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

  That’s what it comes down to Crane knew, as he packed his briefcase. Family. Which one to choose? The army family or the civilian family? He cleared the kitchen of the breakfast debris, collected his suit jacket and briefcase and went out into the chill of the early morning sunshine. Stopping at the car, his brow creased and his hand fingered his scar. Could he live without the army he wondered, unlocking the door. If he left would private security be enough of a challenge or too much like his current babysitting job? Driving down the road he remembered his pension. That was a major factor in any future financial planning. Waiting to turn right at the top of the garrison, it occurred to him that he would miss the camaraderie of the army. And what about the opportunities for travel, sport and adventure? Not to mention the safe(ish) secure(ish) future career the forces offered. Arriving at St Omer Barracks, to deal with his first problem of the day, he was no nearer an answer. But as his main priority was seeing Sergeant Major Dunn about a series of petty thefts, he pushed the confusion of thoughts to the back of his mind and got on with his job.

  Crane found Dunn by spotting the bobbing white hat, which kept appearing periodically between the boxes Crane was sitting on a few days ago.

  “I don’t bloody believe it, Crane,” Dunn shouted and waved his hand seemingly in time with his wobbly hat. “There’s loads of this shit missing!”

  “Well, it’s not surprising, Dunn, leaving the stuff lying around outside.”

  Crane considered lighting a cigarette, until he got a whiff of the volcanic ash tray.

  “I know, but I’m so short of space in the kitchen stores. I suppose I’ll have to get a few of the lads to try and find somewhere to squeeze it all in.”

  “Leave it for a bit will you?”

  “Leave it? And get more stuff stolen? Are you out of your mind? God knows what Aspire will say about the increased cost as it is. I’m not about to make a bad situation worse.”

  This time the chef’s hat did fall of his head. Dunn snatched at it and crumpled it in his hand.

  “How about if I can guarantee no more stuff will be lost?” Crane asked.

  “And how the hell were you going to do that?”

  “Simple.”

  Crane decided to light a cigarette anyway and drew Dunn away from the back door of the kitchen so no one could hear them.

  “This is an opportunist crime. So you leave the stuff where it is, I’ll get the lads on the gate to inspect cars going out as well as coming in and I guarantee you’ll have your culprits and your stock back by the end of the day.”

  “This better bloody work, Crane,” the Chef grumbled, trying to smooth out the creases he had put in his hat. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. So say nothing, do nothing and just leave it to me.”

  Grinding his cigarette out on the floor, Crane strode off to the entrance of the barracks to implement his plan.

  The second problem Crane faced was not as easy to deal with. Juliette Stone. She kept calling his mobile demanding his presence in her office in St Omer Barracks. Immediately, if not sooner. So he supposed he better go and see her. Walking to her small office he wondered what trivia she wanted him to deal with. He found her sat behind her modern desk in a pristine office with no personal frills.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly, Sergeant Major,” she said, pushing a file across her desk at Crane as he sat opposite her. “It seems a couple of the athletes have noticed personal items missing. At first they thought they were mislaid, but after a careful search it seems they may have been stolen. Nothing of terribly high value, a gold watch and gold engagement ring, but as you can imagine, extremely embarrassing for us and upsetting for the athletes. No one likes to lose sentimental pieces of jewellery that can’t be replaced.”

  “Indeed, Miss Stone,” Crane agreed, flicking through the papers.

  “So, I thought I would lay this one in your lap as you’re responsible for security. What do you intend to do about it?” she tossed her head, her tied back ice cool blond hair flicking like a horse’s tail.

  “Well, Miss Stone,” Crane closed the file, “It’s true I’m responsible for security on the garrison at the moment, but really it’s the security of the athletes against outside attack.” Seeing the arched eyebrows, he quickly continued, “But, of course, I’ll sort this out for you.”

  “Good. How?” Her pupil’s contracted and the blue chips of iris hardened.

  “Well, strictly speaking your employees, who to be fair are the likely suspects, are civilian staff. However, as they are on army property they also fall under the jurisdiction of the army.”

  “Let me make it clear, Sergeant Major” she cut in, “I don’t intend to have my staff interviewed and intimidated by gun toting soldiers!”

  “Of course not.” Crane briefly closed his eyes and tried not to sigh. “That’s not my intention at all, Ms Stone. I was going to suggest that I call Aldershot Police and we do a low key joint operation. I don’t want to cause any panic amongst the athletes, nor amongst your staff. But as you say, you want something done about it immediately.”

  “Very well, Sergeant Major. Please keep me informed.” She sounded like Captain Edwards and dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

  Crane left her office wondering how he was ever going to keep up this façade of diplomacy. If he’d wanted this sort of job he’d have joined the Diplomatic Corp. What had Captain Edwards called it? Oh yes, learning new skills. However, Crane was of the opinion that you can’t teach old dogs new tricks. And anyway he didn’t want to change. Saw no reason to. Added to that, Tina’s scan appointment kept poking into his thoughts like a hot pin. So he was stuck in the middle of a maelstrom of emotions that included resentment and guilt by the time he arrived at Aldershot Police station fifteen minutes later. A journey that should had taken five, hindered by the increased traffic on the roads, pissing him off even more.

  ***

  Crane tried to find a parking space outside the monolithic structure, a study in grey concrete, split into two halves. One half contained Aldershot Police Station and the other the Magistrates Court. Handy, Crane had always thought. Saved the police a lot of driving around taking offenders backwards and forwards to court. Crane eventually managed to squeeze his Ford Focus into a tight parking space, the only one available. Once Crane was upstairs, Detective Inspector Anderson greeted him as if his visit was the return of the prodigal son.

  “Crane, good to see you,” Anderson enthused, getting out of his office chair and coming round to pump Crane’s hand, attempting to brush the crumbs and other detritus from his suit jacket before enveloping Crane in a hug.

  “So you’re back on duty then?” he continued as Crane searched for somewhere to sit in the cramped office, overflowing with books, papers and files. Crane often wondered if Anderson actually read all this shit, or just left it lying around to make himself look busy.

  “How are you? God wasn’t that awful. I was sure we were going to lose you at one point, Crane.” Anderson’s voice was gruff and he cleared his throat.

  Crane didn’t want to talk about the events of earlier in the year, when he was incarcerated in Frimley Park Hospital for far too long, so he steered the conversation back to the present.

  “I’m fine, thanks, Derek. I just need to see you about a problem we’ve got in St Omer Barracks at the moment. Petty thefts from the athlete’s living quarters and as they’re civilian staff…”

  “Oh, okay,” But instead of looking at the file Crane handed him, he looked around the office. “Where’s your shadow? Isn’t Billy with you?”

  “No. He and Kim are doing the night shift liaison.”

  “It’s just that you look a little, um, lopsided on your own, Crane, without your sergeant. I’m more used to seeing the men in black, rather than the man in black.” Anderson’s wispy grey hair flew around his head as he laughed at his own joke.

  Luckily cups of tea arrived before Anderson could move onto other famous partnerships so Crane was able to ge
t down to business. They decided that a joint operation be set up, with Crane and Anderson overseeing the interviews as a courtesy to Aspire and the BOA, although neither man was entirely happy with having to get in involved in such low level crimes. As they put the flesh on the bones of their plan, Crane’s hot pin poked his brain again and glancing at his watch, realised Tina would be at the hospital waiting for her appointment. But there was nothing he could do about it, apart from keep his fingers crossed that all was well with mother and son, so he turned his attention back to work.

  Night 7

  Padam was once again on sentry duty, surveying the sports centre. He’d changed location and now blended into a thicket of trees, looking directly at the side of the building where he saw the smudge a few nights ago. Aware that he was now where the smudge had probably begun and ended his recce of the building the other night, Padam was buried into a pile of leaves and branches at the foot of a tree. Being at one with the earth calmed him and gave him a peace he wasn’t able to find during the day.

  A stroke of luck had also added to his sense of wellbeing. Being part of the unseen and ignored section of society, those unfortunates that most people give no more thought to than the litter on the street, meant that the cast-outs tended to band together. It was through such an encounter that Padam and his friends had been introduced to Tesco. Being the largest and most popular supermarket in the area it meant there were opportunities for free food.

  Two days ago, Padam was sat on the grassy knoll overlooking the supermarket’s overflowing car park, waiting for his new homeless friends. Watching the greedy customers grab empty trolleys, snarling at people who got in their way. Once the customers had their plunder, barely contained by the groaning trolleys, it became a race against time. They rushed to stow away their booty, eager to be gone. To consume their spoils in private. Driving their cars at break neck speed out of the car park, leaving abandoned trolleys in their wake.

  It was explained to Padam in a mixture of pigeon English and a great deal of pointing, that not all the fresh food in the food store was purchased each day. Anything out of date and unsold was thrown away each evening. At nightfall therefore, the Nepalese were persuaded to climb inside the high waste bins scattered around the back of the store. Being smaller and lighter it was an easy enough task for them to get in and root around in the rotting vegetables, to find packets of sandwiches, cakes, pies, pasties and other such gems.

  Whilst being amazed by a society that could afford to throw away good food without a second thought, Padam was nevertheless grateful. Now he could focus his attention on his sentry duty, without the distraction of hunger.

  Hearing a faint rustling of leaves behind him, Padam’s breathing became slow and shallow. He was confident that even on close inspection he would be seen as a lump of rock, covered by fallen leaves and twigs. The human brain being programmed to see what it expected to find in any given location. Once again his army greatcoat had come in handy and was draped over his body to help with the camouflage. Moving just his eyes, he scanned the area directly in front of him.

  He almost missed the smudge as it ran towards the side of the sports centre and settled into the shadow of the wall. Ignoring the tickle in his nose from the mouldy undergrowth, Padam concentrated on what he could see. The smudge. Edging slowly along the wall, away from the front of the building and stopping half way down. A leaf dislodged itself from the pile above Padam and came to rest on his eyelid, making him blink several times. When he once again focused on the wall, the smudge had disappeared. Mentally turning the area into a grid system, he slowly scanned it, but found nothing.

  His inner clock estimated it was at least thirty minutes before he saw the smudge again. Appearing at exactly the same point it had disappeared from earlier. Seemingly morphing from a wall into a smudge. After another incessant wait, the smudge disengaged itself from the wall and ran towards Padam.

  Day 8

  Crane was reading, yet again, the file Kim had opened on the accidental death of Corporal Simms. She had also logged the initial details onto the REDCAPS computer system, filing away the detailed statements taken from all the soldiers on duty with him that night, the post mortem results and finally Captain Edward’s press release. The only thing missing was any forensic evidence that would come in over the next couple of days. The various tests they had to undertake in the laboratories using materials gleaned from the scene of crime, or during the post mortem, took as long as they took. Not even Crane could persuade a machine to hurry up; although he always tried to make sure his evidence was first in the queue.

  Closing the file, Crane got up and wandered across the office. He was studying a large map of the garrison that Kim had put up on one of the walls of their large communal office, showing the location of Corporal Simms’ unfortunate demise, when she walked past to go off duty.

  “Kim,” he called. “Just a minute.”

  “Sir?”

  “What are all these pins you’ve put on the map of the garrison?”

  “Oh those,” Kim moved to stand next to him. “I decided to plot the location of each battalion on the map. I don’t know why really. I just thought it was interesting.”

  As Crane continued to study the map he scratched the scar beneath his short beard.

  “Sorry, sir.” Kim spoke into the silence.

  “No, no, it’s alright. It’s just that...”

  “What’s up, boss? I told Kim that was a waste of time,” Billy said appearing at Crane’s side with alacrity.

  Standing back and looking at them, Crane said, “No, Billy, I don’t think it was a waste of time. Kim why are there two pins in New Mons Barracks? Is that an error?”

  “No, sir.” Kim strode to her desk her uniform skirt rustling and picked up a piece of paper. “Here,” she held it out to Crane. “A routine memo came through last week, it was sent to the RMP though, not us. I got a copy of it last night when I was talking to one of them. It advises that a group of Afghan officers will be the guests of the 1st Battalion The Coldstream Guards for the next month. I didn’t know how to classify them, but I thought they should be on the map. Especially as New Mons Barracks is directly opposite the sports centre, just on the other side of Princess Avenue.”

  Billy whistled.

  “Exactly, Billy. Good work Kim. Yet again.”

  ***

  “I was just wondering when you were going to tell me about this...” Crane waited a beat before adding, “sir.” The tone of Crane’s voice more suited to finding something disgusting on his shoe, than addressing his Officer Commanding.

  A minute ago, anger had made him push past the soldier waiting outside the Captain’s office and walk in uninvited.

  “What now, Crane?” Edwards seemed to treat the implied insubordination with boredom rather than outrage, as he indicated Crane should sit. Wrong footed, Crane complied, some of his irritation dissipating.

  “Purely through the good work of Sergeant Weston, I’ve found out that there are Afghan officers training on Aldershot Garrison.” Crane said throwing the memo onto the Captain’s desk, sitting back and crossing his arms.

  “And?”

  “And, don’t you think this could have some bearing on Corporal Simm’s death, sir?”

  “No, Sergeant Major, I don’t,” Edwards sighed. “But I expect you were going to tell me why it should.”

  “You mean you don’t see them as a potential threat?” Crane muttered several expletives under his breath.

  “Potential threat? What on earth are you talking about, Crane? These are perfectly respectable Afghan officers, who are here at the invitation of the Coldstream Guards. After working with them in Afghanistan, their Commanding Officer thought it would be beneficial for the Afghans to come and see for themselves how our training works in situ.”

  As Edwards warmed to his political speech, he leaned forward across the desk.

  “They will see firsthand what the attitude of our lads is. How they work together, trust each
other and watch each other’s backs. Moreover, they will learn from our own officers how to foster and achieve that attitude. And if the Commanding Officer of the Coldstream Guards thinks it’s a good idea, then believe you me, Crane, it is.”

  Crane left his chair and paced the small space in front of Edward’s desk. Feeling trapped, not only by the confines of the office but also by the small mindedness of his Officer Commanding.

  “But don’t you see the problem is timing,” Crane said.

  “Timing? What on earth has the timing of this got to do with anything?” The Captain pushed his lustrous black hair away from his sloping forehead.

  “The Olympic athletes, sir.” Crane closed his eyes and shook his head in frustration at the inability of the man in front of him to see his point of view. “They are an obvious target for the Taliban, Al Qaeda and any other loony terrorist on the planet.”

  “Sit down, Crane.” A barked order. As Crane complied Edwards continued. “For God’s sake, you’re assuming that one or more of the Afghans are terrorists. If they hadn’t been properly vetted they wouldn’t be here.”

  “What about Corporal Simms?”

  “Corporal Simms? Jesus, Crane you don’t change. The death of Corporal Simms was an unfortunate accident. It had nothing to do with any Afghan officers or anyone else who may be on the garrison. Stop seeing things that aren’t there and get back to the job in hand. Ensuring the security of the athletes on the garrison.”

  “That, sir, is precisely what I’m doing and will continue to do.”

  Crane walked out of the door, leaving Captain Edwards spluttering into the empty space.

  ***

  After leaving Captain Edward’s office, Crane went to see Derek Anderson at the station. As he drove he realised he was seeking refuge but was past caring. After an internal debate he decided to leave the matter of the Afghan officers stewing for a while, until the best course of action revealed itself to him. Which it usually did. So he concentrated on another problem that was irritating him. The petty thefts from the Athlete’s living quarters. Nothing else had been stolen but something still needed to be done. Especially before anyone outside the garrison, namely the press or, heaven forbid, the mayor, found out.