40 Days 40 Nights: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Page 8

  He didn’t get very far.

  The queue started just past Hospital Hill. With a smile playing across his lips Crane settled down to wait, deciding to take the opportunity to check in with Tina. By the time they had finished chatting he was near the front of the long line of vehicles waiting to drive through the garrison. Now he could see what had caused the inordinate wait.

  After showing his ID to the armed soldiers on duty and driving through the barricade, he parked up and wandered back down to the cordon, with the air of a man out for a stroll in the warm sun. He watched a small knot of very angry people converging on the young soldiers, demanding to know what was going on. The placid yet determined air of the soldiers fuelled their anger rather than dissipating it. But they stoically continued to refuse to let any vehicle through without a thorough search. Any pedestrians and those on bicycles, were subjected to a personal search.

  Crane heard a strident voice ring out, “This is absolutely ridiculous. You can rest assured I will be putting all this down in my article!”

  The voice belonged to Diane Chambers, self-appointed investigative reporter for the Aldershot Mail. Crane watched the young woman direct her photographer, encouraging him to snap the most inflammatory pictures he could, to go with what would probably be her equally inciting article. Unfortunately Diane Chambers caught sight of the smiling Crane.

  “Ah, Sergeant Major Crane,” she called, striding towards him in her uniform of jeans and tee-shirt, her short dark curly hair framing her young face. “I’m glad you find the anger of the Aldershot people so amusing. Perhaps you could let us in on the joke?”

  Diane Chambers thrust a small recorder in his face.

  “Good morning to you as well. I’m afraid my smile is nothing more sinister than enjoyment of this beautiful weather. Or doesn’t the sun make you feel happy Diane?”

  “Quite frankly, the weather is irrelevant to me. I’m working. And personally I find it difficult to smile when the decent hard working population of Aldershot are subject to bullying by the army.”

  “Bullying?” Crane looked around, his incredulity equally directed at both the bullying accusation and the claim that the population of Aldershot were decent and hardworking. “I don’t see any incidents of bullying, Miss Chambers.”

  “What do you call this then?” Diane emphasised her point with a large sweep of her arm.

  “Soldiers carrying out their job of protecting Team GB and the local community, with dignity. I don’t see one soldier being rude or abusive to anyone. They are merely trying to do their job in what is clearly a very difficult situation. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go and give them a hand.”

  Crane walked away. He wanted to say much more, but knew he had to curb his tongue. The last thing he needed was to be misquoted by a zealous reporter. He was sure the article was going to be bad enough without him adding to the damage. And anyway, something had caught his eye.

  The people going through the barrier into the garrison weren’t the only ones being searched. Those leaving the garrison were also subjected to the same procedure. This applied equally to those merely travelling through the garrison as to those leaving after visiting or working there. Crane’s eye had been caught by a group of people waiting to go through the barrier from the garrison side, towards Aldershot town centre. They were travelling in an Aspire Defence mini-bus and had been obliged to leave the vehicle and wait in turn to be searched.

  What Crane had seen was the young WPC from Aldershot Police Station, currently working undercover in St Omer Barracks. She looked at Crane and very slightly inclined her gaze towards two women standing to one side of the group from the minibus. The two women were agitated, eyes averted from the soldiers, their arms crossed as though hugging themselves to keep warm.

  Crane casually approached the soldiers and stood next to them whispering instructions. As the queue shuffled forward, Crane saw the WPC join the two women, attempting to distract them and thus separate them further from their Aspire Defence colleagues. So the three women were the last of the group to approach the barrier where they were confronted by two armed soldiers and shepherded to one side of the road.

  Speaking over their protests Crane explained that the soldiers needed to search the carrier bags they were holding.

  “Bloody army!” shouted one, “who the hell do you think you are?” Her garishly painted mouth twisted into a snarl and she pushed back hair as yellow and brittle as the drought stricken grass she was standing on. Her Aspire Defence bib, worn over a tired once white shirt, was blotched and stained.

  “Why can’t you leave decent people alone and concentrate on catching bloody terrorists?” her companion spat, her words slurred by the tongue and mouth piercings she sported. She tried to pull her tattooed arm out of the grasp of soldier.

  “Ladies, please.” Crane used the description sarcastically but doubted it would register with either woman. “We simply want to check your bags.”

  “Not fucking likely!” Straw hair swung her bag into the face of an unprepared soldier, twisting out of his grasp and turned to run back towards the garrison. But she only made it as far as the WPC’s foot. As she sprawled on the floor, displaying her laddered tights and red underwear, the two soldiers quickly pounced, taking a woman each and handcuffing them, ignoring the foul words spewing from two equally unattractive mouths.

  Night 16

  Crane replaced the telephone and slumped back in his office chair before stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. A large yawn reminded him how tired he was and how much he was looking forward to going home to Tina. As the time for the birth of their son drew nearer, he was finding it more and more difficult to detach himself from his personal life whilst at work. He often found his hand caressing the mobile phone in his pocket, in fear of missing the vital call. The one calling him to her side at the hospital as labour had started. No more had been said about him leaving the army since their visit to the restaurant. As though by tacit agreement, neither had raised the subject again. But he was well aware that didn’t mean it would go away. His musings were interrupted by a knock on his door.

  “Boss?”

  “Yes, Billy what is it?”

  “DI Anderson would like a word.”

  “Okay, put him through.” Crane nodded towards the telephone.

  “No, he’s here in the office.”

  “Oh! Fair enough, rustle up some coffee would you?”

  Crane stood up and tried to smarten his appearance, although as he tucked in his white shirt and did up his tie, he realised there was not much he could do to improve it. His shirt looked like it had been put in the tumble dryer for too long with the resulting creases fused into the material by the heat. No amount of smoothing down made a difference. Glancing at the glass panels in his office wall, he saw his face reflected back at him, showing the strain of the past few days. New lines were appearing around his eyes and his beard was beginning to look straggly instead of short and smart.

  The man who walked into his office looked no better. Anderson clearly didn’t do warm weather. His shirt was damp, his tie long since discarded and his trousers had the appearance of clothing purchased from a pile of screwed up garments in a charity shop sale bin.

  “Jesus, it’s hot,” Anderson exclaimed sitting in the chair opposite Crane. “I thought it would get cooler at night.”

  “Coffee, sir?” Billy had followed the DI into the office and placed a mug in front of Anderson and then Crane.

  “Rather have a cold pint of larger,” Anderson grumbled, but grabbed the mug anyway.

  “How’s things?”

  “That’s why I came. Thought I’d bring you up to date on my way home.”

  “About the thefts?”

  “Mmm,” Anderson slurped his coffee. “Got those two women banged up for theft. Well done on that one, Crane.”

  “Thanks, but it was more a case of being in the right place at the right time than any detective work. If you remember, yesterday the
Witch of the North had just ripped my head off over the phone, as more items had been stolen. She was annoyed to say the least that we hadn’t got the people who took the first ring and watch and more jewellery going missing added insult to injury.”

  “The WPC was closing in on them, though. She’d already identified them as being the most likely suspects.”

  “Yes, but she had no proof until they were stopped at the barrier. Then by running, they gave us the excuse we needed to apprehend them. A shifty couple of women they were too. It didn’t take much to figure out that they were probably holding the stolen items.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks anyway.” Anderson saluted Crane with his mug.

  “Derek, it was just a good example of co-operation between the army and the local police. And anyway you got the arrest. I don’t need to worry about targets like you do.”

  “Don’t get me started on targets.” Anderson finished his coffee, placing the empty mug on Crane’s desk. “Well, I’m off home. What about you?”

  Crane rose and walked with Anderson out of the office. “I’ll be off soon,” he said, once more fingering the phone in his pocket.

  “Good. Try not to leave Tina on her own too much.”

  As the two men walked out of the building into the balmy dusk, Crane ignored the lovely view of the playing fields stretching out before him towards Farnborough and turned to Anderson.

  “How do you manage to juggle work and home life?” asked Crane.

  “I don’t,” was the blunt reply as Anderson patted his pockets looking for his car keys.

  “But you’re married. Sorry, I don’t understand.” Crane fished in his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter.

  “I don’t worry about it. My wife copes with it, not me.”

  “Come again?”

  Anderson climbed into his car and spoke to Crane through the open window. “When we got married, I was already a policeman. Jean and I had a long talk and I explained that she wasn’t going to have a normal life being married to a copper and an ambitious one at that. I wasn’t being selfish. She just had to understand what she was getting into. Long hours, disrupted nights, broken promises, missed holidays, birthdays and anniversaries. It’s hard, but that’s the way it is.”

  “Doesn’t she ever complain?”

  “Oh yes, she often grumbles about being more like a single parent than a married woman, but I know it’s nothing serious. Just her letting off a bit of steam. Understandable really.”

  “Did you ever think of getting out of the force?”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t see the point really. I’m a copper through and through. It’s who I am. I could never really do anything else.”

  Anderson started the engine and drove away, leaving Crane smoking his cigarette and thinking.

  By the time he’d finished it Crane had made a decision. About work though, not his turbulent domestic arrangements. Returning to his office, he called an impromptu meeting with Billy, Kim and Staff Sergeant Jones, who Kim managed to catch before he left the barracks.

  “Right,” Crane began after everyone was seated in the open plan office in front of the board detailing the murder of Corporal Simms. Covered with pictures of the soldier, both dead and alive. “I just wanted a quick word about the Afghan officers we have on the garrison.”

  Jones groaned, “For God’s sake, Crane, not again. Is this what you called me in for? Jesus, man, I want to go home.”

  “Hear me out, would you.” Crane paced in front of them. “I just think that with the increased security level on the garrison it gives us an ideal opportunity to keep a closer eye on them.”

  “In what way, sir?” Kim sat perched on the edge of a desk, looking as cool as ever, despite the humidity.

  “Well, as there are so many Royal Military Police around at the moment, I think we could place a few more eyes and ears around them without arousing suspicion.”

  “But what about the Intelligence Operative, sir?” Billy asked between gulps from a can of cold drink. “Isn’t he supposed to be under cover with them?”

  “Supposed is the word, Billy. Have we had any useful reports from Lance Corporal Dudley-Jones?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, boss, no.”

  “Exactly. But go through them again tonight anyway and double check,” Crane ordered. “So what do you think, Staff?” Crane turned his attention back to Jones.

  “How am I supposed to achieve this, Crane?” Jones sighed and rubbed his bald head.

  “Just alter the rosters a bit. You’ve got extra men already because of Team GB and even more now because of the increased security level. So all you have to do is to introduce New Mons Barracks into your patrols. Keep switching the men, so the Afghans don’t get suspicious by seeing the same faces. Kim can work out the details for you tonight if you like. Can’t you, Kim?”

  “Of course, sir, glad to help.” Kim was already jotting down notes.

  “There you go then,” Crane grinned.

  “So what did the Captain think of your new plan?” Jones asked his eyes wide and a smile playing on his lips.

  “Let’s just say that it’s on a need to know basis, I don’t think he needs to know about this. Do you?”

  Day 17

  UNDER SEIGE

  by Diane Chambers

  Aldershot is living under siege conditions after the recent tightening of security at the garrison.

  According to a military spokesman, the measure was necessary because of an increased security threat and the obvious need to protect Team GB. But this is causing real problems for many local residents. Armed soldiers at check points with stop and search authority are producing long traffic delays and giving people a feeling of being intimidated.

  “It’s horrible,” one local commented. “Gun toting soldiers insisting on stopping and searching every vehicle. Raking through our personal possessions. It made me feel like a criminal.” Others who need to use the garrison as a cut through to North Camp are finding the long delays are badly affecting them. One driver commented, “Yesterday it took me nearly an hour to get through the garrison. I had to ring my employer to tell him I was going to be late for work. It’s totally unacceptable.”

  Delivery companies are also having problems, unable to meet the tight time schedules imposed by their companies as they are forced to either wait in long queues or drive miles out of their way.

  Yet the military were unrepentant. When asked what he felt about the situation, Sergeant Major Tom Crane merely commented, “The soldiers are just doing their job.” Well, a job it may be. But innocent residents should not be the ones to pay the price.

  Diane Chambers welcomes any comments from local residents. She can be contacted by email on: chambers@aldershotmail.com

  Captain Edwards threw the paper at Crane. “See what you’ve done now? The whole of Aldershot is furious because you decided to up the security level at the garrison borders.”

  “With respect, sir,” Crane countered.

  “Respect! That’s something you seem to be lacking in at the moment, Crane. I quote,” the Captain peered at the paper. “‘The soldiers were just doing their job.’ Unquote. Couldn’t you come up with something a bit more conciliatory?” Edwards threw the newspaper down as though it was on fire and about to burn his fingers.

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, sir. Diane Chambers used my words out of context. I said more than that, but she’s chosen not to print all of it.”

  The row was taking place in Crane’s office for a change. He was glad that Billy and Kim were on nights and not there to witness it. But he guessed word would soon get round from other members of the SIB who he could see listening intently, whilst trying to look busy.

  “Well that’s nothing new is it? You’ve had run-ins with her before, so you should know what to expect by now.” Captain Edwards paced around Crane’s small office, like a caged lion. First one way and then the other. Over and over again. Crane’s next words made him stop.

&nb
sp; “I got the petty thieves through the stop and search procedures, sir, surely that counts for something.”

  “Of course it does, Crane, but no one knows about it, do they? All they know is that the army are making their lives difficult and Diane Chambers intends to fuel the fire as much as she can.”

  Crane was still standing behind his desk. He had risen from his chair when the Captain entered his office and had not been given permission to sit down.

  “May I remind you, sir, that you authorised the stop and search, as did the brass upstairs.”

  “No you may not!” Edwards shouted pointing a finger at Crane. “Don’t try and turn this back on me.”

  “Sorry, sir. Shall I just cancel the whole thing then? And bugger the consequences?”

  “Consequences?”

  “Yes, sir. Terrorists trying to smuggle bombs or bomb making equipment into the garrison, hidden in vehicles. Or had you forgotten the increase in the threat level recommended by Intelligence?”

  “No, Crane, I hadn’t forgotten. Look, just try and handle it a bit better. Perhaps you should call Diane Chambers.” Edwards rubbed his long aquiline nose. “No. On second thoughts, stay well clear of her and any other reporter that may want a comment. Speak to DI Anderson instead and see if he can do anything to defuse the press. Dismissed.”

  When Crane didn’t move, Edwards looked around the room as if only just realising he was in Crane’s office and not the other way around. Two spots of colour appeared on his cheeks and he rushed out of the door without even collecting the offending newspaper.

  Smiling, Crane sat down and pulled the newspaper towards him re-reading the article. He then turned over the page where an interesting headline caught his eye.

  Entitled ‘Homeless Gurkhas a Disgrace’ and once more written by Diane Chambers, the article was an inflammatory diatribe against the elderly Gurkhas who had flooded into Aldershot and Farnborough with no money, no jobs and nowhere to live. They were being blamed for all sorts of things: for looking untidy; hanging around street corners, which some residents found threatening; begging; muggings and break-ins. Local charities were quoted as ‘doing their best’ but that was clearly not enough as far as the paper was concerned. The main thrust of the article was that the streets needed to be cleansed of this menace. Diane Chambers, as usual, taking an inflammatory point of view without offering any balanced argument.