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

by Wendy Cartmell

  Night 21

  The post mortem of Corporal McInnes took place later that day. Crane, for once, decided not to attend and sent Billy in his place. Billy returned to the barracks as happy as if he had just had afternoon tea with Major Martin, not watched him cut up a dead body. The results were as they suspected. Death by a broken neck, this time with bruising from the perpetrator’s hands clearly visible. Lividity, pooling of the blood in the body, suggested McInnes had been dragged behind the pillbox and left there for a couple of hours, with time of death confirmed between 04:00 hours and 06:00 hours.

  Two things concerned Crane now. Firstly, the murder of a second soldier on the garrison (although Captain Edwards still maintained the first one was an accident) and secondly, a lost weapon. The gun McInnes was carrying couldn’t be found. It contained live ammunition and an extra magazine was also missing. Jones had kept his lads and A Company searching in the cemetery but now at 18:00 hours there was still no sign of either. They had beaten and battered every bit of undergrowth they could and found nothing. A lost gun. Live ammunition missing. An ongoing threat. As per the chain of Command Edwards had bawled out Crane over the missing weapon, Crane had bawled out Jones and Jones had bawled out the Platoon Commanders. It hadn’t achieved anything, but had made them all feel better. Apart from the poor sods at the bottom of the pecking order, that was.

  What would really make Crane feel better, he decided, was going home to Tina. Which he couldn’t do for another hour, so he went out to the car park for a cigarette and called her on his mobile, for about the fifth time that day.

  “Hey,” he said as she answered, “Are you alright?”

  “Tom,” she laughed, “Yes I’m fine, just as I was an hour ago.”

  “Sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “For everything really. For not being there to bring you home from hospital. For not being there now…” he tailed off, not sure what else to say, apart from sorry.

  “Tom, stop it. I know you have a job to do and what job is more important than finding the killer of a soldier?”

  “Thanks love, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Lots of things.” Crane leaned against a wall and paused to smoke his cigarette. “Anyway, I thought I’d bring home a take away for dinner. What do you fancy?”

  “Chinese,” Tina replied without hesitation. “Then I can just pick if I get too full. Anyway I’m busy doing the food shopping online. Did you know there was nothing in the cupboards and just a load of stuff gone off in the fridge?”

  “No, sorry, love. I haven’t bothered with shopping for food whilst you’ve been in hospital. I’ve eaten in the mess.”

  “Well, never mind. I’m home now, so I can order it tonight and get it all delivered tomorrow.”

  “Okay, see you between 7.30 and 8. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Tom, now get back to work.”

  Crane closed the phone and went back inside. Kim had come on duty early and was working on the incident board. “Any forensics in yet?”

  “No, sir, not until tomorrow and that’s at the earliest.”

  “What are they checking?”

  “Blood collected from the scene, pieces of cloth from the bushes, scrapings from under Corporal McInnes fingernails.”

  “Boss?” Billy called from the other side of the office. As Crane turned Billy said, “Staff Sergeant Jones wants you to go over and see him.”

  “Now?” Crane glanced at his watch.

  “Yes, sir. Can I tell him you’re on your way?”

  “Yes, Billy, but it better be bloody important.”

  Crane repeated that sentiment to Jones when he got to his office.

  “It is, Crane. Very. Your favourite neighbourhood Gurkha was here. Clearly trying to tell us something about last night. This was the best I could do without an interpreter.” Jones handed Crane a crude drawing.

  Crane sat in the visitor’s chair. It creaked and groaned under his weight as he wriggled to get comfortable.

  “For God’s sake, Jones, can’t you change this bloody chair?” Looking at Jones, Crane saw the suppressed grin. “No, I suppose not.”

  Crane looked at the drawing in his hand and stopped moaning. It depicted a vehicle, parked by the cemetery, with one soldier walking towards the graveyard and the other running across the fields. “Padam was there.”

  “So it would seem. Take a look at the second one.” Jones handed Crane another piece of paper.

  “Bloody hell,” was all Crane could manage as he stared at the second drawing. This showed a third soldier leaving the cemetery. “Have you managed to get an interpreter?” he demanded.

  “I can’t get anyone here until tomorrow morning.”

  “Well we can’t work with Padam without one. If he really did see the killer and can identify him, we need a proper interview that will stand up in court. So we’ll have to be careful.” Crane struggled out of the chair and headed for the door. “Set it up for as early in the morning as you can, Jones. Keep Padam here overnight, so we don’t lose him. Give him a hot meal and comfortable bed, he’ll be happy enough.”

  Jones nodded his agreement. “This is bad, Crane. Two soldiers dead. It’s getting personal now.”

  “Getting personal?” Jones’ words stopped Crane in the doorway. “With me it always was personal, Staff, from the first one.”

  “But why were they killed? What’s been achieved by their deaths?”

  “At the moment I’ve no idea,” Crane had to admit.

  “Where are you off to now?”

  “Home. Via the Chinese take away.”

  Day 22

  The Chinese take away from last night was giving Crane indigestion. He’d been in the barracks for hours, interviewing Padam with an interpreter. At the moment Padam was with an artist trying to come up with a composite picture of the soldier seen leaving the cemetery. Crane took a copy of his signed statement off the desk in front of him and decided to have a walk around the car park.

  The movement seemed to ease his stomach problems and the fresh air cleared his head, as he studied the statement again. McInnes must have heard something, a disturbance in the cemetery perhaps and went to investigate. Once inside McInnes must have encountered the murderer, who broke his neck and pulled him behind the pillbox. The pillbox was in a remote part of the cemetery, so maybe McInnes tracked the suspect for some distance. Or had he been lured there? That was more likely, but if so it indicated that the perpetrator had some training, military or otherwise and a degree of cunning.

  What was the reason for the death? The act of killing itself, he wondered? Counting Lance Corporal Simms, there were two murders. Perilously close to becoming a series of killings. Which meant there could be more to come. But what motive would someone have for picking off soldiers and with such precision?

  As Crane walked he tried to look at the puzzle from another angle, lighting a cigarette to aid his thinking. The missing weapon could be the key. Perhaps that’s what the suspect was after. But if that’s the case, what was he after the first time? Nothing was taken from the first soldier. So if nothing was taken, maybe it was to stop him either seeing something or reporting something. But Crane had no bloody idea what could be under the swimming pool that they shouldn’t see. They had searched it again since the death of Corporal Simms. But they’d better search it one more time. Exhaling the smoke from the last drag of his cigarette, he marched back into the barracks.

  Crane managed to catch his Officer Commanding in his office, but unfortunately Captain Edwards didn’t share his views. As usual.

  “How can you be sure this old Gurkha is telling the truth?” he demanded.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” Crane couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.

  “This old man had been lurking around on the garrison in the middle of the night,” Edwards warmed to his theme. “What was he doing?”

  “Well, just keeping an eye out I guess.” As he spo
ke Crane realised how lame that sounded.

  “Keeping an eye out! For God’s sake, Crane. You should be treating him as a suspect, not a witness. He could be making the whole thing up. A cover story for killing a soldier who found him trying to break in somewhere or steal something.”

  “Break in? Steal something? In a cemetery?”

  “I understand these Gurkhas are very poor. Living on the breadline.”

  “Yes sir, it’s an appalling state of affairs,” Crane agreed.

  “That’s as may be, but that sort of vagrant tends to turn to stealing to survive.”

  Crane began to realise Edwards didn’t have much sympathy for the plight of the old Gurkhas.

  “I see there were items stolen from the Aspire Defence stores,” Edwards looked down at the files on his desk, indicating one at the top of the pile.

  “Yes, sir.” Crane wondered where this was going.

  “Any progress with that?”

  “Um, not as yet, sir and we’re still awaiting a full list of the items missing from Ms Stone.”

  “Well, chase it up, Crane. And search the old Gurkhas’ flats or wherever it is they live.”

  “Search them? Why, sir?”

  “Because they could be our culprits. The ones who have been stealing from the stores.”

  “But we’ve no reason to suspect that, nor any jurisdiction in Aldershot and Farnborough, nor any authority to do it, sir.”

  “Well then, see DI Anderson and get some authority. Dismissed.”

  Crane tried to speak again but the Captain kept his head resolutely down, studying the files on his desk.

  ***

  Crane covered the couple of miles between the garrison and Aldershot Police Station in record time. Anger drove the car, crashed the gears and gunned the engine in hopeless retaliation. By the time Crane arrived, he was shaking from the adrenalin rush and sweating profusely. Grabbing a bottle of water from the glove box he stayed slumped in the car seat with the door wide open. The water tasted metallic on his tongue and failed to wash out the bad taste in his mouth from his conversation with Edwards. Screwing the cap back on the bottle, he threw it into the glove box, slammed the lid closed and got out of the car. The door suffered the same fate as the glove box and Crane only stopped himself from kicking the car bodywork by reaching for his cigarettes and lighter.

  He was marginally calmer when he arrived at Anderson’s office. The usual clutter needed moving before he could sit down and he then brought Anderson up to date with events.

  “So, another dead soldier,” Derek commented when Crane had finished.

  “’Afraid so. But this time we have a witness. We have confirmation from the post mortem as to cause of death, a broken neck with bruising from an unknown assailant’s hands. So, taking all that into account, coupled with the position of the body, which was dragged behind a pillbox, I can safely call it murder.” Crane ran his hand through his hair and then over his beard.

  “But?”

  “But what?”

  “Come on, Crane, your body language is giving you away. Look at you, slumped in your chair, fiddling with your hair and beard. You’re obviously pissed off. So, there’s a ‘but’ in there.”

  “It’s the witness,” Crane sighed.

  “What about him? Don’t you think he’s reliable?”

  “Oh I do,” Crane threw his file onto Anderson’s desk.

  “So who doesn’t? Edwards?”

  “Exactly. He’s ordered me to treat him as a suspect.”

  “A suspect? A 60 odd year old man? Thinner than a twig and shorter than you and me and just about everyone else I know?”

  “Yes. I guess Captain Edwards thinks that if you turn it around the other way and look at him as a suspect, Padam killed McInnes because he caught him in the act of stealing something or at least trying to break into somewhere.”

  “What could he be stealing in a cemetery for God’s sake?”

  “Buggered if I know.” Crane scratched his scar. “But Edward’s theory is that there could have been more than one of them at the scene. You know they hang around together, are rarely seen alone and then there’s their situation to consider.”

  “Situation? What does that mean?” By now Anderson was scratching his head.

  “The fact that they have no money, no jobs and no support from the state. Being broke and hungry can change even the strongest man.”

  “So, Edwards thinks they’re stealing to support themselves, out of desperation.”

  “Well, I get the impression he’s not much concerned about their desperation, just their vagrancy.” Crane shook his head, disgusted by the attitude of his Officer Commanding.

  “Are there any reports of more thefts on the garrison?”

  Crane grabbed the file back off the desk and opened it. “Unfortunately, yes. Various items were stolen from Aspire Defence stores. Here’s the report.” He handed over the flimsy bit of paper. “I still haven’t got a full list of what’s missing from the Witch of the North.”

  Crane’s description of Juliette Stone caused Anderson to smile for the first time during their conversation. “And Edwards thinks the Gurkhas may be responsible?”

  “Looks that way. So…” Crane let the word hang between them. Anderson merely lifted his eyebrows, waiting for Crane to continue. “So,” Crane started again, “Edwards wants their homes searched.”

  “And where do they live?” Anderson’s eyebrows reached even further towards his hairline.

  “You know bloody well where. In Aldershot and Farnborough mostly.”

  “But not on the garrison.”

  “No, Anderson, not on the garrison.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Crane. I know we work closely together and all that, but this is a bit thin.”

  “How about if I pad it out for you a bit. Provide a full detailed report for you to use to get a search warrant.”

  “It better be good.” Anderson leaned back in his chair.

  “Don’t worry, it will be - I’ve got my orders.”

  Day 23

  “Boss?”

  Yes, Billy, what is it?” Crane wasn’t happy at the interruption.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir, but Lance Corporal Dudley-Jones would like a word.”

  Crane lifted his head to look through his office window. Dudley-Jones was pacing up and down, a buff file in one hand and a slim black net book in the other.

  “Oh, very well.” Crane saved and closed the file on his computer, secretly glad to get away from the report he was finishing off for Anderson, requesting a search warrant of the Gurkhas’ homes. “Why are you still here?” he asked Billy looking at his watch.

  “Just off now, sir. Had a couple of things to finish off for Sergeant Jones.”

  “Okay, see you tomorrow morning. Send in Dudley-Jones on your way out.”

  Dudley-Jones quick-marched into Crane’s office and stood in front of the desk.

  “You’ll never guess what’s happened, sir,” he exclaimed as Crane indicated he should sit down.

  “Lance Corporal, I don’t engage in guessing games. If you’ve got something to tell me, get on with it. Otherwise get out of my office.”

  “Oh, yes, sir, sorry, sir.” The Lance Corporal’s sallow complexion suffused with colour. “We’ve had an Intel report in overnight, sir,” he continued, jiggling about on his seat like a seven-year-old at school desperate to tell the teacher the answer to his question.

  Crane’s response was to close his eyes. “And?” he asked, slowly opening them again.

  “And there’s definitely something going on.”

  “Dudley-Jones, that’s what you said last time and nothing has happened.”

  “But this time it’s more concrete. Can I, sir?” The Lance Corporal indicated his net book. Taking it to mean that he had something to share, Crane nodded reluctantly.

  The Lance Corporal lifted the lid and hit the power button with a flourish. “This is a recording of a conversation monitored last night.�
�

  Dudley-Jones opened a file. The sound of hissing filtered from the tinny speakers on the net book, followed by a conversation between two men. The voices kept fading in and out and Crane strained to hear some of the words.

  At the end of the recording Crane said, “I take it you have a transcript.”

  “Of course, sir,” and Dudley-Jones fished out a piece of paper from the file he was balancing on his knee.

  INTELLIGENCE REPORT

  DATE: 24.7.2012

  TIME: 03:00 hours

  PREPARED BY: Sgt P Smith

  Below is a transcript of a mobile telephone conversation recorded at 01:00 hours on the 24th July.

  PERSON 1: How is our friend?

  PERSON 2: Getting better, thank you.

  PERSON 1: Good. Did you manage to get everything he needs?

  PERSON 2: Yes.

  PERSON 1: Excellent, I’m sure it means a great deal to him. When will he be completely recovered?

  PERSON 2: In a day or two.

  PERSON 1: You can’t be more specific?

  PERSON 2: Not at this stage.

  PERSON 1: Very well, keep me informed.

  The connection was then broken. The call lasted 60 seconds and originated from a mobile phone in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. The receiving mobile phone was in the Aldershot/Farnborough area. At this stage no information is available on either mobile phone number, with regards to the registered user or network provider, although enquiries are ongoing.

  Crane read through the transcript and then asked Dudley-Jones to play the recording again, so Crane could compare the two. This helped clarify the words, but not the meaning.

  “What do you think, sir?” Dudley-Jones’ eager expression once more reminding Crane of a school boy.

  “I think I need a coffee. White, two sugars.” As Dudley-Jones scampered across the office for the coffee, Crane read through the brief transcript a third time.

  “So why is this seemingly innocuous telephone call significant?” Crane waved the paper in Dudley-Jones’ face before taking the proffered mug and leaning back in his chair.