Glass Cutter: A Sgt Major Crane crime thriller (A Sgt Major Crane Novel Book 7)

by Wendy Cartmell

  Which only served to highlight the difference between Louise and the prostitutes. Since Sally and Lindsay had died, he’d been seeing another girl called April. She had helped him with his grief. Helped him see that there was light at the end of the tunnel. See that the girls’ deaths weren’t the end, but just one point on his journey through life.

  He supposed April looked a little like Louise. Slim build, brunette, heart shaped lips. But whereas Louise was prim and proper, the prostitute was full of life. Louise was weak, whining and older. Her desperation made him feel sick. She hung onto him, her eyes imploring him to want her. But it was her need that turned him off. By contrast April was eager, sexy, forward and young. He couldn’t resist her. He knew he wouldn’t stop seeing her. He couldn’t stop. He just couldn’t help it and his foot pressed harder on the accelerator in anticipation of their meeting.

  Forty Six

  Louise was watching. She was sitting in her car, a little way down the road and on the opposite side, as her husband drew his car to a stop by the line of girls plying their wares, who were all displaying what they thought were their best attributes. They stood, posed. Some of them had one leg in front of the other, chin slightly down, cheeks sucked in. Others had hands on their hips, pushing their breasts forward. Breasts that were barely covered by the lace and silk clothing they wore. Others were leaning forwards, bent at the waist, displaying tiny thongs that didn’t leave much to the imagination. But Peter didn’t seem interested in them. His head swivelled as he scanned the line-up and it didn’t take long before a girl ran up to the car and climbed in.

  Louise’s anger and hatred was building. Anger at the girls who flaunted their sexuality and sold themselves for money. Hatred against the prostitutes who were stealing her husband away from her. It was clear to Louise that Peter’s eyes were oblivious to his wife now. His sight blinkered, eyes clouded as though he had cataracts. He must no longer see Louise as a woman. No longer see her as a sexual partner.

  Normally she went home once Peter had made his choice, but this time she stayed. Waited. She was unable to dampen down the fuse that her anger had lit. Unable to stop the process that Peter had unwittingly begun. Glad that she was ready. Glad that she’d adhered to Peter’s principal of being ready for anything. To always be prepared. A past memory of being in the Girl Guides flittered through her mind. Be prepared. That motto had echoed throughout her life.

  It had been the eyes that had done it, Louise thought. The whore’s eyes had lit up when she’d seen Peter’s car. She’d run towards it, climbed into the passenger seat and turned to him. And then he’d kissed the girl. Right there in front of everyone. The other girls had smirked. Cat-called to him, called him a dirty old man, teased the young girl about the dangers of getting too fond of a regular.

  And because of that Louise had stayed, maintained her lonely vigil. Waited until he’d come back and returned his favourite prostitute to the line-up. So she could continue her disgusting work. So she could continue tempting more husbands away from their wives.

  Louise watched as the young whore got out of the car, putting the money Peter had just given her into her purse and called to the others girls that she was just going to get a coffee. As she disappeared around the corner and Peter drove away, Louise got out of her car. She followed the girl down the side street and saw her go into a brightly lit cafe. Louise stood a little way back, in the shadows, as the whore approached the serving counter and spoke to the woman behind it.

  Instant coffee was spooned into a large take away cup and milk was steam heated and then poured on top. There were no other customers in the establishment, which looked as though it was a throwback to the 1960’s. It looked like a typical working man’s cafe; Formica topped tables, plastic chairs fastened to the floor, menus adorning the walls. Starbucks it was not.

  As the girl came out with the take away cup, the street was empty. She walked up the side street to join her... what would you call them, Louise mused? Co-workers? Colleagues? She smirked to herself. Whatever they were called, they’d be missing one of their number any minute now.

  Louise pushed herself off the wall, walked up to the prostitute and knocked against her, spilling the drink and scalding the girl’s hands and arms.

  She looked up at Louise. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’ she asked. ‘Look at me, I’m covered in the bloody stuff and it hurts like hell.’

  ‘Because I needed to get your attention,’ said Louise.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So I could do this,’ Louise replied and stabbed the whore through the heart with her shard of glass.

  Forty Seven

  ‘999 what’s your emergency?’

  The operator was treated to a volley of screams. They sounded female, so he said, well shouted, actually, ‘What’s happened, love? You’ve got to tell me, so I can help you.’

  He was rewarded with the sounds of sobs, then gulps, then the voice said, ‘It’s my friend April. I think she’s dead.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Because she’s got a bloody great piece of glass sticking out of her chest! Is that a good enough reason?’

  ‘Yes, that’s a good enough reason.’ The operator knew that the best way of dissolving the caller’s anger was to repeat back to the girl what she’d said, as if agreeing with her. ‘I’ll send out an ambulance. Now tell me where you are.’

  The girl managed to give him a street name in Aldershot. ‘I’m just down from the all night cafe,’ she finished.

  The operator had been typing on his console all the time she was talking and so could reply with, ‘The ambulance is on its way. Can you stay there please and direct the paramedics?’

  ‘Um, not sure I can, it’s, it’s,’ he could hear sobs starting again. ‘It’s so horrible, you know?’

  Luckily the operator didn’t know, but again had to agree. ‘Yes, I know it must be very upsetting for you. Can you move just a short distance away from April until they get there?’

  ‘Uh, oh, okay,’ and he could hear her footsteps that sounded like horse hooves over the echoing mobile phone line.

  ‘Stay on the phone with me until they get there. They’re only a couple of minutes out now, okay?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  While the man was talking to the girl, he was also dispatching a police car to the scene, without telling her. He knew the area she was calling from was the Aldershot red light area. She was more than likely a prostitute, as was her dead friend. He didn’t want the girl to do a runner, which she might do if she knew he’d called the police. He was sure the local coppers would want to interview her.

  Then through the line he could hear sirens, firstly in the distance and gradually getting louder. ‘Sounds like they’re close, can you see the ambulance yet?’

  ‘Yes, it’s seen me. It’s here. They’re getting out now.’

  ‘Okay, thank you so much, the ambulance personnel will take over now. Goodbye and good luck.’

  He was about to add that he hoped her friend was okay, but knew that was far from likely and he cleared the call, then pressed a new button on his console and said, ‘999. What’s your emergency?’

  Forty Eight

  As the police traffic car pulled to a halt behind the ambulance, skidding slightly on the wet road from the incessant drizzle that had set in about 30 minutes before, PC Colin Daniels grabbed his door, opened it and ran to the incident, leaving his less experienced colleague to turn off the engine and report to control that they had arrived. As he drew near, he could see a cluster of paramedics and civilians around someone lying on the damp ground. A girl by the looks of her long legs and high heeled shoes, that he could just glimpse through the crowd. As he heard his fellow police officer arrive at his shoulder, puffing and panting, the people around the girl parted, like the red sea, giving PC Daniels and his partner a full on view of the horrific scene before them.

  A week ago the nightly briefing had included details of local prostitut
es being murdered with a shard of glass, urging them to be vigilant when patrolling around the industrial area of Aldershot. Even Daniels, although not a detective, could see this incident had the same MO as the others. He stepped forward and had a quiet word with a paramedic. Then speaking into his shoulder mike he said, ‘746 to control, we have a code 187. Requesting back-up and patch me through to DI Anderson.’

  After a few garbled replies and the odd hiss and click, Anderson’s voice came through the mike. ‘Attending an incident in the red light district, sir,’ Daniels said, having to raise his voice over the sound of his young partner throwing up in the gutter. ‘Looks like this is another one for you, sir. We’ve got a girl with a piece of glass sticking out of her.’

  ‘Fuck,’ was Anderson’s reply.

  ‘Couldn’t agree more, sir. Anyway, an ambulance is on the scene, but they can’t do anything for her.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Anderson said.

  ‘Very, sir. They can’t do CPR as the glass appears to have pierced her heart and they can’t feel a pulse. We’re waiting for the doc to arrive to call her dead at the scene. I’ve called for back-up and I’m about to cordon the area off.’

  ‘Well get on with it and stop talking to me before anyone else corrupts my crime scene. And get the bloody ambulance crew out of the way!’

  ‘Will do, sir,’ and Daniels cut the connection and went to do Anderson’s bidding, thinking that the detective could have asked nicely. But also knowing that was all the thanks a foot soldier would get from a detective.

  By the time Crane arrived, Major Martin was already there and the crime scene tent had been erected. Crane wrapped his coat around him to ward off the chill of the night and the drizzle and waited for Anderson to come out of the tent.

  He wandered around as he waited, puffing on a cigarette and looking at the crowd that had gathered. Gawkers, upset girls, thwarted customers, were all craning their necks to try and get a glimpse of something. Anything. Perhaps they were waiting for the news vans to arrive so they could be interviewed as ‘concerned locals’.

  When Anderson emerged from the tent, he shuffled and crinkled his way over to Crane in his white suit.

  ‘Another one then?’ Crane said.

  ‘Afraid so,’ said Anderson. ‘Want a look?’

  ‘Nah, not this time. I’ll look at the photos tomorrow. Any CCTV cameras around?’ Crane looked up at the nearby buildings expectantly.

  ‘A few. I’ve already called for footage from any cameras in the vicinity to be pulled as soon as possible by the CCTV centre in Farnborough.’

  ‘So if we find there’s nothing conclusive on the CCTV again,’ Crane said, ‘Please tell me you’ve got some forensics this time?’ Being rather fed up of finding young girls dead in the street with glass used to cut them open, his tone reflected his frustration.

  ‘Nothing here, so far, yet again, I’m afraid.’ Anderson looked as pissed off as Crane. ‘But late this afternoon I had a report from the laboratory on the clothes from the first girl who was killed. We’ve a couple of finger prints. They were on a shoe and don’t belong to Sally Smith, or any of her friends, we’ve checked. It was easily done as they’re all on file having been arrested at one point or another for soliciting.’

  ‘Brilliant, we’ve got prints, but at the moment you can’t find a match?’

  ‘No.’

  After thinking for a moment, Crane came to a decision. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I’m going to have to help you out, aren’t I?’

  ‘How are you going to do that?’

  ‘Best you don’t know, Derek. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Don’t you want to interview the girl who found the body with me?’

  ‘No need,’ Crane said, ‘I’m sure you’re more than capable,’ and he wandered back to his car, still deep in thought.

  Forty Nine

  Louise ran away from the girl she’d just killed, before she realised that she should walk. Quickly, but walk. She didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to herself. She managed to get to her car unseen. At least she hoped she had. But as she opened the car door and sat in the driver’s seat, the courtesy light revealed that she was covered in blood. Dark, sticky patches covered her camel wool coat and there was blood on her gloves and up her wrists. This was the first time it had happened and Louise was beginning to panic. Sticking glass into the eye of Sally and the ear of Louise hadn’t been nearly as messy. This last girl had been a bit of a crime of opportunity and she hadn’t given any thought to her clothes. At the time, she had just been glad that she had taken the precaution of putting her gloves on and that she had her glass shard under the car seat.

  The coppery smell of the bloody made her gag and she ripped off the gloves and went to throw them out of the window, before realising she couldn’t do that as they had to be hidden or destroyed and so she had no choice but to drop them in her lap. She couldn’t take her coat off either yet until she found somewhere safe to dispose of it. She wondered if there was any blood on the car upholstery, or on the car door, but deciding that there was nothing she could do about it for now, she started the car.

  Jerking away from the curb, it took a few moments to get her emotions under control, while the car kangarooed drunkenly along the road. But by the time she arrived at the edge of the industrial area, she had calmed down sufficiently to drive properly. Instead of turning left and going home, she turned right to divert around Farnborough, heading for the edge of the shopping centre. There she parked the car and managed to dump her gloves and coat underneath some restaurant rubbish in a large industrial sized bin. She hurried back to the car, not noticing that as she’d stuffed the clothes into the bin, a leather glove had dropped onto the road.

  Peter arrived back at the house, wearing a grin of satisfaction, as wide as April’s legs, all the way home. When he pulled into the drive, cutting the engine and coasting his way to the door, he was surprised to find that Louise’s car wasn’t in its usual place on the drive. But instead of being concerned he just shrugged and was glad, for that meant there would be no row about him having been out all evening.

  As he walked into the house, the lights were still on, although the television had been turned off. He walked into the kitchen which was spotless as usual. He wondered where Louise had gone to and thought perhaps she had nipped out for coffee or a drink with a friend. But he dismissed that idea. Louise didn’t have friends, just the wives of his officers and she certainly wouldn’t think of going to any one of those for support, if she was pissed at him that was. That sort of behaviour would never do. A more realistic thought was that she must have gone for a drive, to ward off the boredom or the sadness. If that was the case, at least the tears would be shed elsewhere and not at home.

  But then he had an epiphany. For he realised that he didn’t much care where she was and that thought made him wonder when he’d stopped loving his wife. Since coming to the Garrison, he realised. It was the house, or Aldershot, or the new job, or the girls. Take your pick. It could be any of those. Obviously he would be concerned if she was hurt or injured in a car accident or anything, but he was sure she was fine.

  Peeling off his clothes in the upstairs bathroom, Peter had a quick shower. As Louise was still not home when he finished, he went to bed feeling pleasantly weary after his night time exertions and fell asleep without giving his wife another thought. He drifted off to sleep with the feel of April still on his lips and the smell of her perfume in his nostrils.

  Fifty

  First thing the next morning, upon arriving at Provost Barracks, Crane stood for a while mulling over the incident boards that he’d insisted on setting up, even though the murder investigations were primarily a police matter. Crane had his method of working, which had served him well in the past and he didn’t intend to change it. He had a mug of freshly brewed black coffee in his hand and as he savoured the taste and the aroma, he studied each board in turn and ticked off in his mind the salient points.

  The
first death had been that of prostitute Sally Smith. She was stabbed through the eye with a shard of glass. No forensic evidence was found at the scene. A small dark hatchback was seen on CCTV and witnesses said the number plate was German. They had two finger prints that were found on Sally’s shoe, as yet unable to find a match for them. No family members had been identified.

  The second murder had been that of Lindsay Hatton, Sally’s friend and fellow working girl. She had been stabbed through the ear by the side of the KFC in the town centre. Again a dark hatchback type car was seen in the vicinity. Again they had no forensic evidence, not even a finger print this time. Again they were unable to trace Lindsay’s parents.

  The latest murder victim was April Shower. Crane wondered if her parent’s had given her that name, or if she had adopted it. She was very young. Last night Major Martin reckoned she was only about 16, so maybe it was her non-de-plume, a name she thought was cool. This murder was much messier, April having been stabbed through the heart, again with a shard of glass. It was a much dirtier, disordered scene than the previous two as well and Crane knew they had to find the killer’s clothes. There would have been a lot of blood on them. Major Martin would no doubt find bits from a dark coloured leather glove on the glass, during the post mortem this morning. Crane put a question mark against the gloves. They must be somewhere. But where? It was too early yet for the CCTV footage to have been isolated and viewed so he could only put a question mark against that as well.

  With nothing else to add for the time being, Crane went upstairs to brief his boss, Captain Draper on the latest murder.

  Once he’d done that, Crane then voiced his suspicions to Draper that Mrs Marshall must be involved somewhere along the line. The car was right, even if the number plate was wrong and she’d been in Aldershot at the time of the first and second murders. Tellingly, the Colonel was away at the same time.