Crane and Edwards were both pleased, as Major Martin was a retired army officer who had been an accredited Home Office Pathologist whilst in the forces. It was therefore a natural progression for him to join the staff at Frimley Park Hospital, on his retirement.
“Right, Crane, before you go, how are you doing with that soldier who said someone was raping and bullying him? Has he come through with any more information?”
“Not yet, sir, Billy wants to set up another meeting with him sometime this week, see how he’s feeling and if he feels strong enough to proceed.”
“Good. Anything else, Crane?”
“One last thing, sir, could you authorise the sole use of Sally as our team’s Office Manager? Billy is trying to keep up with all the paperwork, but it means he isn’t investigating and as we’ve got the biggest cases…”
“Oh, alright, Crane, I’ll organise it. On the strict understanding you get results.”
“Of course, sir, don’t I always?”
***
Crane left Billy handing over to Sally, whilst he attended the post mortem. As he drove to the hospital, Crane’s mood darkened. This was the very thing he didn’t want to do, attend the post mortem of another victim. How many more victims could there be before they caught the attacker? His grip tightened on the steering wheel. There were three girls now, Becca Henderson, Kim and the latest victim, Summer Young. As Crane became stuck in a traffic queue on the road from Farnborough to Frimley, he wondered why two girls were killed and yet Kim wasn’t? Not that he wished she was, he just wondered why. What was the connection there? Was it because Kim was in the army and the others weren’t?
Thinking about Kim made Crane realise that she had a long, slow road to recovery. He couldn’t begin to imagine how she must be feeling, but guessed it was pretty much the same as how Turner was feeling. Could both of them manage to turn their lives around? Crane vowed to make both of them understand they could get past this. That part of the healing process must be to see their attacker brought to justice. He knew that rape victims in the past had had a pretty raw deal, with people misunderstanding both the victim and the offense. Crane had to admit to himself that had been his attitude to start with. Thinking the girls somehow deserved what they got for flaunting themselves, dressed in barely-there clothes, high heels and, of course, being drunk. As he inched through the traffic, he realised Kim being raped had made him change his outlook. Not in a million years would she behave as most of the girls did in Aldershot on a Saturday night and yet she had become a victim as well.
By the time the traffic lights changed to green and Crane was able to speed towards the hospital, he was more determined than ever to widen his understanding of rape and most importantly, as far as he was concerned, to get justice for all three girls, by finding the bastard who was doing this.
18
Crane eventually battled through the traffic and arrived at Frimley Park Hospital, where he parked his car and rushed to the morgue. Major Martin and DI Anderson were waiting there for him.
“What time do you call this?” Anderson looked at the clock on the wall.
“Not my fault, traffic was bad,” Crane grumbled.
“Right then, if we’re all ready?” Major Martin cut in, a diminutive man with a razor-sharp mind and saw to match.
“Yes, Major,” replied Crane, acknowledging the man’s rank, even though he was retired.
The Major spoke into his recorder, whilst Crane and Anderson looked on.
“This is the autopsy of Summer Young. White female, aged 18, body in good condition, well nourished...”
As the Major’s voice droned on noting his preliminary observations, Crane looked at the body, making his own. Summer’s pale face was untouched. It was the necklace of finger prints she was wearing that was shocking, a ring of large mottled blue and black bruises. Looking down at her naked body, Crane thought Summer looked like she was asleep. But Crane knew that this was her last sleep. She would wake no more.
He thought back to the crime scene yesterday. Summer had lived with her parents in the rural area of Badshot Lea, just outside Aldershot, in a beautiful detached house in its own grounds. Her parents had been away for the week-end and this, together with the isolation of the house, gave her killer plenty of privacy. By the time Crane had arrived, scene of crime officers were crawling all over the house. Crane stood out of their way, by the open door of Summer’s bedroom and looked in. Her body was still in situ and looked sickeningly like that of Becca’s, as both girls had long blond hair fanned out over the bed and their clothes torn from their bodies.
Just after Crane arrived at the house, so did her parents and Crane was extremely grateful that, for once, it wasn’t his case and he didn’t have to break the news to them of their daughter’s death. It was harrowing to listen to Derek Anderson asking about their daughter’s friends and boyfriends. Did she have a regular boyfriend? No. Did they know of anyone she had fallen out with? No. Did anyone hold a grudge against her? No. The distressing interview had dragged on, without any useful information being gleaned from Summer’s parents.
By the time the post mortem finished, Crane felt stifled by the noise and smells particular to the Morgue. Crane and Anderson felt they were no further forward. There was still no forensic evidence. No stray hairs, finger prints or semen, just lubricant from a condom. As Summer had almost certainly been drugged, there was no struggle. No tell-tale skin under her fingertips or blood from scratching her attacker.
“I don’t get this, Derek,” Crane said as they walked to his car which was parked in the overpriced hospital car park. “Why isn’t anyone seeing anything? We were there ourselves on Saturday night and obviously missed him.”
“It’s because drunken girls are the norm, Crane. It’s the perfect cover. No one thinks twice about a boy helping his inebriated girlfriend home.”
Crane lit a cigarette.
“No, I suppose not,” he said after returning his lighter to his pocket. “I reckon he must have his own car.”
“Yes, that’s obviously why we’re not getting anywhere with the local taxi drivers,” Anderson agreed.
“Is there nothing on CCTV that can help us?”
“Sorry, Crane, nothing yet. I’ve got a couple of detective constables looking through them today and I’ll give you a shout if they find anything useful, or even vaguely suspicious.”
“I wonder why they do it.” Crane thought aloud.
“Who?” Anderson stopped walking as they arrived at Crane’s car.
“The girls. What it is that makes them go completely nuts at the weekend? What’s missing in their lives that they have to get so plastered they don’t know what they’re doing or with whom?”
“Buggered if I know, Crane. Most of the girls we speak to have jobs and are pretty reliable and hardworking during the week. I’ve even known them to be married with kids! It’s almost as though they egg each other on. If they don’t indulge in stupid drinking contests, drink too much and then boast about it, they’re not part of the gang. I wonder if they do it because of peer pressure. Oh well, whatever it is, we can’t do anything about it. I’ll talk to you later,” he finished and grabbed his keys from his pocket.
Anderson was ambling back to his own vehicle when Crane’s mobile rang. He listened for a moment, then closing the phone called Anderson back.
“Derek! Here!” Crane waved his mobile in the air. “That was Kim’s mother, she needs us to go round to the house right away.”
***
They were watching some banal morning television show, when they heard the plop of the post landing on the floor of the hall, Kim’s mother explained, as Kim was too upset to see them.
“I went to check the post, as I was waiting for a letter from my friend Lizzie. You know the one who moved up north a while back. Oh sorry, you wouldn’t know that, would you?” Mrs Weston went as pink as her knitted twin set. “Anyway, Kim was chastising me for using what she calls ‘snail mail’ and said I should use the internet more.
I replied I was quite happy with the postal service, thank you very much, as I really like getting letters delivered to the house.”
“What actually was delivered, Mrs Weston?” Crane tried very hard not to tap his foot in frustration. But it seemed Mrs Weston was not to be hurried.
“Well, as I picked up the post, Kim offered to make us another cup of coffee as the ones we were drinking had gone cold. So I followed her into the kitchen, with the post in my hand.”
Mrs Weston started to walk to the back of the house, as though she was doing a reconstruction of the event, so Crane and Anderson followed her into the kitchen, which was surprisingly modern with a marble topped central island on which was lying a pile of letters.
“Kim was over by the sink, boiling the kettle and putting coffee in our cups,” Mrs Weston pointed out the sink. “I sat down here and looked at the post.”
She sat on a high stool, so again Crane and Anderson followed her lead and sat.
“Looking at the post,” she nodded to the pile of papers and envelopes, “I realised one was for Kim. I remember saying ‘here’s a letter for you, Kim. It seems at least one of your friends hasn’t given up on snail mail’. Of course, Kim wondered who would be sending her a letter. It seemed strange, but I suggested it could be an old school friend.”
Crane was itching to look at the small pile of post, but it seemed bad manners to interrupt and anyway Mrs Weston barely paused for breath.
“Well, Kim took the proffered envelope and sat down next to me. She seemed hesitant about opening it, but in the end turned it over and ripped open the envelope, pulling out a small white piece of paper. It’s that one on top of the pile here.”
“May, I?” asked Anderson and pulled on a set of latex gloves as Mrs Weston nodded.
“Go on,” Crane urged Kim’s mother who was staring fixated at the note. “What happened next?”
“Kim started to shake. I noticed she had gone very pale and she dropped the letter. She, um, shouted for me to call you, but before I could, Kim seemed to have some sort of seizure. I remember that she stood up and then just sort of collapsed on the floor. It was horrible, like she was having an epileptic fit or something. She, she,” Mrs Weston paused to take a deep breath, “she was shaking and mumbling and I didn’t know what to do first. You know, ring you as she said or ring the doctor. But, she seemed so ill, so I called the doctor first. I hope that was all right?”
“Of course, Mrs Weston, you absolutely did the right thing,” soothed Crane, but as he continued with the platitudes and Mrs Weston prattled on about how Kim had been given a sedative and was resting upstairs in bed, he was far more interested in what Anderson had in his hand. So he stood up and looked over Anderson’s shoulder and read:
Where were you Saturday night?
I thought we had a date.
I waited at The Goose but you didn’t come.
Be there next week.
19
Crane stood smoking in the car park outside his barracks, trying to prioritise his ‘to do’ list. Going over the events of the last few days was doing his head in. Who would have thought Aldershot could be such a busy place for crime? He remembered Tina once saying that nothing much happened in Aldershot and he’d joked about it being the unknown crime Mecca of the South East of England. But it wasn’t a joke anymore. This was all too real. Two rapists - make that one murderer and one rapist - at least he thought there were two rapists. The descriptions in the female rape case were bloody confusing and he still hadn’t worked out why that was.
Added to that, one rapist was stalking Kim, who has been reduced to a gibbering wreck. He really must do something about that. She was refusing to see a counsellor, as she seemed to think that would show some sort of implied weakness in her character, or emotional instability. She didn’t want anyone other than the team and her immediate family knowing about her assault. Crane guessed she was terrified of it reflecting badly on her army record, hindering any further promotion, or God forbid, resulting in a demotion, if she was not up to the job anymore. At least he’d managed to get indefinite leave for her until the case was solved. Whilst the perpetrator was still on the loose, she was clearly in danger.
The only one in the frame at the moment in Kim’s case was a Lance Corporal called Yasin Whadi, originally of Iraqi descent. His family had fled to England many years ago to escape the tyranny of Sadam Hussein. He had to be pulled in and interviewed as soon as possible. Crane had intended to do that yesterday, but what with the post mortem on Summer and then the note left for Kim, there were simply not enough hours in the day.
In the other rape case, Private Turner had finally named his attacker as Lance Corporal Fitch, although he was still refusing to press charges. Anyway they’d no forensic evidence in that case either. Still, Crane thought, there was no harm in keeping a close eye on Fitch. He must arrange that with Staff Sgt Jones.
Crane lit another cigarette promising himself this was the last one before he returned to his office to sort this lot out. He yawned loudly, a reminder that Daniel had colic at the moment, which always seemed to start just as Crane and Tina decided it was time for bed. The resulting screams and sobs keeping them all awake for most of the night. It seemed to Crane that too soon after falling asleep, the alarm clock shrilled and it was time to get up and go to work. It was so upsetting to see Daniel suffering with colic like that. His little body arched, his fists were clenched and he got redder and redder in the face. He was inconsolable in his pain. Crane could now understand why, a few months back, a soldier on guard duty, called Cable, took the opportunity to run home and check on his sick child. However, it resulted in an immediate demotion when he was caught. The battle between duty and family was always a difficult one for soldiers. Stubbing out his cigarette, he took one last lungful of fresh air before returning to his office.
***
Crane looked up at his team sitting around the conference table in the open plan SIB office. Staff Sgt Jones, his bald head glistening in the overhead lights, Captain Edwards trying to look important by shuffling through his papers, Sgt Billy Williams lounging in his chair, his eyes appraising Sally, who was taking notes and an empty chair where Kim should be. Pulling his eyes away from the empty chair he said, “So we’re all agreed then. Jones will organise extra patrols on the streets of Aldershot on Friday and Saturday night - the more men on the ground the better.”
“Has DI Anderson approved that, Crane?” Captain Edwards interrupted.
“Of course, sir, he’s glad of the extra help,” Crane lied smoothly, making a mental note to give Derek the heads up on that one. “So, to continue if I may, sir, or was there anything else you wanted to add?” The sarcasm was clearly not lost on Edwards who glared at Crane but didn’t reply.
“Right then, Jones, you’re also to keep an eye on Lance Corporal Fitch and Corporal Whadi. Pass their photos out to the lads on guard duty, making sure they report any suspicious behaviour.”
“Any more extra duties you want to heap on us, Crane, or is that the lot for now?” Jones growled.
For once Edwards came to Crane’s rescue. “Really, Staff Sgt, that’s not the attitude.” Edwards managed to look and sound haughty at the same time. “We all have to pull together you know. Work as a team…”
“Thank you, sir,” Crane interrupted before Edwards could go off on a team building pep talk. “Talking about working as a team…”
“Yes, Sgt Major?” the Captain sounded wary and his eyes narrowed.
“The press, sir. We really need a nominated spokesman from the team. DI Anderson isn’t going to be able to keep the lid on the murders much longer.”
“I…”
“Thank you, sir, it’s very good of you to volunteer. You clearly understand that the rest of us need to be on the ground investigating, in order to produce the high results you have come to expect from us.
“Well,”
“And as you are well aware, my dealings with Diane Chambers of the Aldershot Mail ha
ven’t always gone too well in the past. So, I’m sure you want to keep me as far away from her as possible.”
“Um,”
“Now, Sgt Williams,” Crane cut in over Edwards again.
“Yes, boss?” Billy answered quickly, sitting up and dragging his gaze away from the nubile Sally.
“You’re going undercover as a bouncer outside The Goose on Saturday night.”
“Does DI…”
Before Edwards could finish his sentence, Crane answered his question, “Yes, sir. DI Anderson is fully apprised of the situation.” Which wasn’t really an answer but it sounded good. “So, if there’s nothing else?” No one spoke. “In that case,” Crane finished, “Billy you’re with me. We’re off to interview Whadi. Staff Sgt Jones has had him sweating in an interview room on his own for a couple of hours now, so he should be glad of someone to talk to.” Crane added as an afterthought, “Oh, if that’s all right with you, of course, sir,” leaving Edwards opening and closing his mouth like a fish stuck on dry land.
***
As Crane and Billy entered the room, Crane realised sweating was the right word to describe what Whadi had been doing. The room was unbearably hot, the heating turned up high and the window closed tight. The young soldier stood to attention at their arrival. His light olive skin and dark hair a testament to his Iraqui heritage. He was a good looking boy with dark eyes and a strong jaw line. Crane could see how the ladies could fall for his smooth skin and no doubt equally smooth pick-up lines.
“Ah, Lance Corporal Whadi isn’t it?”
“Sir.”
“Sit down then, lad, make yourself comfortable.” A sarcastic statement that Billy smiled at, as there was only one hard plastic, very uncomfortable chair available, that Whadi had just jumped up from.
The Lance Corporal sat rigidly as though still to attention and Crane and Billy joined him at the table.
“We,” Crane indicated Billy, “are investigating a particularly nasty crime with the Aldershot Police. It’s one that you may be able to help us with.”
Deadly Duty Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set) Page 49