal Green could have been having an affair and his girlfriend wanted his wife out of the way.”
“Good,” Crane was still scribbling on the board.
“What about the murder weapon? Was it an Army type knife?” asked Jones.
“Don’t know yet, Staff,” answered Crane, “we’ll know more after the autopsy later this morning. But good thinking, a kitchen knife could point to a civilian and a military type knife may point to a soldier.”
“What about the amateur dramatics lot?” asked Billy.
“DI Anderson started questioning them last night, but so far I haven’t had an update from him. I’ve been trying to contact him, but no joy yet. What motive could there be there?”
“Well, thinking aloud, it could be a lover’s tiff between Mel and another member of the cast, or maybe she took a part that someone else wanted. Who knows with a thespian full of self-importance?”
“Good thoughts, Billy,” agreed Crane as he scribbled.
“Was it random, Sir? You know a robbery gone wrong?”
“Good point, Kim, we don’t know if anything was missing from Melanie’s bag yet, we need to check that with her husband.”
“Any help from forensics?” asked Jones.
“Nothing yet, Staff. Kim can you chase them up for me, find out when we’ll have some results?”
“Yes, Sir,”
Crane divided up the tasks to be done. Staff Sgt Jones was to interview members of Green’s unit, to get background and, of course, any gossip about the man or his wife. Billy was to go back around Green’s neighbourhood to charm the wives in the immediate vicinity and see if he could get any more information from them than last night, as the shock had abated a bit. Kim was to chase up forensics, deal with the statements as they came in and Crane would go and meet Green and Padre Symmonds at Frimley Park Hospital Morgue for the formal identification of the body and then the post mortem.
***
Crane watched as Captain Symmonds led Green into the mortuary, the Padre wearing his dog collar like a badge of honour. He seemed to be whispering words of comfort to Green, but God only knew what he could be saying to make a man who had just lost his wife, feel better. Crane certainly didn’t. The Padre was, of necessity, becoming something of an expert on counselling and now had the unenviable task of being a grief counsellor for Green.
Captain Symmonds had a softer exterior than most soldiers, Crane decided, still watching him. Even though he had gone through officer training at Sandhurst and had a military bearing - the stand up straight, shoulders back, perfectly groomed look - the Padre always seemed to be a man of God first and a soldier second, rather than the other way around. Maybe it was something to do with the way he dressed, his black shirt and dog collar somehow less formal than the normal Army uniform. Also hidden behind the dog collar was a man with a wicked sense of humour, Crane knew. A man who enjoyed being part of the Army camaraderie and could sink as many pints as the lads he supported - and frequently did.
Green on the other hand, looked as though he had landed on an alien planet and couldn’t speak the language. He was wearing civvies; a mismatched collection of clothing atop of what looked like a pair of slippers. His eyes were dull and unresponsive when he was spoken to and his face was covered in dirty looking smudges where he hadn’t shaved. The epitome of a husband broken by his wife’s death, or a bloody good actor - Crane wasn’t sure which yet.
The curtain covering the viewing window opened. Crane only glanced through the glass at Mel Green’s body, (he’d have plenty of time look at it during the post mortem), turning his attention to Green himself, needing to see the man’s reaction. Green lifted his head from where his chin had been resting on his chest and for a fleeting moment his eyes widened in fear. Then, as he looked at his dead wife, his face hardened, as though trying to cope with the sight of her lying on a mortuary table, covered by a white sheet. The only part visible was her head. Her blond hair, which in life Crane guessed had been light and shiny, looked as dry and lifeless as her greying skin. Then Green’s eyes went blank, his face collapsed and he buckled at the knees, needing to be supported once again by Padre Symmonds.
“Is that your wife, Lance Corporal?” Crane had to ask.
A nod greeted his question.
“Sorry, son, but I need you to verbally confirm it. Is that your wife, Melanie Green?”
“Yes, yes it is, was, whatever,” replied Green without looking at Crane.
“Is that all, Sgt Major?” Padre Symmonds asked. He was looking, not at Crane, but with compassion at the broken man he was holding up. “I think Lance Corporal Green has had enough for the moment.”
“Yes, thank you, P
adre.”
“Very well, I’ll take him home.”
As Green and the Padre turned to leave, Crane called out, “Do you have any idea who might have done this, Green?”
Green turned back to stare at Crane, his bewilderment etched on his haggard face.
“Come on, it’s doubtful this was a random killing.”
Green turned his back on Crane, mumbling, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Everyone loved Mel. Can we go now, Padre, please?”
“As I said, Crane,” the Padre’s voice hardened, “that’s enough for now.”
As Green shuffled off, Crane wondered who the ‘everyone’ was that loved Mel. Watching the two men leave, Crane wished he could go with them. Go back to his office, or even home to have a cup of coffee with Tina and play with Daniel. But he had to stay and do his duty. Witness the autopsy of a beautiful young woman, killed in what looked like a cold calculated attack.
The pathologist undertaking the procedure was Major Martin, a retired Army officer who was an accredited Home Office pathologist whilst in the Army and upon his retirement had taken up a post at Frimley Park Hospital. As the Major opened up Mel Green’s chest, he called to Crane, who shuffled over in his protective clothing and boots.
“Look at this. There’s the stab wound to the heart.” The Major cut out the organ and held it in his hand, angled towards Crane, so he could see better. “I’d say it was a precision wound.”
“Why’s that, Major?”
“Because there are no hesitation cuts, not on the skin, nor on the heart and there would have been if the killer didn’t know what he was doing, or was afraid when it came to the actual stabbing. So I’d say your man knew how to deliver an accurate and deadly blow.”
“What about the type of knife?”
To answer the question, the Major placed the heart in a dish and measured across the cut. Going back to the corpse, he replaced the skin he had peeled away from the chest, back across the body and measured that cut also. Crane kept quiet whilst the Major concentrated and recorded the size of the cuts and his assistant took photographs.
A Soldier's Honour Box Set 2 (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Box Set) Page 3
