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

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Oh, what lovely hair she has,” the woman exclaimed looking at the blond hair that framed Molly’s face like a halo.

  “Thank you,” replied Kerry smugly as she stowed her purchases under the pram, “she got that from her father.”

  They were nearly home when they met Julie from the mother and baby group. An unavoidable encounter as they approached each other from opposite directions on the same side of the street.

  “Hi, Kerry,” Julie said. “Great to see you. Haven’t seen you in ages. Why haven’t you been coming to the group?”

  “Oh, I’ve just been a bit under the weather, touch of flu, that’s all, and I didn’t want to spread my germs around you lot.” Kerry gave the excuse she had rehearsed for such an occasion.

  “Oh, poor you. I hope Molly didn’t get it?”

  “Just a case of the snuffles, but she’ll be alright.”

  “Did you take her to the doctor?” Julie said and before Kerry could stop her, the woman had leant into the pram.

  “Ah, there she is, Molly and her lovely hair. She must be sound asleep.”

  “Yes, we, um had a bad night, that’s why, I expect.” Excuse number two was forced between Kerry’s lips.

  “Mmm, she does look at bit pale.” Julie was still leaning over the pram and Kerry didn’t know what to do to stop her.

  “She seems a bit small, Kerry, my Tyler has grown quite a bit in comparison.”

  “Yes, well, as I said, we’ve not been too well. I expect that’s all it is. Now, sorry, but I’d like to get back home,” and Kerry started to push the pram forwards, making Julie step smartly backwards out of the way.

  “See you soon, I hope,” Julie called, but Kerry didn’t bother to reply, just continued to walk smartly away towards the sanctuary of her flat and, of course, Alan, who would be waiting for her and would worry if she was gone too long.

  ***

  Julie watched Kerry walk away and wondered if everything was alright with her friend. Kerry had seemed stiff, unfriendly even, which was unlike her. Julie had been about to ask Kerry if she wanted to have a coffee with her, but it seemed Kerry couldn’t wait to get away. Julie would have appreciated the company and found it hard to stop her emotional reaction to the rejection. She decided to have a coffee on her own and pushed the baby’s pram into the café, catching the door as it closed, so it wouldn’t slam behind her and disturb the few occupants.

  She was glad of the hot milky brew put in front of her and answered the owner’s friendly questions in monosyllables to make him go away and leave her alone. She looked down at Tyler, who was asleep in her buggy, parked by the side of the table and then wrapped her hands around the side of the mug. Looking into the swirling brew, a mixture of instant coffee and hot milk, she heard once again Bob’s outraged reaction to her find in the metal cabinet. She knew he could be forceful, but had never before been on the receiving end of a tirade of shouts and expletives. It was as if he was yelling at one of his soldiers who had made a monumental cock up, instead of talking to his wife. He’d told her to keep her nose out of things that didn’t concern her and to stop snooping in the garage. She had tried to tell him she wasn’t snooping, just going for a new bulb. Why would going into her own garage be snooping, she’d asked?

  He’d replied that it was snooping when she was looking at something that didn’t belong to her. He’d grabbed her keys out of the lock of the cabinet and deftly removed the one to the cabinet lock as well as the one to the garage door. There, he’d said, with satisfaction, now she couldn’t go into places where she wasn’t wanted.

  When Julie had asked what the white powder was, she’d realised she’d made a huge mistake. She’d pushed him too far as he’d gone as white as his bloody drugs and then, shockingly, slapped her across the face. The force of the blow had sent her sprawling across the floor of the garage. His hand had caught not just her cheek, but her ear as well, for he had big hands and as she lay on the floor, it buzzed, sounding just like the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

  Instead of being conciliatory after what he’d done, which is what Julie had expected, Bob was cold and quiet. She’d envisaged he would have been as shocked as she was at his overreaction to her find and immediately fall to the floor, showering her with kisses and begging for her forgiveness. In place of her fantasy, she’d heard him, over the buzzing in her ear, repacking the package, thumping it back onto the shelf and then banging the metal door closed. He’d locked it and walked over to her. Pulling her roughly up off the floor he bundled her out of the garage and onto the drive. Letting her go, he pulled down and locked the garage door. Unable to move because of the shock, Julie had just stood there like a marionette, waiting for him to pull her strings. He’d then dragged her off the drive and pushed her through the open front door, slamming it behind her. After she’d heard the car start and then drive away she’d stumbled to the mirror. As the sight of her red cheek confronted her, she’d been unable to stop the tears.

  Since then, they’d barely spoken to each other. The only other time they’d had a conversation was when he’d threatened her. Told her to keep her mouth shut if she knew what was good for her. Described what would happen to her or Tyler if she even thought about telling anyone what she’d seen in the garage that night. On one level it was all a bit corny, his behaviour, his outrage and his violence. As though he were one of the Mitchell brothers acting out a scene from Eastenders. But on another level Julie was sensible enough to know that his behaviour wasn’t acceptable. He seemed to have turned from a committed soldier into a villain overnight. From a loving husband into a complete prick. He said he was doing it for the good of the family, so all she had to do was shut up and put up and everything would be alright.

  Taking a sip of her drink, Julie wondered what on earth she should do. Bob dealing in drugs was the last thing she’d expected of him. He’d always been so law abiding and she couldn’t begin to understand why he’d turned into a criminal. No doubt everyone needed more money than they had, but to do something like that - surely they weren’t in such a bad financial state that he’d been desperate enough to turn to illegal activities to make a bit of money.

  Such a thing was contrary to everything she believed in. Against the way she had been brought up. She’d been told over and over again by her parents - always do the right thing, even if you don’t want to. Live by your own moral code and treat others as you would wish to be treated yourself. Well, a slap in the face was definitely not the way she wanted to be treated. And being a party to drug smuggling was abhorrent to her.

  Julie wondered what her options were, as she drank the last of the coffee. She could go to the military police, the local police, welfare, or the Padre even. She knew she must do the right thing and tell someone in authority. The question was who should she speak to and when would she get the opportunity? Bob had taken to checking up on her by ringing at various times of the day, or calling in at home on some pretext or other. He’d refused to let her have the car so she could do some shopping and was staying in every night, sitting sullen and withdrawn beside her, in front of the television, brazenly going through her mobile phone, checking who she’d been talking to.

  As she put down the mug, she tried to remember where she’d put that welfare leaflet. The one they’d got when they moved in, that gave the locations and telephone numbers of all the various departments and barracks on the Garrison. She could follow the advice in the leaflet and call the appropriate department. But the thought of what Bob would do to her if he was arrested and then let out on bail or something, frightened the shit out of her. As she grabbed her bag and stood up to go, still undecided about what to do, her mobile rang. Fishing it out of her bag, she saw the caller was Bob and she pushed the accept button, all thoughts of ringing the police pushed away by her fear of him.

  17

  “Right, boss,” Billy said as he walked into Crane’s office, a piece of paper in his hands. “This is a list of those soldiers here on Aldershot Garrison who
have had paternity leave or compassionate leave in the last four months.”

  Billy handed the list over to Crane.

  “Seems a bit small,” Crane turned the paper over in his hand as if expecting there to be something on the back.

  “Mustn’t be the season, or something, I guess. Aren’t more babies born nine months after a cold spell, as people go to bed to keep warm?” Billy’s accompanying laugh was cut short by Crane’s look and he mumbled, “Sorry, boss.”

  “What about the other Garrisons?” he asked, as Billy sat down in the chair next to Crane’s desk.

  “Yep, we’ve got some there too, so I’ve sent those lists to the local boys to check out. Should get the results of their enquiries in a couple of days.”

  “Oh well, it’s only a case of checking that the women still have a child, so it shouldn’t take long.”

  “Shall I just ring them, boss?”

  “No, Billy. Think about it. What could happen if we ring?”

  “Oh, sorry, the woman or the squaddie could lie.”

  “Exactly. Now piss off and put that list of names and addresses in some sort of reasonable driving order, so we’re not zigzagging all over the Garrison and the town.”

  “Yes, boss. When do you want to start the door knocking?”

  “Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. We’ll start first thing.”

  Billy nodded and made to leave the office.

  “Oh, Billy,”

  “Sir?”

  “Have you got your report ready on Wainwright? The one detailing your surveillance, with all the pictures and video clips attached?”

  “Just finishing it off now, boss.”

  “Good, send it over as soon as, so I can pass it onto Captain Draper.”

  As Billy left the office, Crane turned to the list in his hand. There were 20 names on it. A fairly representative figure, he guessed, of young men becoming fathers from the whole of Aldershot Garrison. The list detailed their rank, current addresses and telephone numbers, but precious little else. What else was there to ask?

  Crane wandered out into the car park outside Provost Barracks and lit a cigarette, all the time studying the list. Looking more closely at it, he realised the information also included date of birth, rank and service number of each soldier. Glancing down the list, most of the fathers were young men of lower rank with only three being officers. There was still something niggling him. What else did he need to know? What didn’t the list show?

  There had been a rain shower earlier that morning and Crane inadvertently splashed in a puddle, swearing as he wet his shoe, sock and the bottom of his trousers. Trying to shake the water from his trouser leg, he berated himself for the silly accident.

  As he drew deeply on his cigarette, he realised the obvious information missing was the lads’ Army records. Had any of them had discipline problems, or anger management problems? Those types of problems may be an indication of emotional instability, or a hint that they could have difficulty dealing with suddenly becoming a father, shortly after being married. And that may have led to an accident, a mishandling of the baby, or shaking it in anger or frustration. As Crane wandered around the car park, he remembered that there was nothing in the child’s post mortem to indicate a traumatic death. But reasoning that perhaps something may have been overlooked, or not shown up at the time of the autopsy, such as bruising, then it may be an avenue worth pursuing.

  Walking back into the SIB office, he made sure Sue had a copy of the list and he asked her to pull the Army records for each man on it. He then went to get his coat. There was someone he needed to speak to over a cup of coffee.

  ***

  Crane arrived at the Garrison Church and creaked open the large wooden door. The interior was empty. The standards lining the nave looked like sentries and fluttered in the breeze as Crane opened and closed the door. Crane knew the way to the Padre’s office, but if he hadn’t he would have simply had to follow the enticing aroma of Arabica beans. As the Padre had become more and more involved with welfare matters for the various regiments stationed on the Garrison at any one time, his coffee percolator had become more and more popular. Crane walked to the back of the church and made his way through the gloom of the large stone building, to the office, looking over his shoulder as the ghosts of previous investigations seemed to follow him and he hurried through the cold corridor towards the bright lights shining through the open office door.

  Crane knocked and at the Padre’s call, entered the room. The stone walls would have presented a cold, unwelcoming interior, but bright lights chased the shadows into the corners and a new area boasting a colourful rug between two comfy chairs, with the coffee machine on a low table nearby, transformed the space.

  “Good morning, Captain Symmonds,” Crane said. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Certainly, Crane, come in. I expect you want coffee?”

  The Captain fussed over his machine and handed Crane a welcome black coffee. Once they were seated he wanted to know how he could help.

  Crane handed the Padre a copy of the list of men who had taken paternity or compassionate leave recently and explained they were using this as a starting point for their investigation into the identity of the dead baby. Crane and Billy intended to interview the soldier or their wife or partner to see if all was well and they still had their child.

  “Fair enough,” said Padre Symmonds. “So what do you want from me?” he asked, putting the list down on the table without looking at it.

  “I wondered if you would look through the list and see if any of those soldiers came for welfare support. Maybe they had a marital problem, or problems with fatherhood, that sort of thing.”

  “Are you forgetting that my sessions with them are confidential?”

  “Not at all, sir,” said Crane, placing his mug on the low table. “I just want to know if anyone of them had come with any relevant problems. If you could just indicate if there are any names on the list that you are familiar with, that would help.”

  “In what way?”

  “We may then look more closely at those soldiers.”

  “Crane, if someone has had leave, then they are bound to have a child.”

  “Not necessarily, sir, they could have had compassionate leave for another reason. Not every Regiment records leave in the same way. Nor do they keep track of how many children a soldier has. So….”

  “I see what you mean,” the Padre took a swallow of coffee before continuing. “One of these soldiers could have had a child, but it died. If so, conceivably, it could be the one we found left at the church. However, if there is nothing on their service record to indicate fatherhood, they could simply deny ever having a child. Oh dear.” The Captain looked into his coffee mug, then put it down on the table and pushed it away from him. “Wouldn’t the birth be registered?”

  “It should be,” said Crane, “but it’s a lot of work for us to check up on each soldier initially through the Birth Deaths and Marriages Registrar. So I want to whittle the list down first. Then we could look more closely at any suspicious family.”

  “Yes, I see.” The Padre put his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin. After a ponderous moment during which Crane worried at the scar under his beard, Captain Symmonds said, “Very well, Crane, let me have a look at the list. I’ll not give you any reasons why I know any of the soldiers, mind. Just indicate, informally you understand, that a certain soldier may be worth talking to.”

  Crane tried hard not to break into a grin at the Padre’s words and managed a sober, “Thank you, sir. Do you want me to leave the list with you?”

  “No, I’ll do it now, while you enjoy your coffee.”

  Crane didn’t have to wait very long, as the Padre only knew two of the men on the list. But it was his next statement that Crane found very interesting.

  “I know of one other family that aren’t on this list. A young soldier was killed in Afghanistan and the story goes that when his wife got the news, the shock ca
used her to go into labour, right there on the doorstep. I remember some of the lads telling me about it at his funeral. Now what was the soldier’s name? Just a minute, Crane,” and the Padre jumped up and went to his desk. Pulling out his diary he checked some dates.

  “Here we are,” the Padre carried the diary back to his armchair. “I’ve got his funeral recorded in the diary. The soldier was called Chandler, Alan Chandler.”

  Disappointment

  Kerry awoke to silence. From her prone position on the small single bed, she turned her head and looked at the cot and listened. Nothing. No cry, no snuffling, no squirming. Sighing, she pushed away the duvet, swung her legs out of bed and pushed her feet into her backless slippers. She stood and looked into Molly’s cot. She was lying on her front, legs and arms down and her face turned sideways. In exactly the same position as when Kerry put her to bed last night and carefully covered her with her favourite blanket.

  Kerry grabbed her dressing gown off the bottom of the bed and shrugged her way into it. Slapping her way out of the room, she left the baby where she was and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on for a mug of tea. The flat was so quiet that she jumped at the sound of the boiler turning itself on to warm the water for the radiators.

  She glanced over at Alan, who was sitting in his chair. Motionless. Silent. His opaque eyes seeing nothing. His mouth frozen open. His eyebrows high in terror. She expected he was constantly reliving the explosion. Well who wouldn’t? It wouldn’t be something you’d forget easily, she imagined. But she’d thought he’d have come to terms with it by now, even just a little bit. After all these months. At least enough for his face to relax. But it seemed not.