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

by Wendy Cartmell

  Turning to the woman whose cleavage he had been intimate with earlier, he whispered, “Are they okay?” pointing towards the stage. “Isn’t anyone going to help them?”

  “They are overcome by the Holy Spirit,” she explained. “They have been saved by the love of Jesus Christ our Lord and the Holy Spirit now lives in them.”

  Crane noticed his companion was glassy eyed, with a sheen of moisture on her upper lip.

  “Feel it,” she urged. “Let yourself go, let Jesus Christ save you too.”

  And then Crane was saved. Not by Jesus Christ, but by the organ which struck up another rousing tune, causing his neighbour to pick up her song sheet and join in the chorus.

  At the end of the service Crane managed to extract himself from a large number of the congregation who wanted to talk to him, find out all about him and persuade him to attend the church again. Or maybe sign up for Bible classes, prayer circles and family groups. Crane escaped from the cinema into the bright sunlight. Stopping and putting his hand up to shield his eyes, he spotted Derek Anderson across the street and walked over to join him.

  “Hello, Crane, are you alright? Don’t tell me you’ve been converted?” he grinned.

  “Bloody hell, what an experience that was,” exclaimed Crane lighting a cigarette and drawing on it as if it was the last one he would ever smoke. “Bunch of evangelical crackpots, if you ask me. The Padre was wrong when he said it was a bit over the top. It was a lot over the top. Thank God that’s over.” Looking at his watch he cried, “Jesus, I’ve been in there nearly two hours, no wonder I’m exhausted.”

  The two men stood for a while, watching the worshipers leave the building. At one-point Crane caught a glimpse of the back of a man with blond hair and a broad muscular back which seemed familiar, holding the hand of a small boy. As the High Street returned to its normal ghostly Sunday afternoon state, it was time to go and see Elias.

  They caught him as he was closing the main doors. After the introductions they retired to a large office just inside the building to the left of the doors. As well as the Elder’s desk, phone and usual office paraphernalia, there was room for a large circular table with at least 12 chairs around it. The carpet was red, yet old and faded, obviously the same vintage as the carpet in the main auditorium.

  After inviting Crane and Anderson to sit, Elias rounded his desk to sit in a large, yet worn leather chair. Placing his clasped hands on the desk, he smiled benignly and expressed his pleasure that the Padre had been found and would make a full recovery.

  Crane, however, was not much interested in pleasantries and wanted to get straight to the point. “When did you last see Padre Symonds, sir?”

  “Oh, let me see, sometime last week, I think.”

  “Could you try to be more specific?”

  “Umm,” Elias said as if considering his reply, “Oh yes, at our Bible class last Tuesday. He joined us as part of an Army Liaison Scheme. Do you know about that, Sergeant Major? It’s a wonderful concept I think.”

  “Yes, yes, I know all about that,” said Crane, becoming impatient and not about to tell the Elder that it was his idea in the first place. Anderson laid a warning hand on his arm, which Crane ignored. “He was making enquiries about the visiting preacher, Zechariah, I believe.”

  “Was he?” asked Elias.

  “You know damn well he was.”

  “It appears more evidence has come to light about Zechariah, sir,” Anderson quickly interrupted, handing over a copy of the memo.

  After a few minutes’ silence, during which Crane stewed, Anderson asked, “Now do you see the seriousness of the situation, sir?”

  “Well, I’m not sure what this has to do with my church,” was the studied reply. “After all Zechariah is not a member here. I’ve checked the records.” Elias sat back looking very pleased with himself.

  Through gritted teeth Crane explained, “Zechariah seems to have or had a group in this and other churches that presumably only included fathers and their sons. Surely you must know about this, have a list of participants. Something. Anything.”

  “No, I’m sorry I have no knowledge of a group such as that.”

  “How was that possible?” demanded Crane. “Don’t you know what’s going on in your own bloody church?” Crane was agitated and got up from his seat. “We’re talking about murder, suicide, abduction and brainwashing here. How can you sit there and act like you don’t know anything or, what’s worse, don’t care!”

  “Sit down, Crane,” Anderson said. But Crane’s words had affected the Church Elder, who handed the memo back to Anderson with a trembling hand, a sheen of sweat appearing on his already glossy black skin.

  Clearing his throat, Elias explained, “We are a loving, open and encompassing family here, Sergeant Major. I don’t think that anyone we’re connected with would do that sort of thing. In fact, your suggestion that we would is completely abhorrent to me.”

  Anderson replied for Crane. “I understand, sir, but it appears that someone very dangerous is behind these murders and at the moment all the evidence is pointing towards your visiting preacher, Zechariah.”

  But Crane wasn’t finished yet. “Don’t you think that perhaps you’ve gone too far with being ‘encompassing’, sir?” Crane put his fingers in the air as quote marks. “It looked like you’ve ‘encompassed’ a killer in your naivety.”

  Elias once again cleared his throat, a habit which was really beginning to annoy Crane.

  “Perhaps, sir,” interjected Anderson, “you could give us a list of your members who have sons. We could speak to them and see if any of them have been in contact with Zechariah since his official visit here.”

  Elias looked appalled at the thought. “But that’s confidential information,” he spluttered. “I couldn’t do that. The ramifications would ripple through the church. No one would ever trust me again.”

  Closing his eyes in frustration and taking a deep breath, Crane replied, “Don’t you think, sir, that no one will trust you ever again if you are responsible for another murder suicide, because you refused to co-operate?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Crane had no idea whether the threat he made to Elias would work and for now he had to back off, as Anderson put it. They had left the church the previous afternoon with Anderson promising to follow up and keep the pressure on Elias. Crane had to remember that he had no jurisdiction in the town and was only present at the interview at Anderson’s invitation. As he needed to keep Anderson on his side, he had no choice but to leave it in his hands.

  After the usual Monday morning briefing with his Captain, Crane sat in his office chewing over the evidence so far and trying to think of anything he may have missed. Coming to a decision, he went over to Kim, who was sitting ramrod straight at her desk and typing on the computer.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Kim, did you send the memo from the computer boffins to Catterick and Colchester?” Crane sat on the side of her desk.

  “Of course, sir,” was her confident reply.

  “And?”

  “And, sir?” came the not so confident question.

  “And have they responded?”

  “Oh, well no, I don’t think so, sir. Do you want me to chase them up?”

  “No, I’ll do it.”

  In his office he reached for the phone and called Sergeant Major Brown in Colchester. Brown had heard nothing back from his technical department and promised to hurry them along. Sergeant Harris in Catterick, however, said they had no computer to check.

  “No computer? But everyone has one these days!” Crane was taken aback and sat upright in his chair.

  “Well, sir, we don’t have a record of taking one from the premises.”

  “Hmm,” Crane pondered. “Do you even know if there was one there at the time?”

  Crane could hear papers rustling in the background.

  “Negative, sir. I haven’t got an inventory of the contents of the house.”

  “Bloo
dy hell, so there could have been one but no one thought to look for it.”

  “Well, it’s always possible, sir. But, as I am sure you remember, I wasn’t in charge of the investigation at the time.”

  “Alright, alright, Harris. Point taken. I suppose I’ll have to check with Mrs Fisher.”

  Crane replaced the receiver none too gently and decided to delegate that job to Billy. The last thing he needed was another meeting with the woman and thought that perhaps Billy could charm her. Calling Billy into his office, he asked him to contact Mrs Fisher and to go and collect the computer, if there was one.

  Once the business side of the discussion was done, they chatted for a few minutes about the weekend and Crane regaled Billy with tales of his visit to the Church of Jesus is King. Crane thought it strange that Billy looked uncomfortable and started to fidget, so he changed the subject and asked how Billy’s weekend was.

  “Oh, you know, sir. Just pottered around. Went to the gym, had a run, that sort of thing. Anyway if there’s nothing else, sir?”

  “No, no, off you go, Billy. Thanks.”

  Crane watched his young Staff Sergeant walk out of the office, noting his blond hair and broad well-muscled back. The syntaxes in his brain start to pop, but Crane couldn’t quite make the connection.

  As there was nothing else to do that couldn’t wait, Crane decided to call Tina and ask if she wanted to meet for a sandwich lunch and then he would go from there to see Padre Symonds. She seemed pleased to hear from him and was free for lunch, so Tom took himself off to the arcade in Aldershot town centre.

  ***

  It was their usual location for occasional lunches as it was opposite the branch of Barclays bank that Tina worked in. The arcade was stunning, but also stunningly empty. An attempt by local planners to replicate the original 1920’s arcade and turn it into a shopping centre, had failed spectacularly. But the place was clean and quiet with light filtering through the high glass dome and plants cascading over the balustrade, reaching down towards the empty shops.

  They sat at metal tables and chairs, shaded by incongruous parasols at a health food café located in the centre of the 90-degree walkway and chatted. Crane chewed on a baguette that tasted as dry as it looked and drunk a cup of coffee which consisted mostly of foam.

  “This was a lovely surprise, Tom,” Tina said. She was dressed in her blue bank regulation suit, which brought out the colour of her eyes.

  “Well, I thought it was about time we spent some time together. I know I’ve been a bit caught up with work lately.”

  “Maybe just a bit,” she smiled.

  “Look, Tina, I…” Crane tailed off, clearing his throat and searching through his pockets for his cigarettes.

  “Don’t say anything, Tom.” Tina put her hand on his arm. “Let’s just enjoy our lunch. Okay? Oh, and you can’t smoke in here.”

  Smiling, Crane relaxed. Even though he knew he couldn’t keep brushing under the carpet his bad behaviour, or the fact that they were still clashing over the decision to have children, Crane was heartened by her attitude over lunch. At least she seemed to understand and anyway he was confident there would be plenty of time to sort everything out after the case was closed. After giving her a long and lingering kiss outside the Bank, he dragged himself away and went to Frimley Park Hospital.

  ***

  Crane arrived to see the Padre in the early afternoon and the staff agreed to let him in for a short while. He had been moved to the ITU and the nurse looking after him strongly suggested the Padre would be able to go on a general ward shortly.

  Crane shared this piece of good news with the Padre as he sat down, who didn’t seem all that impressed. “I quite like it here though, Crane,” he said lying back on several pillows in a pristine bed that had been slightly raised at the head. “Don’t think I want to go on a general ward. I enjoy the fuss of the ITU I expect.”

  “Or the scenery, sir?” Crane looked round at the attractive nurses and got a complicit smile from the Padre. “Anyway, sir, if you could, I just wanted a chat about what happened.”

  “But I can’t remember anything, Crane,” the Padre protested.

  “No, sir,” explained Crane, to stop the Padre becoming anxious. “I want to talk about your last contact with the Church before the attack happened.”

  Relaxing back on his pillows the Padre smiled, “Oh, I see, well I had started attending some classes. The last one was the Bible Class if I recall.”

  “Yes, that’s what Elias thought too.”

  “Oh, you’ve met him have you, Sergeant Major? Such a nice man, don’t you think? So devoted to his flock.”

  “Quite. Can you tell me what happened at the meeting, sir?”

  “Nothing unusual. There was quite a stimulating debate about a particular bible passage and then we had coffee before leaving.”

  “Did you ask anyone about a visiting preacher?”

  “Oh,” the Padre thought for a moment. “Now you mention it, yes I did. I was asking one of the longer term members of the Church about visiting preachers. In fact she’s the Church Secretary, Mrs Morrison, so I thought she may know.”

  “And what did she say?” Crane leaned forward.

  “Nothing much. She said she wasn’t always there when there was a visiting preacher, but she had the church diary which would tell me who they were and when they preached.”

  “That’s excellent, sir. Did you get it?”

  “No, sorry, Sergeant Major, I was supposed to go and see her, but got rather unavoidably detained,” he grinned and then winced with pain.

  “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll follow that up. Looks like you need a rest now. Just one last question. Who was at this bible meeting?”

  “Oh, about six members of the congregation, Mrs Morrison and Elias was there, of course.”

  “Of course,” Crane agreed.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Anderson was not best pleased to see Crane and was immediately defensive. “Look, Crane, I haven’t had time to chase up Elias yet,” he said gesturing to his overflowing desk. “I was planning to go and see him at home after work tonight. I thought a more softly softly approach would be better this time.”

  “Not too softly though eh, Derek? We don’t want to waste all the good work I did yesterday.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let him forget we need the information. So was that it?”

  “Actually, no. In fact, that’s not even why I came. I went to see Padre Symonds this afternoon.”

  Anderson’s face brightened. “Oh good, how is he? Making good progress?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Crane sat down and told Anderson about the Padre’s progress, mentioning that he remembered questioning the Church Secretary, who volunteered to let him have a copy of the diary giving them the dates of visiting preachers and hopefully details of who they were.

  “So I just thought I would let you know that I’m off to collect it,” he finished.

  “You?”

  “Yes, Derek, me. She promised it to the Padre after all, so I thought I would call in and let her know that the Padre is safe and well and that I’m just following up on a senior officer’s request.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, you do know how to manipulate, Crane,” said Anderson, shaking his head in disbelief. “Have you her details?” he asked, scrabbling about in a desk drawer.

  “Yes, thanks. Billy came up with them whilst he was doing his background research on the Church.”

  “Okay, but try not to upset her, will you? Remember she’s not a suspect.”

  “Of course not, Derek,” Crane replied. “What do you take me for?” he asked, leaving before Derek could throw something at him.

  ***

  Crane decided not to call ahead to warn Adele Morrison of his visit. The address Billy had given him was in a complex of assisted living houses and flats for over 55’s opposite the large Tesco supermarket at the top of Aldershot.

  After wandering through several manicured lawns, he figured
he had the right ground floor flat, as gospel music was pouring out of a downstairs window that appeared to be a kitchen. Finding the buzzers located by a central door, he pushed the one marked Morrison. Soon afterwards the sound of the music faded and a tinny voice called out, “Yes?”

  Crane introduced himself as a messenger from Padre Symonds and Mrs Morrison buzzed him into the apartment block.

  Mrs Morrison stood just inside her front door. Crane realised that in making assumptions of the type of person who listens to gospel music, he was way off the mark with Mrs Morrison. Instead of the large, friendly, laughing black woman he envisaged, Mrs Morrison was white, slim, upright and even a bit uptight. He couldn’t seem to put her together with the type of worship at the Church of Jesus is King at all.

  “Sergeant Major Crane,” she said, “may I just see your credentials?”

  After Crane showed her the plastic coated ID card around his neck, she nodded and let him in.

  The flat was bright, airy and modern, with stylish, simplistic furniture bordering on minimalistic. No fluffy cushions or cluttered souvenirs from a bygone age here. After inviting him to sit down, but unfortunately not asking if he wanted a cup of tea, she asked him to repeat why he was there. He explained he had come to collect a copy of the diary for the Padre.