“Not really, Sir.”
Taylor coughed several times, as if the news that his friend’s wife was dead was stuck in his throat, a blockage he couldn’t get rid of, no matter how hard he tried.
“Look, lad, just be there for your mate, okay?” Crane said. “We can’t break this sort of news to the man and then leave him on his own. I appreciate you haven’t done anything like this before, but you don’t need to tell him what’s happened. We’re doing that, okay?”
Taylor managed a nod in agreement.
“I need you to stay with him afterwards until the Padre gets here.”
“Very well, Sir,” Taylor gulped, “I can do this.”
“Right then.”
The young man who opened the door looked at the three men stood in a ragged group along his equally ragged concrete path. He was dressed in civvies, a dark blue track suit complete with white polo shirt. His brown hair was shaved close to his head, a look favoured by many young soldiers.
“Sir?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his bristly hair and addressing Crane. But without waiting for a reply, he turned to Taylor and said, “What’s going on, Shaun? What are you doing here?”
“Can we come in, Lance Corporal?” asked Crane.
“Come in?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it’s about your wife, Melanie.”
“Melanie? Mel?” Green looked from one man to the other in confusion.
“I think its best we come in, Sir,” Anderson said showing Green his CID identification and together Crane and Anderson guided the bewildered man through the house to the small sitting room at the back.
“Look,” Green blustered, “what do you mean it’s about my wife?”
Then he fell silent and stared at Crane and Anderson.
“Oh God, I’ve the Branch, CID and my direct superior, all together in my house. Something has happened to Mel hasn’t it? Has she had an accident?”
“I’m very sorry, Sir,” said Anderson, “but a young woman fitting your wife’s description was found dead earlier this evening, in the subway leading to the town centre. We found this in her handbag.”
Anderson held up a driving licence with a picture of Melanie Green on it, protected by a clear plastic evidence bag.
“How? When? Look, it, it can’t be her she’s at her amateur dramatics rehearsal, I’m going to phone her on her mobile right now and sort this out, there must be some mistake. Maybe her purse had been stolen and it’s someone else. There is, Shaun, isn’t there? A mistake?” Green finished his garbled speech with a beseeching look at his friend.
But Taylor shook his head. “Sorry, mate, there isn’t.”
That denial made Green grab his phone off a small side table and start pushing buttons with fumbling fingers.
“Would this be the mobile you’re ringing, Sir?” Anderson interrupted.
Crane took Green’s mobile from him, intending to stop the call, but he wasn’t quick enough and all four men stared in horror at the bright pink mobile Anderson was holding, as it began to ring. After a flustered few seconds of trying every button, Crane finally managed to cancel the call. He placed Green’s mobile back on the table, as the man fell into a chair and began to cry. Crane watched in sympathy as the man’s tears ran along each crease in his crumpled face. At a nod from Crane, Taylor moved around, squatted beside the chair and did his best to comfort his friend.
Sitting opposite the sobbing man, Anderson said, “Lance Corporal Green, I’m very sorry for the loss of your wife, but we really need to ask you some questions.”
“Questions?” was the muffled reply, as Green took the handkerchief proffered by Anderson, opened it and used it to cover his red eyes.
“We need to talk about your wife. The first few hours of an investigation can be vital, so I need...” at Crane’s cough, Anderson amended that to, “so we need as much information as you can give us.”
Green removed the handkerchief, hung his head and stared at the carpet beneath his feet, looking inward, adrift on the misery of his loss.
“Do you understand, Green?” Crane asked. He knew the man was falling apart, but they didn’t have time for that. Crane and Anderson needed answers to the many questions they had and they needed them now.
As Crane’s question provoked no response, he barked, “I said, do you understand, Lance Corporal?” hoping to break through Green’s grief, reach the soldier inside of him and get his attention.
The ploy worked, as Green lifted his head, shrugged off Taylor’s arm and stared at Crane for a moment, with something akin to hatred in his eyes. Crane didn’t care about being hated, though. He didn’t need Green to be his friend, just to help them as much as he could.
Green closed his eyes and mumbled, “Yes, Sir, I understand. What is it you want to know?”
“Let’s start with where Mel was going this evening and why she was in the underpass, shall we? Then we’ll move onto where you were between 19:00 hours and 21:00 hours this evening.”
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Honour Bound: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Page 18