Steps to Heaven: A Sgt Major Crane Novel (22 page)

Chapter
Thirty-Six

The next trip Billy made out of the office really was to Mrs Fisher in Reading. She agreed to give the laptop computer to him, on the promise that she got it back and nothing relating to her son would be destroyed. In fact, charmed by Billy as she was, she even gave them the passwords to all the email addresses she knew about. So Crane was able to pass the machine to Kim to have a look at first, instead of sending it to the IT Department. Crane stayed while she started up the machine.

“Just
be careful, for God’s sake, Kim. I know we’re trying to save time but the last thing I want is anything vital being deleted by mistake.”

“Don’t
worry, sir, that’s why I’m doing it not Billy,” she grinned and Crane was glad to see her saying that with a smile on her face, instead of with her usual antagonistic attitude towards her colleague.

The
first thing they saw when the machine booted up was a large picture of Mrs Fisher’s son on the desktop. They both stared at the photograph. The boy was looking directly into the camera, grinning widely. He had an ice cream in his hand, with most of it plastered around his face. His hair was ruffled from the breeze and he was wearing a pair of swimming trunks. Crane dragged his gaze from the heartbreaking picture, to see Kim looking at him with haunted eyes that held an unspoken question he just couldn’t answer. Clearing his throat he motioned Kim to carry on.

They
worked together on the computer for more than an hour, at one point loading their printer software onto it, so they could print off various pages. Crane took these into his office and left Kim searching for anything else she could find of interest. It seemed that Corporal Fisher had been less paranoid than Solomon and hadn’t deleted some of the emails from Zechariah. Attached to one was the following piece of rhetoric.

STEPS TO HEAVEN

Remember
how
the
Lord
our
God
sent
his
only
son
Jesus
to
die
for
us
on
the
cross
?
Jesus
is
the
saviour
,
a
fountain
whose
blood
covers
and
cleanses
the
sins
of
all
who
come
to
Him
for
salvation
.

Do
you
want
to
live
in
eternal
damnation
for
your
sins
?
Do
you
want
your
sins
to
be
passed
onto
your
sons
?
No
.
But
the
question
is
how
can
you
save
their
innocent
lives
and
ensure
their
salvation
?

I
can
show
you
the
way
. “
I
am
the
light
,”
said
Jesus
.
And
I
,
as
his
prophet
can
shine
that
light
and
show
you
the
steps
you
can
take
to
reach
heaven
.

There
is
no
time
to
lose
;
the
day
of
salvation
is
nearly
upon
us
.
There
will
be
rivers
of
blood
.
But
at
the
same
time
,
there
will
be
rivers
of
healing
blood
.
Blood
that
brings
salvation
to
the
true
followers
of
Jesus
.

Are
you
ready
to
be
redeemed
in
a
fountain
of
blood
,
covering
your
sins
and
the
sins
of
your
children
?
This
is
the
only
way
to
eternal
salvation
.
Drench
yourself
in
the
blood
and
drench
your
sons
too
,
so
that
you
may
all
be
saved
.

***

As Crane sat in Derek Anderson’s office, and reread the rhetoric, the words had lost none of their horror. He slumped in the chair opposite Anderson and watched the policeman’s ruddy face drain of colour.

“And
you think this lunatic is here in Aldershot?” he demanded of Crane.

“Yes,
there’s definitely something going on here. We’ve got to find this man, Derek.”

“Well,
Crane, it’s not for the want of trying. Every copper in Aldershot has been briefed on what’s going on. They’ve all got the description and there are copies in every police car.”

“Do
you think it’s time to go public? Put out a call to the press. I know none of us wants them involved, but I think we need more help here. Let’s just say he was wanted in connection with an attack on Padre Symonds.”

“Okay,
Crane, I think you’re right. I’ll get approval from above and you get it from Captain Edwards and then I’ll set up a press conference.”

***

The following morning they were ready to meet the press. They called it a joint public appeal for information by the Aldershot Police and Aldershot Royal Military Police. The wording of the press statement having been thrashed out the previous afternoon.

Crane
and Anderson walked into the room together and took their places. They shared a single desk with two chairs placed behind it. In the room were six people and that included some police officers. Not exactly big news then. Not even a TV crew, as BBC South Today and ITV Meridian News had declined to attend, simply requesting a copy of the statement and artist’s impression by email. A lot different to what you see on the all day news channels when there was a large breaking story, Crane thought. Then, hundreds of journalists and several TV crews hang on the police’s every word, all shouting questions at once afterwards, demanding to be heard, desperate to ask that key searching question that gives an illuminating reply. Realising he was grinning, Crane quickly composed himself and listened to Derek read the statement.

“We
are appealing to members of the public for their help in finding this man. We believe he is still in the Aldershot area, following an attack on Padre Symonds from Aldershot Garrison nearly two weeks ago. The attack took place in the Padre’s office in the Royal Garrison Church of All Saints. The Padre is currently in Frimley Park Hospital, suffering from head wounds but recovering well. We would ask that members of the public do not approach the man themselves but instead contact the police at Aldershot Police Station on 01252 645103. Thank you.”

On
a screen behind Derek flashed the head and shoulders picture the police artist had drawn of Zechariah. They decided not to use the one where he was dressed in robes, as they didn’t want to draw attention to the religious connection, nor alarm any innocent members of the church of Jesus is King.

Nobody
seemed to have any questions and the bored looking members of the press were gathering up their papers when the door to the room opened, slamming against the wall. Looking up in annoyance, Crane saw a young woman rush into the room and grab a press pack as the door banged closed behind her.

“Sorry,”
she apologised, pulling the statement out of the folder. “Have I missed anything?”

“Missed
anything? Diane you’ve missed the whole thing!” Anderson shook his head, a grin on his face.

“Diane?”
whispered Crane leaning towards Anderson.

“Diane
is the local crime reporter from the Aldershot Mail, aren’t you, Diane?” Anderson said as he stood up. Crane did the same and they gathered their papers and prepared to leave.

“Hang
on a minute, Derek,” she called, “So what’s the story behind this then?”

“No
story, Diane, just what’s in the statement.”

Around
them the other members of the press were leaving and the police were packing up their equipment.

“Sergeant
Major Crane,” she called. Approaching the table she held out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Diane Chambers, Aldershot Mail. I’ve tried to speak to you several times in the past, but you never seem to be available.”

Crane
shook her hand, expecting it to be hot and clammy as she should have been flustered about arriving late, but it was surprisingly cool and dry.

“Miss
Chambers,” he acknowledged. Looking at her properly for the first time, he saw she was dressed in jeans and trainers with a checked tailored shirt partially unbuttoned to show a white tee shirt underneath. Her dark curly hair was cut short and framed her face.

“So
why are you here, Sergeant Major?”

“Because
the investigation involves Padre Symonds, a member of the army.” Crane held his papers to his chest.

“Isn’t
it unusual for the police and army to work together?”

“Not
at all, Miss Chambers, we work together more than people realise.”

“So
in that case it’s unusual for you to make a joint investigation public?” It seemed Diane Chambers was determined to ask that key question. As Crane refused to be drawn and remained silent, she turned her attention to Anderson, “Don’t you think so, Derek?”

“There’s
nothing here, Diane, other than the need to find this un-named person who we believe attacked the Padre. So stop looking for things that aren’t there.”

Crane
and Anderson turned to leave again and this time got as far as the door before she called out, “Who gave you the description? Was it Padre Symonds? Did he see his attacker? It was possible to interview him?”

Sighing,
Anderson turned to face her, “Diane, he’s still in hospital. You won’t be able to interview him I’m afraid. Stop acting as though you’re an investigative reporter on a tabloid newspaper. You’re just making a fool of yourself.”

“No,
Derek, I’m not,” she replied with a confident tone, her head held high. “I’m just doing my job. Don’t worry, I’ll be in touch.”

Crane
watched the exchange in silence, which he believed to be the better part of valour under the circumstances. As he and Derek left the room, he realised he would have to be careful of Diane Chambers, if she was as good as her implied threat.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

When Crane got home that evening, he asked Tina if they had a copy of the Aldershot Mail.

“Sure,
somewhere here, I think,” she replied. “Go and drink your beer in the front room and I’ll bring it in.”

Just
as he settles down with his beer, his slippered feet propped up on the coffee table, she returned.

“Here
you are, love. Why do you want it?”

Crane
sat up and spread the paper on the table. Whilst he was skimming through it he told Tina about the press conference and Diane Chambers.

“I
just wanted to see what sort of stories she writes and how well she writes them. She did a piece a while back on local evangelical churches,” he finished.

“What
have you found?” Tina asked looking over his shoulder.

“Only
local crime, her reports on cases heard in the local courts, stuff like that.”

“Well,
let’s face it,” laughed Tina, “Aldershot isn’t usually the crime Mecca of the South East.

“Oh
but it is, Tina, it’s just that we don’t tell anyone about it!”

They
smiled at each other and then over dinner Crane brought Tina up to date with the investigation, all thoughts of Diane Chambers pushed to the back of his mind for now. But, she didn’t go away as Crane hoped.

***

The following morning Crane had just finished a call to Sergeant Major Brown in Colchester, who confirmed that Zechariah had also preached at his local evangelical church. Crane was feeling pretty pleased with himself, when Kim popped her head around the door.

“Sorry
to bother you, sir,” she said, “but Diane Chambers is on the phone. She won’t tell me what the call is about and insists that she met you yesterday and may be able to help your investigation into the attack on Padre Symonds.”

Smiling,
Crane realised he had half been expecting such a call.

“Put
her through, Kim, let’s see what she wants.”

Diane
started with an apology.

“I’m
sorry Sergeant Major, but I could only persuade the editor to put the picture of your un-named suspect in the middle of the paper.”

Crane
feigns disappointment. “Oh dear, Diane, is there nothing you could do about that?”

He
could hear her tapping a pen or pencil on her desk. “Well….I’ve tried everything I can think of. But there may be a way we could persuade him to treat it a bit more seriously.”

“What’s
that?”

“Look,
it’s probably better to talk about this face to face,” she suggested.

Smiling,
Crane agreed to meet her at the health food cafe in the Arcade.

***

“Really, Sergeant Major,” Diane Chambers grimaced as she took a sip of her coffee. “Couldn’t we have met at Starbucks? Their coffee’s a damn sight better.”

“I’m
sure it is, but it’s quieter here, Diane. And by the way, call me Crane, most people do.” Crane looked at her across the small metal table. She was still dressed in jeans and trainers, but this time complemented by a small t-shirt that emphasised her breasts and slim waist.

“Tell
me about your problem with your editor.”

Diane
launched into an account of her discussion with the editor, who felt that he couldn’t put the story on the front page because there was a distinct lack of information.

“So?”

“So,
I did a bit of homework. I looked through back issues of the paper for stories about the garrison and wondered if this un-named suspect was connected with the murder/suicide of Lance Corporal Crooks?”

Crane
looked at her but refused to speak.

“Shall
I take your silence as a yes, Crane?”

He
still refused to speak. She pushed her coffee away, half finished.

“So,”
she continued, “if it did, I could possibly persuade my editor that there’s more to this than meets the eye. And, if I could convince him that our co-operation with an un-named source at the garrison, would ensure further information in the future that no other paper would get...” she paused for dramatic effect, “then I am sure I could persuade him that this is worthy of the front page.”

Unable
to contain himself any longer, Crane burst out laughing.

But
he hadn’t rattled Diane, who continued to stare at him.

“Diane,
how old are you?” Crane pushed back his chair, stretched his legs and put his hands in his trouser pockets.

“What’s
that got to do with anything?”

“How
old are you?” he persisted.

“22.”

“And how long have you worked at the Mail?”

“Six
months. It’s my first job since leaving University, where I got a degree in Journalism. Look, I—”

“So
you’re a bit green to say the least,” Crane cut in.

At
that remark Diane had the grace to blush. “Maybe I am,” she said recovering and sitting up straight in the metal chair, “but it doesn’t mean I’m not good at my job.”

“No,
it doesn’t,” Crane conceded. “You’re just a bit over enthusiastic. Look, Diane,” Crane leaned across the small space between them, “this isn’t some American work of fiction, where a femme fatal of a journalist gets a scoop by co-operating with a maverick detective. This is real life. Aldershot, for God’s sake. Stop reading things into things. There isn’t a conspiracy in everything you know.” He sat back to see her reaction.

“I
know that, Crane. I’m merely trying to foster good relations between the garrison and my paper.”

“Okay,”
he said drawing out the word, “then in that case, foster good relations and stop trying to blackmail me with things that aren’t true. Get your editor to print my artist’s impression on the front page, leave the Crooks case alone and I promise to keep you abreast of developments. How’s that?”

“Not
‘abreast of developments’, I want exclusive interviews.”

“Excuse
me?”

“I’ll
accept your proposal if you give me exclusive interviews.”

“You
drive a hard bargain, Diane. But you’ve got yourself a deal,” said Crane, stretching his hand across the table to shake hers.

Crane
watched Diane Chambers leave the café as happy as if she’d just won the lottery and shook his head at the naivety of some people. He had no more intention of giving her an exclusive interview than he had of buying a luxury yacht.