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

by Wendy Cartmell

  “No wonder they’re expensive,” she said, “What with all that painting and adding real hair! My goodness, I wonder how the artist knew to make the doll look like Molly. Perhaps Molly came to her in a dream, or something. That way she would have known what Molly looked like. Then all she had to do was to advertise the doll so I’d see it. Yes, Alan, that must be it. What?” she listened for a moment. “Well can you come up with a better explanation?” she said. When he didn’t answer she continued, “No, I thought not, so shut up and let me read the last bit to you. Just listen to this: All dolls were originally made from regular baby dolls, hence the term reborning – making an existing doll come to life.

  “See, I was right, Alan, it is Molly, she has come back to life. She’s been reborn and she’s found her way back to me. I can’t wait to hold her in my arms again. To sing to her, rock her to sleep, dress her in her pretty clothes.”

  Kerry mimed rocking Molly in her arms. Something that was as natural to her as breathing.

  “Why am I crying? It’s alright they’re tears of happiness, Alan. My prayers have been answered. Molly has been reborn and is coming back to life.” Kerry continued rocking. “I knew I was right to place Molly on the church steps that day. Ever since then I’ve prayed and prayed that God would hear me and bring my little girl back.”

  With a sigh of satisfaction, Kerry let go of her dream, stopped rocking her baby and retrieved her mug of tea from the floor.

  “Anyway, you can leave me alone for now. I’ve got to get on with sorting out Molly’s things and make sure the bedroom is clean and tidy for when she comes home. I’ve got some of her clothes that need washing. I hadn’t been able to face doing them before, but I must now, Molly’s going to need them. So off you go, back to where ever it is you come from. But don’t forget to come back later,” she called to him as he began to shimmer and then faded away, leaving behind a few wisps of grey smoke.

  13

  Crane, eyes pushed tightly against a pair of binoculars, watched from the roof of a nearby barracks, as Bob Wainwright, ant-like below, logged in the latest vehicles to be repatriated from Afghanistan. The sun was being chased across the sky by clouds and Crane was glad that at the moment they’d caught up with it, throwing the roof into shadow and lowering the temperature.

  The line of Land Rovers snaked up to the weigh station, where Wainwright stood with his clipboard, recording the receiving weight of each vehicle. Crane was watching for any changes in Wainwright’s composure, which might indicate which vehicles contained the contraband. But so far, nothing. Wainwright was either a bloody good actor, or he hadn’t found the tampered vehicles yet.

  The sun had beaten the clouds away and was streaming down onto Crane’s back, his black suit absorbing the rays and raising his temperature further. He would love to crawl back from the roof’s edge and take his jacket off, but didn’t want to miss anything, despite the fact that Billy was next to Crane, recording the proceedings with his digital video recorder. And then it happened. A stiffening in Wainwright’s body as he looked at the manifest on his clip board. The manifest for each land rover contained a detailed account of the contents packed within it. Crane imagined he saw a slight smile flit across Wainwright’s face, before the man bent his head once more to his task.

  As Crane watched, the waiting soldiers, at Wainwright’s command, moved to the vehicle. One was accompanied by a beautiful German Shepherd, trained in finding explosives, which sniffed its way around the outside of the land rover. Others checked under it with mirrors attached to poles and the last man popped the hood and checked the vehicle’s VIN number (the vehicle’s unique identifying number) against his own list. Once they were satisfied, the driver was given permission to move the vehicle away, parking it in the secure compound a few hundred yards away and then the whole procedure started again.

  Satisfied, Crane succumbed to the heat and slipped away from the edge to take his jacket off and grab a few well deserved gulps of water.

  “How’s the resolution?” he asked Billy as he sat up in between swigs of water. “Is the video going to be clear enough?”

  “Spot on, boss,” Billy replied without taking his eyes from the camera. “The test shots I did before the land rovers started arriving showed nice sharp pictures, even from this distance.”

  “So there’s going to be no disputing the evidence that it was Wainwright checking and clearing the vehicles?”

  “None whatsoever, boss. You can count on it.”

  “Good. Carry on, Billy, I’ll be back later.”

  Crane moved across to the small brick structure which marked the entrance to the roof from the floors below. Waiting for him there were Draper and Anderson.

  “All good, boss,” Crane said to Draper and got a satisfied nod in return.

  “What happens now?” asked Anderson.

  “A rotation of spotters will move across to the other side of this roof to monitor any activity in the secure compound overnight. They’ll stay in place in case Wainwright comes to collect the drugs. If he collects them, we’ll follow him to see where he stashes them.”

  “When do you think he’ll come, Crane?” Draper wanted to know.

  “Difficult to say, boss. Maybe tonight, but on the other hand he could wait a while. The land rovers are expected to stay put for a few days, as the lads take their cooling down period and adjust to the transition from Afghanistan, before they’re expected to get back into their normal routine here in Aldershot.”

  “Very well, keep me posted,” Draper said. Turning to Anderson he asked, “Is there anything else you need to see, Detective Inspector?”

  “No thank you, sir, you’ve been very helpful.”

  “Good. I want to foster a good relationship between the Army and the police. Personally I feel that for too long there’s been a misconception by the military that everything they do should be kept secret from the local police. I don’t hold that view and, as you know, neither does Crane here, so if we can do anything else to help - within reason, of course,” Draper said, “just shout, okay?”

  “Okay and thanks again.”

  Draper and Anderson shook hands before the new boss of the Branch left them to it.

  “Bloody hell, he is a bit different from Edwards isn’t he?”

  “I told you he was,” smiled Crane. “But...”

  “But?”

  “Well at the moment he’s walking the walk and talking the talk, let’s just hope that doesn’t change.”

  “As distrustful as ever, Crane. Don’t you ever change?”

  “Not that quickly,” smiled Crane. “Anyway, I’ve got to arrange the spotter teams, so let’s get back down to earth, shall we?” and the two men walked into the stairwell and clattered their way downstairs.

  14

  The realisation that their smuggling plan was now a reality, had just hit Bob Wainwright and he staggered into his office on unsteady legs and fell into his chair.

  Imagines of huddled conversations when he’d finalised the plans with John Davis, all those months ago, flashed through his mind, as though he were watching a television drama or a film. He saw Davis’ infectious grin and recalled the back slapping as he’d said, “It’ll all go like clockwork, just you see. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Even though their plan seemed to be intact so far, lots of stuff could still go wrong, Bob knew. Now it was time for him to keep his nerve and not be side tracked or riled by anyone or anything. If ever there was a time for military precision, this was it. Not forgetting military stoicism. Davis had managed everything his end without detection, so Bob couldn’t let him down and balls it up here in Aldershot.

  He was just beginning to calm down when his mobile rang. He didn’t recognise the number, but that didn’t mean anything. He suspected it was Anic calling for an update, from one of the many disposable mobile phones he used once and then threw away. Wainwright thought this was all a bit melodramatic, even gangster like, but then again Anic definitely fancied hi
mself as a gangster.

  Pressing a couple of keys on his phone, he said, “Yes?”

  “Hi Bob, ‘Good As New Body Shop’ here. We have an available slot for your car repairs, this week. When would you like to bring it over? We could do later today or tomorrow.”

  Dear God, thought Wainwright, what was the man on? Perhaps he’d been taking a bit too much of the cocaine he so enjoyed peddling.

  “So, when is best for you?” Anic pressed. “Today or tomorrow?”

  “I’m a bit busy at the moment,” Wainwright said, playing along and trying not to laugh. “Might be a few days yet. I’ve got a lot on at work. Why don’t I give you a call when I’m ready to come over and see if you’ve a free slot then?”

  “Are you sure? We really would prefer today or tomorrow.” Anic’s voice had hardened. No more the fulsome garage proprietor.

  “Absolutely, sure, I’m afraid. Not to worry, I’ll be in touch,” and Wainwright closed his phone, shutting Anic up and shutting him out of his thoughts. For the moment Bob’s efforts had to be focused on remaining normal at work. No one must see him preoccupied, looking worried or anxious. Looking down at his uniform shirt, he decided a trip to the locker room was in order. He needed a clean shirt, one that wasn’t stained with sweat.

  ***

  The minute Bob pulled up in front of the house that evening, he realised he’d made a mistake coming home instead of going for a drink in the Mess. The baby was not just crying, but screaming, great big lung-fulls that could be clearly heard from outside. He considered getting back in the car and driving away, but at that moment Julie came to the window and saw him. Damn, he realised he’d been caught and slammed the car door closed before striding to the door. As soon as he reached the step, the door was flung open, revealing Julie standing there her clothes and hair in disarray with the screaming baby perched on her hip.

  “Thank God,” she said, “here,” and pushed Tyler towards him. He had no option but to grab the screaming child, who didn’t moderate the volume of her screams at all with the change of parent. He held her close, before realising the child smelled. A lot. Of vomit and something too disgusting to even think about.

  “Julie, what the hell?” he said, holding Tyler away from him.

  “Look, just bring her upstairs for me,” she shouted over the din. “If you hold her just for a minute while I get the stuff out and get myself organised, it would really help. Well, are you coming?”

  He stomped up the stairs behind his wife, annoyance in every step.

  “How did you manage to get in such a state?”

  “Who are you talking to?” Julie said as she went into the nursery. “Me or Tyler?”

  “Both of you. You women are beyond me. Why couldn’t I have had a son? Boys are much easier.”

  “And how would you know?” Julie pulled open drawers and collected clean clothes for the baby.

  “Well, that’s what they say.”

  “Who?” She ripped open a new packet of nappies. “Your cronies down the Mess?”

  “Yes, a few of them have babies now.”

  “Whose wives look after the babies, not them.”

  “Well, we do have to work you know,” he laid the baby down on the changing mat at Julie’s nod.

  “Oh yes, provide for the little woman at home. Fulfil your role as macho men.”

  “What’s got into you, for God’s sake,” he shouted, just as the baby shut up, making his voice come over more strident and demanding than he’d intended.

  Not surprisingly Julie bit. “What’s got into me? What’s got into you, more like. You’re never bloody here and when you are, you don’t pay us any attention.”

  “What the hell am I doing now, then?” he shouted back.

  “Helping under sufferance. Anyone would think you had another woman the way you’re carrying on.”

  Tyler was now quiet and snuffling, so Julie popped a dummy in her mouth and laid her down in the cot.

  “Another woman?” Bob said. “What on earth are you talking about now? Don’t be so bloody stupid,” and he went to leave the room, then thought better of it and whirled around. “Is that all you have to think about? Wondering if I’m having an affair? Don’t you know me at all?”

  “Well what is the matter then?”

  “Work, just work, Julie. The only problem is pressure of work. I’m very busy at the moment.”

  She shoved past him out of the room and padded down the stairs, going into the kitchen. As he followed her, she grabbed the kettle and started to fill it with water.

  “What pressure of work is that, Bob?” she asked over the noise of the water hitting the inside of the stainless steel kettle. “I thought it was just a matter of logistics, bringing back all the stuff from Afghanistan.”

  “Just a matter of logistics? You stupid cow. You haven’t got the first idea have you? Just a case of logistics, my arse. Have you any idea how many men and how much equipment we’re repatriating? No,” he answered his own question. “You’ve no idea. All that’s in your head is stupid thoughts about me having an affair. For God’s sake, pull yourself together woman.”

  “Pull myself together?” she shouted as she grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard and began savagely putting coffee in them. “I think maybe you should be taking a bit of your own advice, Bob. Now look who’s over reacting.”

  “Jesus,” Bob shook his head. “I just don’t need this right now, Julie. I don’t want any bloody coffee. I’m off upstairs for a shower and then I’d like some dinner when I come down. So wind your neck in and get on with what you should be doing. Being a wife and mother.”

  He walked out of the kitchen slamming the door behind him, which was just as well as he heard a coffee mug smash against the closed door, instead of into the back of his head. He ran up the stairs and when he reached the bedroom he slumped down on the bed and looked at his hands. They were shaking. He knew he had to keep it together and hoped a shower would help to calm him down. If only Julie would keep her bloody mouth shut, he’d be able to get through the next few days. And then everything would be alright and they’d be set for life.

  Funeral

  Kerry was busy cleaning the flat. She had to make sure everything was ready for Molly’s arrival. She’d changed the sheets on the cot and then after looking at the state of the grubby pillows and torn duvet on her own bed, ferreted out some clean linen she’d put away in the wardrobe and never used. As she shook out the sheet and then the duvet cover, puffs of dust rose in the air, disturbed from the surfaces of her bedside table and dressing table. The furniture didn’t match. Not much in the flat did.

  She picked up an old rag she was using as a duster, flicking it this way and that across her bedside table and sprayed polish on the dirty marks from mugs put down without coasters, rubbing away at them without much success. She moved to the dressing table and caught sight of herself in the large mirror. She turned one way and then the other, looking at her profile, trying to decide which was her best side. She realised she didn’t have one, for both looked as bad as each other. Her figure was now model thin. But she decided she was no Kate Moss as she was more skeletal thin, than svelte. She seemed all bones. Thin arms poked out of her short sleeved jumper and even the size small leggings she was wearing looked baggy. She knew it was about time she starting looking after herself, especially now Molly was coming back.

  The thought of a re-born Molly cheered her and she looked down at the items on the top of the dresser, ready to dust those. She’d made a little shrine for Alan, with candles either side of his regimental photo and the flag his coffin was draped in. She picked up the flag, careful not to unfold it and as the material slithered under her fingers, her happy disposition slid away, as she fell into her memories of Alan’s funeral.

  The baby had cried as hard as she had, that morning. But Kerry had been incapable of comforting the child - needing comforting herself. So in the end they both cried all the way through the brief service at the graveside, for
the only person who could have comforted them was no longer able to. She remembered standing, swaying over the open grave. She was sure she would have fallen in, if someone hadn’t grabbed her from behind and led her away.

  She’d kept turning her head, back towards the grave, where men were now starting to fill in the hole. She could hear the thud, thud, thud of earth as it fell onto the coffin, making her think that Alan was alive in there, banging on the lid, wanting to get out. She squirmed out of the embrace of Alan’s friend and made to run back to the grave to help him. But strong arms enfolded her once more and led her gently but decisively onwards towards the car. She tried to protest, to tell someone that Alan was trapped in that awful box, being buried alive. But everyone just shook their heads at her and told her it wasn’t true. She’d never really believed them. Until now. Until she’d seen with her own eyes the state of his poor broken body and knew that he couldn’t have survived those injuries.

  Kerry stayed sitting on the bed, holding the flag until it grew dark and the temperature in the flat dropped, the cold causing goose bumps on her arms. She reverently replaced the flag on the dresser, pulled on her thick dressing gown over her clothes and left the bedroom to go and make a hot drink.

  15

  It was well after midnight. Bob Wainwright lay in bed, checking and rechecking every small detail in his mind. He’d been meticulous in his planning for the retrieval of the drugs and thought he’d covered everything. His palms were itching and his ears burning. Was there someone out there talking about him? Were his palms itching because of all the lovely money he’d have very soon? Unable to lie still anymore, he slipped out of bed. Julie had fallen asleep beside him about an hour ago, so he reckoned it should be safe to leave the house now. He just hoped the bloody baby stayed asleep. If she woke up, Julie would soon see he wasn’t there and want to know what the hell was going on when he got back indoors. Or worse still come and find him. And he didn’t need the added complication of a reaction from her. He was damn sure it wouldn’t be a supportive one, especially as she’d got it into her head he was having an affair, as she’d told him a few days before. He still hadn’t been able to appease her on that point.