A policeman emerged from the lead car, weighed down by his stab vest and the various necessary paraphernalia hanging from his belt. He came to Crane’s window and jingled as he squatted down to speak to him and was joined by his colleague from the rear car.
“Sirs,” he acknowledged Crane and Anderson. “We understand you are in pursuit of a wanted man, Barry Foster, in connection with a murder in Aldershot.”
“That’s correct,” called Crane through the window. “So if you’ll just tell me where the house is, we’ll get on with it. We need to see if he’s there and if not, interview his sister.”
“Very well, we’ll shadow you, but stay out of sight. Always best to have back up, Sir, and if nothing else, transport to the local nick.”
“Thank you,” said Anderson, as he leaned forward, jumping into the conversation before Crane could be rude and tell them he didn’t need any help. Leaving Crane with an open mouth he continued, “I don’t have a radio on me, so give me your mobile number. I’ll call you as we approach the house and leave the line open, so you can hear what is going on and I can shout for assistance if needed.”
“Very well, Sir,” and the man read out his mobile phone number. “The house is number 55, just around this left hand bend and on the left hand side of the road. I brought you through this way to save you being exposed by crossing the street. Do you need just one or both cars, Sir?”
“Just the one, I think,” replied Anderson. “There’s only one of him and with you and your driver that makes four of us, so that should be good enough.”
The two traffic cops straightened and walked back to their cars. Anderson could see the driver of the car in front of them reaching for his radio and calling in their position and instructions as the rear car turned around and drove away back in the direction of Guildford.
“Anderson,” said Crane, “this is my investigation.” His hands were still gripping the steering wheel. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Covering your arse. Stop being so bloody headstrong and be realistic. For one, we’re approaching a house which potentially has a murderer in it. For two, we’re in Guildford where the military have no authority as we’re not on the garrison and for three and probably most important, we’re outside even the jurisdiction of the Aldershot police. So we need Guildford’s co-operation. And, if Foster is in there and does a runner, the Guildford lads can radio for the search helicopter. Okay?”
Crane slowly released his vice like grip on the steering wheel and placed his hands in his lap.
“Thank you,” continued Anderson.
“What for?” snapped Crane.
“No, you idiot, that’s what you’re supposed to say to me. Thank you, Derek, for covering my back, yet again.”
“Fuck off,” called Crane as he grinned and climbed out of the car.
Chapter 48
The woman who answered the door was someone that Crane would describe as of indeterminate age. Good looking, well turned out, wearing subtle makeup and smart clothes. Her dark hair was shoulder length and she flicked it away from her face as she opened the door. At her feet barked a small white dog, with black eyes, small button nose and pompom tail, which was wagging crazily. As he watched the dog, he could hear Daniel in his mind calling ‘bow wow’.
“Mrs Fletcher?” Anderson asked as he reached for his warrant card.
“Yes?”
“Do you have a brother, Barry Foster?”
“Yes, why?”
“Is your brother here at the moment Mrs Fletcher?”
“No, he’s not back from work yet, why?”
“May we come in please, Mrs Fletcher? Crane held up his ID. “Sgt Major Crane from the Military Police. I don’t think you’ll want to have this conversation on the doorstep.”
“Very well,” Mrs Fletcher answered and turned and walked into the house. Following her and the dog, Crane and Anderson walked into an advert for IKEA. All low slung furniture and muted colours, the furnishings looked more comfortable than they actually were, as Crane found out when he sat on the settee.
Allowing Anderson to tell Mrs Fletcher what was happening, he looked around, deciding she didn’t seem the kind of woman who would take kindly to her brother’s recent behaviour. Mrs Fletcher herself was sitting straight backed on a smaller version of the settee he and Anderson were on. As the allegations from Anderson about her brother’s antics became more and more serious, she remained outwardly calm. But, Crane noticed, she raised her hand to her neck and started to play with the silver necklace around it and every now and then briefly closed her eyes.
“I’m finding all this hard to take in, Inspector. Are you both absolutely sure that Barry is the man you want?”
“I’m sorry, but yes we are. You’ve already confirmed his service history, or at least the parts you know about and we have witnesses to his recent attempts to try and cover up his murders and lies.”
Mrs Fletcher stood and walked over to a picture of her brother in his uniform. “He’s always been so proud of his service,” she said.
“I think that’s the problem,” Crane said. Mrs Fletcher turned and looked at him. “The Army were willing to cover up his actions 10 years ago,” Crane explained “and now, all these years later, he is still expecting the Army to cover for him. He is so focused on himself, his pride, achievements and service, that he now thinks anything he does is excusable and will be covered up yet again.”
“What do you want from me?”
“We need to confront him, Mrs Fletcher and arrest him, of course. Did you say he’s due back here?”
“Yes, he’s normally back by now, he must be running late.”
Just then the telephone rang and all three of them turned to look at it. Crane spoke, “Mrs Fletcher, if that is Barry, please don’t tell him we are here, or that we’re looking for him. Just find out where he is and when he’ll be back. Will you do that?”
Mrs Fletcher reached for the phone.
“Please?” asked Anderson.
She picked up the telephone without replying to either Anderson or Crane. They had no idea if she would help them, or warn her brother. If she warned him, they may never find him once he went on the run, especially if he managed to get out of the country. Could she give up her brother? Her own kin? Would her fundamental sense of right and wrong win through?
“Hello?” she said into the telephone. “Oh hi Barry.” - “Oh, alright.” - “What sort of time?” - “See you then.”
As Mrs Fletcher replaced the receiver, Crane realised he had forgotten to breathe during the exchange and gasped in a lungful of air. He looked at the woman who had just agreed to turn her brother over to the police. With tears filming her eyes she said, “He’s had a bit of van trouble, so he’ll come back by train and then taxi. He should be here in about an hour.”
Crane could have danced around the room, but better judgement prevailed and instead he said, “Thank you, Mrs Fletcher. That must have been a very difficult thing for you to do.”
Mrs Fletcher nodded at his words and said, “I don’t know about you two but after that I need a coffee,” and she disappeared further into the house.
As soon as she left, Crane called Billy to let him know what was happening and Anderson spoke to the Guildford and Aldershot police. Even though Crane knew Anderson and the police would have first call on Foster for the two murders, he wanted to make sure he was able to interview him at some point about the military cover-up. So he was going absolutely nowhere. Staying where he was until Foster was arrested and then he’d follow Anderson to the police station.
Arrangements made, Crane went to find Mrs Fletcher, to see if she was alright. He found her in the kitchen, nursing a coffee. She raised the mug, as if to say ‘do you want one?’ Crane nodded his thanks and sat at the table while she turned on the kettle and opened and closed cupboards and drawers.
“It’s all your fault,” she said, her back to him.
“Pardon?”
�
��Your bloody Army made him this way.”
“What way?”
She turned to face him. “Cold, calculated, aggressive, short tempered. He wasn’t like that before.”
“Before he joined up, you mean?” Crane asked.
“Yes,” she said, carrying his coffee to the table. “He used to be much more open. We would spend hours talking. He’d tell me about his mates and what they got up to. Normal stuff, you know? But he started to change after his basic training. When he came home on leave it was like he couldn’t wait to get back. The longer he was in the Army, the more distant he became from the family. His focus was his unit, his regiment and he had no time or room for anyone or anything else in his life.”
“What happened when he left the Army?” Crane took a drink of his coffee.
“Left - that’s a laugh. He was made redundant. Forced out, he says. He came out not knowing what to do, or where to go. For a few years he drifted around from place to place. Had lots of temporary jobs, lived in shitty rented rooms. When he got a local security job, I said he could stay here for a few weeks, but that has turned into months and he’s still here. Still, it suited us both. I need the money he pays me for his keep and he needs somewhere to stay. I’m a nurse and work nights, so he’s gone during the day when I sleep and I’m gone of an evening, giving him the run of the house.”
“Do you know if he has any friends?”
“No idea. He never mentions anyone. But he had a girlfriend for a while. He softened a bit then, you know? Would take more pride in his appearance and he had a spring in his step. But it only lasted a few months. Apparently she gave him the push.”
“Did he tell you about her?”
“Not really, just said she was connected to the Army, so she understood him, his ways and moods. He was in a bit of a state when she finished it. Very angry and aggressive. He frightened me, I can tell you.”
“Do you think he was capable of killing her after she broke it off?”
“Capable? Of course he bloody was. Sometimes I see that ice cold anger and hatred in his eyes and I honestly think he could kill me. I used to feel sorry for him and was glad to help him out. But now? Now I’m frightened of him and I’ll be glad to get him out of my house.” She laughed depreciatingly, “I never thought I’d turn my own brother into the police.” Shaking her head, she stood and went over to the window. “Are you proud of your bloody Army now, Crane?” she asked. “Proud of what they turned him into?”
Crane didn’t answer her, but posed a question of his own. “Why didn’t you turn him in after the Crimewatch programme?”
“Oh, that’s simple, because I didn’t bloody see it. I told you, I work nights.”
“And the stuff in the papers?”
“Never read them, I’m too busy sleeping during the day and working all night.
She turned away from Crane and went out of the kitchen door, into the garden. Crane watched as she paced and smoked outside while the little dog gambolled around in the grass. He could have done with a cigarette himself, but decided to leave her alone with her guilt and anger. He had enough guilt of his own; he didn’t need to carry hers as well.
Chapter 49
Everyone and everything was in place. Crane and Anderson were in the kitchen at the back of the house with Mrs Fletcher. She had been offered the comforting presence of a WPC, but she had said she was perfectly alright thank you, which was just what Crane expected her to say. Because of their caution earlier, the entire street hadn’t been alerted to the police presence, which had worked to their advantage and so to maintain that, all planning and meetings had been held a few streets away.
There were two squad cars and two plain cars, all placed at strategic junctions in the small estate Mrs Fletcher’s house was located in, just in case Foster did a runner, to make sure all exists were covered. They had debated whether to have armed response officers on the scene, but there was no indication Foster was armed, after all, a knife was his weapon of choice, not a gun.
They had decided against using the search helicopter, in case Foster heard it. They also hoped that if Foster arrived by taxi, as he said he would, then as long as he didn’t see any squad cars, there should be no reason for him to be alerted to their presence. It should be a simple case of him getting out of the taxi and walking into the house. Walking straight into their trap.
Anderson had been issued with a police radio, which crackled into life as Crane was putting his third cup of coffee down on the table.
“Taxi approaching. Repeat. Taxi approaching.”
Crane took their cups off the kitchen table and put them into the sink. Mrs Fletcher dropped into a nearby seat, suddenly going white and looking quite faint. But Crane couldn’t worry about her at the moment; he had to take up his position, behind the front door. He looked at Anderson, nodded and moved out of the kitchen into the hall. Anderson stayed behind with Mrs Fletcher, but out of sight of the front door.
Crane stood with his back against the wall, ears straining for any sound. He heard the familiar throb of a diesel engine as a car pulled up against the kerb. A door creaked open and then slammed. After a few beats a man’s voice said, “Cheers mate,” and the diesel engine cranked up again as the taxi pulled away.
Straining to hear footsteps, but failing, Crane jumped at the scraping of a key finding the lock and pressed himself back into the wall. The lock tumbled opened and the door swung backwards with some force, straight into Crane’s nose. He hadn’t thought to check if there was a door stop to prevent what had just happened. Crane gritted his teeth against the pain, refusing to let the yelp of surprise out of his throat.
He heard Anderson come out of the kitchen and say, “Barry Foster?”
“What? Who the bloody hell are you?”
“Police. Barry Foster, I am arresting you for the,”
“No you’re bloody not, mate,” was all Crane needed to hear. He pushed the front door away from him, which revealed Foster threatening Anderson with a knife, which Foster was throwing from one hand to the other.
“What are you going to do about this then, eh?” he taunted Anderson as he took a swipe at the policeman with his knife, causing Derek to jump back. “Not so cocky now are you Mr bloody policeman,” and as Foster took a step forward to swipe at Anderson again, Crane pounced on him from behind. Going for Foster’s arms and pinning them to his sides in a bear-like hug. Foster, predictably struggled, but Anderson took two quick steps forward and punched him square on the chin. The knife fell from Foster’s hand and as Crane let Foster go, he followed his knife.
Crane heard the front door bang open again against the wall and looked behind him to see a rugby scrum of police officers bearing down on them. He was pushed out of the way as two officers fell on Barry Foster and handcuffed him.
“Are you alright, Sgt Major,” a policeman asked him.
“Fine, thanks, what’s with the rescue party?”
“When Foster approached the front door, we saw him stoop down and retrieve a knife from the flower bed, placing it in his pocket. So as he entered the house, we came running. But you two obviously have things under control.”
“So that’s why the knife wasn’t in the bloody van,” Anderson said as he sucked his scraped knuckles. “I blew my forensics budget for nothing. Fuck it. I should have hit the bastard harder.”
Foster was pulled to his feet by the police officers, struggling all the way. “Get off me, you bastards,” he shouted as he lashed out with his feet, trying to kick them away.
“Settle down, Foster,” Anderson said. “You know there’s no point in struggling.”
“Yvonne!” Fletcher screamed. “What the fuck have you done? I’ll get you for this!”
“You’re not going to get anyone for anything anymore, Foster,” Crane said. “This is the end of the road for you. Come on then, Derek, do your party piece.”
“Barry Foster, or Brian Fletcher, or whatever you choose to call yourself. I am arresting you in connection with
the murders of Carol Newton and Melanie Green. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
“Fucking bitches,” Fletcher screamed. “They deserved everything they got! It’s all their fault, if they hadn’t left me, hadn’t tried to screw me, none of this would have happened.”
“Save it for your brief, Foster. I’m not interested,” said Anderson. “Take him away, for God’s sake,” he nodded to the two policemen.
“Fucking bastards,” shouted Foster again. “I’ll get you and all Crane!”
“Yes, yes, of course you will, Foster,” said Crane and turned away in disgust from the cold hearted killer, who could only blame other people, instead of taking responsibility for his own actions.
Chapter 50
Crane and Anderson had decided to walk from the police station. It wasn’t far and both men were glad to be outside.
“I must say, I’m glad this is all over,” Crane confided in Anderson. “The past few weeks have been a bit of a strain.”
Crane knew he looked as knackered as he felt. Looking in the bathroom mirror that morning, he had wondered if he would manage to get through his last day at work. His eyes felt sore, as though specks of grit had gotten into them and his eye lids were rimmed red. Not a good look he had to admit. The nose was the worst though. When the door at Mrs Fletcher’s had opened he’d managed to instinctively duck his head, but not quickly enough and the door had hit him square on the bridge of his nose, breaking it. The skin had split and bled profusely, needing a couple of stitches. So Crane now sported butterfly tape across his nose, which stood out against the dark black of the bruising, which spiralled up his face, towards his eyes.
A Soldier's Honour Box Set 2 (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Box Set) Page 21
