A Soldier's Honour Box Set 2 (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Box Set)

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Right.” Crane paused to make sure he’d got everyone’s attention. “The next consignment of vehicles from Lashkar Gah is due in next week. It’s a clutch of land rovers which will be packed full of stores and other equipment that needs returning to the UK. The RMP in Afghanistan reckon this will be the last big chance for smuggling the drugs out of our part of Afghanistan. We anticipate heroin in large quantities. We have men working undercover with Sgt John Davis in Lashkar Gah and others keeping an eye on the vehicles identified as part of the next shipment. We expect the drugs to be concealed in ration-pack boxes. At least that’s the word from Afghanistan. Apparently Davis has quite a few empty boxes stored in a locked cupboard in his office. One of the lads caught sight of them, when he surprised Davis by walking into his office unannounced. Hopefully we’ll get photos of Davis stashing them in the Land Rovers. We’ve already got photographic and voice recording evidence of him meeting the suppliers and are anticipating being able to document the hand over from the Afghanis to Davis.

  “Boss?”

  “Yes, Billy?”

  “Once the consignment leaves Lashkar Gah, will the RMP be arresting Davis?”

  “No. Not until we’re ready to go at this end. We don’t want to give Wainwright any reason to panic and decide not to retrieve the drugs. We need all that photographed and documented, as well as his handover to Anic. This is one of the biggest drug sting operations the RMP have done in a long time and we’re determined to get every link in the chain. And I mean every link. So no loose talk, chatting in the Sgt’s Mess, telling the wife, alright?”

  “Boss,” Billy and Jones agreed.

  “The arrests both in the UK and in Afghanistan will be co-ordinated, all taking place at the same time as we arrest Wainwright and Anic at the hand over. Through our surveillance of Wainwright, we’ll know the time and place of the meeting. Anything else you want to add, Derek?” Crane asked.

  “Not really, just to say that the undercover lads in the Drugs Squad are also monitoring Anic and his cronies, as well. We’ve decided the more police that know what’s going on the merrier. Can’t do any harm and hopefully may help.”

  “Just so long as Anic and his men don’t realise they are being watched.”

  “Well, to be fair they expect surveillance to a certain extent, which is why I got the Drugs Squad involved. They need to know what’s going on so they don’t inadvertently balls up Operation Repatriate. Also if Anic thinks it’s business as usual with the Drugs Squad keeping an eye on him, he’s not going to think that anything out of the ordinary is going on. We don’t need Anic spooked.”

  As they dispersed, Crane walked out with Derek to the car park, where he lit up a cigarette before sauntering over to the DI’s car with him.

  “Well, it seems that everything’s in place, Crane,” Derek said.

  “Yep. Just a matter of waiting it out now,” Crane smiled.

  “Are you alright, Crane?” Anderson asked peering at Crane’s face.

  “I’m fine, Derek, why?”

  “Because you’re too bloody cheerful,” Anderson laughed and turned to unlock his car. “It must be the X-Edwards factor.”

  “Ha bloody ha,” said Crane but with a wide grin on his face.

  “Seriously though,” Anderson said through the open car window, after he’d climbed in, “It’s nice to work with you in an upbeat mood for once.”

  “Instead of?”

  “Instead of your usual dogged, dour and distracted demeanour,” and Anderson grinned at the rude finger sign Crane flipped him, as he drove away.

  9

  The sermon he was writing was uppermost in Padre Symmonds’ mind and he belligerently answered the phone call that had just broken his concentration. He had to move some papers he was referencing to find the offending instrument and was annoyed that he’d lost his place.

  “Symmonds,” he barked, but realising how he must have sounded he quickly added, “How can I help you?”

  “Good morning, am I speaking to Padre Symmonds of the Aldershot Garrison Church?” a young woman’s voice asked him.

  “Yes you are. To whom am I speaking?” he asked rather formally, on his guard until he knew who he was speaking to and what it was they wanted.

  “This is Diane Chambers, Padre.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we know each other.”

  Francis knew exactly who she was, but had no intention of telling her that. He leaned back in his comfortable leather office chair, sinking into the squidgy leather and bouncing lightly on the rocking mechanism. The chair had been his indulgence, when he put together his home office. As he spent so much time sat behind his large desk, dealing with all his paperwork, he’d decided he needed a good chair to sit in.

  “I’m from the Aldershot News, Padre and I wondered if I could ask you about the dead baby you found on your church steps.”

  Francis winced at the ‘dead’ bit. The woman could have been a bit more tactful, he thought.

  “I believe you should be speaking to the Aldershot Police or even the Royal Military Police, not me.”

  He picked up his pen and started to turn it over and over in his hand.

  “I already have talked to them, sir,” Diane said. “I just wanted a personal perspective from you. For my readers, you understand. So I can write a rounded piece.”

  Padre Symmonds well understood that the last thing Chambers ever wrote was a rounded piece of journalism. But now she had him on her hook, so to speak, he’d have to respond somehow. But not knowing the best way to deal with her, he kept quiet for the moment, waiting for her to speak again.

  “I understand you and your wife found the child,” she said.

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “It must have been a shock.”

  “Obviously. It would have been a shock for anyone, Miss Chambers.” Now he sounded as though he were addressing a child and he knew he had to try for a more normal tone of voice.

  “Your wife, Mrs Symmonds, nee Weston, was in the RMP serving on Aldershot Garrison, wasn’t she?”

  “I really don’t think that has anything to do with anything, Miss Chambers.” Francis struggled to be polite.

  “It’s just that I was wondering if I could have a quick word with her.”

  “I’m sorry, but she’s not here at the moment,” he lied, crossing his fingers to try and negate the slip in his moral code. “Why on earth would you want to talk to her anyway?”

  “I just wondered if she’d consent to being interviewed. I’m doing an article on working women and it would add to the piece if I could talk to a woman who used to serve in the Army and ask how she feels now she’s become a wife and retired early, as it were.”

  “I think you’ll find my wife will decline to be interviewed.” Francis sat upright and laid the pen he was holding down on his desk.

  “Surely, that’s a decision she alone should make don’t you think? So would you be kind enough to pass on my message?”

  “Very well,” Francis tried to swallow his anger, without much success.

  “My telephone number is…” and Chambers went on to recite her office and mobile numbers, neither of which Francis took down. The pen remained on his desk, where he had just put it. “Thank you,” she concluded.

  “If there’s nothing else, I’ll bid you goodbye.” He really had had enough of her and her stupid questions and ideas.

  “Just one last thing, sir, could I have a quote from you?”

  “A quote?” he repeated stupidly.

  “Yes, about the matter of the child being left on the church steps.”

  “Oh, very well,” and the Padre rattled off a quick sentence for the woman to put in her article about how poignant the leaving of a dead child, on the steps of the church, was.

  “Thank you very much for your time, sir and your quote. Especially as the police and the RMP declined to be interviewed,” said Chambers and cut the line before he could react.

  “Bugger! Talk abo
ut being wrapped up like a kipper,” he said into the now dead phone and replaced the receiver.

  “Kipper?” Kim asked as she walked into his study. “What’s that all about? Surely you’re not talking about kippers in your sermon this Sunday,” she laughed.

  “No. It was that bloody awful woman from the Aldershot News on the phone. She just got the better of me and I ended up giving her a quote about the baby found on the church steps last week.”

  “Did you say anything out of turn?”

  He thought for a moment, “No I didn’t think so, let’s just hope she writes what I actually said.”

  “Never mind, Francis, you’re not the first of her victims and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

  “Talking of victims,” he said, “she’s got you in her sights,” and he gave her the message Chambers wanted him to pass on, minus the phone numbers. “What do you think?” he asked when he’d finished.

  “About giving her an interview? Not on your life.”

  “I know that, Kim, but what are your thoughts on the question she posed?”

  But Kim merely smiled and said, “Can I get you more coffee?” and she collected his mug, turned away from him and returned to the kitchen.

  “Bugger,” he said, for the second time in five minutes, as he watched his wife leave the room, the unanswered question floating in the air above his desk.

  10

  The chatter washed over Julie as she sat in the Mother and Baby Group, with Tyler fast asleep in the baby carrier by her feet. Tyler had fallen asleep in the car and Julie had managed to get her out and carry her into the local community centre without waking her. She settled in her usual place on a comfy settee near the coffee bar and looked around. The other mothers scattered about the echoing room, were busy feeding their babies, playing with them and one or two were changing them. Not having any of those things to do Julie smiled down at Tyler and let her thoughts wander. And they wandered to Bob, as they usually did these days. She wriggled in her seat and pulled her skirt down, studying the black ballet type shoes she was wearing over black tights. Her shoes were losing their sheen and the patent leather was beginning to crack and split where they bent as she walked. They were beginning to look unloved. Just like she felt. Definitely unloved. She couldn’t quite identify when things had begun to go wrong with their marriage, but somehow the downhill slide seemed inextricably linked to her pregnancy.

  Bob was already in the Army when they’d met and as the relationship became more serious, he’d told her he was a career soldier. There was no negotiation about this, no chance that he’d change his mind. He was in it for the long haul and if their relationship was to progress and last, she’d have to accept that and become part of Army life. From what Julie had experienced of the life by that time, she was happy to comply. She loved the companionship and camaraderie between the men, which also extended to their wives and girlfriends. There was always something to do; someone to meet, a dinner to go to, or friends calling round. And drinking. Lots of it. Some of it hard core. But the wives and girlfriends were mostly left out of that. A pastime reserved exclusively for the men, for when they needed a blowout. They all seemed part of one big happy social club.

  Bob was great while she was pregnant. He was attentive, proud and looked out for her and after her. Well, she supposed, thinking back, he did get a bit fed up with the fact she couldn’t drink alcohol, but she tried very hard not look bored, or tired, on those nights when the drunken antics went on into the wee hours of the morning. Tried hard not to let it show on her face. Even if that was how she felt inside. Sometimes she succeeded. Sometimes she didn’t. She soon learned to succeed, though, after enduring his alcohol induced wrath. Not that he ever touched her. Never hit her. But then he didn’t need to. His tone of voice and words were frightening enough. Enough to control her.

  Things had got better again after the baby was born. For then she could join in with the social life, the drinking and the banter. Sometimes they had people around, or went round to friends, all the babies safe asleep up stairs. Occasionally babysitters were organised, as a night on the town was in order. So life had gained some sort of equilibrium once again. Some of the wives had asked her recently if her and Bob were going to have another child. A lovely brother or sister for Tyler. The thought of it made Julie shudder.

  “Hey, girlfriend,” Linda elbowed her in the side as she settled next to Julie on the sofa, placing her baby carrier on the floor in front of her. “Are you okay? You seemed miles away then.”

  “Sorry, just thinking.”

  “About your Bob?”

  “Mmm,” Julie kept her voice light.

  “Bit of a hunk your Bob,” Linda’s eyes sparkled. “Lucky you, that’s what I think.”

  “I know exactly what you think of him,” Julie smiled without rancour, “I’ve seen you flirt with him often enough.”

  Linda laughed. “It doesn’t mean anything, you know. We’re just having a laugh. I’d never do anything about it. You do know that. Don’t you?”

  “Yeah, course, I’m just winding you up,” and the two women shared a complicit smile.

  Just then Tyler started grizzling, so Julie scooped her up and put her over her shoulder, rubbing her back for comfort. It seemed to work as Tyler’s eyes fluttered closed and her head lolled against Julie’s shoulder as she fell back asleep.

  “What would we do without them, eh?” Linda said.

  “Without who? Our husbands or our children?”

  “Well, both, but I was thinking of the babies.”

  “Why, what’s brought that on?”

  “Haven’t you seen the local paper?”

  “No,” replied Julie, “not yet.”

  And Linda went on to tell her about the child found dead on the Garrison church steps last week. Julie held her baby just that little bit tighter. She thought she’d feel as if her heart had been ripped out if she lost Tyler. Bob might seem a bit distant with the baby at times, but she was sure he’d feel the same. Wouldn’t he?

  Aldershot News

  “Morning, Alan,” Kerry called, as she came into the flat and hung up her coat. “Look, I picked up the local newspaper today, while I was out shopping. I thought I’d read it while I have a cup of coffee. I can read some interesting bits out to you, if you like. Do you remember how we used to do that? Read to me, you’d say. Because you loved listening to my voice, you’d say. Personally I think it was to help me with my reading. A nice way of encouraging me to better myself. And it was working too, wasn’t it? So I’ll keep up with the practice. Buy the local paper every week and read it out loud to you, if you like.”

  Going into the kitchen she put the kettle on for her coffee. “Mind you,” she called through to him, “I try not to go out too often, as I don’t want to get stopped by someone wanting to see the baby. If they do, I think I’ll say she has a bad cold and I don’t want her exposed to any more germs. Or, I’ve just got her to sleep, so I don’t want her disturbed, as she’s had a bad night. Or, I haven’t time to stop as we have a doctor’s appointment. Yes. Anyone of those reasons should do it.”

  Kerry took a used mug which she had left near the kettle last night, rinsed it and spooned coffee in it, ignoring the pile of washing up that had been festering in the sink for the past few days. She sniffed the milk she’d just taken out of the fridge and decided it was fresh enough to use, splashing some into the mug before pouring hot water onto the brown swirling concoction.

  Standing and stirring her drink she said, “Mind you, what if more than one person stops me? I’ll have to remember which excuse I used. Then again, I don’t know that many people. But a lot of people chat to you when you’ve a baby, you know. It’s a bit like when you have a dog. Other dog owners talk to you. Ask questions about it, or tell you all about their dog. It’s the same with a baby. If you are pushing a pram or pushchair around, other women stop to chat, pass the time of day, compare notes, that sort of thing.”

  She carried the coffee back
to the sitting room and sat next to the newspaper she had thrown on the settee, placing her mug on the floor.

  “I expect it’s because it can be quite lonely at times, being a mother at home. Especially if you’re used to company at work and then all of a sudden you’re pushed into being alone in the house with a screaming baby for most of the day. And most of the night, come to think of it, if the father’s away, like you were, or doesn’t give a shit and would rather be down the pub. So, yes, other mothers are often desperate for someone to talk to who understands.”

  Whilst she flicked through the newspaper she carried on talking to Alan. “I never found it lonely, though, being a mother,” she said. “It was as if I was meant to be one all along. I was so excited about being given the chance to treat a child properly, after being treated so badly myself. No way would I ever have put Molly through the experiences I had. But I didn’t get much time with her, did I? I only had a few short months to show her how much I loved her. To show her that she was the most important person in my life. Oh, sorry,” Kerry’s hand flew to her mouth. “I should have said that you... and... her… are the most important people… in my… life.”

  She couldn’t stop her voice breaking and she stumbled over the words. She took a gulp of coffee in an effort to compose herself, before she gave up trying and broke down in tears.