A Soldier's Honour Box Set 2 (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Box Set)

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Right, Crane, my initial finding is that it looks like a stiletto type knife. There is nothing on the cut which indicates a serrated edge. I’ll have to measure the depth of the cut into the heart and take a closer look at the skin before I make a definite analysis and tell you how long the blade was. Now, take a look at her face, will you, just here,” the Major pointed to Mel Green’s chin. Against the porcelain white of her skin were bluish marks that seemed to decorate her face as though an artist had brushed her skin with blue powder. “What do you make of them?”

  With a sinking heart, Crane knew exactly what to make of them, as did the Major. The killer had crept up behind Mel, grabbed her chin in his left hand and pulled her face towards him, causing the bruising. This manoeuvre exposed her neck and rendered her unable to struggle out of his grip. It was then a simple matter for him to stab her in the heart with his right hand, take a couple of steps backwards and lay her down on the ground on her back.

  “I’d say this was done by someone in the forces, or at the very least someone who has had military training,” the Major said. “This was a quick, clean and quiet murder with a stiletto type knife. It’ll all be in my report.”

  “Thank you, Major, you’ve been very helpful,” and a relieved Crane pulled off his protective clothing and left the mortuary, glad to be back out in the fresh air. As he walked to his car he mourned the fact that someone from the Army had used his skills against an innocent civilian, instead of where they were intended to be used, against the enemy in combat. So who, Crane wondered, saw Mel Green as an enemy and who was waging war in Aldershot?

  Chapter 5

  Crane burst into Anderson’s office brandishing a buff folder. “Got it,” he said, clearing a chair and sitting down in Anderson’s claustrophobic cubicle.

  “What?” Anderson lifted his head from the papers he was absorbed in before Crane’s rude interruption.

  “The autopsy report.”

  “Oh, right, so have I. I’m trying to reading it now, if you’ll give me a bit of peace, that is,” Anderson grumbled.

  “Good, Major Martin emailed it to you as well then.” Crane deliberately ignored Anderson’s rudeness.

  “Emailed?”

  “Yes, Derek, emailed the autopsy report. What do you think? I’d say the killer was military, or ex-military. The precision of the wound indicates the killer was someone who knew what he was doing.”

  “Mmm, you may be right, there. It’s a shame we haven’t got the murder weapon.”

  “Nothing’s been found yet then?” Crane knew Anderson had police probing and prodding their way around the area of the crime scene. “They need to check the bins around Tesco.”

  “What are you talking about? That was done 10 years ago.”

  “10 years ago? Sorry, Derek, but you’re talking in riddles. What the hell are you on about?”

  “Carol Newton’s crime scene. I’ve just told you, I’m reading her autopsy report.” Anderson indicated the papers on his desk.

  “Who the hell is Carol Newton? I’m talking about Melanie Green.”

  “Carol Newton was the murder victim from the cold case,” Anderson spoke as though addressing a child. “Remember, the case I told you about last night? Couldn’t get it out of my head, so I spent the morning clambering through the archives. I managed to find most of the stuff, including the main file.”

  “So that’s why you weren’t at the autopsy this morning, I did wonder. But don’t you think you should be concentrating on our live case, not a cold case? I’m going to need some help with the Melanie Green murder.”

  “I am concentrating on the Melanie Green murder,” Anderson lifted his head and patted down his grey wispy hair.

  “By delving into a cold case?”

  “Yes, let’s get a cup of tea and I’ll reveal all.”

  Whilst they waited for tea, ordered from the young detective constable stationed outside Anderson’s office, Anderson located and printed off Major Martin’s email and Crane made a copy of Carol Newton’s autopsy report. Both men placed the reports side by side and after a slurp of his tea, Anderson began his explanation.

  “Carol Newton was killed in 2003 in the underpass under the main road, coming out at the top of Aldershot town centre.”

  “The same underpass that Mel Green was killed in?”

  “Yes,” nodded Anderson.

  “So there is one similarity. Are there any more?”

  “Lots, unfortunately,” Anderson said. “Carol Newton was an Army wife, so was Mel Green.”

  “Okay,” said Crane. “What about age? Mel Green was 28.”

  “Carol Newton was 26, so more or less the same.”

  “Right then, Mel Green was stabbed with what the pathologist described as a stiletto type knife.”

  “That’s the same as well, so was Carol Newton. A single stab wound to the heart. She did have a crushed hand, though. But we think that when her attacker confronted her, she was trying to collect the contents of her bag, which were found spilled all over the ground. She had dirt on her knees, as though she had knelt down to pick things up. So he could have crushed her hand with his boot then.” After pausing to check something in both reports, Anderson continued, “Both women were blond and approximately the same height and build.”

  “Bloody hell,” said Crane and took a gulp of his own cup of tea, wishing it was something stronger.

  By the end of their meeting a plan of action was agreed, mostly based on cooperation rather than following up on leads, as they didn’t have any. Crane believed leads were like precious stones, buried deep in the bowels of the case file and it was their job keep digging until they unearthed the one gem that moved the investigation forward.

  Crane left Aldershot Police Station with a copy of the Carol Newton police file under his arm, having promised Anderson a copy of the Army’s. Driving back to Provost Barracks, Crane didn’t think Captain Edwards, his direct superior in the SIB, was going to agree to releasing the Army files, so perhaps, on a need to know basis, Edwards didn’t need to know that particular piece of information. God knows enough people had done that to Crane in the past - kept him in the dark.

  Banging his way through the doors into the SIB office, Crane called the team together to explain that he and Anderson believed the two cases could be related.

  “So,” he concluded, “I want us to see what we can find out from this end. Billy, I want you to find the files relating to the case.”

  He then turned to the team’s office manager Sgt Kim Weston. “Kim I need you to find everything we have on the computer system. Once you have both paper and computer info, I need two copies, one for us and one for DI Anderson. I then need to know the current whereabouts of those who were interviewed at the time. Divide the list between you. Jones, can you ask around and see if anyone was stationed here when Carol Newton was killed. I’d like you to identify them and go see what they have to say, what they remember, even if it’s just gossip that was floating around at the time.”

  “Oh,” Crane then said, making his next sentence sound like an afterthought, “Captain Edwards doesn’t need to know that we’re passing files to DI Anderson. He’s really busy at the moment, so I think we should respect that,” and with a nod he went outside for a cigarette with Jones, intending to go back to his office afterwards to read the police files.

  “Bloody hell, Crane, this isn’t good. Two murders with so many similarities,” Jones said as they lit their cigarettes outside in the car park.

  “I know. The trick will be finding something that connects them. Real evidence not just similarities, which is all we’ve got at the moment. Oh, by the way, did you speak to the lads in Green’s unit?”

  “Yes, while you were at the post mortem. I phoned beforehand, so when I went over to their barracks their Sergeant had already broken the news to them. It didn’t go down well with the lads. They’re shocked and really angry. A few of them knew Mel, which made it worse. But even the ones that didn’t were upset
for Green himself.” Jones stopped talking while he took a deep drag of his cigarette and then exhaled before saying, “It seems he’s a popular lad in his unit. As they’d all just done a tour together, they’d got to know each other pretty well. Inevitable, I suppose, when you eat, drink and sleep together for six months.”

  “He didn’t appear to have any emotional problems while he was out there?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “No ‘Dear John’ letters, anything like that?” Crane was referring to the letters or emails s received by personnel serving abroad, ending a relationship.

  “Nope. Not that he said. He’d been a bit quiet a couple of weeks before they were due home. But apparently they all do. The nearer it gets to leaving Afghanistan, the more homesick the lads get. The days start to drag and it’s difficult for them to concentrate on the job, as going home is so tantalisingly close.”

  “Thanks, Staff, nothing doing there then. Right, I’m off back to the office, to read those police files.”

  A couple of hours later, Crane had a better feel for the events of 10 years ago and one small possible lead. A white transit van had been seen in the area at the time of Carol Newton’s murder by two of the civilian witnesses.

  Chapter 6

  Anderson was at The Westy, looking for the two men who called themselves producer and director, Richard Moore and Gavin Lawrence. They had promised him a list of members, with details of home addresses and phone numbers and he was there to collect it. He needed to contact those members who weren’t at the rehearsal the night Mel was killed.

  He caught sight of the two men standing in the wings. They looked uncannily similar, both with very short hair and wearing jeans, tee shirt and jacket. They were deep in conversation. When Moore looked up and massaged the bridge of his nose, Anderson took that as his opportunity and called to him, “Hello, Sir, I wonder if you have that list of members I asked you for?” and he clambered up onto the stage to join them.

  “Oh, hello, Inspector, yes, Gavin has it, haven’t you?”

  “Here,” Gavin thrust several pieces of A4 sized paper at Anderson. “That’s everyone who is an official member.”

  “What do you mean, official?”

  “Well,” answered Richards, “sometimes people come to a few readings or rehearsals to see if they like it, or fit in, that sort of thing.”

  “Yes,” Gavin picked up the thread, “then those who are suitable are invited to join and sign up.”

  “Do many people do that and more importantly, any recently?”

  “Um,” Gavin frowned in concentration. “Just one. A bloke came a few times, some months back, then decided it wasn’t for him. Do you remember him?” he asked Colin.

  “Oh, you mean that chap in his 40’s, a bit on the burly side, bald head, that sort of look. He seemed to like Mel, if I remember,” said Richard. “Used to give her the eye, sit next to her, that sort of thing.”

  “But she was married,” Gavin said. “We don’t like that sort of thing here. Causes problems it does. We don’t need lover’s tiffs, or irate husbands. We’re a serious am-dram group inspector. I know, I know,” he waved his hand around, “human nature and all that. But we want people to channel their emotions into their performances, not into their complicated love lives. So we were pretty relieved when he decided not to join us.”

  “Is there anything else we can help you with?” Richard asked.

  “No, Sir, nothing,” Anderson smiled at their enthusiasm and continued, “Thank you for your time, you’ve been very helpful.” He then turned away. The revelation of a possible love interest for Mel Green was a nugget worth exploring. So he decided to explore it with her friend Kath.

  ***

  Anderson looked at the woman before him, standing in the open door. Her complexion was still pale and she looked as though a couple of weeks in the sun would do her the world of good. She led Anderson into the sitting room of her home and then sat down. He smiled his thanks as he sank into the proffered arm chair.

  “We think that Mel was murdered by someone she knew,” he began. “So I need to ask you again if you knew anything about her having an affair, liaison, or even a friendship outside of her marriage.”

  “I told you before, she never said anything.” Kath’s denial was adamant, but instead of looking at Anderson, she seemed to be inspecting something over his left shoulder.

  “I find that hard to believe, I’m afraid,” he said, “especially if you two were as close as you say you were.”

  Turning to look at him Kath’s eyes filled with tears. “We were close. I really miss her you know. It’s just not the same at the Westy without her.”

  “The thing is we’re having trouble finding anyone who could have done this to her.”

  Kath sniffed, then turned her face away from him and blew her nose.

  “You do know that withholding information from the police is a chargeable offence?” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  That got her attention, so Anderson capitalised on it. “It’s called ‘perverting the course of justice’ and we take it very seriously.” Anderson had to stop talking as Kath blew her nose - again.

  Stuffing the used tissue back into the nearly empty box, she whispered, “But I promised.”

  “Pardon?” Anderson leaned forward, straining to hear the words he was forcing out of her.

  “I promised not to tell. She made me promise.” Kath started crying again but managed to pull herself together under Anderson’s glare, apart from the occasional sniff.

  He leaned his elbows on his knees and in his best compassionate voice said, “Well, Kath, promises don’t hold anymore, don’t you think? Not now she’s dead.” Anderson saw Kath wince at his words, but he kept going, “Especially if the information can help us find her killer.”

  “Oh alright,” she sniffed again. “Mel was having an affair,” Kath admitted, tears rolling down her cheeks once more. Taking a breath, she carried on talking, all the while twisting a tissue in her hands. “All I know is that he was an ex-soldier. She’d been seeing him for a while, whilst her husband was away. I didn’t condone it myself, you understand.”

  “Of course not,” murmured Anderson soothingly.

  “He used to pick her up after rehearsals.” She pulled a fresh tissue out of the box and dabbed her eyes.

  “Pick her up? In a car?”

  “No, some scruffy white van, biggish thing, a transit van I think.”

  “Any markings on it?” Anderson asked eagerly.

  “Not that I saw.”

  “How about his name? Did Mel tell you that?”

  “No, she wouldn’t. Said she didn’t want me involved, but that she just had to tell someone. Anyway she’d broken it off.”

  “Really?” That piece of information threw Anderson.

  “Yes, a couple of weeks ago. Her husband was due back, so she didn’t want to see the bloke anymore. Said it hadn’t meant anything anyway, said it was just a bit of fun really.”

  “So, let me get this right, you don’t know his name and you never saw his face.”

  “No, sorry, Inspector. He never waited for her outside the centre, she always went to the van. It was normally parked a little way down the road. He never got out, so I can’t tell you what he looked like.” A strong blow of her nose was followed by a loud sniff. “Does that help?”

  “Yes, thank you, Kath. It helps a lot. Thanks for doing the right thing,” and Anderson patted her hand in sympathy.

  Chapter 7

  The young woman leaning on the door frame gave Billy a friendly smile as he brandished the ID hanging around his neck.

  “Good morning. Mrs Taylor?” he asked.

  “Yes, that’s me, but Shaun isn’t here at the moment. You’ll have to come back later.”

  “Actually, I came to see you.”

  “Oh, well if you’re sure?” At Billy’s nod she continued, “That would be nice, I could do with some company. I’m a bit shook up, it’s
the shock, you know.” Billy was thrown by her assumption that he was there on a social visit, but whatever reason got him through the door was good enough, he supposed.

  Mrs Taylor opened the door wider, and directed him into the kitchen, where he sat on a chair at the table and nodded at her offer of coffee. He watched her put on the kettle and as she spooned coffee into the mugs the teaspoon hit the china and the granules spilled all over the worktop and the floor. Refusing his offer of help, she scooped up the mess, put it in the bin and then shook the coffee out of her slippers. He was intrigued. Was she nervous because of the shock, or because she was guilty of something?

  Once the drink was made, he began asking her about Mel. “Right, Mrs Taylor...”

  “Oh please, call me Angela.”

  “Right, Angela, what can you tell me about your next door neighbour, Mel Green?”

  “What is it you want to know?”

  “I was thinking about your friendship. Were you two close?”

  “Oh yes, I’d say so. Being Army wives tends to bind us all together,” Angela ran her fingers through her long brown hair. “Even if you’ve nothing else in common, the Army is a good starting point. Mind you, I don’t know what I’m going to do about my hair now.”

  “Let’s try and be more specific,” Billy said, needing to direct the interview, rather than give Angela the opportunity of rambling on, especially about her hair do. “How often did you see each other?”

  “Oh, most days, I guess. We’d have a glass of wine after work, or coffee at week-ends, that sort of stuff. I expect you know from her husband that she was a freelance hairdresser. She had a chair in that big place at the bottom of Victoria Street. That’s why I was thinking of my hair.”

  “A chair?”

  “Yes, you know, she paid rent to the shop for working there, then all the money she made was hers. It also meant she could work when she wanted to, within reason, I guess.”