“Really?” was the reply accompanied by a huff.
“Yes, really, that’s why we need a bit of help from you.”
Crane and Kim let the silence develop.
Mrs Fisher broke it by sighing, “Oh, I suppose so. What was it you want to know?”
“Thank you, Mrs Fisher,” replied Kim and nodded at Crane.
Picking up the lead from Kim, Crane tried to soften his voice and attitude. “Do you remember anything about the church that your husband visited with your son?”
“I never went there.”
“No, I understand that. We just wondered if he had ever mentioned any courses that he went on, or preachers that he’d listened to.”
Crane struggled to keep calm. He knew he couldn’t mention the name the Padre had given him, because if the case ever came to court, the defence barrister would say Crane put words into Mrs Fisher’s mouth and led her on. So he kept calm, hoping she would continue to answer his questions. Whilst Mrs Fisher appeared to have gone through the anger stage of grief, Crane realised she could still flare up at any moment if provoked.
“Well, he used to go every Sunday and take my boy with him. But I think that was just the normal Sunday service, you know?” Crane nodded in agreement. “But after a while he started going out in the evenings during the week.”
“Really?” Crane tried to keep the sharp pique of interest he felt out of his voice. “Do you know why?”
“Um, he said something about a visiting preacher. He got quite excited at the beginning, went on about it quite a lot, and said something about starting a course.”
Mrs Fisher lapsed into silence, looking deep into the contents of her mug.
“Did he start the course?” Kim prompted.
“Oh yes, although it wasn’t the same night every week, it varied you know. Sometimes he seemed to know what night it would be and sometimes he got a phone call about 6 o’clock and went out then.”
“Did he take your son with him on those nights?”
“No, definitely not and anyway I wouldn’t have let him. School the next day and all that.” Mrs Fisher’s voice was hard.
“No, of course you wouldn’t,” Kim agreed.
“Is there anything at all you could tell us about this visiting preacher, Mrs Fisher?” Crane asked, fighting the urge to walk around the room and rage at the slowness of the interview. Wanting to shout the name the Padre had given them at Mrs Fisher to see her reaction.
“Um, I’m not sure, but I think his name was something biblical, you know?” Mrs Fisher looked out of the window, past her sister, blinking rapidly.
“I think that’s enough now,” Molly cut in, pushing her bulk off the sink. “She’s getting upset. It’s not fair of you lot, dragging all this up again.”
“I can assure you, it isn’t our intention to upset Mrs Fisher,” began Kim.
“That’s as may be, but look at her, she’s had enough.”
Crane saw tears falling into the mug Mrs Fisher was holding up under her chin, although she seemed oblivious to them. She was still gazing out of the kitchen window.
Fighting his frustration, Crane rose. “Thank you for seeing us, Mrs Fisher. If you do think of anything, could you please call? I’ll leave my card on the table here.”
“What?”
“My card, Mrs Fisher, if you think if anything that may be helpful, anything at all, please phone me.”
“No,” was the cold reply.
“See I told you,” said Molly as she started to bustle Crane and Kim out of the kitchen. “Leave her in peace.”
“For God’s sake, Molly, shut up!” Crane and Kim stopped at the door to the kitchen and turned back at the sound of Mrs Fisher’s voice. “I mean there’s no need for me to ring. I can tell you now. His name, the Preacher, was Zechariah. There was a kid down the road called Zach, that’s why I remember. He used to play with my Ryan every day after school…..” her voice faded as the tears came again, her head falling into her arms as she sobbed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Crane and Kim were on their way back to Aldershot discussing the lead they had just been given by Mrs Fisher. Crane was rather proud of himself for not punching the air and yelling ‘yes!’ when she voluntarily gave them the same name as Padre Symonds. They were talking about contacting DI Anderson, when Crane’s mobile rang. Crane handed it to Kim, as he hadn’t set up his hands free kit, hoping it wasn’t Tina as he couldn’t speak to her himself. Yet equally hoping it was, as she hadn’t been in touch all day.
“Sergeant Major Crane’s phone,” Kim said into the small black handset. “Oh hello, sir, no sorry he’s driving. We’re on our way back from Reading.”
Crane’s disappointment that it was Captain Edwards on the phone and not his wife did nothing to ease the clenching of his gut caused by the hope it was Tina calling.
“Mm...Yes... of course, sir.”
Crane kept glancing at Kim, wanting to know what was going on. But Kim was giving nothing away.
“Thank you, sir.”
As Kim closed the phone Crane was none the wiser about what had been said.
“Well? What did the Captain want now?”
“Oh, it wasn’t the Captain, sir. It was Detective Inspector Anderson.”
“And?” Crane risked another look at Kim as he negotiated his way around the large roundabout at the bottom of Camberley, threading his way through the huge volume of traffic streaming out of the Tesco and Marks and Spencer’s Superstores. He was on the bypass heading towards Aldershot when Kim next spoke.
“And I think you should take the next turning to Frimley, sir,” Kim grinned. “They’ve found the Padre and he’s been taken to Frimley Park Hospital.”
“Thank God for that,” replied Crane, pushing down hard on the accelerator, forcing Kim to hold onto the hand grip above the passenger door. “Where did they find him? What condition is he in? Has he said anything?” Crane’s questions tumbled over one another.
“No info at the moment, sir. DI Anderson just said to meet him at the Accident and Emergency desk as soon as we could.”
Glancing at the clock on the dashboard as he changed down two gears in order to accelerate, Crane estimated ten minutes to the hospital.
In fact, he made it in six, much to Kim’s horror, as he wove in and out of the traffic on the dual carriageway and blasted his horn at anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way. His tyres squealed in protest as Crane slewed into the hospital entrance and then had to brake hard, as an unfortunate pedestrian dared to use the zebra crossing. Crane abandoned the car in a corner by the emergency entrance marked ‘10 minute pick up only’ and sprinted through the sliding doors as though he was racing in the Olympics.
He was looking left and right, when Kim reached him and touched his arm, “Over there, sir.”
Following her arm, he saw Derek Anderson standing talking to the Receptionist. “Derek!” he called, running over. “How is he?”
“Ah, Crane, glad you got here...come on, this way.”
Crane followed Anderson through the A&E waiting room which was crammed with people waiting to see a doctor. Most were sitting without talking, shrouded in either pain or misery. They follow a corridor at the side of the A&E, through to the lifts.
“He’s in intensive care,” Anderson said as they waited for the lift, “so don’t expect any information from him just yet.”
“No, no, of course not,” Crane muttered, feeling the opposite. Information was precisely what he did want, but his desire was muted with relief that the Padre was at least alive.
“How is he? Where did you find him? When—”
“All in good time, Crane, when we’re alone,” Anderson interrupts as the lift doors opened.
The three of them entered the lift and Crane nodded to a porter guarding an empty wheelchair, who was eying them as though their main intent was to take it off him. Ignoring the man, Crane concentrated on the display panel as the lift ground its way upwards, tapping his foot wit
h impatience. The doors opened at last and Crane was just about to push through them, when Anderson held him back. Realising it was not their floor Crane moved away from the doors, allowing the porter and his precious cargo out of the lift.
Derek then briefed Crane and Kim about the Padre. “He was found in an abandoned warehouse on one of the industrial estates.”
Crane grinned at this piece of information.
“He’s in a bad way, I’m afraid. Let’s see if we can find the doctor,” Anderson finished as the doors opened onto the corridor near the entrance to the ICU.
Crane paced as Anderson pushed the buzzer outside the ward and waited to be attended to, as the notice on the wall requested. “What’s taking them so long?” he growled.
“Patients I expect, sir,” was the whispered reply from Kim.
Grunting, Crane continued pacing, as Kim and Anderson sat on the hard plastic chairs running down one side of the wall. At last a nurse came to the door and Anderson had a quiet word with her.
Glancing imperiously at the three of them, the nurse said, “Very well, but only two of you. The doctor is on the ward, but with another patient, so I’ll ask him to come over when he’s available.”
Motioning to Kim to stay and wait, Crane and Anderson slipped through the door and walked onto the ward, following the nurse. She stopped at a screened cubicle nearest to the nursing station and held back the curtain so they could go in.
Padre Symonds was a mess. His head was shaved on the left hand side, revealing an angry bruise which started at his temple and spread across the side of his head. He was unresponsive, with tubes in the back of his hands and beeping machines crowding his bed. Crane looked at the once vibrant and eager man he had come to like and admire, whose naivety had been his downfall and sent an arrow prayer to the God he didn’t really believe in, to save the Padre, insisting to the invisible deity that he should at least have the decency to save one of his own.
Hearing a rustling behind them, Crane and Anderson turned to look at the doctor who was standing at the bottom of the bed.
“He’s in a bad way, I’m afraid,” said the doctor, who looked young enough to be Crane’s son. “Suffered a very bad blow to the side of the head as you can see. At the moment he’s in a coma and we’re monitoring the pressure on the brain. We think we’re going to have to operate tomorrow, as his brain’s swelling and we need to relieve the pressure.”
“Any other injuries?”
“Not that we’re aware of,” answered the doctor turning to look at Crane. “But he’s also suffering from hypothermia and dehydration. We can handle both of those. It’s the brain injury that’s bothering us more than anything at the moment. I’ll keep DI Anderson informed of any changes.”
Crane said, “Do what you can for him won’t you, doctor?”
“Of course. Look, if you leave your contact details at the nurse’s station, we’ll phone you as well if there is any change.”
Crane mumbled his thanks as the doctor turned to leave. “Sorry but I think you should go as well. We’ve only just got him stabilised. We’ll know more tomorrow.”
Crane managed to squeeze the Padre’s fingers as he was leaving, to let him know he was there. Hoping for a responsive squeeze back, but didn’t get one.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
By the time they emerged from the hospital it was dark. Sodium lights cast a harsh glare around the entrance to A&E and a stationary ambulance stood with the doors open, having already discharged its human cargo. Crane pulled out a packet of cigarettes and put one in his mouth as Anderson touched him on the arm and pointed to a large sign, forbidding smoking in any hospital buildings, grounds or car parks.
“For fuck’s sake,” grumbled Crane, “what’s this country coming to? Never mind, I’ll have one in the car.”
“Um, the car, sir,” called Kim.
Crane turned to find Kim looking at an empty space. Where his car should be.
“For fuck’s sake,” said Crane again, louder this time, as Kim and Anderson tried to suppress their laughter.
“Anderson,” he said menacingly, “I just don’t need this right now. Okay?”
“Okay, Crane, let me see what I can do.” As Anderson pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned his back on them to make his phone call, Crane could see the policeman’s shoulders were still shaking. Lighting up in defiance, he pulled out his own phone and called Tina.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Tina, it’s me.”
“Tom.” Flat voice. No inflection.
Crane ploughed on regardless. “Sorry, love, good news and bad news. The good news is that we’ve found the Padre.”
“Oh, Tom, that is good news,” said Tina, her voice softening just a touch. “What’s the bad news?” Hardening again.
“I’ve had my car towed away from Frimley Park Hospital.”
“Right.” Tina elongated the word.
“So I’m going to be a bit late back.”
“A bit late, Tom, you’re already a bit late.”
“Yeah, sorry. But I did let you know. You got my message?” Crane drew on his cigarette and began wandering in circles around the pavement.
“Yes, I got it.”
“Good, look, um….”
“Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” she cut in. Obviously she wasn’t quite ready to forgive him yet. “I’ll probably be asleep by the time you get back.”
“Oh, yes, sure.”
“Night then and, Tom?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“Love you,” Crane finished the conversation with their usual endearment, but Tina had already put the phone down. Looking up he saw Anderson striding over.
“Found your car, Crane.”
“Thank God for that. Where is it?”
“On its way to the police pound. Got towed away for illegal parking. I’ve told the lads not to book it in and that we’re on our way. Come on I’ll give you a lift down there and we can catch up on the way.”
As they drove through the quiet back roads from Frimley Park Hospital, through Ash and then onto Aldershot, Anderson told Crane how they’d widened the search to include old and abandoned buildings as he had suggested. A policeman making a tour of the industrial estates had been rather more vigilant that day, because of the information included in the daily briefing and noticed a broken piece of fence. After gingerly climbing through the gap, he found a door ajar that led into a large warehouse and saw what he first thought was a pile of rags in the corner. Not wanting to touch the rags for fear of some disease or other, he poked the pile with his feet. Thankfully not too hard, as it turned out to be a person.
He immediately called in the find without touching anything, apart from the Padre’s neck, where he couldn’t feel a pulse. However, the ambulance paramedics were better trained and found the Padre had a thin irregular pulse and immediately called the hospital, arranging to have an emergency team ready to receive him.
Anderson told Kim and Crane that his forensics team had gone over the site and found nothing but a few footprints in the dust. They assumed the Padre must have been transported in a car but couldn’t find any tyre tracks or any forensic evidence. The Padre’s clothes had been taken for evaluation, but Anderson didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything useful.
“So it looks like Zechariah left the Padre for dead,” said Crane.
“Why do you think it was Zechariah? What have you got?”
Then it was Crane’s turn to tell Anderson about their interview with Mrs Fisher. He explained that, due to his restraint, Mrs Fisher came up with the name on her own, without prompting.
“Okay, that’s all very well, but had she ever met him? Did you get a description?”
Kim joined in the conversation from the back seat. “No, sir, she hasn’t met him, never even been to the Church herself. It was strictly something Fisher did on his own, or with his son.”
“So, all we’ve got at
the moment is the name of a visiting preacher who came to Aldershot called Zechariah and a preacher in Catterick also called Zechariah. No description, nothing. It could have been him who attacked the Padre, but the Padre can’t give us any information,” finished Crane.
“That sounds about right,” Anderson agreed with the assessment.
As they drew up at the police pound, Crane could see his car parked by the gates. “Can we meet up tomorrow morning?” he asked, climbing out of Anderson’s car.
“Yes, about 10ish?”
“That’s fine it’ll give me time to brief Captain Edwards first. And thanks for sorting out the car,” Crane called, as a young constable approached them and after a nod from Anderson put the keys into Crane’s outstretched hand. It was very late when Crane finally got home, after dropping Kim off at the barracks and as he expected, the house was still and quiet. Taking a cold beer from the fridge and falling into a kitchen chair, Crane savoured the drink before going upstairs to bed.
Tina stirred in her sleep as he got into bed, but didn’t wake up, or if she did, pretended not to. Crane had no idea either way. He would have to wait until the morning to talk to her.
***
The shrill of the alarm woke Crane from his fitful sleep. He quickly reached out and turned it off. Turning to embrace Tina’s back, his hands begin to caress her as she slowly awoke.
“Tom,” she mumbled.
“Morning, Tina,” he said, against her back and then started kissing the side of her neck.
“I’ve got to get up,” she said and began to struggle against him weakly.
“Soon,” replied Crane continuing with his kisses and caresses. When she stopped struggling he murmured, “I want to say sorry first.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Crane’s meeting with his Captain wasn’t going well. Sitting behind his desk with the files open in front of him, Captain Edwards said he was relieved the Padre had been found, but pointed out rather snootily that Detective Inspector Anderson’s men found the Padre, not Crane. As he couldn’t be bothered to score points and remind the Captain that the RMP and SIB had no jurisdiction in the town of Aldershot, and that it was Crane himself who insisted empty warehouses be searched, he merely turned to outlining the evidence they had so far.
Deadly Duty Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set) Page 14