40 Days 40 Nights: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Read online

  Day 21

  Crane’s mobile rang just before 07:00 hours, as he was driving into work. Punching the button on his hands free set he said, “Tina?”

  “Sorry, boss, it’s me.”

  “Oh, morning, Billy, what’s the matter?”

  “Missing soldier, sir. Last seen on Gallwey Road, opposite the Military Cemetery.”

  “Are you up there?” Crane negotiated a sharp right hand bend.

  “Yes, boss, with Kim and Staff Sergeant Jones.”

  “Okay, I’m just entering the garrison; I’ll meet you in a couple of minutes.”

  Crane clicked off the phone and muttered, “Oh shit.” A missing soldier. And if that wasn’t enough he had to pick Tina up from the hospital later that morning. “Shit!” Crane accelerated past St Omer Barracks, ignoring the speed limit, pulling up behind Billy’s car a few minutes later.

  He was greeted by Jones who succinctly explained the situation. “Good morning, sir. One of my guards is missing. Corporal John McInnes. He wasn’t in place, here outside the cemetery, when the duty driver arrived to pick him and his partner Private Stuart Cable up at about 05:00 hours.”

  “Was Private Cable there?”

  “Yes. The duty driver brought him straight back to barracks and reported to the Guard Commander. Apparently McInnes and Cable decided to split up for a bit.” Jones emphasised the ‘apparently’.

  “That isn’t normal procedure is it? To split up and patrol alone?

  “Strictly speaking, no. Looks like the silly sods were pulling a flanker and it’s backfired on them. Cable is in the Guard Room now, trying to explain himself. Although the word amongst the lads is that his baby is ill and he was worried about it. So,” Jones paused, “I think it could be that McInnes thought he would help out by letting Cable pop off home and check everything was alright, as he only lives a few hundred yards away. If that’s the case, it’s the end of Cable’s army career.”

  Crane closed his eyes and breathed deeply as he listened to the story, wondering at the stupidity of the Corporal, whilst understanding how torn the man must feel. There but for the grace of God and all that. “You’ve started a search of the cemetery?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir, some of the Royal Military Police are in there together with search teams from A Company. But it’s a large area to cover, over 15 acres. Some of it heavily wooded. And the whole bloody lot is enclosed by large holly hedging. If something’s happened to McInnes in there, it could take us some time to find him. If anyone sees anything the first signal is a whistle.”

  “Alright, thanks, Jones.” Crane turned away and called, “Billy? With me.”

  “Okay, boss,” Billy bounded over like an excited puppy, forcing a smile from Crane. How could someone who’s just finished a twelve hour shift be so bloody energetic?

  Crane crossed the road and paused at the entrance. He couldn’t help but be intimidated by the cemetery. Even after all these years. When he was younger, much younger, he had pulled a night guard duty that included patrolling the cemetery. He was with a black lad called Cobb. When you worked at night with Cobb, all you could see were the whites of his eyes and teeth and the red of his lips and tongue. He was reminiscent of a voodoo doctor when the idiot insisted on prancing around. As he was doing that night. Giving Crane the creeps.

  They were on patrol checking along the perimeter of the cemetery. It was slowly beginning to get light, with a mist floating just above the ground, as though the clouds had fallen from the sky to coat the earth. As they went through a particularly dense patch of mist, Crane saw something hanging from a tree. As the mist swirled around it, he glimpsed what he thought was a broken branch, hanging lifeless from the tree, held on by a thread. But it turned out to be a broken man. Swinging from the end of a rope. As the man’s face came into view, covered with vaporous tendrils of mist, Crane had to stifle a scream. But Cobb seemed less affected. Commenting that maybe the soldier had decided to commit suicide in the cemetery, so he’d have company when he passed over to the other side.

  Taking deep breath and pushing the image away, Crane pulled on his coat for protection against the early morning chill.

  “Pretty old this place isn’t it, boss?” Billy kept pace with Crane as they ventured down one of the many tarmac paths that criss-cross the area.

  “Mmm, it was established soon after the army first set up camp here in Aldershot in the 1850’s.”

  “It’s well looked after.”

  Looking at the undulating landscape, Crane could see what Billy meant. Neat crisp rows of white headstones, set amongst close cut turf. For Crane the atmosphere in here was different from that of other military cemeteries. Not just because of his earlier experience, but because of the landscape. Numerous trees had been allowed to grow; breaking up what would otherwise be a stark scene. The harsh lines were softened by Oak, Pines, Firs and Chestnut trees and yet in other, older parts, the cemetery had intentionally been allowed to return to the natural heath land it once was.

  So in one section you could clearly see the difference between the recent white headstones and the older, grey ones alongside them. Crane found these areas particularly poignant. The old stones looked like they were slipping and sliding down the hill, canting at odd angles and for him were visual illustrations of the passage of time. He wondered if he himself would be buried here and if in a hundred years anyone would know, or care, where his plot was. Shivering, Crane wrapped his open coat around him.

  The shrill call of a whistle made Crane jump out of his reverie and he and Billy set off at a run towards a remote part of the cemetery. They stopped at the outskirts of a dense group of bushes, where a Royal Military Policeman was waiting.

  “Corporal McInnes?” Crane nodded into the undergrowth.

  “Think so, sir. He’s jammed in behind the pillbox. All I could see was a pair of boots, so I immediately retreated and whistled.”

  “No sign of life?”

  “None, sir. There were drag marks in the leaves and earth, but I couldn’t see any footmarks. The ground’s too hard.”

  “Good work, lad.” Crane reached for his phone.

  Jones answered, breathless, as though he too was running towards the sound of the whistle.

  “Looks like we’ve found him, Jones. Bring the tape and we’ll seal off the area. Doesn’t look like the scene’s been contaminated. I’ll call Major Martin and Billy can do forensics.”

  After that there was nothing else to do but wait. Crane sent Billy off in search of coffee and his forensic kit and Kim back to the office to prepare the paperwork, including pulling Corporal McInnes’ Military Record. He also put in a courtesy call to Captain Edwards, who was still at home enjoying his breakfast and seemed fully intent on staying there. “No need for me to attend, Crane,” he said. “This one’s down to you.”

  Luckily the Captain then terminated the call, obviating the need for Crane to confirm the order with a ‘sir’, which he hadn’t felt like doing.

  At 09:00 hours he called Tina’s mother. The silence that followed his request saying more than any insult she could have thrown at him. He then called the hospital, asking them to pass a message onto Tina, that due to an ‘incident’ at work, he wouldn’t be able to go to the hospital and take her home but had arranged for her mother to be there. He was diverted from the stab of guilt from his hot pin by Major Martin emerging from the bushes.

  “Right, Crane, you can go in now. The body was jammed behind the pillbox with just the boots visible. I’ve had to move him for ease of examination, but don’t worry, Billy’s taken lots of photos. The whole area is surrounded by Holly bushes and overhanging trees, so we’ve found pieces of cloth attached to some of them, along with a couple of blood stains. Not sure yet who’s blood it is obviously. Could be from scratches on McInnes as he was dragged in, or from the perpetrator.”

  “Time of death, sir?”

  “Difficult to say straight off as you very well know. I need to take into account the ambient temperatu
re overnight and this morning and do some calculations, but I’d say maybe between 04:00 and 06:00 hours. Give or take. Once you’ve had a look I’ll have him moved.”

  “Cause of death, sir?”

  “Looks like a broken neck.”

  Crane and Billy looked at each other. Words were not necessary. But Crane uttered one anyway, “Shit.”

  Night 21

  The post mortem of Corporal McInnes took place later that day. Crane, for once, decided not to attend and sent Billy in his place. Billy returned to the barracks as happy as if he had just had afternoon tea with Major Martin, not watched him cut up a dead body. The results were as they suspected. Death by a broken neck, this time with bruising from the perpetrator’s hands clearly visible. Lividity, pooling of the blood in the body, suggested McInnes had been dragged behind the pillbox and left there for a couple of hours, with time of death confirmed between 04:00 hours and 06:00 hours.

  Two things concerned Crane now. Firstly, the murder of a second soldier on the garrison (although Captain Edwards still maintained the first one was an accident) and secondly, a lost weapon. The gun McInnes was carrying couldn’t be found. It contained live ammunition and an extra magazine was also missing. Jones had kept his lads and A Company searching in the cemetery but now at 18:00 hours there was still no sign of either. They had beaten and battered every bit of undergrowth they could and found nothing. A lost gun. Live ammunition missing. An ongoing threat. As per the chain of Command Edwards had bawled out Crane over the missing weapon, Crane had bawled out Jones and Jones had bawled out the Platoon Commanders. It hadn’t achieved anything, but had made them all feel better. Apart from the poor sods at the bottom of the pecking order, that was.

  What would really make Crane feel better, he decided, was going home to Tina. Which he couldn’t do for another hour, so he went out to the car park for a cigarette and called her on his mobile, for about the fifth time that day.

  “Hey,” he said as she answered, “Are you alright?”

  “Tom,” she laughed, “Yes I’m fine, just as I was an hour ago.”

  “Sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “For everything really. For not being there to bring you home from hospital. For not being there now…” he tailed off, not sure what else to say, apart from sorry.

  “Tom, stop it. I know you have a job to do and what job is more important than finding the killer of a soldier?”

  “Thanks love, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Lots of things.” Crane leaned against a wall and paused to smoke his cigarette. “Anyway, I thought I’d bring home a take away for dinner. What do you fancy?”

  “Chinese,” Tina replied without hesitation. “Then I can just pick if I get too full. Anyway I’m busy doing the food shopping online. Did you know there was nothing in the cupboards and just a load of stuff gone off in the fridge?”

  “No, sorry, love. I haven’t bothered with shopping for food whilst you’ve been in hospital. I’ve eaten in the mess.”

  “Well, never mind. I’m home now, so I can order it tonight and get it all delivered tomorrow.”

  “Okay, see you between 7.30 and 8. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Tom, now get back to work.”

  Crane closed the phone and went back inside. Kim had come on duty early and was working on the incident board. “Any forensics in yet?”

  “No, sir, not until tomorrow and that’s at the earliest.”

  “What are they checking?”

  “Blood collected from the scene, pieces of cloth from the bushes, scrapings from under Corporal McInnes fingernails.”

  “Boss?” Billy called from the other side of the office. As Crane turned Billy said, “Staff Sergeant Jones wants you to go over and see him.”

  “Now?” Crane glanced at his watch.

  “Yes, sir. Can I tell him you’re on your way?”

  “Yes, Billy, but it better be bloody important.”

  Crane repeated that sentiment to Jones when he got to his office.

  “It is, Crane. Very. Your favourite neighbourhood Gurkha was here. Clearly trying to tell us something about last night. This was the best I could do without an interpreter.” Jones handed Crane a crude drawing.

  Crane sat in the visitor’s chair. It creaked and groaned under his weight as he wriggled to get comfortable.

  “For God’s sake, Jones, can’t you change this bloody chair?” Looking at Jones, Crane saw the suppressed grin. “No, I suppose not.”

  Crane looked at the drawing in his hand and stopped moaning. It depicted a vehicle, parked by the cemetery, with one soldier walking towards the graveyard and the other running across the fields. “Padam was there.”

  “So it would seem. Take a look at the second one.” Jones handed Crane another piece of paper.

  “Bloody hell,” was all Crane could manage as he stared at the second drawing. This showed a third soldier leaving the cemetery. “Have you managed to get an interpreter?” he demanded.

  “I can’t get anyone here until tomorrow morning.”

  “Well we can’t work with Padam without one. If he really did see the killer and can identify him, we need a proper interview that will stand up in court. So we’ll have to be careful.” Crane struggled out of the chair and headed for the door. “Set it up for as early in the morning as you can, Jones. Keep Padam here overnight, so we don’t lose him. Give him a hot meal and comfortable bed, he’ll be happy enough.”

  Jones nodded his agreement. “This is bad, Crane. Two soldiers dead. It’s getting personal now.”

  “Getting personal?” Jones’ words stopped Crane in the doorway. “With me it always was personal, Staff, from the first one.”

  “But why were they killed? What’s been achieved by their deaths?”

  “At the moment I’ve no idea,” Crane had to admit.

  “Where are you off to now?”

  “Home. Via the Chinese take away.”

  Day 22

  The Chinese take away from last night was giving Crane indigestion. He’d been in the barracks for hours, interviewing Padam with an interpreter. At the moment Padam was with an artist trying to come up with a composite picture of the soldier seen leaving the cemetery. Crane took a copy of his signed statement off the desk in front of him and decided to have a walk around the car park.

  The movement seemed to ease his stomach problems and the fresh air cleared his head, as he studied the statement again. McInnes must have heard something, a disturbance in the cemetery perhaps and went to investigate. Once inside McInnes must have encountered the murderer, who broke his neck and pulled him behind the pillbox. The pillbox was in a remote part of the cemetery, so maybe McInnes tracked the suspect for some distance. Or had he been lured there? That was more likely, but if so it indicated that the perpetrator had some training, military or otherwise and a degree of cunning.

  What was the reason for the death? The act of killing itself, he wondered? Counting Lance Corporal Simms, there were two murders. Perilously close to becoming a series of killings. Which meant there could be more to come. But what motive would someone have for picking off soldiers and with such precision?

  As Crane walked he tried to look at the puzzle from another angle, lighting a cigarette to aid his thinking. The missing weapon could be the key. Perhaps that’s what the suspect was after. But if that’s the case, what was he after the first time? Nothing was taken from the first soldier. So if nothing was taken, maybe it was to stop him either seeing something or reporting something. But Crane had no bloody idea what could be under the swimming pool that they shouldn’t see. They had searched it again since the death of Corporal Simms. But they’d better search it one more time. Exhaling the smoke from the last drag of his cigarette, he marched back into the barracks.

  Crane managed to catch his Officer Commanding in his office, but unfortunately Captain Edwards didn’t share his views. As usual.

  “How can you be sure
this old Gurkha is telling the truth?” he demanded.

  “I beg your pardon, sir?” Crane couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.

  “This old man had been lurking around on the garrison in the middle of the night,” Edwards warmed to his theme. “What was he doing?”

  “Well, just keeping an eye out I guess.” As he spoke Crane realised how lame that sounded.

  “Keeping an eye out! For God’s sake, Crane. You should be treating him as a suspect, not a witness. He could be making the whole thing up. A cover story for killing a soldier who found him trying to break in somewhere or steal something.”

  “Break in? Steal something? In a cemetery?”

  “I understand these Gurkhas are very poor. Living on the breadline.”

  “Yes sir, it’s an appalling state of affairs,” Crane agreed.

  “That’s as may be, but that sort of vagrant tends to turn to stealing to survive.”

  Crane began to realise Edwards didn’t have much sympathy for the plight of the old Gurkhas.

  “I see there were items stolen from the Aspire Defence stores,” Edwards looked down at the files on his desk, indicating one at the top of the pile.

  “Yes, sir.” Crane wondered where this was going.

  “Any progress with that?”

  “Um, not as yet, sir and we’re still awaiting a full list of the items missing from Ms Stone.”

  “Well, chase it up, Crane. And search the old Gurkhas’ flats or wherever it is they live.”

  “Search them? Why, sir?”

  “Because they could be our culprits. The ones who have been stealing from the stores.”

  “But we’ve no reason to suspect that, nor any jurisdiction in Aldershot and Farnborough, nor any authority to do it, sir.”

  “Well then, see DI Anderson and get some authority. Dismissed.”

  Crane tried to speak again but the Captain kept his head resolutely down, studying the files on his desk.