A Soldier's Honour Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set)

by Wendy Cartmell

  ***

  Crane decided to take the second allegation first, so the next morning they went to St Omer Barracks Stores at the appointed time of 10:00 hours. Looking through the glass in the large double entrance doors, they observed two men lounging around inside, chatting away and at times laughing out loud. Books and papers were scattered over the counter, but being studiously ignored. Both men looked untidy with creased uniforms, their hair just a bit too long. Crane put them both in their early 20’s.

  “While the cat’s away, eh?” said Crane as he opened the green swing doors.

  The two men jumped to attention, their faces suffused with embarrassment. By the fear on their faces, they had realised it was a visit from the Branch.

  “Sir” they called in unison.

  “Tweedle dum and tweedle dee, I take it?”

  “Corporal Potts, sir.”

  “Lance Corporal Mathews, sir.”

  “That’s what I thought. Billy stay here and talk to the Corporal would you whilst Lance Corporal Matthews and I have a chat outside.”

  Crane turned and walked out of the room without bothering to see if he was being followed. Once in the corridor, he turned on the young man.

  “Right, son, you know why we’re here I take it.”

  “Sergeant Barnes, sir?”

  “You catch on quick. But we’re also here about rumours of pilfering from the stores. Got a good business going on the side have you?” Crane nodded towards the closed doors of the Stores. “A bit here and a bit there, hoping no one would notice and then selling the stuff on.”

  The young Lance Corporal remained silent.

  “That’s what I thought,” said Crane, pulling his hands out of his coat pockets and rubbing his beard. Mathews’ eyes were riveted to the beard and the livid red gash just visible beneath the hairs. “Barnes had rumbled you, hadn’t he? So what did you decide to do about it? Maybe you just meant to frighten him by setting the back door on fire? Perhaps it was a warning that went wrong?”

  Crane was enjoying seeing Matthews looking uncomfortable. From being red in the face, his colour drained to grey, and his skin turned clammy as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and he wiped his hands on his trousers.

  “Sir...no, sir…” stammered Matthews. “I mean yes…to the pilfering, but not to anything else.”

  “Well, we’ll see. Staff Sergeant Jones and the RMP are just around the corner, waiting to take you into custody on suspicion of murder.”

  “Jesus,” Matthews whispered, forgetting about standing to attention and leaning against the painted wall for support, his voice rising as he blabbed, “I swear we never did it, you’ve got to believe me!”

  They both turned as Billy emerged from the stores, holding Corporal Potts by the arm. The young man’s wild eyes were swivelling around in their sockets, jumping from Crane to Matthews and back to Billy. He was also unable to stand and was leaning on Billy. Crane and Billy frogmarched the two young men outside, straight into the arms of the RMP, who wasted no time in cuffing them and bundling the two unfortunates into separate cars. Billy waved goodbye as they were driven away.

  With the first part of their plan complete, Crane and Billy then made their way to Lille Barracks, to speak to the father of the kids causing trouble in the street. Aiming for maximum drama, they watched from the fringes of the parade ground for a moment, leaning against Crane’s Ford Focus, as Sergeant Hollins put his men through their paces. The air was still and heavy with thunderous clouds gathering high in the sky, the men’s boots on tarmac imitating the sound of the approaching storm. In the middle of a complicated wheeling routine, Billy slipped up to the officer in charge and had a quiet word in his ear. The Captain’s voice rang out across the parade ground and the men came to a confused, straggling stop. Crane and Billy pulled Sergeant Hollins away, to the gaping astonishment of his men, to interview him in an empty office.

  “What the hell’s this all about,” Hollins demanded in a deep growling voice, his anger crackling like electricity, charging the air. He had a large frame and barrel chest and at over six foot, towered above Crane. “How dare you pull me off the parade ground.”

  “Sit down, Hollins,” barked Crane, wanting to gain the height advantage.

  “No need, I won’t be here that long. You lot don’t frighten me. I’ve done nothing to warrant an interview by the Branch,” he finished, glaring at them.

  “Maybe not, but your kids have,” began Crane.

  “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Heard the news about Sergeant Barnes dying in a fire?”

  Hollins nodded. “It’s all over the garrison. But what’s that got to do with my kids?” Barnes tried to look nonchalant by sitting on the edge of the desk.

  “They seem to have known Barnes from what we hear.”

  “Oh that. Nothing but kids messing around.” Brown dismissed the remark with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “Really? Is that what you call setting fire to his house and burning him to death? Messing around?” Now it was Crane’s turn to get angry.

  At that point the Sergeant slithered off the desk and fell into the nearest chair.

  “You can’t seriously think that?” he cried, wide eyed in his horror.

  “We can and we do,” said Crane, “and you’ll do well to remember that you are responsible for your children, Sergeant. If they’ve done anything wrong, it’s you that gets busted as well. This isn’t ‘Civvy Street’ where parents can let their kids do whatever the hell they want.”

  Sergeant Hollins sank further in his chair, bewildered and crushed. Gone was the bluster and anger.

  “So I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” said Crane leaning over the table towards Hollins. “Have a nice little meeting later on today at your house. Say 17:00 hours. Make sure your kids are there and your wife if you like.”

  “You can’t do that!” Hollins started to spring from his chair but Crane’s next words stopped him.

  “I can do what the bloody hell I want. Remember your Commanding Officer knows we’re speaking to you, as do your men. Do you want them all to know how uncooperative you’re being? That you’re impeding a murder investigation?”

  Slowly Hollins shook his drooping head.

  “Well done, right answer,” said Crane straightening up. “I intend to get to the bottom of this, Hollins,” he warned.

  They left the Sergeant staring blankly at the wall.

  John

  22:55 Hours 23rd September

  John took one last look around the house before he climbed the stairs to join his family. It wasn’t much to show for the last 10 years but, nevertheless, neat and clean as a new pin, just as he always insisted. Joan fought back of course, from time to time, but he soon kept her in check. Let her rebel while he was away, as long as she toed the line on his return from a posting.

  Anyway, now was the time to really show her who was master in this house. Nothing and nobody - certainly not Joan - was going to keep him from his destiny. Because it wasn’t just his destiny, it was also his son’s.

  In the past he’d dreamed of his son following in his father’s footsteps. Joining the army. Where John would be the proudest father of them all at the passing out parade. But after his experiences in Afghanistan, John was no longer convinced that it was the right path for his son. Visions of him dying in Afghanistan or any other God forsaken country, for a cause most people don’t believe in, flashed through his mind. What would that achieve? No, he had found a better way, a better future for them both. For his mentor had opened his eyes, his heart and his soul.

  Squaring his shoulders, he stood to attention in front of the full length mirror in the hall, looking carefully at his reflection. Sergeant John Sergeant. The butt of many a joke. But he had shown them, shown them all, by attaining the rank that equalled his name. Front line man, not afraid of dying. Not then and not now. A soldier of Christ, ready to go into battle.

  He had already spent some time p
reparing. Sharpening his knife whilst repeating his mantra. Over and over again, methodically, rhythmically, hypnotically. ‘Follow the will of the Lord. Follow the steps to Heaven.’ Now he was ready.

  With resolute steps he mounted the stairs and halted at the door to the bedroom he shared with his wife. After drawing his knife, he checked his watch. Three minutes to 23:00 hours.

  One minute later he was back in the hall, not bothering to wipe the dripping blood off the knife. It didn’t matter, his son wouldn’t see it in the dark. In fact, the only thing he would be seeing shortly would be the steps that they will both be climbing. The steps to eternal salvation. The steps to Heaven. In just two minutes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Crane and Captain Edwards were having their weekly review of his open cases. Crane explained he was still in the middle of the house fire case, but had to admit they had hit something of a brick wall. Potts and Mathews checked out. Solid alibis for the afternoon of the fire. The only good thing was that they’d confessed to the thefts. As for the kids, Crane was pretty sure they were telling the truth about having nothing to do with it. Eight and ten year olds couldn’t lie that effectively, he surmised. One of them would have burst into tears and admitted they had started the fire. Crane and Edwards agreed that, if nothing else, it would keep them off the streets in future and stop them annoying the neighbours. But as a result, they hadn’t much else to go on in terms of motive or opportunity, but Crane intended to keep digging.

  Thinking their business was concluded, Crane started to collect his files and made to rise from his chair.

  “One more thing.”

  The Captain’s voice halted Crane and he sat back in his chair, trying not to mumble out loud – ‘what does the stupid bastard want now?’

  “Sir?” queried Crane instead.

  “It’s been, what, six weeks or so since that nasty business with Solomon?”

  “About that, yes, sir.”

  “How are we doing with that one?”

  Crane thought his Captain had finally fallen off the edge of the cliff called rationality. “We’re not, sir. If you remember the file is on the back burner. Or to be more precise ‘in the deep freeze’ as you put it the last time I raised the case. I told you then that the forensic tests showed Solomon had spent some time sharpening his knife that afternoon. Trace evidence of metal shavings and pumice stone suggesting an element of pre-meditation to his actions. Coupling that with the fact that all the windows and doors in the house were locked, it was a deliberate murder and then suicide, not a domestic argument gone wrong.” Crane hadn’t been able to resist the dig and sat staring at his Captain, defiance clear in his eyes.

  “Mmm, that’s what I thought.” But the Captain wasn’t meeting Crane’s glare, choosing instead to rise and fiddle with something behind his desk, turning his back on Crane.

  “The thing is, we may have been a bit premature on that,” Edwards said to both the wall and Crane.

  “We?”

  “This is no time for splitting hairs,” was the curt reply from Edwards, his back still to Crane.

  “Something’s happened hasn’t it, sir?” Crane put his files on Edwards’ desk and sat forward on the edge of his chair.

  Returning to his seat, Captain Edwards eventually faced Crane, opened his desk drawer and retrieved a thin file.

  “It would appear so.” The Captain’s voice was grave. He spoke in the tone that Crane knew his Captain reserved for informing families that their loved one had been found dead. “As you know we now get updates from the computer system about cases that are being dealt with by other Special Investigation and Royal Military Police Branches.’

  “Yes, sir.” Crane knew all about it. The Special Investigations Branch were still able to work with paper files, as it was a procedure everyone knew and loved, but certain members of the team were now tasked with putting reports and details of crimes, offenders and victims onto the new computerised system. It was a pain in the arse, but the powers that be said it could help in current and future investigations and maybe even help solve cold crimes. It was the result of the recommendations of a Report written in 2006 after a voluntary inspection of the SIB.

  Clearing his throat, the Captain continued with his explanation. “It would appear there has been a murder followed by suicide in somewhat similar circumstances on another garrison.”

  “What the?” Crane exploded from his chair, nearly knocking it over. He paced the office, unable to keep still. Wheeling around he asked, “Where, when, how?”

  “Colchester. A week ago. A soldier named John Sergeant killed his wife and five year old son by cutting their throats and then committed suicide.”

  “Jesus.” This piece of news made Crane sit down. “Jesus,” he repeated, running a hand through his hair down to his neck, where he tried to massage away the shock and horror.

  “Exactly, Sergeant Major.” Edwards looked washed out; all the colour drained from his arrogant face, which didn’t look haughty anymore. “Here’s a copy of the file. I think it may be worth you taking a trip to Colchester, don’t you?” Edwards pushed the file across the desk to Crane. “In there are all the details we have at present. I’ll leave the arrangements to you. Report to me when you get back.”

  “Yes, of course, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Crane left the office at a run.

  ***

  He was on the road within the hour, after calling Colchester, Tina and then collecting an overnight bag. When he left the M3 and joined the M25 he settled into the journey. Showers of rain mean the wipers were on intermittent and their regular rhythm and the hiss of tyres on wet tarmac soothed him, allowing his mind to process the little information he had at present. He knew that by the time he got to Colchester he would have to be focused, thorough and professional. He couldn’t afford to let emotions get in the way.

  Crane recognised that under normal circumstances, dealing with a murder case wouldn’t touch him so personally. He was a soldier after all, trained to follow orders and not question or react to situations, merely do his job. As he went through the Dartford Tunnel, his thoughts turned darker. Crane was disturbed by the fact that children were involved. As far as he was concerned, innocent children should never be subjected to that kind of horror. He was now very angry that another child had suffered a similar death. As he drove out of the tunnel, into bright sunlight, he sharpened that anger into a determination to solve the murders. He hoped that the two cases combined might reveal clues otherwise hidden, so he could make sure no other child, wife or soldier, lost their lives.

  Skirting the city of Colchester, he made his way to the garrison. From his knowledge of military history, Crane knew that Colchester had long had a military presence, starting with the Romans who built the first military garrison there in 43AD. Since then various factions had fortified the town and it was extensively used in both world wars. Previously located in the centre of the town, the garrison had moved to a brown field site just outside the city. The new modern purpose built complex was completed in 2008, and was still the home of the 16th Air Assault Brigade.

  Crane navigated his way around a garrison that he thought looked more like Farnborough Airfield than a military barracks. The new low buildings were constructed on a grid system and from the air look like giant aircraft hangars assembled around long airstrips. If Crane thought Aldershot Garrison was large, Colchester was equally so, having more than 110 buildings across a 185-hectare site. Crane finally found Goojerat Barracks, home of the Royal Military Police. His contact was Sergeant Major Brown, an experienced Special Investigations Branch man who had spent much of his time on tour abroad.

  Crane met Brown in his modern office and shook hands with a man who would have been far more suited to the name Crane. Brown was tall and lanky, with long arms and legs and a slim body that seemed incapable of supporting them. His equally long and lanky face was topped with sandy hair. The complete antithesis of Crane himself. Brown ushered Crane into a bright neutr
ally painted office devoid of frills, but furnished in the same simple fashion as the other parts of the building Crane had seen since his arrival. Crane figured that the sales director of a national office furniture company somewhere, must have rubbed his hands in glee when he got the contract to furnish the garrison.

  Brown was welcoming but initially unhelpful.

  “So,” he began, “you rushed down here as soon as you found out about our case. A bit hasty don’t you think? You could have just phoned.”

  “Hasty? No, why would you think that?”

  “Well, I don’t really see what you can do here.” Brown’s tone was dismissive.

  “I need to see for myself the similarities and differences between this case and mine. Then maybe I can establish a link,” Crane explained folding his arms across his chest in an attempt to keep his anger under control.

  “Why on earth would there be a link?” Brown leant towards Crane across the desk. “The two barracks are miles apart.”

  “I know, but don’t you think it’s strange there are now two cases of murder and then suicide within two months of each other. Something unheard of in the British Army before now.” Crane leant forward to meet Brown.

  “True,” Brown conceded, backing off. “But surely the link is Afghanistan? Both soldiers served there, albeit separately. As far as we know they never met.” Brown was warming to his theory, his voice sounding as if he was giving a lecture, confident in his information and his interpretation. “Perhaps they were both so badly affected by their experiences they decided they just couldn’t take anymore. I can understand that, having served there myself,” he finished rather pompously.

  “Okay, fair enough,” agreed Crane, unwilling to be pulled into a pissing contest about who had served when, where and for how long. “That theory is fine, as far as it goes.”

  “As far as it goes? For God’s sake, Crane, what more of an explanation do you want?”

  “I want to know why two unconnected men killed their families and then committed suicide. In the same way. How on earth would they both come up with that idea?”