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

by Wendy Cartmell

  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.

  They looked at the baby and then at each other.

  “Do you think…?”

  Kim couldn’t seem to finish the sentence so Francis did it for her, “…it’s dead? Yes, I think it’s safe to assume that. Look, the child’s not moving. There’s no shuffling, murmuring or crying.”

  Kim rubbed at her eyes brushing away her tears and turned her head away from the pitiful sight, but Francis felt compelled to reach out and pick up the child.

  “Stop!” Kim called, as he moved towards the child. “Don’t touch it. We should treat this as a crime scene.”

  “Crime scene?” he said, quickly retrieving his hands and stuffing them in his uniform trouser pockets, to keep them out of the way. They were itching to pick up the baby and... what? He wasn’t sure, he just had this need to hold the child in his arms and offer it some kind of comfort, he supposed. “Isn’t it just a case of a poor child that has died being left at the church door?” he asked her.

  “We don’t know that,” Kim answered, “and we won’t do until after the post mortem. Until then we should treat this as a crime scene. I’d better call the police.”

  Kim busied herself with ringing firstly DI Anderson of the local Aldershot Police and then Sgt Major Crane from the Special Investigations Branch of the Military Police, Kim’s ex-boss. Both men needed to know about the child: Aldershot Police because the baby was a civilian and the SIB as it was abandoned on a military garrison.

  Francis watched Kim at work. She was dressed in civvies, rather than her Army uniform. It still felt strange, not seeing her in her uniform any more. While they were ‘going out’ they’d both been in the Army and therefore more often than not in uniform. As she’d now left the forces, she was permanently in civvies. At first she’d swapped her khaki uniform for black trousers worn with tailored shirts. But as she seemed to relax into her new life and her new role as the wife of the Padre, her dress had become more informal, which more often than not meant she wore jeans. Which was fine by him. She looked bloody good in jeans.

  Today she was wearing what he believed the fashionistas called skinny jeans, which clung to her long legs, emphasising their length and ankle boots. She had teamed those with a red jumper and blue tailored jacket. Her blond hair was scraped back into a pony tail and she had a light touch of colour on her cheeks. He was being introduced to a whole new world by Kim. The world of women. He learned how some women had a fixation with their clothes, make-up and hair, as he read with interest his wife’s magazines. Let’s face it, during his formative years he had been more concerned with God than girls. But he only read them when she wasn’t there, of course. He thought of it as gathering background information. She would have found it hilarious. So he kept it quiet, a kind of guilty secret.

  Bringing his thoughts back to the present situation, he reflected on who would do such a thing? Leave a dead baby at the church? Whoever it was needed help. He considered a range of scenarios. A young girl who had given birth in secret? A woman caught unawares, whose child was still-born? A baby that had died in the night and the parents didn’t know what to do?

  Still watching Kim, he couldn’t imagine the unspeakable horror of losing so young a child, for from what he had seen, it looked new born, or at the most only a couple of months old. How would he and Kim feel if it was their child that had died? Not that they had any children. Not yet at any rate. That was something that he was looking forward to. But it would be sometime in their future probably, for that was a conversation they hadn’t had as yet.

  He then thought about the different ways the baby could have died. Cot death, naturally, or shaking the child, unnaturally. It, for Francis didn’t yet know if it was a boy or a girl, could have died from heart failure, lung failure or a myriad of other natural causes. But the thing most concerning the Padre at that moment was the parents. He figured that someone must be pretty desperate to leave a dead child at God’s door. Still keeping some way away from the baby, as instructed, he made the sign of the cross in its direction and then prayed for the child’s soul and for the souls of its parents.

  Sgt Major Crane was the first to arrive on the scene as a result of Kim’s phone calls and he came to stand next to the Padre. After finishing his silent prayers, the Padre raised his head. “Morning, Crane. Good to see you,” he said and shook the investigator’s hand. “Sorry we’re meeting under such circumstances. It seems to be the nature of our meetings these days.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m afraid it does. What a bloody awful thing.”

  “Do you mean the death of the child or the leaving of it at the church?”

  “Both, Padre, both,” and Francis watched Crane worry at the short dark beard he’d been given permission to grow and which hid the disfiguring scar that ran from his ear to his chin. “Excuse me, sir,” Crane went on, “but I see Major Martin has arrived.”

  As the investigator moved away, Francis was confident that if anyone could find out who the parents of the child were, it would be Sgt Major Tom Crane. He had great faith in the man, after working with him on a several occasions and had nothing but admiration for the results he obtained. Alright, there were those who said he was unconventional, insubordinate and without doubt a huge pain in the arse to work with. But Francis had come to realise that those were excellent qualities for an Army investigator.

  He watched Crane and Kim talk to the retired Major, who was now a pathologist at the nearby Frimley Park Hospital. They were quickly joined by Sgt Billy Williams, also from the SIB, who had arrived with his forensic kit and by DI Anderson. They recounted what had happened so far. Or rather what had not happened, as they’d all been careful to stay away from the baby and the church door.

  The Major and Billy bundled themselves up in crime scene suits, pulling on overshoes and putting up the hoods over their hair. The Major waddled to the church door, encumbered by his suit and his case, looking a bit like the Michelin Man. Well, a lot, actually. Francis thought that Billy being younger, taller and broader around the chest than the Major, wore his suit with rather more panache.

  “Sorry, Francis, I’ve been ignoring you,” Kim said as she walked over to him.

  He put his arm around her shoulders, “Of course you haven’t. I’m just glad you were here to deal with it so competently.”

  “Thanks, it’s, um, been a step back in time, I guess.”

  “Well, you’ve not forgotten what to do,” he joked. “You kept me in check at any rate,” and he smiled down at her.

  She gave him a small smile in return but Francs glimpsed sadness in Kim’s eyes. She looked away from him, her blond ponytail swishing, as though she wanted to end the conversation. But he pressed on.

  “And how do you feel about falling back into an RMP role?”

  He couldn’t help it, he had to ask her. He’d always been concerne
d that once Kim was over her pneumonia and back to full health, she might regret her decision to leave the Royal Military Police in order to marry him. Military rules stated that a serving soldier couldn’t marry anyone of a higher rank and stay in the Army. So instead of being a busy and respected office manager within the Branch, she was now just a vicar’s wife.

  “Is that what’s troubling you?” he asked her. “Because something is. And has been for a while.”

  “No, Francis, I’m fine,” she replied.

  But he knew she wasn’t, as he watched her walk away from him and return to DI Anderson and Crane.

  Molly

  Kerry banged her way into the flat, jostling the pram through the door and pushing it into the sitting room. She paused for a moment after closing the apartment door, leaning back against it, trying to calm down and still her shaking hands.

  “I’m back now, Alan,” she said. “I’m still a bit wobbly, mind you, so I think I’ll lie down on the bed for a minute.” She pushed herself off the door and then remembered. “No. No, I won’t do that, the settee will do for now. I can’t face Molly’s cot just yet. Molly’s empty cot. I couldn’t keep my promise, Alan. Couldn’t make Molly better. Sorry,” she sniffed. “Just let me pull myself together and mop up these tears, then I can tell you what happened. I want to write it down in my diary afterwards as well and I don’t want the pages to get wet and be a permanent reminder of my sorrow.”

  Kerry took her coat off, threw it on the settee and fumbled in her trouser pockets. She pulled out a balled up tissue and wiped her eyes. Plopping on the sofa, she started to pick it apart as she talked. “Right that’s better,” she took a deep breath. “So,” she exhaled, “when I woke up this morning, Molly was still cold. She wasn’t breathing and her pretty face was like porcelain. Drained of blood. Drained of life. She looked just like a doll, lying there, not moving.

  “I picked her up and could smell her nappy needed changing. It was very hard to put the new one on. Her little legs and arms were rigid, though I managed it in the end. I didn’t want her to be left in a dirty nappy. I tried to dress her in her best clothes, but that was impossible and I didn’t want to hurt her by forcing her legs and arms into positions they just didn’t want to go. The next best thing I could think of was to wrap her in her favourite blanket. So that’s what I did and placed her in her pram, pulling up the hood and popping the cover into place.” Kerry wiped her damp hands against her black trousers and took her cardigan off, throwing it on top of her coat.

  “We walked out of the flat as though nothing was wrong. Just another day for Molly and me. Taking a walk in the sunshine. The lift smelled disgusting as usual. As you know, the only way I can use it is by taking a deep breath before I get in and then holding my breath as long as I can, as the lift creaks and groans its way to the ground floor. I’m glad Molly didn’t smell that stench. Didn’t pull that fetid air into her clean lungs.”

  Kerry paused in her retelling and tipped her head on one side, listening.

  “Where did we go? That’s what I was just about to tell you, if you’ll stop interrupting. Anyway, as we walked along the road I knew I had to decide where to go. I needed a safe place. A place where Molly would be looked after. I considered the hospital, but was wary of the CCTV cameras that are everywhere these days. I naturally gravitated towards Aldershot Garrison, the place I really consider my home. It was quite a walk, but I didn’t mind. Molly and I didn’t have anything better to do.

  “Walking through the Garrison I was racking my brains, trying to think of where to go. I considered your Barracks, but then remembered the Regiment was still in Afghanistan, so that was no good and that’s when I saw the best place for Molly. The Royal Garrison Church. Do you remember it? It was the one we got married in and the one where your funeral service was held. I remembered the Padre, Captain Symmonds I think his name is. Such a lovely man. And his wife is nice as well. Kath? Kathy? Oh, yes, I’ve got it now. Kim. Kim Symmonds. I was sure she’d understand and help Molly. Keep her safe. Make sure she went to Heaven, to meet you.” Kerry looked down and as she had shredded the tissue, she brushed the bits onto the floor and started to pick at the studs pressed into her tee-shirt instead.

  “I took Molly out of her pram, made sure she was tightly swathed in her blanket and left her by the church door,” she continued. “I walked away on legs that were bound in elastic, tying me to Molly. But I knew I had to resist their pull and bit by bit I managed to break away. Snapped each tendril, one by one. But my heart wasn’t as lucky. I felt it tear out of my body and fly to my baby. So I left that behind, as well as my daughter.

  “I expect you think I’m a bit strange, leaving Molly at the church like that. Not telling anyone. Not making arrangements for her myself. But, you see, if I admit to anyone that our baby has died, they’ll chuck me out of this flat. I won’t be a single mother entitled to housing anymore. I know this place is the pits, but they’ll throw me out onto the street. And I hope you understand that I just can’t cope with that, Alan. Not at the minute. I can’t risk losing another home.”

  Kerry stopped talking, unable to force any words past the large lump that lay in her throat. She looked down at the carpet where the shredded pieces of tissue lay around her feet like confetti.

  2

  As the ambulance men lifted the small body into their vehicle, which Crane now knew was a baby girl, he tore his eyes away from the poignant sight. His own son, Daniel was nearly a year old and he simply couldn’t imagine life without his boy. By the look of him, Anderson, the father of two girls, felt the same, as he’d pushed his hands deep into his pockets and was looking away, down at the ground, as though the sight of the small body bag was too much to bear.

  “What happens now, Derek?” he asked.

  “What?” Anderson looked up. “Oh, there’ll be a post mortem and an inquest. It depends on what the Major finds. If the baby died from natural causes, then the case will be referred to the UK Missing Persons Bureau in Bramshill.”

  “Referred? What does that mean?”

  “The details we have and a sample of her DNA will be logged on to their system and she’ll be given a case number. They’re the UK national and international point of contact for all missing person and unidentified body investigations. They provide support and advice to police forces in order to resolve cases and act as a hub for the exchange of information and expertise in this area. They also maintain the national database of missing and unidentified records. Then, after all the formalities are completed, Aldershot Police have an allocated corner of the cemetery where we bury unidentified bodies, so the baby will be laid to rest there.”

  Anderson took his hands out of his pocket to smooth down the grey wispy hair that matched his grey tweed jacket.

  “Jesus,” Crane said, shocked by the realisation that the baby could be buried, un-named and un-loved, in a bleak corner of the cemetery. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected would be done but found the solution upsetting. He made a mental note to arrange a small ceremony for the child with the Padre at the time of the burial. He was determined the child should be laid to rest properly.

  Forcing his mind back to the dilemma of identification, he said, “I guess they check their Missing Persons database?”

  “Absolutely. But, remember, she may not be classified as officially missing. There are no babies reported stolen or missing at the moment in our area. If there were I’d already know about it.”

  “In that case,” Crane said, “perhaps she died of natural causes and one of her parents left her here because they were too poor or too distraught to deal with the aftermath of death.”

  “Or, she was shaken to death or some such and was left here in order to avoid prosecution.”

  “Whatever the reason, it’s all very depressing.”

  “You can say that again,” said Anderson and he walked away towards his car, leaving Crane huddled in his dark suit. He watched the Padre and Kim walk into the church, their arms entwined
, supporting each other and wished his wife Tina was there, offering him the same thing. But, that wasn’t possible. And anyway he was a soldier. He was on duty. And he had to get on with the job. So he squared his shoulders and turned towards to his car, ready to drive back to Provost Barracks where he would write up his report on the morning’s happenings and check on the progress of Billy’s forensic examination.

  3

  Julie Wainwright hadn’t had the best start to her day. As she rocked the baby in the gaily decorated bouncing chair with her foot, she mulled over the disastrous morning. The baby had been fractious and wouldn’t feed properly, so by the time Bob had come down for his breakfast, nothing was ready. Since they’d been married last year, their habit had been to have a leisurely breakfast together on the days when Bob was off duty. Julie had tried hard to stick to this routine after Tyler had been born, but today it just hadn’t worked out.

  Sitting in a metal chair at their glass kitchen table, Julie had been unsuccessfully feeding the baby. She’d been dreading hearing Bob’s footsteps on the stairs, as nothing she did to get the baby to suckle properly had worked. She’d taken Tyler off her breast, laid her over her shoulder and rubbed her back. Jiggling her nipple up and down in Tyler’s mouth hadn’t worked either. All Tyler had done, was to take a quick suck between screams, her blond hair going damp from the heat of her rage. Tears squeezed out of her tightly shut eyes and she waved her little fists in the air, as though wanting to pummel her mother for not being able to help her.