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

by Wendy Cartmell

  Kerry had thought it was all rather over the top. And by then she was so pissed off with Julie that she’d actually told her so. The words spewing out of her mouth before she could stop them. That had shut Julie up. Made her think. Made her realise. Made her apologise for stupidly going on and on about her husband when Kerry’s husband Alan had given his life for his country. Julie had begged for Kerry’s forgiveness. Kerry had only just about managed to nod stiffly to acknowledge the apology, before she walked away, leaving Julie standing next to her own pram, open mouthed.

  She’d been telling Alan all about this. But what had upset Kerry the most wasn’t the fact that Julie’s husband was still alive, but that her baby was crawling.

  “It’s all very well you saying I should be thankful that I’ve got Molly #1 in her high chair and Molly #2 in her baby bouncer, but what I should have, by rights, is Molly #3, crawling all over the carpet and starting to hold onto things to pull herself up.”

  “What right?” asked Alan. “What gives you the right to have Molly #3?”

  “Because I’m a bloody good mother, that’s why, Alan,” she screamed at him. “I deserve it, I’ve been through enough. I’ve had enough of this shitty life. I want the same life as everyone else!”

  “Oh, so it’s shitty, is it?” Alan said. “Well thank you very much for that. I’m doing my best, staying here with you, instead of being somewhere nice and warm, peaceful and serene, like Heaven for instance.”

  “All I want is a baby that crawls and walks and talks,” she screamed at him. “What’s so bad about that? Why is that too much to ask? Why, Alan? Why?” Kerry sobbed, losing control. Tears streaked her face. Her hair was damp with sweat, making the curls stick wildly out. Her chest heaved as she tried to suck in air and her nose was running most unattractively.

  Kerry ran into the bedroom, away from the mocking stares of the two Mollies and away from Alan’s opaque eyes. The eyes he couldn’t use to see how upset she was, how lonely she was, how tired she was from trying to make the best of things. She just couldn’t do it anymore. She flung herself face down on the bed and sobbed until she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

  19

  Julie Wainwright was still very upset about Bob’s drug smuggling. As she walked over to the shops in North Camp, pushing Tyler in her buggy, she thought about her encounter with Kerry the other day. When she’d seen Kerry, she hadn’t been able to stop pouring out her hurt over her husband, completely forgetting that Kerry was now a widow. Julie hadn’t actually told Kerry that Bob was dealing in drugs, although it had been hard not to. She’d just hinted at his bad behaviour. She’d been desperate for someone to talk to. Someone who would understand the strain she was under. Understand the dilemma she was in. Understand her inability to make a decision. The decision about whether or not she should tell the police about Bob’s illegal activities.

  The trouble was she knew that if Bob was caught, then it would be her who would lose everything, as well as him. He would be thrown out of the Army and sent to military prison and then probably civilian prison after that. As a result, she’d lose her home, her way of life, her friends and Bob’s salary - never mind his pension. So it wasn’t just Bob’s threats of violence that were stopping her, it was the threat to Tyler’s future.

  Plus, she’d seen what Kerry looked like. Pale and wan, a shadow of her former self. Julie remembered Kerry as a lively, outgoing person, who would do anything for her friends. But that was when Alan was still alive and the baby hadn’t been born. The shock of the loss of her husband, her way of life, her house and her friends was clear in every line on Kerry’s young face, making her look so much older than she was. There were bruises of tiredness under her eyes and the wild look in them was mirrored by her hair, which stuck straight out from her head in an angry ginger afro.

  Julie had to walk to the shops that morning, because Bob was still taking the car with him to work every day and in her present state, she couldn’t face taking the bus into Aldershot or Farnborough, so she’d decided to walk up the road to get a few bits of shopping. She’d written a list of what she wanted and drifted up and down the aisles of the local Co-op, list in one hand, pushing the buggy with the other, pretty much oblivious to everyone and everything, including the piped music that followed her along the aisles. Her head was full of her marital problems.

  As she stood in the queue to pay, she watched people’s shopping being pulled along on the conveyor belt and then disappearing into carrier bags. She wished she could do that to her problems. Make them disappear. Out of sight, out of mind. She hadn’t been brave enough to ask Bob if the drugs were still in the garage and was hoping to God that if they were still there, they’d be gone soon. She guessed she’d know when they had been sold on as Bob would suddenly have money. She just hoped he’d pay the bills with it and not blow it on unnecessary luxury items.

  Coming out of the shop she was still thinking about how nice it would be, though, to have a bit of money put by. Take the strain off the monthly budget, pay off the credit cards for instance, so lowering the amount they had to pay out every month. She had to admit that with a growing baby the cost of nappies and new clothes, not to mention shoes when Tyler started walking, was beginning to worry her. She’d been thinking she might have to go back to work. But if Bob did sell the drugs, maybe she wouldn’t have to.

  The ringing of her mobile interrupted her thoughts and digging it out of her pocket, she saw it was Bob calling her.

  Swallowing back her nervousness, she answered his call.

  “Julie? Where the hell are you?” he shouted.

  “What?” she stammered. “I’m, I’m just at the shops in North Camp.”

  “Well you should bloody well be at home. I’ve come back to have some lunch with you and you’re not here and I can’t find anything to eat.”

  “Sorry, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Make sure you bring something for me to have for lunch, then.”

  “Oh, right, yes, how about a hot Cornish pasty? I’m right outside the bakers.”

  “Make it two,” he said and disconnected the call.

  Julie looked at the phone and with shaking hands slipped it back into her pocket. Looking through the small square panes of glass into the shop, she was relieved to see pasties in the hot cabinet. She pushed her handbag further up onto her shoulder and walked in to the bakery, focused on buying Bob some lunch and then getting home as quickly as she could.

  Fall Out

  Kerry was also walking up and down the streets of North Camp. She felt cut off from society, adrift in her sea of grief, without a lifejacket. Not wanting to be cooped up in the flat anymore, she’d gone out, without any particular destination in mind. All on her own. No Molly #1, nor Molly #2. She was fed up with them both. Fed up and angry because they weren’t able to do what she wanted them to do. What she needed them to do. Fed up because they weren’t as clever, as happy or as real as bloody Julie Wainwright’s baby, Tyler.

  She recognised she was experiencing some sort of fallout from the row with Alan a few days ago. It was as though there had been some sort of nuclear reaction at the explosion of her anger. After her bombshell when she’d told him that she didn’t like her life. The contaminated particles had fallen down around her in the flat. Coating Alan, so she couldn’t see him anymore. Covering the Mollies, so she couldn’t feel their love anymore. Unable to bear the loneliness, she had been driven out onto the streets, hoping for some human contact.

  But there was no release for her out on the streets either. Everything and everyone seemed to shimmer before her eyes, as though she were viewing life from the other side of a piece of frosted glass. She could hear the cars as they manoeuvred their way around the narrow streets, following the one-way system faithfully, gears crashing and horns hooting. She watched the elderly pick their way carefully along the cobbled pavements, jumping at any unexpected loud noise. She looked through the shop windows at the customers in the queues, impatiently wa
iting to pay for their purchases.

  She walked around the supermarket, not bothering to take a basket for she didn’t want to buy anything. She smiled at the cashiers, working away like beavers, constantly reaching and scanning, reaching and scanning, reaching and scanning. She tried to catch the eye of the nearest worker, but the woman looked at Kerry without seeing her, safe behind her counter, safe where she belonged. It was the same with everyone she walked past. No one looked her in the eye, smiled at her, or even scowled at her. She seemed invisible.

  Kerry wandered back out onto the street, wondering how she could break through the invisible shield surrounding her and become a normal woman again. She didn’t seem to have the tools anymore. The life skills. It had been so long since she’d really talked to anyone, had a proper meaningful conversation with someone that she was afraid she’d forgotten how to communicate with the living. Her world consisted of the dead now, but even they’d let her down. She sat down on a bench in the sun, closed her eyes and tried looking at her life from Alan and Molly’s point of view. Maybe that was it. Maybe that’s what Alan and Molly wanted. Maybe it was time for her to go and be with them, become part of their life, rather than forcing them to be part of hers. She smiled at the thought. Her first real smile in ages.

  Later, thinking back, she realised it must have been her smile that did it. The smile that shattered the glass which was shielding her from the world and brought her back from the brink. For at that very moment, she heard the piercing cry of a baby. It echoed around the street, bouncing off the broken shards that fell around her feet and in her wake, as she ran across the road.

  She didn’t have time for conscious thought. She just acted on her maternal instincts. She heard a child in distress and so went to comfort it. There was no one standing by the pram, no one reaching in to take the child in their arms, so Kerry did. She simply picked up the child, held it close to her body, wrapped her coat over it and walked away. The movement and closeness seemed to soothe the child and by the time Kerry got back to her flat, it was fast asleep.

  20

  Thank God, the shop had had some pasties left, was Julie’s overriding thought as she came out of the bakery, juggling the hot package, her change, her purse and her handbag. She bent down and put the pasties under the buggy, then straightened so she could put her change away. She dumped her handbag down on the seat of the buggy and opened her purse. Then stood still. She looked down at her handbag again. To all intents and purposes she’d just plonked her handbag on top of Tyler. But that wasn’t the case. For Tyler wasn’t in her buggy.

  Julie picked up the offending bag to make sure. But the child still wasn’t there. She stood immobile outside the shop, holding her purse in one hand and her bag in the other. Her confused brain trying to make sense of the unthinkable. She’d lost her baby. Tyler wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She looked up and down the street, but couldn’t see Tyler in anyone’s arms. In fact there were very few people about. They were probably all at home having lunch, she thought. Where she should be. At home having lunch with Bob and Tyler.

  She sank down onto the pavement next to the buggy. Wondering what she should do? Wondering who would help? This couldn’t be happening, she thought. Not to her, not today, not on a quiet street in North Camp. What the bloody hell was going on?

  Julie became aware of someone coming out of the shop, taking hold of her arm and asking if she was alright. As she looked into the worried face of the shop assistant from the bakery and tried to make sense of the woman’s words, she became aware of a scream. It seemed far away but heading in her direction, as if it was flying down the street towards her, getting louder and louder as it got closer and closer, until it slammed into her.

  That’s when she realised she was screaming and that she couldn’t stop.

  ***

  When Crane arrived at the scene in North Camp, everyone was as shocked and pale-faced as the mother who’d had her baby snatched. Anderson kept running his hands through his rapidly thinning hair as he explained to Crane what had happened and why he’d been called out.

  “Jesus Christ,” was Crane’s reaction. “So, it’s true. A baby has been snatched.”

  Anderson’s confirming nod shattered his illusive hope that he’d been given the wrong information.

  “And the parents are military?”

  “Yes.”

  Crane took a moment to close his eyes and compose himself. Just because he was a soldier, didn’t mean he was hard as nails. Didn’t mean he didn’t have emotions. It just meant he was better at boxing them off than most people. But the loss of a young baby pierced the invisible shield he held around his heart. His overriding thought being, thank God it’s not Daniel. Patching over the emotional wound, he returned his features to their usual stern arrangement and turned back to Derek.

  “Where’s the mother?”

  “Over there, sat on the pavement outside the bakery. We can’t get her to move, so her husband’s trying to persuade her that she’s got to get up and go with him. We’ve called out a WPC to act as family liaison and we need them to go home, as the WPC is going to meet them there - Crane, wait!” Anderson called, but Crane was already walking over to the couple.

  As he approached them he watched the man, talking animatedly to his wife, looming over her as she sat on the curb.

  “What the hell were you thinking of? How could you be so stupid?” Crane heard him say and watched as the soldier threw his arms in the air to make his point.

  Not wanting to hear anymore, Crane called out to him, “Excuse me, sir, Sgt Major Crane from the Branch. Can I have a word?”

  The father lowered his arms and turned to face Crane, who at that moment had his worst nightmare realised. For the father of the missing child was no other than Bob Wainwright, his main suspect in the drugs smuggling ring. Crane’s ability to remain poker faced was severely challenged as he said, “Over here, please, sir,” and he turned, leading the man back to Anderson. When his back was turned to Wainwright, Crane raised his eyebrows to Derek, his wide eyes saying a silent ‘what the fuck?’ to which Anderson shrugged in reply.

  The three men moved to stand some way from Julie Wainwright.

  “Sgt Wainwright,” Anderson said, “we really need you to get your wife home. We’re doing all we can here and a family liaison officer will meet you at your house. Also a DC will be calling to ask you both more questions and we urgently need an up to date photo of Tyler.”

  “What questions? What good will more bloody questions do?” Wainwright’s anger that they’d just seen him turn on his wife, was still bubbling just under the surface of his barely polite demeanour. Crane already didn’t like the man because of his thieving, smuggling ways and now his distain of the so called soldier, increased. For as far as Crane was concerned, he could now add a bully and a coward to Wainwright’s list of flaws.

  “If we have a good idea of your wife’s normal routine, places she goes to, mother and baby groups for instance, then we can see if there is a pattern where she might intersect with other people, or other mothers who may be able to help with our enquiries.”

  “So you want to forensically examine our life? Even though it might not help?”

  “Well, you could put it that way, sir, but surely you want us to do everything we can to find Tyler? And a piece of information that seems trivial to you, sir, could be very illuminating to us.”

  Wainwright just stood glaring at them without speaking, until Crane said, “Sgt Wainwright, please take your wife home. Now.” His voice low. A growl.

  Wainwright slowly turned to face Crane and for a moment the two looked at each other, oblivious to everyone else around them. But Crane outranked the Sergeant and they both knew it. So it was Wainwright who said, “Very well, sir,” and moved away, going back to his wife, leaning down and whispering in her ear, before helping her, non-too gently, to her feet.

  Once Wainwright was out of earshot Crane said, “What the hell? Wainwright! What’s the
odds of that happening?”

  “Multimillions to one, I’m sure,” laughed Anderson.

  “You may well laugh, Derek, but I’ll have a lot of poker faces to wear during this investigation.”

  “Do you want Billy to be Army liaison on this one instead of you?”

  “No, his poker face would lose him thousands of pounds in a casino. Anyway, what’s next?”

  “Right, we’ve got uniform going door to door through the shops on the street, forensics are on their way to go over the pram and a couple of DCs are grabbing any CCTV footage from local businesses. There’s lads at the station on their way over to the CCTV Centre in Farnborough, which covers North Camp, to check their recordings.”

  “Good. I’ll get Billy to look at the cameras on the Garrison to follow Julie Wainwright from her house, over to North Camp, just in case anyone was following her. What about the Press?” asked Crane.

  “As soon as we’ve got that photograph, there’ll be a press conference at the Station. In about an hour I should think.”