“But we really need to do something sir!”
“I know, lad, and we will, just not that. Now get back to your desk and let me have your update on the background of the Church as soon as you can.”
“Yes, sir,” was the dejected response.
Crane watched Billy move slowly through the office back to his desk. And for the second time that day, hoped things don’t turn out as he feared they could.
Chapter Nineteen
A couple of weeks later, Crane was in the small bedroom-cum-office at home, once again wading through the information that Billy had obtained on the Church of Jesus is King. He still couldn’t find anything remotely untoward. The church seemed to be highly respectable, if very evangelical, but that wasn’t a crime in anyone’s book. Just a bit too “happy clappy” for some, including Crane himself.
It seemed that Diane Chambers of the Aldershot Mail had the same thoughts.
Evangelicalism - Alive and well in Aldershot?
The word is out. Jesus was put on this earth to save us and died so that we may be redeemed of our sins. Nothing unusual in that you might think, but think again. For this is the battle cry of the latest evangelical churches springing up in our area. And once they get their teeth into you it’s difficult to shake them off.
There have been reports of people being overly harassed by the disciples of these churches wanting to convert local people to their way of thinking. Refusing to leave the doorstep unless they get a commitment from residents to attend their church. And then returning if they don’t to find out why not!
Their way of thinking includes giving most of your wages away to the church, whether you can afford it or not. Their opinion is that Christ cared not one jot for money, so why should you? A different story when you have children to clothe, feed and put a roof over their head. Pressure from the churches to give more and more conjures up scenes of harassment by debt collectors.
They preach and practice openness towards all, no matter what their sins. Alcoholics and drug addicts are welcome. One must hope that they are not under any influences whilst attending the church, especially not when there are children around.
There have been many well documented instances of evangelical preachers ‘gone bad’ in America. Tales of their greed for money, for sex and the abuse of the most innocent and vulnerable in our society. We trust this is one export from America that doesn’t reach our shores!
The Mail spoke to one local preacher, Elias, Elder of the Church of Jesus is King who simply gave us this prepared statement: “Our church prides itself in our service of Jesus Christ. We actively promote the word of God in the local area and are an inclusive, not exclusive church.”
He refused to answer this reporter’s questions, which were prompted by the concerns of local people and simply referred anybody seeking more information to log onto their website: www.jesusisking.org.uk.
As this type of evangelical worship is on the rise in our area, it must surely beg the question - what is lacking in the more traditional churches, to make people gravitate towards evangelicalism? We tried to ask this question of local Church of England and Catholic ministers but no one was available for comment.
However, rest assured that this reporter will continue to look into the concerns of local people and if anyone has any personal experience of this and other local evangelical churches they are encouraged to email me at: [email protected].
Crane thought her article was short on facts and long on supposition. As if she was desperate to become an investigative reporter and failing. Trying too hard. She was probably quite young, definitely eager and not very experienced. Her editor had more than likely reigned in the article, not wanting to be faced with a libel suit. Still, Crane needed to keep her away from a possible connection between Solomon and the Church of Jesus is King.
Whilst not religious, Crane appreciated the pomp and circumstance of the rituals of the Anglican Church on the garrison. He, along with all soldiers, had to attend regular services and march-pasts and found some comfort in the solidarity of the whole thing. An outward display of the sense of belonging. Everyone working together for the common good.
As he glanced up from his papers he saw the photograph taken at his passing out parade, when he first joined the army. With a wry smile he thought back to how young and enthusiastic he was then. Full of eagerness and knowledge, convinced he knew everything there was to know. Only to later realise he knew absolutely nothing and that he was only on the first rung of the ladder towards being a good soldier and investigator. Not wanting to think about the events and situations he had been in that had contributed to the experiences which he now relied on almost every day, he pushed away from his desk and went down to the kitchen in search of a fresh cold beer.
Tina heard him come down and followed him through to the kitchen.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough for tonight, love?”
“I suppose I have,” agreed Crane closing the fridge door and taking the top off his beer. “I don’t want to stop just because I’m tired, for if it happens again then I’ll never forgive myself.”
“I know, I do understand, but remember the more exhausted you become the less effective you are.” Tina moved across the kitchen and put her hands on his back and then began to massage his shoulders and neck. “You’re very tense,” she murmured in his ear.
“Jesus, Tina, stop, I’ve got work to do.”
“Tomorrow, Tom,” she persisted continuing to massage, her hands roaming across his back and down towards his waist.
“Please, Tina,” he gasped. But before he could add the word ‘stop’ her hands continued on their downward journey, rendering him speechless.
***
The following morning, Crane had to admit he felt better for his rest and recuperation, à la Tina. The black fog swimming around his head was dissipating and he’d a good night’s sleep for the first time in a week. It was just as well, considering what he found waiting for him at the barracks.
The first problem was that Billy seemed to be missing. He hadn’t turned in that morning and no one knew why. Crane asked Kim to ‘find out where the bloody hell he was’ just as the phone rang calling him upstairs to see the Captain. There he found the second problem of the day. Another missing person. But this time far more serious than a young sergeant who had probably just overslept.
“The Padre, sir?” exclaimed Crane. “Padre Symonds?” It was a good job that Crane wasn’t standing, as he would have fallen into the nearest chair with shock.
“That’s what I said, Sergeant Major. Are you having trouble with your hearing, or did the information simply not compute?”
“No, sir, I mean yes, sir.” Crane closed his mouth before he could say anything else and make himself look even more stupid than he had already.
“He wasn’t at morning service, which started alarm bells ringing. The RMP have been round to his quarters, but he’s not there either. Any idea what might be going on, Sergeant Major?” Edwards peered at Crane down his long haughty nose.
Crane paused before answering, not sure how much information he’d given his Captain about Padre Symonds’ involvement in the investigation.
He settled for, “No, sir, why should I?”
“I understand you’ve been talking to the Padre in connection with the murder suicide investigations.”
“Yes, sir, I have, but why would that be relevant?” Crane hedged.
“No idea, Sergeant Major, but you better get on it, just in case there is a connection. We can’t have people disappearing on us; this is the army after all. We don’t do disappearing. Find him. Dismissed.”
“Sir,” Crane replied, retreating from the Captain’s office as quickly as he could, realising that clearly today, Edwards was not as dumb as he appeared to be on some days. Today he seemed to be capable of joining the dots. As Crane hurried to his office to contact Staff Sergeant Jones, he fervently hoped that nothing awful had befallen the Padre and
that the Captain was joining the dots in the wrong order.
As he returned to the office, he saw Billy sitting at his desk looking dazed. His shirt was creased, tie askew and suit crumpled, giving the impression he’d just woken up and put on the same clothes that he wore yesterday in his haste to get to the office.
“Billy, my office,” he barked as he passed Billy’s desk. “Where the bloody hell have you been?” shouted Crane as Billy entered the office and stood in front of Crane’s desk. Crane also remained standing.
“Sorry, sir, appear to have overslept,” explained Billy in a monotone, head bent, looking at the floor.
“Overslept! For Christ’s sake, SIB don’t do oversleeping, Billy,” shouted Crane subconsciously echoing the Captain’s words. “What have you been up to that warranted an extra hour in bed?”
“Nothing much, sir, I just seem to have overslept. I mustn’t have heard the alarm. I feel a bit dazed that’s all.”
“Dazed?” Crane sat, the fire gone from his temper as he examined Billy’s creased face. “Look, son, you’ve got two options. One is to pull yourself together, stop feeling dazed and get back to work; or the second is to go and see the doctor if you’re feeling unwell. Now which is it to be?”
Billy straightened up, “Sorry, sir, I’ll pull myself together, sir and get back to work,” but his pupils were wide and he seemed to be having trouble focusing on Crane.
“Good thing too and next time you decide to go whoring around until the small hours, do it when you have the next day off. I’ve got bigger problems than you to deal with. Now get out of my sight.”
Billy stood to attention, “Yes, sir, thank you, sir. What other problems?”
“Oh yes, you don’t know what’s happened do you, as you were late in,” Crane couldn’t resist one final dig. “It’s the Padre. Padre Symonds seems to be missing.”
“Padre Symonds? Our Padre?” Billy asked stupidly.
“Yes, Sergeant, our Padre Symonds. I’m just off to see Staff Sergeant Jones for a briefing. So get yourself together while I’m over there as I’ll need you later.”
“Sir,” Billy agreed considerably more alert and half marched, half ran out of Crane’s office.
***
Unfortunately, Jones couldn’t shed any more light on the Padre’s disappearance. His lads had been to the Padre’s quarters, but there was no sign of him. They took the liberty of entering the house, just in case, but he wasn’t there, dead or alive. Frustrated Crane took himself off to the Church.
He approached the closed door of the Padre’s office in the gloom, wishing he’d brought a torch. How the Padre worked there Crane couldn’t imagine. Toiling away in an environment with high echoing ceilings, cold stone walls and enveloped by shadows and half-light would give him the creeps. As he reached the Padre’s thick wooden door, he sensed movement behind him. Before he could turn and greet the person he hoped was the Padre, a whoosh of air alerted his sense of self preservation. His first instinct was to duck his head. That probably saved his life, as the heavy object struck a glancing blow on the back of his skull, instead of caving it in. But he still dropped to the floor like a bag of cement.
Crane’s next conscious thought was that something was tickling his nose. He wrinkled it as he breathed in and promptly sneezed. That’s when he realises he was lying on the floor, just outside the Padre’s office. As he moved his head, spots of light danced before his eyes, so he settled back, closing his eyes. After a few minutes he felt more alert and slowly sat up. Dazed, he thought, definitely dazed. Now he knew how Billy had felt earlier.
As the cobwebs cleared from his brain and his eyesight returned to normal, Crane felt able to stand. Using the wall for support, he inched his way into the Padre’s office through the now open door.
Chapter Twenty
The office looked as though it had been through a ticker-tape parade. Even more of a mess than the Padre usually left it in. Papers were strewn everywhere and files pulled off shelves, their contents cascading all over the floor. The functional, rather than comfortable chair the Padre used was overturned and each drawer of the desk had been pulled out and thrown towards the door. There was a panicky feel to the search that someone had made of the office. No doubt due to the fact that the intruder had no way of knowing when Crane would regain consciousness.
He took his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket to call Billy. Peering at the screen in the gloom, he realised he had no signal. The walls of the church were just too thick and the office was located deep in the bowels of the building. Pulling a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, Crane fumbled with them, before managing to get his fingers into the appropriate holes.
Finding the phone hidden under discarded and now empty file boxes, he punched the green call button and put it to his ear. Relieved to hear a dialling tone, he called the office, asking Billy to come at once and arrange for a forensic team to meet them at the Church. In response to the young Sergeant’s enquiries about an ambulance, he dismissed the suggestion. He then staggered back into the corridor, gently lowering himself to the ground sitting with his back against the cold stone wall awaiting help.
***
The only solid piece of evidence to come out of the whole debacle was Crane’s headache. The only finger prints were those belonging to Padre Symonds and Crane. So the intruder had worn gloves. Without the Padre they had no idea what might be missing. The only obvious thing was a computer. Crane had seen the Padre with a laptop, which presumably he had used for his extensive research on cults. Sergeant Jones sent a couple of lads over to the Padre’s house again for a more thorough search but they drew a blank on any computer or laptop.
Crane and Billy sat in Crane’s office, both staring out of the window at the car park as if hoping for a bolt from the blue that would make things clearer.
“Come on, Billy, let’s get some fresh air,” Crane suggested, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair.
“Not all that fresh I bet,” smiled Billy, following Crane out of the office and into the car park.
Fishing his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket, Crane turned his back on Billy to shield the flame from the wind. As he turned back he found his young Sergeant had a look of intense concentration on his face.
“We must be missing something, sir,” Billy said. “What would be so important in the Padre’s office that someone wanted? And anyway, who was that someone?”
“Okay, let’s try and be logical,” said Crane. Using his fingers to emphasise his points he began. “One, the Padre is missing. Staff Sergeant Jones is working with DI Anderson to try and find him. Two, the Padre was helping us with our enquiries so to speak, with the Church of Jesus is King. The last time we spoke he was going to arrange an Army Liaison Scheme so he could attend their services and meetings. Three, someone obviously feels the Padre has information that could harm them. Four, the logical conclusion is that someone is from the Church of Jesus is King. Five, the last time I talked to the Padre about cults, he was warming to his theory that a lone man could be a cult. A cult doesn’t need to constitute a large gathering of people all living together in some sort of commune.”
Having run out of fingers, Crane stopped and looked up at Billy. “How are we doing so far?” he asked.
“Good, sir. Let’s add to that. Six, one man could be behind the other murder suicides as well, if he was some sort of roving preacher. Seven, if that’s the case he’s now here in this area. Eight, we haven’t got a bloody clue what he looks like or what his name is. Nine…” Billy’s voice tailed off. Having finished with his fingers, he pushed his hands into his pockets.
“So where does all this leave us?” mused Crane out loud. “For God’s sake, Billy, stop that jangling.”
“Sir?” Billy looked at Crane.
“You’ve got your hands in your pockets and you’re jangling your change about. Stop it, I can’t think.”
“Oh, sorry, sir, it’s one of those unconscious habits, it’s not money it’
s my keys, sir,” said Billy pulling them out of his pocket.
“Well, it sounds like you’ve got the keys to the whole bloody garrison there.”
“No, look,” Billy opened his palm to reveal just three keys and a slim flattish black piece of plastic with a metal surround. “They must be banging against my memory stick.”
“Memory stick, did you say?”
“Yes, sir, here it is. They’re really small these days and hold loads of info. I know I’m not much good with computers, but I do use them for the reports and stuff and sometimes I save things onto a memory stick just to make sure I have a backup copy if it’s something really important or interesting.”
Crane was staring at the memory stick in astonishment. “Come on, Billy,” he said fishing out his own keys.
“But where are we going, sir?” Billy followed Crane to his car.
“The Padre’s quarters,” Crane called as he climbed into the car and started up the engine.
***
As they entered the Padre’s house Crane was surprised to see how comfortable it was. Being the home of a bachelor, he was expecting it to be furnished in a practical stark style. However, the atmosphere was the complete opposite of Crane’s expectations. The lounge was warm and welcoming, antique furniture glowing from loving care, the rugs on the floor thick and colourful and colour co-ordinated cushions on the settees. A fine example of an antique leather winged chair sat near the bay window, with an angle lamp carefully poised for reading. But there was no sign of an office.
“Let’s take a look upstairs, Billy,” Crane said taking the stairs at a run.
The upper floor had a bathroom and three bedrooms, one of which had been turned into a study.
“Just what I was looking for,” said Crane with satisfaction as he slowly looked around the crowded room. A large desk sat under the window, with drawers either side of the centrally placed chair. Along one wall was a large collection of books, covering the whole of the wall, five shelves deep.
A Soldier's Honour Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set) Page 11