In the shower that morning he’d found the bruising across his chest and waist from the seatbelt in his accident was fading nicely and was now brown and yellow instead of the previous black and blue.
“Oh, by the way,” Anderson said. “I just got the DNA results on Barry Foster’s knife this morning.”
“Good news I hope?”
“Oh yes,” confirmed Anderson. “There was DNA from both victims on the knife. They had trouble finding the blood from Carol Newton, as her murder was so long ago, but they managed to find a speck, just big enough for testing, under the handle. Good job you lot like to keep your weapons. If Foster hadn’t been so in love with his bloody knife and looked after it all these years, we’d never have had the forensic evidence. Even though Foster has confessed, it’s always best to get forensic evidence to back up a confession, just in case it’s retracted by the time the case comes to trial.”
Crane’s hands were getting cold and he juggled his package as he dragged his gloves from his pocket and managed to put them on without dropping it.
“How’s Tina?” Anderson asked.
“She’s fine thanks. You know what Tina’s like, makes a bit of a fuss to begin with, but normally falls into step.”
“Bloody hell, you and your Army analogies - they even extend to your wife!”
“Well, in many ways the Army does rule our married life. The Army says where I go and when and whether she’s allowed to go with me, or not. Basically, as far as they’re concerned, I belong to the Army and she tags along behind. Sometimes I think they view the wives as baggage they’d rather a soldier didn’t have.”
“You mean you have enough with carrying your kit, without a wife weighing you down as well?”
Crane laughed. “Yes, something like that, Derek. But seriously, she’s fine. Pretty strong is Tina, despite everything she’s been through lately. You know, she actually told me that she understood in the end. Said she was proud that I’d refused to be brow beaten by the Army hierarchy and got Foster and exposed the conspiracy.”
“And what about Edwards?”
“What about him?”
“Has he praised you for your efforts?”
“In a roundabout way, I suppose. He said that there was no place in today’s Army for a cover-up and that the Branch had gained new respect by refusing to condone it.”
“Ha, that sounds like him.”
“I have to admit I find it all a bit ironic, as Edwards was the one who kept telling me to toe the Army line and to put up and shut up!”
“Harry Poole turned out to be very helpful didn’t he?”
“Didn’t he just,” agreed Crane. “What did you think of his final piece?”
“You mean do I think you came across well? Even though everyone thought I’d done the interview?”
“Yes,” smiled Crane. “That’s just what I mean.”
“Seriously, Crane, it was a good piece of journalism from Harry, balanced and factual. You did well to give him an exclusive like that.”
“Yes, thanks for playing along with that, Derek. I wanted to thank Harry for his help and I couldn’t be interviewed myself. But I really needed to repay him as I never know when I’ll need a friendly pen.”
“Not like Diane Chambers.”
“Dear God, that woman gets worse - her pen constantly drips venom - still she sells papers, I suppose.”
As the two men reached their destination, they saw they weren’t alone. Lance Corporal Green was standing where his wife was killed, reading the floral tributes.
He looked up as they approached and nodded at them.
“How are you, Green?” asked Anderson.
“Oh, you know, getting by,” the young man stuffed his hands in his pockets and bowed his head.
“Time will help, you know,” said Crane. “Even though at the moment you don’t think it will.”
“Yes, the Padre keeps telling me that. Look, I, um,” he scuffed his feet along the ground, “I’m not much good at this stuff, but I wanted to thank you.”
Anderson and Crane kept quiet.
“Thank you for, um,” Green coughed before continuing. “Thanks for finding her killer. I did love her, you know.”
“Yes, we know that, Green.”
“Anyway, thanks again,” and he turned and walked out of the underpass towards Tesco.
Crane and Anderson took a moment to look at the flowers laid along the underpass wall, then bent down and added their own.
On the short walk back to the police station Anderson asked Crane if he’d be in tomorrow as he had a case he wanted to discuss with him.
“Sorry, Derek, today’s my last day.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot about that. Have a good holiday, or leave, or whatever you lot call it. I’ll probably see you when you get back.”
“Oh I think you can count on that, Derek,” and Crane walked away, his hand raised in farewell.
Chapter 51
Kim was lying on the Padre’s settee watching morning television, when she heard his key in the lock. He whistled as he entered the house. Kim wasn’t sure she knew anyone else who whistled. But it was a happy whistle and that was all that mattered.
She’d been thinking back to her time in Frimley Park Hospital, when the nurse had just removed her CPAP air mask after five days of agony and given her a small oxygen one instead. She had never been so glad to get anything off her face as that bloody mask. She knew it saved her life, but it was truly horrible. She faintly remembered panicking when they had first tried to put it on her. The huge rush of air frightening in its intensity and she’d screamed for them to take it away. But a few sharp words from the male nurse treating her had made her acquiesce. Wear it and you’ll live, he’d said. Reject it and you die. She could relate to that sort of bluntness and had done as she was told.
“Hey, look at you,” Francis said as he came into the lounge. “How are you feeling?”
“Good thanks, but I can’t seem to shake this tiredness. Just walking to the bathroom still makes me weak and tired.”
He moved to sit with her on the settee. “Well you won’t shake it off for a while yet. The doctor did tell you that it would take a few months before you’d be back to your old self, regain your stamina and be ready to go back on duty.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Kim said, pushing her blond hair off her face and tucking it behind her ear. Glad to be able to wear it down now, not having to have it tied up all day. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be strong enough to go back into uniform again. I’ll have all the fitness tests and stuff to do. It all seems a bit daunting.”
“Hey, what’s with the defeatist attitude? That’s not like you. It’s probably just the way you’re feeling at the moment. You will get stronger, you know.”
“I know I will, but it’s not just about being physically stronger. I’m not sure if I can take the pressure of being in the SIB anymore. It’s so full on, all the time.”
“Well then, request a transfer.”
“Where to? I can’t transfer back into the regular RMP here. That would seem too much like a failure, a step backwards. If I leave SIB I’ll probably be posted to another location, another regiment.”
“Oh.”
“Oh is about right, Francis. I want to stay here. I just don’t know what the solution is.”
“Right, just hang on while I make a cup of tea, and then we’ll talk about it.”
“It’s alright, I don’t want one.”
“Of course you do,” he said. “Everything looks brighter over a cup of tea,” and he left the room.
Whilst she waited, she flicked through the television programmes. What a load of rubbish, she thought. It’s no wonder people’s brains turn to mush when they’re out of work if this is all they have to watch. She switched the set off with the remote control and then threw it on the floor.
“Oy, if that’s broken, you’ll have to pay me damages!” the Padre called from the doorway and she couldn’t help smiling
, despite her frustration.
He put her cup of tea on a low table he had pulled up next to the settee and sat down on the sofa by her feet. He had a packet of biscuits in his hand.
“What kind of biscuits have you got there, then? Come on, give me one. Are they chocolate?”
“No they’re not and no you can’t have one. You’ll get fat. Anyway, what about these problems of yours? What else is on your mind?”
“Well,” she began nervously picking at the blanket covering her. “I was thinking of leaving the Army.” She looked up at him, expecting him to be astonished. But his face was blank, so she went on, “But I don’t know if I could give up military life. It’s all I’ve known for so long. I don’t think I want to go back to Civvy Street. Oh, it’s all so confusing.”
She reached out for her cup and took a sip of her tea, to cover for the fact that she was not used to being so dithery, unable to make up her mind.
“What do you think I should do?” she asked him.
“Well, if you are serious about leaving the military, but want to stay involved in the Army, live the Army life but without the stress and responsibility of serving, then the solution is simple.”
“Is it?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “You should marry me.” He took her hand, turned it palm upwards and shook the packet he was holding. Out came, not a chocolate biscuit, but a diamond ring.
If you enjoyed Cordon of Lies you might be interested in Regenerate by Wendy Cartmell, also published by Endeavour Press.
Extract from Regenerate by Wendy Cartmell
Death
“Did you know it’s been three months since you died and three months since our daughter was born?” Kerry asked Alan, although in truth he wasn’t in the room. “I suppose you could say it’s our anniversary - of sorts.
“Death tends to be the main reason Army wives get a visit from the military police,” she told him, “so when I saw two of them walking up the path to our house, dressed in their sober black suits and dark coats, I knew the reason for their visit before they had the chance to knock. I went into labour right there on the front doorstep. Must have been the shock. God knows what the RMP must have thought. They’d come to tell me you’d been killed in Afghanistan and would have been expecting tears. Instead they got broken waters, labour pains and screams. Still, a soldier has to cope with all types of situations, so they dealt with me the best they could until an ambulance came and took me away.”
Kerry laughed and said, “That makes me think of that song, ‘they’re coming to take me away, ha ha,’” and she began singing, giving Alan a rendition of the song, which was nothing like the writer of the piece envisaged.
Sobering up, she then said, “One of these days someone might just do that, you know. Take me away. But it won’t be the Army who do it. Oh no. I’m persona non grata now with that lot. Since you died, that is.”
Kerry twisted a curl of ginger hair around her finger and hoped that if she stared at the empty armchair long enough and hard enough, she’d be able to see Alan. She’d sensed in him the flat for a while now, but never seen him. At least he hadn’t abandoned her altogether, she reasoned, so she continued talking to him.
“They had the decency to wait until after the funeral before they told me they were chucking me out of our Army house. Army policy or some such thing. It seems that once a husband dies the wife left behind is not their responsibility. Nothing to do with them. So they hid behind their regulations. It was in my best interests for them to serve me with an eviction order, they said. That way the council could re-house me, they said. The council would find a nice place for me and my daughter, they said.”
She was still addressing the chair she felt sure Alan was sitting in.
“So I’m out of their hair now. Off Aldershot Garrison and stuck in this dump in North Camp, a small village in between Aldershot and Farnborough. You remember North Camp don’t you?” she asked him. “You know, where that café is. The one everyone goes to for a cheap meal. Well I’m there, in a pokey apartment which has mould on the walls and a boiler that has a worse cough than I do. Come on let me give you a tour,” she said and jumped off the settee. As she did so, she revealed tears in the fabric that had been concealed beneath the large green jumper she wore over a pair of black leggings.
Kerry wandered around the room, showing Alan points of interest, including the damp patch that was marching down the wall, chasing away the wallpaper, which was forming the shape of a curling wave as it peeled off.
“Look, Alan, I cleaned the kitchen,” she said as she continued the tour. “It took me all day mind and I used a whole bottle of bleach,” she told him proudly as she walked the few steps to the kitchen door, inclining her head as she listened to his response. “I know the doors on the cabinets don’t fit properly and there’s a leaky tap,” she said. “So what if the flooring is ripped in places with big chunks missing? At least it’s bloody clean!” Kerry ended up shouting the last sentence and had to take a moment to reign in her temper.
She returned to the settee and stared at his chair.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. It’s just that I’ve been under a bit of pressure lately. Missing you, you know?”
She shrugged her slender shoulders, making her curls bounce.
“It’s just - oh I don’t know - you were such a good bloke, Alan. I know people always say that when someone has died. They don’t want to admit the deceased had any faults. Don’t speak ill of the dead and all that. But you really were a good husband and soldier. You would have made a good father too, if you’d been given the chance. But you weren’t.”
Kerry started rocking backwards and forwards, her arms wrapped around her slight body.
“So instead we’re both rotting away. You in your grave and me in this flat.”
Suddenly she lifted her head.
“Oh, I forgot. You never did see our daughter, Molly, did you? She doesn’t look much like you - or me, come to that. She just looks like a baby. She doesn’t have my long nose, hers is a small button one and she doesn’t have my high cheekbones, hers are all full and pink and shiny as apples. She’s not even got our hair. Yours was dark and mine is ginger. Hey, maybe that’s why she’s turned out to have blond hair. My green eyes and your brown ones have become her blue ones and she has lovely thick lashes which looks so cute when her eyes are closed.
“That reminds me, she hasn’t woken up for her last feed of the day. I better go and see if she’s alright. She might just be lying there quietly, looking at her mobile. She does that sometimes. Gets captivated with something and spends ages fascinated by it. Come on,” she said standing up. “Her cot is in my bedroom. Well, the only bedroom actually. I just managed to squeeze it in by having a single bed for me instead of a double one. Well, I don’t need a double bed anymore do I? Single, that’s me. Widowed at 26. Who’d have thought it?” she called to him as she walked to the bedroom.
“See, Alan, there she is, our lovely Molly,” Kerry said stopping by the cot. “She’s the only thing I have left of you. Well apart from your uniform, medals and dog tags.”
Her hand fingered the dog tags she wore around her neck, suspended on a silver chain.
“Oh and the flag your coffin was draped in. Mustn’t forget that,” and she looked at the flag that she’d placed on the dressing table beneath his photograph. It was still folded as neatly as when she’d been handed it by Alan’s friend from his unit after the funeral.
“Oh how sweet, look, Molly’s clutching her little blanket. It’s her favourite. It was hanging over the cot railings. She must have pulled it off. Why is it all over her face? She won’t be able to breathe. Silly Molly, I best take it off her,” Kerry said as she leaned into the cot, removing the blanket covering her daughter’s face and placing it on her own bed.
Turning back to the cot, she looked more closely at Molly.
“That’s strange, her lips are blue.” Reaching out for the baby and touching her arm, sh
e said, “She feels cold to the touch as well. Maybe if I wrap her in her blanket, I can warm her up and then she’ll be okay. What do you think, Alan?”
Kerry quickly grabbed the blanket and spread it out on the bed. Placing the immobile baby on it, she wrapped it around Molly and scooped her up.
Rocking the child gently in her arms she said, “Come on, Molly, breathe. Perhaps if mummy rubs your back and arms that might help to get your circulation going.”
She placed Molly on the single bed on her back and rubbed the baby’s cold limbs. Molly wasn’t the only one having trouble breathing. So was Kerry. She was holding her breath in fear and then realising what she was doing, gulped in a large breath of air.
When rubbing Molly to get her circulation going didn’t work, Kerry said, “How about if I pinch your nose and blow into your mouth. Or push on your little chest to get your heart beating again. Alan!” she screamed in panic as she once more picked up Molly, oblivious to her tears, which were wetting the baby’s head. “Nothing’s working… she’s not responding… I don’t know what else to do. I think I’ll just climb into bed with her and maybe my body will warm her up… it works for people with hypothermia… perhaps that’s what’s wrong with her. It can be pretty cold in this flat. Yes, I think that’s best. Come on, Molly, let’s get into bed.”
Kerry pulled back the lumpy duvet and climbed into the small bed. Lying down and pulling it over them both, she whispered, “Mummy will make you feel better, Molly. I promise.”
1
The baby was waiting for them when they arrived at the Royal Garrison Church. It was tucked into a corner by the north entrance door. Wrapped in a pink woollen blanket. One minute, the Padre of the church, Captain Francis Symmonds and his newly married wife, Kim, an ex-Sgt in the RMP, were strolling along, arm in arm in the bright sunshine; the next, they were confronted by what appeared to be an abandoned dead baby. The shock was profound. They stopped just inside the brick built vestibule and stone archway that protected the old oak door and offered shelter from the elements. There was an eerie stillness. There was no noise from inside the church and the sounds of the road beyond the north entrance were muted, hushed by the thickness of the stone and brick that surrounded them. The bundle was placed by the large, solid door, pushed up against the stone portico. All they could see was a small round face with a tuft of blond hair poking out of the blanket that covered not only the little body, but also the head. It reminded Francis of a mummified Egyptian baby.
Cordon of Lies: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Page 22