Death Call

by Wendy Cartmell

  The sound of a hoover starting up in the next room startled Billy. “Jesus, who’s that?”

  “Don’t laugh,” Crane said, “but it’s my housekeeper.”

  “Your what?” Billy grinned.

  “You heard. She’s a sort of child and father minder, chief cook and bottle washer and cleaner. Oh and she doles out my pain meds. Major Martin’s organised it all. She’s a very experienced carer apparently, but can’t handle the lifting anymore, so he thought that we’d be a good fit. It means I can have Daniel back home so she’s getting the house ‘up to her standards’ as she calls it before he arrives.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Mrs Strange.”

  “And is she?”

  “No I’m not, young man. At least no stranger than you.”

  “What the hell!” Billy jumped out of his chair.

  “She keeps doing that,” grinned Crane. “Mrs Strange, this is my good friend Sgt Billy Williams. We’ll be seeing a lot of him, or at least I hope we will.”

  Mrs Strange sniffed and then nodded at Billy. Taking off her old-fashioned apron she said, “I’ve got that room ready for you, Sgt Major. It’s all yours.”

  “I keep telling you, Mrs Strange, I’m not a Sgt Major anymore.”

  She looked him up and down. “Sure you are. Even though you are retired it’s still your rank and that will do for me. Calling you anything else wouldn’t be polite. Now off you two go and let me have my kitchen back.”

  “My kitchen?” mouthed Billy at Crane.

  “Go on,” she shooed them out. “I’ll bring in coffee and your meds, Sgt Major.”

  14

  Billy walked into Crane’s dining room and looked around. “Am I right in thinking this is an incident room?”

  “Yes, pretty good isn’t it? I found a couple of large corkboards in the attic to use, as I haven’t any white boards. I’ve moved my computer down here and plugged the house phone into the spare connection. The dining table should work quite well as a conference table and double as workstations for whoever is here. I’ve taken everything out of the cabinet and packed it up. It’s now full of stationary items. I’ve already pinned up a copy of the article in the Aldershot News and transcripts of my two phone calls to 999.”

  “You really are serious about this.”

  “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Crane frowned at Billy. “I thought you’d understand.”

  “Of course I understand, boss. I worked with you long enough to know that this is you through and through.” Billy swept his arm to encompass the room.

  “It’s the only way I can cope,” Crane whispered, not sure if he was trying to convince Billy or himself. Shaking off his dark thoughts and refusing to give in to his depression, he said, “Anyway, I’m not your boss. I haven’t been for quite a while.”

  “In here you’re my boss,” said Billy.

  “So you’ll help?”

  Billy grinned, “Yes, boss.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Bloody hell, stop doing that!” Crane shouted as he’d just noticed a woman standing in the doorway.

  “Doing what?” she asked.

  Crane could see Mrs Strange’s face crinkle in consternation. “We can’t hear you coming, Mrs Strange,” he said, looking at her feet which were encased in slippers. “Perhaps if you wore shoes?”

  “And clump around all day on these wooden floorboards? The noise would drive me mad, not to mention what wearing shoes for hours on end would do to my bunions.” She placed the tray holding coffee, cake, Crane’s pills and a glass of water, on the large stripped pine table. “Anyway I’ve got better things to do than to talk to you about my footwear,” she sniffed and left, closing the door behind her.

  Crane sat at the table and passed Billy a coffee as he sat down beside him. “You’ll get used to her,” he said.

  “Really? I’m not so sure. Anyway, back to the matter in hand.”

  “Yes, I have to make sure you understand that this isn’t an official investigation, sanctioned by the police. Derek isn’t too happy with me to be honest. This will be off-grid. In fact it could get way off grid.”

  “That’s alright. We’ll worry about that later. For now, I’ll work with you on my days off, or before or after my shift. We’ll work something out. What about a computer person? We’ll more than likely need specialist help.”

  “I agree. I wanted to ask Holly Abbot, from the Major Crimes team, but I’m not so sure I should. The last thing I need is for her to get into trouble and lose her job.” Crane shrugged his shoulders.

  Billy nodded. “In that case I might be able to help with that as well.”

  “Really?”

  “Mmm,” Billy took a sip of coffee. “Bloody hell this is good. Better than your usual offering. Mrs Strange I take it?” Crane smiled and nodded. “Maybe there are pluses to having her around after all. Anyway, shall I talk to Dudley-Jones?”

  “What? The computer analyst who helped when the athletes were on the Garrison and when you were on that bloody train?”

  “The very same. He’s seconded to the Special Investigations Branch for a while.”

  “So he’s here? On the Garrison?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well I never,” said Crane. “I always liked him. He’s a bit scrawny for a soldier, mind.”

  “But bloody good at his job.”

  “Yes he is. And you think he’ll want to help?”

  “I can guarantee it.”

  “Really?”

  “Boss, he’d do anything for you, thinks you walk on water.”

  “Don’t be soft.”

  “No, really, he still talks about that train hijack and how you stood up to everyone and was so bloody brave going backwards and forwards to the train unarmed and unprotected.”

  “Well, if he agrees, he can come on one condition. That he keeps the Crane worship to a minimum. I’ll never live up to his expectations. At least not at the moment.” Crane coughed, then took a sip of the coffee, realising that Billy was right; it was a much superior blend than he was used to. Much more like the coffee Tina used to serve. Recently all he’d managed to do was to grab any old jar of instant off the local mini-market shelf. “Right, let’s see if we’ve had any emails.”

  15

  Crane had been updating Derek on his progress to date. He’d told him about Mrs Strange and about the team he had in place. But the conversation wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. Derek seemed decidedly off with him.

  “You know I can’t sanction such an operation,” he said.

  Crane wondered why Derek was speaking to him in a different tone. Officious. That was it. Derek was being officious and Crane didn’t know why.

  “I’m not asking you to,” Crane said. “I was just letting you know what I’m doing. You know, out of courtesy. One friend to another.”

  Derek shook his head. “I don’t know, Crane. Are you sure this is the best use of your time, until you’re ready to return to work?”

  “What do you mean?” Crane could feel himself bristling and tried to stop the anger he could feel building inside of him by taking slow, regular breaths. The way he was taught to do when trying to manage the pain in his leg when it spiralled out of control, leaving him gasping in agony. It wasn’t working for his anger though.

  “I was thinking more of Daniel. Shouldn’t he be your focus for now?”

  “But he is. He’s come back home and I’ve got Mrs Strange.”

  “Yeah and that’s a bit of a strange arrangement,” Derek said, his words dripping sarcasm.

  Ignoring the pun, Crane said, “Why? I thought you’d be happy I’ve got my domestic situation regularised.”

  Derek shook his head. “All you’ve done, Crane, is pass the problem onto someone else.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Daniel should be the only thing that matters at the moment. You have to keep going for him, so you can look after him, not go off on some wild bloody goose ch
ase!”

  “Jesus, Derek, I’m doing my best. All I’m saying is that I need some help with him and with the house.”

  “Help with the house? Help with him? What bloody help? You’re his father.”

  “I know, but I feel I don’t know him. I’m not sure how to bond with him without Tina there. How can I look after a toddler and keep working? This investigation is sort of a trial, to see if I can cope with both.”

  “No it’s not, you’re justifying to yourself passing his welfare onto someone else.”

  “How do you suggest I bloody cope then?” Crane was being pushed to the limit now. His attempt at regular breathing still wasn’t helping. Not at all.

  “The same as any single mother has to and there are millions of them out there that can. Stop feeling sorry for yourself!”

  That was it. The tipping point. Crane let go and ran with his anger. “Sorry? Sorry for myself? You bastard. You have no fucking idea how I feel with your happy family, your wife and 2.4 kids. Who are you to accuse me of feeling sorry for myself? Damn right I do. I also feel sorry for Daniel. I feel sorry for Tina’s parents.”

  Crane’s anger exploded like a geyser; his words nastier than he’d meant them to be, but it was as if he had no control over them.

  “I couldn’t save her, alright? Have you any idea how that feels? I let her down. She’s dead because of me. And now you’re accusing me of letting Daniel down. You bastard!”

  Crane decided he should leave before he did any more damage to his friendship with Anderson, even though he’d not had a chance to tell him about the emails they’d received. He pushed his way out of Derek’s office and ignored the cries of, “Crane! Come back!”

  Avoiding waiting for the lift where Derek could ambush him, he clattered down the stairs as fast as he could with his gammy leg, stabbing his stick on each step to balance himself on one side and grabbing the handrail on the other.

  By the time he got to his car he was trembling and sweating. His shirt clung to his back, his legs were weak and his hands shook as he tried to push the key into the lock. Sliding onto the seat, he put his hands on the steering wheel and placed his head on them. He ground his teeth against his anger until he felt calm enough to relax. He inched his head off his hands and then released their death grip on the wheel. Now, instead of angry he felt stupid and foolish and realised just how close to the edge emotionally he really was. He couldn’t repeat that flare up.

  He’d have to learn to rely on Billy to take the lead in any conversations with other similarly affected families, or with any organisations, he decided. Otherwise, he was in danger of ruining the investigation before they’d even got started.

  Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he opened the messenger app and sent one word to Derek. “Sorry.”

  His friend would understand how much he meant the apology and what it had cost for Crane to admit that he was wrong. As usual. He couldn’t afford to lose Derek and Jean. Not only did they mean so much to him, they were a connection to Tina. She was the thread that bound them together and he couldn’t bear to break it.

  16

  Clive cleared the call they were working on and turned to the young operator he was mentoring. “You alright, Siobhan?”

  She nodded, but to be frank Clive thought she looked terrified. He wondered if he would be able to recommend she be made permanent after her training. Probably not, unless she got her act together quickly.

  “Go on then, take the next call in the queue.”

  “999 what’s your emergency?”

  “I need an ambulance!”

  “What’s the address of the emergency?”

  “Oh, its 28 Meadow View, Winchester.”

  “And what is the nature of the emergency?”

  So far so good, Clive thought, but what was coming next would be the hardest part.

  “It’s my next door neighbour, Alan, Alan Beresford. He’s elderly and he’s fallen and I think he’s broken his hip.”

  “Is he conscious?”

  “Yes he is and he’s talking to me.”

  “That’s good, can you make him as comfortable as possible by keeping the weight off his hip and leg. Oh and put something under his head.”

  “Yes, I’ve done that and covered him with a quilt.”

  Clive smiled and motioned with his hand for her to move the call along.

  “That’s great, I’ve noted down the details and put you in the queue for an ambulance.”

  “Queue?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid that we’re only responding to emergencies where there is a threat to life at the moment, due to the huge volume of calls. I’m sure someone will be with you as soon as they can.”

  “But, but, how long will that be?”

  “It’s hard to say I’m afraid but maybe a couple of hours.”

  “A couple of…”

  Clive had cleared the call and turned to Siobhan, “Sorry, but you just weren’t quick enough. It’s a good job this is only a test run and not a real call. When the emergency rule is in place you have to deal with each call as fast as you possibly can. Speak quickly but clearly. You need to be in charge of the conversation, not the caller. Oh and you must be unfailingly polite as well.”

  The youngster ripped off her headset and put her head in her hands. “I don’t think I can do this, Clive. I’m just not forceful enough.”

  “Yes, you are,” he encouraged. “But you have to learn the script. It needs to become second nature, so you don’t have to think about what to say. That way it sounds as though you are in control, more forceful, if you like. Come on, headset on,” he handed it to her.

  “I don’t think I can,” she bleated.

  “Yes you can, it’s like riding a bike. After a fall you have to get back on straight away,” and he pushed the button to queue up the next trial call. He knew he was deliberately pressuring her, but she needed to be pushed. He needed to see what she was made of before she went ‘live’.

  He knew the emergency rule was brutal. He’d had to deal with enough of them in his time. The aim was to clear all calls except for a cardiac arrest and that’s what he was trying to teach Siobhan to do. People would get the ambulance they needed but not within 10 minutes, 20 minutes, or even 30 minutes, rather 1 or 2 hours. Unless they could get the patient to the nearest A&E themselves.

  Clive said, “I understand how hard it is to listen to someone on the line who is potentially losing a loved one. No one wants to hear something like that. No one wants to hear someone die whilst you are on the line and listen to the agony of the caller’s loss. You just don’t. But there are times when you’ll be able to save someone. When your instructions in CPR are followed and the ambulance crew get there in time. That’s why it’s important to try to help. It might not work every time, but the times that it does, well they make up for the ones you lose. Okay?”

  Siobhan nodded her head. Clive watched her take a deep breath, square her shoulders and adjust her headset. “I’m ready,” she said.

  The talk of losing patients reminded Clive to ask Terry about the false call he’d had. His boss hadn’t mentioned it since, but he wasn’t going to leave it alone. He’d keep pushing until he got a satisfactory answer. Glancing at his watch, he saw his shift was nearly over. Once he finished he’d stop at Terry’s office before going home.

  17

  Crane looked at the man he was sat opposite, and his first thought was - civil servant. He looked, well, bland, he supposed. None of his features stood out, he had mousy brown hair and his glasses were rimless. He looked as boring as the desk he was sat at.

  Crane had just finished sharing that his call had been answered by someone other than an official 999 operator. He told the Emergency Response Centre manager in Winchester that he was investigating the matter and had put out a call for others who may have been similarly duped.

  “So what do you want from me?” Terry took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “Access to your sy
stem for Dudley-Jones here.” Crane pointed to the young soldier who sat beside him, although he was dressed in civvies not in uniform.

  “Access to the system? You’ve got to be joking!”

  “No, I don’t believe I am. Dudley-Jones is an experienced British Army computer systems analyst and there isn’t a computer set-up that he hasn’t been able to crack. Isn’t that right, lad?”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Crane wished he could get them back. Swallow them down. Dudley-Jones didn’t handle personal scrutiny or praise at the best of times, and this time was no different.

  “Well, um, I guess,” he said squirming in his seat and dropping his head, clearly embarrassed.

  “He doesn’t like to shout about his achievements,” Crane quickly explained. “He’s very shy. Happier with computers than people.”

  Terry didn’t seem impressed; in fact, Crane thought he looked frankly sceptical. “I can get one of my people to do the investigation. I’ve already asked for it as a matter of fact.”

  “And what were the findings?”

  “I’ve not had a report yet,” Terry said, replacing his glasses and looking up at Crane.

  “That’s no surprise,” said Crane. “You can’t ask any insiders to investigate, you may well be talking to the perpetrator of this terrible crime, who isn’t about to admit what he or she has been doing.”

  “Oh, I never thought about it like that.” Suddenly Terry seemed more interested in their conversation, but was still wary.

  “Clearly not, but then you don’t have my investigator’s way of looking at things. That’s why you should use Dudley-Jones. Either give him remote access or put him in a room on his own here and call him, oh I don’t know, someone who is taking an independent audit, or something.”

  “We could say he’s looking at the best way of upgrading the system. Heaven knows it’s well overdue.”

  Everyone turned to look at the man who had spoken. He was leaning against the door, headset around his neck with the cord that plugged into the call centre desk hanging below it. His body sagged against the doorframe, as though under the weight of the job he did.