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

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Yes,” she sniffed. “I know I should have said ‘were’ the most important people in my life, not ‘are’ but I need to believe you are both still with me.”

  After a pause she continued, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gone there. Memories like that make me upset. Bring it home to me yet again that the two most precious gifts I had are gone. Gone, together, to some place without me. To a place where I can’t follow. At least not yet.

  “I’ve often thought about ending it, you know,” she looked across at Alan, who was sitting in his chair looking as stiff and uncomfortable as if he were a visitor, rather than her husband. “Ending this loneliness. But what scares me is that if I take my own life, I’ll be sent to someplace else. Not to the place where you two are waiting for me. Because it would be a sin, see. Suicide. You didn’t sin as you gave your life for your country. Molly didn’t sin as she was an innocent child who just wasn’t meant to be on this earth for very long.

  “So,” she said, forcing a brittle brightness into her voice, “I mustn’t end it all. No matter how much I want to. I have to try and be strong for both of you. Try and get through the days, months and even years until we can all be together, as we should be. A family. Anyway, that’s enough of that. Let’s see what’s in the paper.”

  She set her mug on the floor and put the newspaper on her lap, turning it back to the front page.

  “Oh my, here’s a report about Molly. About how she was found and who found her. They’re appealing for information. What? Oh, sorry, Alan, I’ll start at the beginning and read it to you.

  BABY FOUND DEAD AT LOCAL CHURCH

  A baby girl was found abandoned on the steps of the Aldershot Garrison Church last week by the Padre, Captain Symmonds. The baby was pronounced dead at the scene.

  Police have not yet been able to trace the parents, although enquiries are ongoing. In the mean time they have issued an appeal asking local residents to be vigilant and let them know if a family who had a baby, now doesn’t. “It’s a very sad situation,” Detective Inspector Anderson commented. “The death of a baby is always tragic and we are, obviously, trying to trace the parents. At this moment in time we feel it could be that the mother, or father, are ill or destitute. We won’t know the exact cause of death, until the results of the post mortem are known, but initial findings indicate the baby died from natural causes.”

  Padre Symmonds was also said to be “extremely concerned” for the parents of the baby and urged them to get professional help, to support them through this terrible time.

  The baby was described as around three months old with fair downy hair, blue eyes and a bow shaped mouth. She appeared to be well nourished and was dressed in clean clothes. No distinctive marks were found on the baby who could have died 12 to 24 hours previously, meaning death occurred sometime during Monday night.

  If anyone has any information that may help the police, they can call them, in confidence on...

  Kerry fell silent. The harsh reality contained in the article hung between them. After a while she found the courage to speak again.

  “Wow. That was a hard read. Not because the words were difficult, but because the words were difficult, if you understand what I mean. I could read them easily enough, I just found it hard to find my voice. Sorry, I faltered quite a lot through that, didn’t I? I wonder why?” she fell silent again.

  “Sorry. I was lost somewhere then. What did you ask? Oh, you wanted to know what I going to say? Well, it sounds stupid now, but my initial thought was - I wonder why they didn’t put her picture in the paper, then everyone could have seen how beautiful she was - then I realised that they couldn’t. Couldn’t put a picture of a dead baby on the front cover of the Aldershot News. That never would do. So they printed a picture of the Garrison Church instead. Without Molly by the door, of course.”

  11

  The local paper slid off her knee and fell to the floor, as Kim Symmonds let go of it and leaned back against the settee. She’d been reading the article about the baby they’d found at the Garrison Church. She was trying to work out how she felt about not being part of the investigation. Not working with Sgt Major Crane, DI Anderson and even the Major anymore. She also missed Billy. Missed his stupid humour and his attempts to draw her into the social life of the Branch. But on the other hand, she also knew she’d have missed Francis more, if she’d decided to stay in the Military Police and ended her relationship with him. Not married him. At the end of the day that just hadn’t been an option and the thought of his love made her smile.

  But she knew Francis worried about how she felt now. He wanted - no, scrub that - needed reassurance that she was happy and felt she had made the right decision. Well, she couldn’t worry about his insecurities. After all she’d married him, hadn’t she? That should be reassurance enough, she reasoned. For now, she needed to focus on herself. Focus on her role as the Padre’s wife. Focus on what she felt she could actually give - as opposed to what was expected of her.

  Over the past few months since they’d been married, she’d ‘got over the God bit’ as she’d put it, at the beginning of their relationship and now had no trouble in accepting that she shared his faith. Not to the same degree, perhaps. But enough to accept her husband’s calling.

  The problem for Kim just now, was that there were no ‘duties’ for a Padre’s wife. It appeared that everyone did whatever best suited their gifts, personality and situation. She knew there were some wives with jobs outside the home. In fact, she’d been talking to one who had just completed her nursing training. So Kim had to figure out what activities best suited her own gifts. What role she could take on that would make a difference. She knew she couldn’t just bumble along being the Padre’s wife, answering the phone, taking messages for him and keeping his diary up to date. She’d had a well-defined role in the Army and couldn’t shake that need. So it was up to her to find her own calling. Find her own well-defined role in civilian life.

  She picked up the remote control and switched the television on. For now, she was watching re-runs of the hilarious television sitcom, ‘Rev’. An irreverent look at being a vicar in an inner London parish. But of more relevance to Kim, was the fact that he was married to a woman with her own job. So, as she watched the programmes, Kim focused on how his wife coped with being married to a vicar. Providing support to her husband, whilst not being involved with his work. Kim knew that to most people learning how to be a Padre’s wife from a television programme was bizarre in the extreme, so she kept her guilty secret to herself.

  But along the way she was also learning what it was like to be a vicar today. Learning that it’s not all just seriousness, sermons and prayers. Learning that there is comedy in life, juxtaposed with the pathos of the calling. Understanding that Francis was a decent person trying to do good. Doing the best he could to support his lads and their families. Whether he was here in Aldershot, out on exercise, or on tour in war zones.

  Most importantly, Kim was fast learning that being ‘the Padre’s wife’ was a huge privilege and that the blessings far outweighed the challenges that accompanied the role. So she put her legs up on the settee, picked up her cup of coffee and settled down to enjoy the first episode of the second series of Rev.

  12

  “I’m getting sick of these bloody meetings you keep calling for no apparent reason,” Bob Wainwright hissed at Josip Anic, as he stooped down to the other man’s ear. Then he straightened up, regaining his military bearing and continued, “I’ve nothing to tell you. The stuff will be here next week but I don’t have the exact date yet.” He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and stared down at Anic.

  “I just need to keep reminding you of your obligations, that’s all,” the Croat smiled and with his small dark staring eyes, set behind bulbous cheeks, he reminded Bob of a hypnotic coiled snake, ready to pounce.

  “I know my bloody obligations,” Bob said. “I just think you’re taking unnecessary risks with all these meetings.”

  He looked
around the motor vehicle body shop in exasperation. He was standing with Anic in a small glass walled office which gave a sweeping view of the industrial unit and the open garage doors at the front. There were what appeared to be two spray booths at the rear of the large space. Their walls reached to the ceiling and both had a large industrial sized silver tube snaking out of the side wall, funnelling up through the ceiling to the outside. Wainwright presumed these were to clear the air of paint droplets from the spraying process. The opening of each spray booth weren’t doors, but thick strips of cloudy plastic that reminded him of extra-large fly screens. The air inside the office and the rest of the industrial unit was heavy with the smell of paint thinners and was so thick Bob was breathing in short shallow gasps and would have welcomed a paper filter mask to wear.

  “What risks?” said Anic. “You’ve simply come to the body shop for a quotation to repair your damaged body work.”

  “What damaged body work? I don’t have any damage on my car.”

  Anic looked through the large window and nodded to a thick set man who was standing next to Wainwright’s car. Bob followed Anic’s gaze just in time to see the man kick a dent in the offside wing.

  “That damage,” Anic said conversationally. “Now if you’ll just wait a few minutes, my man out there will give you an estimate for the repairs.”

  “You little shit, you…” The icy stare from Anic stopped Bob adding more expletives, so he settled for, “Leave my car alone and leave me alone,” said as threateningly as he could manage, as a small sliver of fear poked through his anger, making him realise he’d better rein in his temper.

  “And what if I don’t?” Anic shrugged. “What are you going to do?” and he smiled his reptilian smile. “The only way to keep me appeased is to keep me abreast of developments. And if that means meeting me when I tell you to, then that’s what you’ll do. Or should I let a local police snitch know that you’re able to obtain cut price Army surplus gear. You’ve got a nice business going on in the side-lines, I hear. A business that I think you really wouldn’t want the police, or the military police, to know about. And that’s not to mention the drug smuggling.”

  Wainwright silently fumed. Bloody Croat. Worthless piece of shit, he thought, but he was sensible enough to keep his mouth shut and his thoughts to himself.

  “Now fuck off,” Anic said, dismissing him as though Bob was nothing more than a turd on his shoe. “I’ll let you know when we’ll be meeting again.”

  Wainwright looked through the glass windows at Anic’s four men. They were all holding a tool of some sort and they were all staring at him. Bob flung open the office door and deliberately slammed it behind him. The man who had kicked Bob’s car, walked to meet him and held out a piece of paper.

  “Your estimate, sir,” he said in his thick Eastern European accent.

  Wainwright snatched the piece of paper from him and stormed out to his car, chased by brays of laughter from Anic and his men. Once in the driver’s seat Bob unfolded the paper. Scribbled beneath the body shop logo were the words, “I own you.”

  Screwing up the offensive piece of paper and tossing it onto the back seat Bob started the engine, stamped on the accelerator and with his wheels spinning, fish-tailed out of the yard.

  eBay

  Kerry had come to a decision. Not one made lightly, but born of necessity. She was finding it very upsetting to see Molly’s things all around the flat. They were a constant reminder of her loss and of her failure as a mother.

  “I’ve decided to sell some of Molly’s stuff,” she told Alan. “I’ve got to be careful as I still want people to think I have a baby. But I can sell some of her clothes and toys. Best keep the pram and possibly the highchair. I need that around just in case anyone calls. And if they want to see Molly I can just say she’s sleeping in her cot and I don’t want her disturbed.”

  Kerry moved over to the computer and switched it on. “What did you say?” she asked him. After listening for a moment, she retorted, “Look I know I don’t have any visitors, don’t rub it in. But one day I might. Who knows if social services will call round or someone from the local council. I wouldn’t put it past that nosey old cow of a social worker to turn up any time she liked.”

  Kerry had still not forgiven the woman for the way she treated her after Alan had died. Okay she’d found her this flat, Kerry had to give her that. But she treated her with distain. To her Kerry just seemed to be another piece of paper. She was surprised the woman hadn’t rubber stamped Kerry’s arms as well as the handful of blessed forms authorising this, that and the other. Shaking away the recollection, her ginger curls bouncing like coiled springs, she carried on.

  “Anyone in authority can call whenever they feel like it, so I have to be prepared, Alan, so yes, I’ll definitely keep the high chair. And I always take the pram with me when I go out.”

  She carried on chatting to him, glancing at his chair every now and then from where she was sitting at the computer, which was placed on a small table in the corner of the room.

  “I can’t risk someone seeing me on my own and asking awkward questions about where Molly is. I’ve taken to wrapping one of her blankets around a towel so it looks like there’s something in the pram that could be a sleeping baby.”

  She looked closely at the computer screen for a moment, making a couple of failed attempts before she got the password correct for her eBay account.

  “Right, I’ve logged onto eBay, let’s see what I can find. Mmm…baby clothes is the category I want. I better click on that and see what people are selling similar stuff for, then I can price mine right. It’ll also tell me how much postage people charge. I don’t want to get that wrong. If it’s too much people won’t buy the items and if it’s too low, I’ll end up using the money I get for the stuff to pay for the postage.”

  Kerry fell silent and for a while all that could be heard was the clicking of the keys on the keyboard. The empty room seemed to amplify the noise, making the clicks and clacks sound like a grandfather clock, patiently ticking out the passage of time.

  “Oh for God’s sake, bloody internet,” Kerry broke the silence. “I seem to have gone onto the wrong category. I’ve got baby dolls, not baby clothes. I better try again. Oh, hang on, wait a minute. Come and look, Alan. These dolls look so real. There’s quite a few on this seller’s site. All different ones. Oh my goodness they look alive! And they have movable arms and legs. Let me just scroll down and have a look at some more...look, they’ve all got their own names. Violet, Blossom, Snowdrop. Oh for goodness sake, Alan, what’s the matter with you? I asked you to come here and you’re still sat there. I suppose I’ll have to bring the laptop to you.”

  Kerry scooted over on her computer chair, laptop balanced on her knee and stopped next to Alan’s seat.

  “Sweet Jesus, that one’s called Molly, Alan! It looks just like her doesn’t it? Look there’s her little button nose. And her lips aren’t white anymore. They’re a lovely shade of pink. See, there’s a bloom to her skin, she’s not grey anymore. Her lovely downy blond hair is styled just right and her arms and legs can move. She’s not stiff and dead anymore.”

  As he hadn’t bothered to look at the laptop screen, she lifted it off her knee and thrust it in his face.

  “Look Alan! It is Molly I tell you. Stop it! Stop saying it isn’t. Stop saying it’s just a doll! I’m not going to listen to you no matter how loud you shout.”

  Kerry put the laptop back on her knee.

  “I wish I could touch her. But the screen’s in the way. Molly, oh Molly, mummy misses you so much. Is this how you’ll manage to come back to me? Oh dear, I’ve put huge hand prints all over the screen. I was just trying to touch her. Get close to her. I’ll use this tissue, it’s wet with my tears so that should clean it. There, that’s better. I can see her properly again now.”

  Kerry got up and put the laptop back on the computer table, her hands shaking a little from the emotional release after the shock of having found Mol
ly.

  As she went back for her chair she said, “I don’t care what you say, Alan, I’m buying her. I must before someone else does. I’m not going to bid, I’m going to press the ‘Buy Now’ button and you can’t stop me. Get away, leave me alone. Molly needs me!”

  She rolled the chair back to the table, sat down and clicked on the large pay button on the eBay page.

  “There I’ve done it! I said you couldn’t stop me. Now shut up while I arrange payment and delivery. I better not sell her stuff now. She’s going to need all those baby clothes to wear and her toys to play with. Oh Alan, you don’t know how happy it’s made me feel. Molly’s coming back to me and now life will have some purpose again, some meaning. What do you think, Alan?”

  She turned and looked at his chair, expecting to see him still sitting there, but he’d disappeared.

  Reborning

  When Kerry woke the next morning and staggered half asleep towards the kitchen to make a cup of tea, Alan was back. She breathed in the familiar smell of smoke that rose from his singed uniform and smiled. She’d known he wouldn’t leave her on her own for long.

  Once she was settled on the settee with her drink, she grabbed some pieces of paper that she’d printed out the night before.

  “Listen to this, Alan. I looked up reborning on the internet. I thought I’d research it while we wait for Molly to arrive. I didn’t have anything else to do as you’d buggered off and left me on my own. Anyway, enough of that, I don’t want us to quarrel today, I’m too happy. So, did you know reborning dolls first started in America in the early 90s? That’s what it says here. Listen, I’ll read you a bit: Existing dolls are repainted and then the artists add human hair and eyelashes. The dolls are weighted to resemble new born babies and their heads need supporting giving the feel of a real baby.