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

  ***

  Crane covered the couple of miles between the garrison and Aldershot Police Station in record time. Anger drove the car, crashed the gears and gunned the engine in hopeless retaliation. By the time Crane arrived, he was shaking from the adrenalin rush and sweating profusely. Grabbing a bottle of water from the glove box he stayed slumped in the car seat with the door wide open. The water tasted metallic on his tongue and failed to wash out the bad taste in his mouth from his conversation with Edwards. Screwing the cap back on the bottle, he threw it into the glove box, slammed the lid closed and got out of the car. The door suffered the same fate as the glove box and Crane only stopped himself from kicking the car bodywork by reaching for his cigarettes and lighter.

  He was marginally calmer when he arrived at Anderson’s office. The usual clutter needed moving before he could sit down and he then brought Anderson up to date with events.

  “So, another dead soldier,” Derek commented when Crane had finished.

  “’Afraid so. But this time we have a witness. We have confirmation from the post mortem as to cause of death, a broken neck with bruising from an unknown assailant’s hands. So, taking all that into account, coupled with the position of the body, which was dragged behind a pillbox, I can safely call it murder.” Crane ran his hand through his hair and then over his beard.

  “But?”

  “But what?”

  “Come on, Crane, your body language is giving you away. Look at you, slumped in your chair, fiddling with your hair and beard. You’re obviously pissed off. So, there’s a ‘but’ in there.”

  “It’s the witness,” Crane sighed.

  “What about him? Don’t you think he’s reliable?”

  “Oh I do,” Crane threw his file onto Anderson’s desk.

  “So who doesn’t? Edwards?”

  “Exactly. He’s ordered me to treat him as a suspect.”

  “A suspect? A 60 odd year old man? Thinner than a twig and shorter than you and me and just about everyone else I know?”

  “Yes. I guess Captain Edwards thinks that if you turn it around the other way and look at him as a suspect, Padam killed McInnes because he caught him in the act of stealing something or at least trying to break into somewhere.”

  “What could he be stealing in a cemetery for God’s sake?”

  “Buggered if I know.” Crane scratched his scar. “But Edward’s theory is that there could have been more than one of them at the scene. You know they hang around together, are rarely seen alone and then there’s their situation to consider.”

  “Situation? What does that mean?” By now Anderson was scratching his head.

  “The fact that they have no money, no jobs and no support from the state. Being broke and hungry can change even the strongest man.”

  “So, Edwards thinks they’re stealing to support themselves, out of desperation.”

  “Well, I get the impression he’s not much concerned about their desperation, just their vagrancy.” Crane shook his head, disgusted by the attitude of his Officer Commanding.

  “Are there any reports of more thefts on the garrison?”

  Crane grabbed the file back off the desk and opened it. “Unfortunately, yes. Various items were stolen from Aspire Defence stores. Here’s the report.” He handed over the flimsy bit of paper. “I still haven’t got a full list of what’s missing from the Witch of the North.”

  Crane’s description of Juliette Stone caused Anderson to smile for the first time during their conversation. “And Edwards thinks the Gurkhas may be responsible?”

  “Looks that way. So…” Crane let the word hang between them. Anderson merely lifted his eyebrows, waiting for Crane to continue. “So,” Crane started again, “Edwards wants their homes searched.”

  “And where do they live?” Anderson’s eyebrows reached even further towards his hairline.

  “You know bloody well where. In Aldershot and Farnborough mostly.”

  “But not on the garrison.”

  “No, Anderson, not on the garrison.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Crane. I know we work closely together and all that, but this is a bit thin.”

  “How about if I pad it out for you a bit. Provide a full detailed report for you to use to get a search warrant.”

  “It better be good.” Anderson leaned back in his chair.

  “Don’t worry, it will be - I’ve got my orders.”

  Day 23

  “Boss?”

  Yes, Billy, what is it?” Crane wasn’t happy at the interruption.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir, but Lance Corporal Dudley-Jones would like a word.”

  Crane lifted his head to look through his office window. Dudley-Jones was pacing up and down, a buff file in one hand and a slim black net book in the other.

  “Oh, very well.” Crane saved and closed the file on his computer, secretly glad to get away from the report he was finishing off for Anderson, requesting a search warrant of the Gurkhas’ homes. “Why are you still here?” he asked Billy looking at his watch.

  “Just off now, sir. Had a couple of things to finish off for Sergeant Jones.”

  “Okay, see you tomorrow morning. Send in Dudley-Jones on your way out.”

  Dudley-Jones quick-marched into Crane’s office and stood in front of the desk.

  “You’ll never guess what’s happened, sir,” he exclaimed as Crane indicated he should sit down.

  “Lance Corporal, I don’t engage in guessing games. If you’ve got something to tell me, get on with it. Otherwise get out of my office.”

  “Oh, yes, sir, sorry, sir.” The Lance Corporal’s sallow complexion suffused with colour. “We’ve had an Intel report in overnight, sir,” he continued, jiggling about on his seat like a seven year old at school desperate to tell the teacher the answer to his question.

  Crane’s response was to close his eyes. “And?” he asked, slowly opening them again.

  “And there’s definitely something going on.”

  “Dudley-Jones, that’s what you said last time and nothing has happened.”

  “But this time it’s more concrete. Can I, sir?” The Lance Corporal indicated his net book. Taking it to mean that he had something to share, Crane nodded reluctantly.

  The Lance Corporal lifted the lid and hit the power button with a flourish. “This is a recording of a conversation monitored last night.”

  Dudley-Jones opened a file. The sound of hissing filtered from the tinny speakers on the net book, followed by a conversation between two men. The voices kept fading in and out and Crane strained to hear some of the words.

  At the end of the recording Crane said, “I take it you have a transcript.”

  “Of course, sir,” and Dudley-Jones fished out a piece of paper from the file he was balancing on his knee.

  INTELLIGENCE REPORT

  DATE: 24.7.2012

  TIME: 03:00 hours

  PREPARED BY: Sgt P Smith

  Below is a transcript of a mobile telephone conversation recorded at 01:00 hours on the 24th July.

  PERSON 1: How is our friend?

  PERSON 2: Getting better, thank you.

  PERSON 1: Good. Did you manage to get everything he needs?

  PERSON 2: Yes.

  PERSON 1: Excellent, I’m sure it means a great deal to him. When will he be completely recovered?

  PERSON 2: In a day or two.

  PERSON 1: You can’t be more specific?

  PERSON 2: Not at this stage.

  PERSON 1: Very well, keep me informed.

  The connection was then broken. The call lasted 60 seconds and originated from a mobile phone in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. The receiving mobile phone was in the Aldershot/Farnborough area. At this stage no information is available on either mobile phone number, with regards to the registered user or network provider, although enquiries are ongoing.

  Crane read through the transcript and then asked Dudley-Jones to play the recording again, so Crane could compare the two. This help
ed clarify the words, but not the meaning.

  “What do you think, sir?” Dudley-Jones’ eager expression once more reminding Crane of a school boy.

  “I think I need a coffee. White, two sugars.” As Dudley-Jones scampered across the office for the coffee, Crane read through the brief transcript a third time.

  “So why is this seemingly innocuous telephone call significant?” Crane waved the paper in Dudley-Jones’ face before taking the proffered mug and leaning back in his chair.

  “Well, sir, for several reasons. One – the call was made from Afghanistan to the Aldershot area. Two – neither man said the other’s name, or the name of the third person they referred to. Three – it is proving difficult to trace the owners of the mobile numbers. And, of course, four – the content of the conversation.”

  “Seems innocent enough to me,” Crane said, placing his coffee mug on his desk. “Just someone enquiring about a friend who is ill.”

  “On the surface, yes, sir. But we need to read between the lines.”

  “Alright, read between the lines for me then, Lance Corporal.”

  “Well, sir,” Dudley-Jones stood and moved behind Crane’s desk to stand next to him. Leaning forward he said, “The line ‘is our friend better’, for that read ‘is our friend ready’.” He put his finger under the line to emphasise it. “Then,” he continued, “see the words ‘did you manage to get everything he needed?’ That isn’t necessarily medicines, but equipment.”

  “Okay,” conceded Crane. “Anything else?”

  “Oh yes, sir. This line. ‘I’m sure it means a great deal to him. When will he be recovered?’ So the equipment is obviously very important and the caller then wants to know specifically when everything will be in place. They then decide in a day or two.” Dudley-Jones straightens up. “We’ll obviously be monitoring the airwaves closely for the follow up call.”

  Crane motioned the Lance Corporal to move back to his seat while he thought for a moment. Personally he considered it to be load of bollocks. But on the other hand…

  “Good work, Lance Corporal.” Crane beamed at the young man in front of him. “I think we should take this to Captain Edwards immediately. Don’t you agree?”

  Once they gained access to Captain Edwards, Dudley-Jones did his party trick once again, whipping out his net book and regaling the Captain with his Intel.

  “Well,” Edwards leaned back in his chair. “I think we should take this very seriously, don’t you, Sergeant Major?”

  For once Crane was happy to agree with his boss. “Indeed, sir. Seems pretty significant to me. Added to that two mur…err….dead soldiers,” Crane quickly changed the word in response to Edwards’s raised eyebrows. “Not forgetting the thefts from the stores.”

  Edwards eventually spoke into the silence. “At the moment I don’t see that the thefts are relevant to this Intel.” Frost coated Edwards’ words. “I’ve already told you how to deal with those, Crane. I take it you have followed my orders?” The blue eyes above the long nose peered at Crane.

  “Of course, sir. It’s all in hand.” Crane said holding the Captain’s stare.

  “Be more specific please, Crane.”

  “I’ve already had a meeting with DI Anderson about obtaining a search warrant for the Gurkhas’ accommodation. In fact I was just finishing a full and detailed report for him to use with his request for the warrant when Dudley-Jones here came to see me.”

  “Um, sir,” Dudley-Jones interrupted at the sound of his name and looking at Edwards said, “What shall we do about security on the garrison?”

  Captain Edwards rose from his chair and paced the office. When he spoke he forced the two men to swivel around to look at him, at his position by the office door.

  “Increase security on the garrison. Same procedures as last week.”

  “You feel that’s necessary, sir?” Crane asked innocently.

  “You know it bloody well is, Sergeant Major. The brass will have my guts for garters if we don’t react to this intelligence. So, as you’ve got a lot to do now, Crane, you’d better get on with it. Dismissed. Both of you.”

  As the two men clattered down the stairs after leaving Captain Edwards, Crane hissed, “Perhaps, Lance Corporal, now you’ll stick like glue to the Afghan officers, as I requested.”

  Night 23

  Rumours abound. They think I can’t understand their whispered conversations in the Officers’ Mess, but of course I can. Two soldiers are dead. Why? What’s happening? Who’s behind it? It makes me laugh to myself, as I alone know what’s going on. It is interesting to see how animated conversations stop as soon as I approach. The outsider. On the surface treated with respect. But underneath, treated with suspicion. They cannot hide their true feelings, no matter how they try.

  I have now formulated the how, what and where of my little plan and obtained the materials I need. So the next part of my mission is to earn the respect of my fellow British officers. Lull them into a false sense of security. Show I can be trusted. That I am a true friend of the British Army.

  It is also time to tell the others of my plans. Plans that will throw your security services into disarray. So they don’t know what’s going on, or which way to look, nor have any suspects. I shall enjoy watching that. Knowing that I am in control. Knowing that they are reduced to reacting to my disruptions.

  I have had the go ahead from home; they will be watching and waiting for news of my success. In essence, I have to succeed. I will succeed - for I know with every fibre of my being that Allah will reward my faith, and not the faith of you infidels! For Allah is good! Allah is great! Allah is the way to eternal salvation!

  But I also understand that to achieve eternal salvation requires more than a Muslim just leading a good and humane life. It requires - no demands - certain achievements in one’s life. Those achievements could be conquering land, converting non-believers or destroying infidels - all in the name of Allah.

  Here in your country I know I cannot conquer land, nor convert non-believers. So I must destroy you infidels. As many as I can. And I will.

  Day 24

  Crane entered Aldershot Police Station and waved his security identification at the desk sergeant. As he walked through the large open plan office towards the CID area, Crane was puzzled. There were lots of staff in the office and they were all on the phone. Fragments of conversations drifted towards him, then swirled away to become lost in the general melee.

  “We can only apologise….”

  “Tightened security was necessary I’m afraid…”

  “A series of thefts…”

  “I understand you are being inconvenienced but…”

  Crane stopped at the door of Anderson’s office, looking in with some trepidation. When he saw Anderson was also on the phone he knew he was in trouble.

  Replacing the receiver with a bang, Anderson paused for a moment before picking it up again and dialling a number. Preferring to leave un-noticed, Crane nevertheless knocked on the door to gain Anderson’s attention.

  Jerking his head up at the interruption, Anderson stared at Crane.

  “Morning,” Crane called from the door. Receiving no reply Crane’s eyes swept the office and his smile became more of a grimace. Still Anderson didn’t speak.

  “Are you alright?” Crane hovered at the door, uncertain whether to enter.

  Eventually Anderson spoke. “No I’m bloody not.”

  Crane noticed the elongated words and stiffness in his friend’s body. “Ah…not a good time to call then.”

  “Not at all, Crane.” Anderson seemed to force himself to relax, leaning back against his chair. But his crossed arms remained a barrier between the two men. “I was just going to call you, ask you to come over, so you could see the fruits of your labour.” Anderson indicated the crowded space outside of his office.

  “Ah...” was all Crane could manage.

  “I know you had to increase the security at the garrison again, but Jesus Christ, Crane, we’ve never h
ad so many phone calls!” Anderson rubbed his head, adding to the general disarray of his grey wispy hair. “Everyone from civilian support staff, to constables and all the way up the ranks to me, are apologising to the local population.”

  “Sorry,” Crane replied, “but you know it makes sense,” and he was unable to suppress the grin which spread across his face crinkling his eyes.

  This seemed to diffuse the situation, as Anderson smiled a wry smile in return and shook his head. “I actually think the excuse is making things worse,” Anderson said.

  “Why?”

  “It sounds so feeble, reports of thefts from the garrison.”

  “Surely it’s better than telling the truth? That we think there are terrorists getting ready for an attack somewhere in the vicinity.”

  “I suppose so,” but Anderson didn’t sound convinced.

  “Believe you me, a load of pissed off residents is a whole lot better than terrified people, afraid to leave their homes in case the local Tesco is bombed.”

  “All right,” Anderson sighed. “But you’re going to have to deal with the local press. This was your call and you’re going to have to take some flack.”

  “Be glad to, Derek.” Crane glanced at his watch. “But I must go, duty calls. Have to inspect the front line. Back up the lads at the barriers.”

  ***

  Once outside, before crossing the car park, Crane paused between a couple of police cars parked nose into the building, to light a cigarette. He ducked his head inside the flap of his jacket to keep the flame out of the blustery wind. As he raised his head a familiar but definitely unwelcome figure was standing directly in front of him, blocking his way.

  “Sergeant Major Crane,” Diane Chambers said, “just the person I wanted to see.”

  After taking a moment to drag on his cigarette, Crane exhaled. “Sorry, Ms Chambers. No comment at this time. Please direct all enquiries to the press office.”

  “Oh, Sergeant Major,” Diane purred. “This isn’t an official request for a comment. More of a, how can I put it, off the record chat.”