As Crane and Anderson moved away from the girls and crossed the street to go back to Anderson’s car, they found they had another girl waiting for them. This time not a working girl, but Diane Chambers, crime correspondent for the Aldershot News. She was casually leaning against Anderson’s car and stood up straight at their approach.
‘Good evening, Inspector and Sgt Major,’ she called, her small digital recorder in her hand as always. ‘I wonder if either of you could give me an update on the case,’ she said.
‘Sorry, Diane,’ said Crane. ‘There’s nothing other than the press release issued earlier today.’
‘Which said precisely nothing, Sgt Major, which I take it is what you’ve got?’
‘No comment,’ Crane replied. Then softening slightly said, ‘Come on, Diane, you know the score.’
‘I certainly do,’ she said smiling. ‘You say nothing and I write what I like.’
Even Crane had to smile at that.
‘They’re frightened, though, you know,’ she said, ‘the girls. But they won’t stop working, mind you.’
‘Neither will we,’ Crane said. ‘We are continuing to work hard to bring the perpetrator to justice.’
‘And that’s it? That’s my quote?’
‘Afraid so, Diane,’ Anderson interjected.
‘Oh well, I’ll just have to ask Billy,’ she said impishly, for Diane’s boyfriend was none other than Sgt Billy Williams, a member of Crane’s Special Investigations Branch team. Although their relationship had been more off than on.
‘Ask away, but he’s not on this case and even if he was he wouldn’t tell you anything.’
‘No I know, Crane. It’s alright; your Sergeant is safe with me.’
Crane seriously doubted that and thought she was the least safe person for his young Sergeant to be with. But such was life. Billy was a big boy and old enough to make his own decisions, even if they turned out to be disastrous ones.
Twenty One
Louise decided she wanted to see Peter’s reaction when he found out his little prostitute was no more. There had been an article in the local newspaper that day about her murder and Louise thought it would be a good idea to let Peter see it, while she was there. Would he be upset? Or relieved that his little problem had gone away? Would he realise that she had made that happen? Her head was spinning with the possibilities and it was with some relief that she heard his car come down the drive. The time for speculation was over.
She quickly checked her appearance in the mirror. Perfect, as required. She glanced around the downstairs of the house. Also perfect. There was nothing out of place, so Peter wouldn’t have any reason to criticise her. All was as it should be in the Colonel’s house. She was ready for inspection. A giggle escaped her lips. It came out more manic than light hearted laughter, she realised and she struggled to get a grip of her emotions.
Louise opened the door, watching as Peter climbed out of the car. He glanced up and nodded to her as he grabbed his bag off the back seat. He walked through the door, kissed her perfunctorily on the cheek and dropped his kit on the floor.
‘For the wash,’ he said. But he didn’t take it through to the laundry room and just left it on the floor in the hall. She also ignored the bag and took the opportunity to give him a hug, relishing the male smell of him after three days on exercise and she was pleased and a little relieved if she was honest, when he embraced her back.
As they pulled apart, she said, ‘Want some tea? I’ve just made a pot.’
‘Please,’ he said and followed her into the kitchen. ‘Then I really must have a shower.’
‘Yes, you should,’ she agreed a smile in her voice. ‘So, how did the exercise go?’ she asked as he sat down and she handed him a mug.
‘Alright, you know,’ he said and drew the paper towards him.
‘Everyone get back safely?’
‘Of course,’ he replied as he looked down at the newspaper. She watched as his eyes scanned the page and then stop at the article about the death of a local prostitute. It was short on fact and long on supposition and had been written in an exuberant style by the so called Chief Crime Reporter Diane Chambers.
She watched Peter’s expression carefully as he read and drunk his tea. But his face was hard and closed, inscrutable. Then again, it would be for he was a soldier after all. She always reckoned that with that blank expression of his he could have been a detective. At least of the type she’d seen on the television, for she’d never met a police detective in real life.
Later, after their evening meal was eaten and she was clearing the table he said, ‘Sorry, darling, I have to go out tonight.’
‘Oh,’ she said, not really surprised for she had an inkling where he might be going. ‘But you’ve only just got back.’
‘I know, but we’re having a debriefing tonight. I could be late. Don’t wait up. I don’t want to ruin your beauty sleep,’ he smiled as he went upstairs to get his coat.
Louise was convinced he was going to try and find out about his little prostitute, for she knew that any debriefing would take place tomorrow morning. He’d forgotten she knew the army always held debriefing from exercises the next day. Not the night they arrived back. It was probably the only outward sign she would see of his discomfort. It seemed he wanted to see if the girl who had been killed was the one that he’d liked.
She waved him off from the step of the house before unhurriedly getting her coat and car keys and leaving the house herself. She knew the streets he was heading for. It wouldn’t take her long to get there as well, for she wanted to see for herself what he did.
Pulling to a stop on the opposite side of the road to the line of girls, she saw his car was just where she’d expected to find it. Peter seemed to be asking the girls if they knew where someone was. Everyone looked around and then shrugged. But the girls must have woven their poisonous threads around him, for he decided to take another one.
The one he chose had jet black hair, cut into a bob. Was it a wig? Probably, Louise thought, for no whore would be able to afford such a good haircut at least not one standing on the street in an industrial estate in Aldershot. The prostitute he chose wore a top that was cut away at the sides, rather like a trendy bathing suit, showing off her curves and when she bent down Louise could see the girl’s stocking tops and suspenders. Such underwear had always been a draw for Peter, although it had been some time since he’d asked Louise to wear them, she realised. After a few moments, whilst they were no doubt haggling over the price, the girl climbed into Peter’s Lexus and the whore and her husband roared off down the road.
Twenty Two
Peter kept the pedal to the metal, as the saying went, until they were away from the other girls, heading towards Ash. As they reached The Ranges, Peter pulled into the car parking area, which was deserted. They were alone, with only the sounds of the night for company; the hoot of an owl; the screech of a bat; the rustlings in the undergrowth and the tick, tick, tick, of the metal of his engine as it cooled down.
‘You’re sure it was her?’ Peter turned to look at the girl in the passenger seat. ‘It was Sally? She’s dead?’
‘Yes, sorry, were you a regular?’
Peter shrugged. ‘We’d met a few times, I guess. Who do the police think did it?’
‘It has to be a punter. She went off with one and was never seen again. She wouldn’t have taken off afterwards; she’d have come back to the line. 10 at night would have been far too early to finish. We don’t normally clock off until around 2am.’
Peter looked out of the window. He could see the girl reflected in it. ‘It’s just so horrible that she should have been killed in that way. So pointless,’ he said.
He felt a hand on his leg and turned back to his companion.
‘Don’t be sad,’ she said. ‘Sally’s probably in a better place now and anyway I’m here. I’ll keep you warm,’ she smiled beguilingly, her hand travelling up from his knee to his groin.
‘I’ll do whatever y
ou want,’ she leaned forward and whispered, ‘I can make you happy,’ and her tongue flicked at his ear lobe.
Despite himself, Peter felt a frisson of excitement. He didn’t want to, he hadn’t imagined that Sally could be so easily replaced. But then again, Lindsay she said her name was, seemed very well practiced in the art of seduction. Her hand was on the move again, finding the buttons of his shirt, undoing them, allowing her fingers to fondle the hairs on his chest. A groan escaped his lips. She unzipped his trousers and he felt her hair flick across him. At which point he was lost. Sanity went out of the window. He turned and reached for her, lowering her car seat so her body lay flat. She shrugged off her top and he eagerly fell on her breasts.
Later, when he dropped Lindsay off, back at the line of girls, she got out of the car and after closing the door, leaned in to speak to him.
‘See you again?’ she asked her eyes full of mischief and promise.
‘Try and stop me,’ he grinned as he put the car in gear and pulled away. Although his pleasure with Lindsay was still tinged with sadness about Sally, Peter was relieved that he had so easily found another young girl who was clearly attracted to him. He couldn’t believe his luck. As he drove home, he was already planning when he could meet her again.
Louise made her lonely way back to the house. She hadn’t dare stop anywhere, just in case she was seen and someone casually mentioned to Peter that his wife had been out and about on Sunday night and wondering what she had been doing. She didn’t want any unwanted spotlight falling on her behaviour. She needed to be able to keep an eye on her husband, unobserved and without raising any suspicions.
As she drove, she felt cold and not because the temperature was near freezing, but because of his actions. He was making her feel unloved, unwanted, cast aside. He had always been a little distant, it was his nature, but things had never been this bad. Their marriage had gradually cooled as the years went by, a bit like a soufflé deflating in slow motion. But what had really tested their relationship, was the issue of children. The fact that she couldn’t get pregnant, he treated as her failure, which in a way it was, at least physically speaking. But she’d not done anything to cause it. She’d not had some awful sexual disease that had rendered her barren. It seems she was just made that way. Her reproductive organs were flawed and that’s precisely how he made her feel with his attitude. Instead of helping her through that terrible news by listening to her outpouring of emotion, he’d refused to discuss the subject. He’d said there was no need to talk about it. There was nothing to be done to rectify the situation. That was the end of the matter, as far as he was concerned.
She’d suggested adoption, but he’d said no for he wanted his child and no one else’s. She’d proposed a surrogate. At that idea he’d looked at her as though she were mad, which perhaps she was, slightly, by then. However, she soon learned not to talk about it, not to bring the subject up. Learned to never mention babies, for when she did, he would turn on the television, pick up a book, or even walk out of the room. And so, gradually, it became something they never discussed. It was a subject never even thought about. But it was there, all the same, between them. Keeping them apart like an invisible wall, or the dome in Stephen King’s novel. She was inside the dome and Peter was on the outside.
She parked her car back in its usual spot on the driveway and walked into the house. As she looked around their new quarter with fresh eyes, she saw what a lovely home she had. As an army wife, as Peter’s wife, she had everything she could wish for; a good looking husband; a lovely house; a social life. She had friends; well she had the other wives on the garrison. There was always someone to talk to in a general sense, but no one she could tell her hopes and fears to. There was no one she could confide in, no best friend.
She went to close the curtains in the living room, glancing out at the dark quiet night. Out there, outside of this marriage, she would be alone, penniless, homeless. The thought made her shiver with fear and she let the curtains fall closed against the night. No, she had to make the best of things. To do that, their marriage must be allowed to get back on the right track. Peter needed to see her with new eyes and he couldn’t do that while they were blinkered, while she was hidden from him by the cheap wiles of his latest whore.
Now she understood what Matilda had gone through. Matilda had said that those who’d abused her couldn’t be allowed to get away with it. They had to pay and it was the same for Louise. The prostitutes couldn’t be allowed to get away with taking her husband from her. They had to pay. And pay they would. She would find the woman with the black wig when Peter was next away.
Twenty Three
I knew I had to get out of the house, but I was still too ashamed to go out in daylight. Too afraid of the reactions I would provoke. My solution was to walk the streets at night. That way my disfigurement could not be easily seen and if anyone did see my face, then it would be too dark for me to see the reaction in their eyes. To see the horror, the pity, the questioning looks. Whatever people thought, I didn’t want them to see me and I didn’t want to see them.
Sauntering past the school one evening, his school, I saw a notice calling a Governor’s Meeting. It was to be held in two days’ time. Dampening down my exuberance that I’d found a way to get the Headmaster on his own so easily, I hurried home to make my plans.
The school was on a fenced plot. But I knew the pedestrian access wasn’t locked when the school was in use. It was only the entrance to the building itself that was locked. Hedging grew all along the perimeter fence and also along the path to the main entrance. Either would give me enough cover while I waited. The meeting would be held in the hall, or in the staff room. Both rooms were good for me as both were away from the main entrance. I thought about breaking in, perhaps through one of the classrooms and waiting inside the school for the meeting to break up. Waiting for everyone to go and leave him on his own. I was sure that would happen, for he would have to lock up once every one else had left the building. But I decided it wasn’t worth the risk. There could be alarms that might go off and alert them to my presence.
So my plan was to wait in the shadows, outside the main door, which he would have to lock behind him and maybe even key in an alarm code. I didn’t need long. I just wanted to have the opportunity to surprise him, while he was concentrating on the task of making his school secure overnight.
I was very agitated during the two day wait, unable to settle to even the simplest of tasks. The more I thought about my plan, the more I relived the awful things he had done to me. Reminders of my time with him came in wisps of memory, planting cobwebs of fear that I couldn’t break free from, sticky skeins of silk that I couldn’t get rid of.
At last the days passed and the evening I had waited so long for was upon me. It was a damp, dark night which I saw as a good omen. Low clouds covered the moon and people I passed were huddled in coats or hidden under umbrellas. No one took any notice of a woman hurrying down the street with her coat collar turned up, shielding her face as though to keep it out of the rain.
I slipped through the gate and was relieved to find the lights still on inside the school. Bars of yellow illuminated the playground, spilling out of the windows. I decided to risk a peek and saw several people sitting around tables that had been pulled together to make a large rectangle. As I watched, they began to stand, pushing back chairs that scraped along the floor and collecting bags, notebooks and briefcases. My teeth were on edge with the horrible screeching sound their chairs made. I quickly moved back to the corner of the building, next to the main entrance and waited in the shadows.
As I watched the governors leave, I ran my hand over the shard of glass I had in my pocket. It’s cold hard surface focusing my mind and my hatred. And then it was time. The lights went out, one by one, until only the light above the door was still on. The bang of the main door echoed across the empty playground as he closed it behind him and I heard the jingle of keys in his hand.
I emerged from t
he bushes and with the element of surprise, I managed to push him hard against the door and pin him there. Grabbing a handful of hair from the back of his head, I slammed his forehead into the glass door, which stunned him. I turned his head to one side, so his ear was facing me. Into that orifice, which had heard my cries more times than I cared to remember, I plunged my long pointed shard of glass. It went through his eardrum, into his brain. I hoped the screams of his victims would accompany him on his journey to Hell, for surely no one as evil as he would ever be allowed into Heaven.
Twenty Four
Staff Sgt Jones’ head was as bald as ever. Crane had often wondered if he shaved it every day, but now was more inclined to think that the man was just bald. He had never seen Jones’ head with a five o’clock shadow on it. Crane found Jones in the middle of Provost Barracks, surrounded by his military policemen at shift change for the patrols. He stood for a moment watching as Jones issued the orders of the day and then dismissed his men who hurried out of the room, eager to take up their duties. The things that differentiated military personnel from civilians, Crane thought, were the mind-set, the willingness, the endeavour, the enjoyment. Being in the military was a lifestyle choice as much as a career choice. He knew some people would shoot him down, talk about entrepreneurs, businessmen and salesmen. Say that there were plenty of civilians around who were hard working and enjoyed their jobs. But Crane always felt that the forces were the only place you would find such loyalty and devotion in so many people. So much camaraderie that it was like one big family.
As Jones walked over, the two men decided to have a smoke and talk outside, Jones bringing with him a slim file.
Glass Cutter: A Sgt Major Crane crime thriller (A Sgt Major Crane Novel Book 7) Page 7