A Letter to Billy
Dear Billy
This time I can start a letter properly, but you don’t need to know about that. This is a thank you letter really. I wanted to say thanks for listening when I blurted out my problems and for not running away as I confessed to what was happening to me. But as I recall, it was me that ran away wasn’t it? I know I’ll have to stop that if I want this thing to come to an end - running away that is. But I’m not sure if I have the courage yet to go through with giving you the name of my violator. The man who has crashed into my life and taken it over. The one who reduces me to a gibbering wreck. The person who has made me afraid of my own shadow.
He’s very clever. He knows it’s the uncertainty that I find so frightening. The uncertainty that makes me jump if I hear a deep voice in the corridor outside my room. Is that him? Is he coming tonight?
I used to stay around people as much as I could, safety in numbers and all that. But now I’m sure they can tell. I’m sure that they know, somehow, that I am less of a man than them. So now I shy away from my colleagues, which, in turn, makes me more isolated and vulnerable.
I am trying hard to get a grip on my emotions. When I do, I’ll be strong enough to name him and face my shame. But I’m just not there yet.
Sorry.
7
Saturday night found Crane back on duty in Aldershot town centre with DI Anderson.
“We must stop meeting like this,” Anderson quipped as they took the short walk from the car park to the centre of town.
For once it was Anderson marching along and Crane lagging behind. The cold night air bit after the warmth of the car, making Crane even more fed up.
“Bloody hell, Derek, how come you’re so happy to be in Aldershot on a Saturday night?” he grumbled.
“Oh stop being so grumpy, Crane. What’s the matter with you now?” Anderson stopped and waited for Crane to catch him up.
“Sorry, it’s just that I don’t like leaving Tina too much at the moment. At least not more than I have to.”
Crane stopped to light a cigarette, giving into the craving. Sod putting his hands in his pockets, he thought.
“By the way, thank Jean for her visit, will you?” he asked once he’d taken that first all important drag.
“It did the trick then?”
“Did it ever. At least now Tina isn’t trying to kill herself by breastfeeding the baby all the time. She took Jean’s advice, that there’s no shame in not producing enough milk for a three month old and has started bottle feeding Daniel. He just wasn’t satisfied by the amount of milk Tina was producing. So now I can take my turn giving him a bottle. It’s definitely made a difference to her. Well, to both of us, actually.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Anderson. “So can we get on with the job now?” and he picked up his pace again, heading for the plethora of bars clustered around Victoria Street.
The ‘job’ involved talking to doormen, bouncers and taxi drivers, to see if anyone remembered Becca from last week. Anderson had managed to get a good head and shoulders photograph of Becca from her parents, so they didn’t have to show a picture of her dead. Always a plus, thought Crane, looking at the shot of Becca smiling into the camera, taken on a day out somewhere on the South Coast.
As they strolled up the street, avoiding the debris, swaying girls and staggering boys, they stopped at each pub in turn including Yates and the Queen Victoria and talked to the doormen. Unfortunately they got the same response everywhere.
“No, mate, sorry not seen her before.”
“They all look the same to me, pal.”
“She’s not here tonight. Could you move along, you’re putting off the punters!”
Crane decided that most of them were as thick as their biceps. When they got to The Goose, they flashed their badges and went inside.
“Oy, you,” Anderson called to a young man working behind the bar, “over here.”
Anderson put his credentials and the picture of Becca on the bar, under the young man’s nose.
“Did you see this girl last Saturday night?”
“Sorry, never seen her before.” The lad’s words come out slurred because of the tongue piercing he was sporting. His face was flushed from the heat, not only from the bodies crushed inside the pub, but also from all the chillers behind the bar. There were gleaming glass upright fridges lined up against the wall, filled with equally gleaming bottles of alcho-pops, in all colours of the rainbow, each one more enticing than the last. Pieces of fluorescent coloured card encouraged their binge drinking clients to buy, proclaiming ‘TWO FOR THE PRICE OF ONE!’
“Think about it,” Crane urged, wanting to bat the barman around the head to encourage his co-operation, but restraining himself. “Are you sure you didn’t see her last Saturday?”
“I don’t need to think, mate, I wasn’t here.”
“Well, who the bloody hell was?” Crane shouted, firstly from anger and secondly to make himself heard over the thumping music.
“Um, let me think, oh yeah, Simon was.”
“And where is Simon?” Anderson wanted to know.
“He’s covering the other end of the bar, he’s the one with a blond streak in his hair. Now can I get on with serving, before I lose my job? I don’t like it much, but I need the money, see?”
Not bothering to reply, Crane and Anderson threaded their way through the crowd of revellers to the other end of the pub.
‘Blond Streak’ as Crane dubbed Simon the moment he saw him, managed to impart some information as he continued pouring drinks and taking money.
“Yeah, I remember her, a bit tasty innit? So why do you lot want to know about her? Been flashing it around for money, has she?”
Ignoring the question, Anderson pressed on. “Did you see who she was with that night?”
“Yeah, she was with some new bloke. I’ve never seen him before, so I was interested like. Thanks darling,” he winked at a pretty dark-haired girl he’d just taken money from.
“Can you describe him?”
“Probably, but why? Is he her pimp?” Simon nodded at a customer to acknowledge an order and grabbed a pint glass, starting to fill it with beer.
“More than likely, her murderer,” Crane chipped in.
“Bloody hell!”
Crane wasn’t sure if the expletive was because of the fact that Becca was dead, or because Blond Streak had dropped the glass he was filling in shock.
“I need you to report to Aldershot Police Station at nine o’clock tomorrow morning to give a statement and description,” Anderson demanded.
“Have a heart; I don’t knock off here until two.”
“Alright, eleven o’clock, but don’t be late, or a police constable will be calling at your flat to arrest you.”
As Anderson took down Blond Streak’s contact details, Crane watched the punters in the pub. The girls still all looked the same to him. Barbie dolls, all tits and short skirts. As he eyed a particularly raucous table of girls he noticed one of them was more reserved.
“Bloody hell, its Kim,” he said to Anderson, nudging him and pointing her out. “I wonder what she’s doing here.”
“Trying to have a good time and failing, by the looks of her. Leave her alone, Crane. Don’t embarrass her by going over. The last thing she needs is to be singled out by both the police and her boss.”
“I guess you’re right,” Crane said, turning away. “Come on let’s get out of here.”
***
The last people on their list were the taxi drivers. Sauntering over to the rank, they approached the first car in the long line.
“Where to, mate?”
“Nowhere and I am not your mate,” Crane growled pushing the photo of Becca though the driver’s window. “Were you working last Saturday night? Did you see this girl?”
This was repeated at every taxi, without any success.
Walking back to the car park, Crane and Anderson agreed to meet again on Monday morning, so Anderson co
uld bring Crane up to date with the description from Blond Streak. With a wave goodbye to Derek, Crane pulled out of the car park, glad to be away from the frenzied activity of the town centre. As he drove away, he nearly knocked over a tall dark-haired lad, sprinting across the road towards The Goose.
8
By four o’clock on Sunday afternoon, Crane was lying on the settee with Daniel across his chest. They were both dozing. Crane because he had just eaten his first roast dinner in ages that he and Tina had cooked together and Daniel because Crane has just given him a bottle of milk. In Crane's dream the mobile phone in his pocket was ringing and vibrating against his leg. Dragging it out and looking at the caller ID, he saw it was a call from Kim. Answering he barked, “Yes, Sgt Weston?” wondering why she would be calling him. He was clearly on holiday. He could even see the sea from his prone position on a sun bed.
“Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, sir, but I need a bit of help, I’m afraid.”
“Help, Kim? What sort of ….”
Crane was dragged from his dream by the phone call and by Daniel crying. Juggling the baby and the mobile, Crane sat up, the leather of the settee creaking in protest.
“Hang on a minute, Kim; I’ll give the baby to Tina. She’s just arrived.”
Passing the baby into her outstretched arms, Crane waited until Tina and Daniel had left the room, before continuing his conversation.
“Sorry, Kim, right, what’s the matter?”
“I need you to come to my flat, sir, preferably with DI Anderson.”
“When? Why?” Crane was still half asleep and couldn’t get his head around why Kim would want him to go over, never mind with DI Anderson.
“Now please, sir, if you don’t mind,” said Kim. “I…I think I’ve been raped.”
***
By the time Crane had finished talking to Kim, he was, unfortunately, wide awake. This wasn’t a dream, it was really happening. It appeared Kim had been targeted by the unknown rapist who attacked and then killed Becca Henderson. Crane phoned Derek Anderson, who was as stunned as Crane was and they agreed to meet at Kim’s flat in Ascot Court, near Aldershot Train Station.
Crane closed his mobile phone and stood, stretching his Sunday afternoon relaxed body, hearing the crack of bones as he rotated his neck. He needed to go and get changed into a suit, not feeling it appropriate to go out dressed in his old track suit and slippers. As he climbed the stairs he heard the merry musical box notes coming from the nursery. Looking around the door, he saw Daniel fast asleep in his cot and Tina leaning over him. As Tina followed Crane to their bedroom, he shared the news about Kim.
“Kim?” she asked. “Is she sure?”
“She must be, she’s too reliable and knowledgeable to make a mistake. She can’t remember much though and we think at this stage she was probably given some sort of date rape drug,” Crane replied.
“But she doesn’t seem the sort to get into that kind of trouble. You know, going out with the girls to The Goose, getting drunk…” Tina frowned.
“No, you wouldn’t think so. Anyway, sorry but I’ve got to go.” Crane wanted to change the subject from Kim’s plight. “Are you going to be alright?”
“Oh yes, I’ve got lots of housework to do to keep me busy,” replied Tina.
“That’s not what I meant.” Crane saw the dark smudges under Tina’s hollowed eyes. “Leave the housework for now,” he said against his better judgement and army training. “I can do it later when I get back. Why not pop into bed and have a rest while Daniel’s sleeping. You look as though you need it.”
“What do you mean?” Tina was quick to bite. “Are you saying I look awful? I know you don’t think I’m coping, but there’s no need to be like that!”
“Like what?” Crane was genuinely confused. “I only suggested that you have a rest, for God’s sake.”
“It’s just that you constantly pick, pick, pick,” Tina responded. “Reminding me about what I haven’t done, or criticising my appearance. Offering to help and then not doing it, because something comes up at work. You just don’t seem to understand how I feel. I’ve had enough.”
Tina’s tirade was followed by cries from the nursery.
“Now look what you’ve done,” she hissed. “Stop interfering.”
“Oh, suit yourself,” Crane shouted as he went to the bathroom and shut the door, wishing he hadn’t bothered to try and be nice to Tina. He just couldn’t seem to get this emotional shit right. It all seemed very straight forward to him. If Tina wasn’t coping, help her. But she seemed intent on pushing away that help, which he just couldn’t understand.
As he finished washing, he grabbed a towel to dry his face, scrubbing his problems at home away with the water. He’d a job to do and at the moment, that took priority over his domestic situation.
***
The girl sitting opposite Crane looked nothing like she did on Saturday night. Kim was huddled into a warm velour track suit, the zip of her jacket done up to her chin. Her feet were encased in socks stuffed into slippers and her hands thrust into the arms of her top. Not one piece of flesh was on view, apart from her ravaged face and even that was covered by her long blonde hair when she looked down, which was often. She was sitting on a large comfortable yellow fabric settee, under the window of her modern one bedroom rented flat. Like most young people in Aldershot, she rented what she couldn’t afford to buy. The high deposits required by the banks were beyond the reach of most of them, even if they could afford to repay a large mortgage.
The purpose built blocks were situated next to Aldershot Railway Station and popular with those commuting to London. Kim had a flat at the back of the development, facing the railway tracks. Crane and Anderson were sitting opposite Kim and their conversation was occasionally interrupted by trains passing under the window, which Kim had left open.
Kim had just told them what happened. After Crane and Anderson left The Goose last night, she was approached by a tall, dark-haired young man. Making conversation, they realised they had something in common, both of them being in the army. The young man said his name was Steve and he offered to buy her a drink. She didn’t really want anymore alcohol, but was persuaded have a glass of red wine.
“After that, things are pretty blurred, sir,” Kim said. “I remember feeling dizzy and disorientated after I’d drunk about half the wine and that’s about it. The next thing I knew, I woke up back here, on the bed. At first I didn’t know where I was, but figured I must be at home, because the beads from the quilt on my bed were digging into my face. I tried to sit up, but my body felt heavy and sore and my head was pounding. Eventually I managed to roll off the bed and using the furniture to support me, I stood up. At that point the room started to spin and I felt drunk, like I did last night. I staggered to the bathroom and that’s when I realised there was something more than a bad headache wrong with me. It took me quite a while to change my clothes because I kept going dizzy and after that I telephoned you.”
“Sorry to ask, Kim, but where are the clothes you wore last night?”
“I’ve bagged them, sir. They’re in an evidence pouch by the door.”
Crane wondered if there were any other young women in Aldershot who kept evidence pouches in their flat and tried not to smile at the thought of Kim being so efficient that she had such items handy, just in case. Unfortunately that ‘just in case’ moment has arrived.
“Um, have you washed?” Crane was finding it hard to ask Kim intimate questions and he couldn’t meet her eyes, preferring instead to look around the bright room, noting the contemporary furniture and the neatness.
“Of course not, sir, I’ve followed rape procedure. It’s just that I felt so cold and needed to put on something warm. I hope I’ve not destroyed any evidence,” Kim shivered and looked down at the brown carpet.
“Don’t worry, Kim, I’m sure you haven’t,” Anderson interjected. “Now, if you don’t mind going with the WPC here, she’ll look after you and take you to the Rape Suite at t
he Police Station.”
Crane watched as Kim tentatively got off the settee, her knees buckling as she stood. The WPC moved in and held Kim up and together they shuffled out of the flat.
“Right, Derek,” Crane was all business, falling back on his training so as not to become too emotional. He couldn’t, he had a job to do. Kim’s case was definitely too close for comfort. “We better get out of here as well and let forensics do their job. Thank God she wasn’t killed, eh?”
“Yes. Why was that do you think?” asked Anderson.
“Fuck knows,” said Crane fingering the scar under his short beard. “At the moment I’m more concerned about Kim. We’ll think about that later.”
9
Crane had every right to be concerned about Kim, who was sitting quietly in the Rape Suite at Aldershot Police Station. She was silent, but not still, as she was trembling uncontrollably. Looking around the room, Kim thought the term ‘suite’ was somewhat erroneous. It seemed to consist of a completely plain room with a couple of armchairs and a small table in it. The cream chairs, one of which she was sitting in, faded into the cream coloured carpet and left Kim feeling that she had inexplicably landed in a vat of vanilla ice-cream. She guessed it would be difficult to know what posters or pictures to put on the beige coloured walls. You couldn’t exactly put up posters extolling, ‘Don’t talk to strangers’ or ‘Don’t leave your drink unattended’ or even one about ‘The perils of date rape drugs’. The thoughts managed to make Kim smile at the irony.
Her companion, the WPC who had led her away from her flat, was sat in the other armchair, asking her questions. Kim was trying hard to concentrate and answer them, but in her head she was screaming, ‘leave me alone’. She’d no idea what the WPC’s name was. She had been told it, but just couldn’t recall it. Just like she couldn’t recall what had happened. She just remembered the shock of waking up and finding she had been attacked. Her head was woolly and sore, she guessed from the drug that must have been slipped into that bloody glass of wine.
Honour Bound: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Page 3