Steps to Heaven: A Sgt Major Crane Novel (16 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Five

Crane spent the rest of the day on routine work, interspersed with calls to Sergeant Jones and DI Anderson. He also found himself checking his mobile phone every hour or so to see if Tina had called. She hadn’t. By 18:00 hours he called for Kim and they went to Reading to see Mrs Fisher. During the journey he told her about his previous interviews with Mrs Fisher and warned her that this one could be as bad.

“She
was very angry, as you would expect. But also angry with the army. I got the sense she felt she had been dumped on from a great height and had not only lost her husband and son, but also her home, friends and everything she felt familiar with,” Crane explained.

“Well,
that’s understandable, sir, the army doesn’t seem to have the best track record in the world when it comes to looking after wives of soldiers who have either died or left them. What many wives don’t seem to understand is that the army needs to evict them from their army quarter.”

“Needs
to? Explain.”

“Well,
for most wives or ex-wives their best option will be for the local authority to re house them. But that’s not possible without an eviction order from the army. The eviction order gives them more points on the housing list and therefore a better chance of getting one of the few houses available. So while it seems harsh, it’s actually a necessary evil. Of course having kids helps as well, they give you more points.”

“Yes,
well, Mrs Fisher doesn’t have a child anymore does she?”

“No,
sir, sorry, sir.”

Glancing
sideways at Kim, Crane saw her cheeks redden as she turned to look out of the car window. “So for God’s sake don’t mention that bit at the interview.”

“No,
sir. Oh here’s the sign for Reading,” Kim said pointing to her left.

They
managed to navigate their way through the maze of streets running off Oxford Road and pulled up in front of a small Victorian terraced house. The street was quiet, although crammed with cars and at the far end of the road a few children played on bicycles. The door was answered by a large woman with a mass of curly hair and equally messy attire. She seemed swathed in layers of clothes of varying lengths, the longest one ending at her ankles.

Crane
introduced himself and Kim and reminded her of their appointment with Mrs Fisher.

“ID
please,” was the only response.

Crane
and Kim both pushed their IDs towards the woman, which in any case were visible, as they were always hanging around their necks.

“Very
well, come in,” the woman turned her back on them and walked through the house. Crane and Kim followed the swaying skirts to the kitchen. Mrs Fisher was sitting at a table in the centre of the room, nursing a mug of something. She turned her head at their entrance but said nothing.

Crane
moved round the table to face her.

“Thank
you for seeing us, Mrs Fisher,” he began. “This is Sergeant Kim Weston who works with me.”

Mrs
Fisher inclined her head to the chairs, which Crane took as an invitation to sit down.

“This
is my sister, Molly, she’ll be staying.”

“Of
course, no problem,” replied Crane looking at Molly who was now leaning against the sink, staring at them with cold eyes.

“Mrs
Fisher,” Kim began, “I’d first of all like to say how sorry we are for your loss.”

“Yes,
well, easy to say, hard to live with.”

“I’m
sure, it must be,” continued Kim a soothing cadence to her voice. “And I know our visit is unwelcome, but we are working hard to find out what caused your husband to do what he did.”

“Really?”
was the reply accompanied by a huff.

“Yes,
really, that’s why we need a bit of help from you.”

Crane
and Kim let the silence develop.

Mrs
Fisher broke it by sighing, “Oh, I suppose so. What was it you want to know?”

“Thank
you, Mrs Fisher,” replied Kim and nodded at Crane.

Picking
up the lead from Kim, Crane tried to soften his voice and attitude. “Do you remember anything about the church that your husband visited with your son?”

“I
never went there.”

“No
I understand that. We just wondered if he had ever mentioned any courses that he went on, or preachers that he’d listened to.”

Crane
struggled to keep calm. He knew he couldn’t mention the name the Padre had given him, because if the case ever came to court, the defence barrister would say Crane put words into Mrs Fisher’s mouth and led her on. So he kept calm, hoping she would continue to answer his questions. Whilst Mrs Fisher appeared to have gone through the anger stage of grief, Crane realised she could still flare up at any moment if provoked.

“Well,
he used to go every Sunday and take my boy with him. But I think that was just the normal Sunday service, you know?” Crane nodded in agreement. “But after a while he started going out in the evenings during the week.”

“Really?”
Crane tried to keep the sharp pique of interest he felt out of his voice. “Do you know why?”

“Um,
he said something about a visiting preacher. He got quite excited at the beginning, went on about it quite a lot, and said something about starting a course.”

Mrs
Fisher lapsed into silence, looking deep into the contents of her mug.

“Did
he start the course?” Kim prompted.

“Oh
yes, although it wasn’t the same night every week, it varied you know. Sometimes he seemed to know what night it would be and sometimes he got a phone call about 6 o’clock and went out then.”

“Did
he take your son with him on those nights?”

“No,
definitely not and anyway I wouldn’t have let him. School the next day and all that.” Mrs Fisher’s voice was hard.

“No,
of course you wouldn’t,” Kim agreed.

“Is
there anything at all you could tell us about this visiting preacher, Mrs Fisher?” Crane asked, fighting the urge to walk around the room and rage at the slowness of the interview. Wanting to shout the name the Padre had given them at Mrs Fisher to see her reaction.

“Um,
I’m not sure, but I think his name was something biblical, you know?” Mrs Fisher looked out of the window, past her sister, blinking rapidly.

“I
think that’s enough now,” Molly cut in, pushing her bulk off the sink. “She’s getting upset. It’s not fair of you lot, dragging all this up again.”

“I
can assure you, it isn’t our intention to upset Mrs Fisher,” began Kim.

“That’s
as may be, but look at her, she’s had enough.”

Crane
saw tears falling into the mug Mrs Fisher was holding up under her chin, although she seemed oblivious to them. She was still gazing out of the kitchen window.

Fighting
his frustration, Crane rose. “Thank you for seeing us, Mrs Fisher. If you do think of anything, could you please call? I’ll leave my card on the table here.”

“What?”

“My
card, Mrs Fisher, if you think if anything that may be helpful, anything at all, please phone me.”

“No,”
was the cold reply.

“See
I told you,” said Molly as she started to bustle Crane and Kim out of the kitchen. “Leave her in peace.”

“For
God’s sake Molly shut up!” Crane and Kim stopped at the door to the kitchen and turned back at the sound of Mrs Fisher’s voice. “I mean there’s no need for me to ring. I can tell you now. His name, the Preacher, was Zechariah. There was a kid down the road called Zach, that’s why I remember. He used to play with my Ryan every day after school…..” her voice faded as the tears came again, her head falling into her arms as she sobbed.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

Crane and Kim were on their way back to Aldershot discussing the lead they had just been given by Mrs Fisher. Crane was rather proud of himself for not punching the air and yelling ‘yes!’ when she voluntarily gave them the same name as Padre Symonds. They were talking about contacting DI Anderson, when Crane’s mobile rang. Crane handed it to Kim, as he hadn’t set up his hands free kit, hoping it wasn’t Tina as he couldn’t speak to her himself. Yet equally hoping it was, as she hadn’t been in touch all day.

“Sergeant
Major Crane’s phone,” Kim said into the small black handset. “Oh hello, sir, no sorry he’s driving. We’re on our way back from Reading.”

Crane’s
disappointment that it was Captain Edwards on the phone and not his wife did nothing to ease the clenching of his gut caused by the hope it was Tina calling.

“Mm...Yes...of
course, sir.”

Crane
kept glancing at Kim, wanting to know what was going on. But Kim was giving nothing away.

“Thank
you, sir.”

As Kim closed the phone Crane was none the wiser about what had been said.

“Well?
What did the Captain want now?”

“Oh,
it wasn’t the Captain, sir. It was Detective Inspector Anderson.”

“And?”
Crane risked another look at Kim as he negotiated his way around the large roundabout at the bottom of Camberley, threading his way through the huge volume of traffic streaming out of the Tesco and Marks and Spencer’s Superstores. He was on the bypass heading towards Aldershot when Kim next spoke.

“And
I think you should take the next turning to Frimley, sir,” Kim grinned. “They’ve found the Padre and he’s been taken to Frimley Park Hospital.”

“Thank
God for that,” replied Crane, pushing down hard on the accelerator, forcing Kim to hold onto the hand grip above the passenger door. “Where did they find him? What condition is he in? Has he said anything?” Crane’s questions tumbled over one another.

“No
info at the moment, sir. DI Anderson just said to meet him at the Accident and Emergency desk as soon as we could.”

Glancing
at the clock on the dashboard as he changed down two gears in order to accelerate, Crane estimated ten minutes to the hospital.

In
fact he made it in six, much to Kim’s horror, as he wove in and out of the traffic on the dual carriageway and blasted his horn at anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way. His tyres squealed in protest as Crane slewed into the hospital entrance and then had to brake hard, as an unfortunate pedestrian dared to use the zebra crossing. Crane abandoned the car in a corner by the emergency entrance marked ‘10 minute pick up only’ and sprinted through the sliding doors as though he was racing in the Olympics.

He
was looking left and right, when Kim reached him and touched his arm, “Over there, sir.”

Following
her arm, he saw Derek Anderson standing talking to the Receptionist. “Derek!” he called, running over. “How was he?”

“Ah,
Crane, glad you got here...come on, this way.”

Crane
followed Anderson through the A&E waiting room which was crammed with people waiting to see a doctor. Most were sitting without talking, shrouded in either pain or misery. They follow a corridor at the side of the A&E, through to the lifts.

“He’s
in intensive care,” Anderson said as they waited for the lift, “so don’t expect any information from him just yet.”

“No,
no, of course not,” Crane muttered, feeling the opposite. Information was precisely what he did want, but his desire was muted with relief that the Padre was at least alive.

“How
was he? Where did you find him? When—”

“All
in good time Crane, when we’re alone,” Anderson interrupts as the lift doors opened.

The
three of them entered the lift and Crane nodded to a porter guarding an empty wheelchair, who was eying them as though their main intent was to take it off him. Ignoring the man, Crane concentrated on the display panel as the lift ground its way upwards, tapping his foot with impatience. The doors opened at last and Crane was just about to push through them, when Anderson held him back. Realising it was not their floor Crane moved away from the doors, allowing the porter and his precious cargo out of the lift.

Derek
then briefed Crane and Kim about the Padre. “He was found in an abandoned warehouse on one of the industrial estates.”

Crane
grinned at this piece of information.

“He’s
in a bad way, I’m afraid. Let’s see if we can find the doctor,” Anderson finished as the doors opened onto the corridor near the entrance to the ICU.

Crane
paced as Anderson pushed the buzzer outside the ward and waited to be attended to, as the notice on the wall requested. “What’s taking them so long?” he growled.

“Patients
I expect, sir,” was the whispered reply from Kim.

Grunting,
Crane continued pacing, as Kim and Anderson sat on the hard plastic chairs running down one side of the wall. At last a nurse came to the door and Anderson had a quiet word with her.

Glancing
imperiously at the three of them, the nurse said, “Very well, but only two of you. The doctor is on the ward, but with another patient, so I’ll ask him to come over when he’s available.”

Motioning
to Kim to stay and wait, Crane and Anderson slipped through the door and walked onto the ward, following the nurse. She stopped at a screened cubicle nearest to the nursing station and held back the curtain so they could go in.

Padre
Symonds was a mess. His head was shaved on the left hand side, revealing an angry bruise which started at his temple and spread across the side of his head. He was unresponsive, with tubes in the back of his hands and beeping machines crowding his bed. Crane looked at the once vibrant and eager man he had come to like and admire, whose naivety had been his downfall and sent an arrow prayer to the God he didn’t really believe in, to save the Padre, insisting to the invisible deity that he should at least have the decency to save one of his own.

Hearing
a rustling behind them, Crane and Anderson turned to look at the doctor who was standing at the bottom of the bed.

“He’s
in a bad way, I’m afraid,” said the doctor, who looked young enough to be Crane’s son. “Suffered a very bad blow to the side of the head as you can see. At the moment he’s in a coma and we’re monitoring the pressure on the brain. We think we’re going to have to operate tomorrow, as his brain’s swelling and we need to relieve the pressure.”

“Any
other injuries?”

“Not
that we’re aware of,” answered the doctor turning to look at Crane. “But he’s also suffering from hypothermia and dehydration. We can handle both of those. It’s the brain injury that’s bothering us more than anything at the moment. I’ll keep DI Anderson informed of any changes.”

Crane
said, “Do what you can for him won’t you, doctor?”

“Of
course. Look, if you leave your contact details at the nurse’s station, we’ll phone you as well if there is any change.”

Crane
mumbled his thanks as the doctor turned to leave. “Sorry but I think you should go as well. We’ve only just got him stabilised. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

Crane
managed to squeeze the Padre’s fingers as he was leaving, to let him know he was there. Hoping for a responsive squeeze back, but didn’t get one.