Steps to Heaven: A Sgt Major Crane Novel (5 page)

Chapter Eight

Arriving home that night Crane slammed the car door and then the front door, threw his briefcase down and kicked off his shoes. Barely managing to grunt hello to Tina he went into the living room, turning on the television and surfing the channels. Finding nothing to watch he shut it off again, throwing the remote control onto the settee. After hurrying through his meal, he changed into loose comfortable track suit bottoms and a t-shirt. Leaving Tina to watch a particularly banal reality TV show and taking a few cans of beer, he climbed the steep stairs and shut himself in the spare bedroom that they used as an office. His computer and desk were surrounded by book shelves and filled with his and hers reading material, Tina’s shelves being much fuller than his.

Crane
settled in the swivel chair behind his desk and went through Solomon’s file, methodically going back over all his notes and the statements taken from the men in Solomon’s regiment. Working his way through the cans of beer, he poured over the scene of crime and pathologist reports and examined the crime scene photos meticulously. As he went to bed he knew there was something there, an explanation for Solomon’s behaviour, but it was just beyond his grasp.

The
weather outside was stormy and Crane could hear the wind rushing through the trees, occasionally howling around the corners of the house as he fell into a troubled sleep.

But there was no escape in sleep for Crane. His dreams were plagued with images of sand storms. Flashbacks from Afghanistan and Iraq. Choking sand was filling his eyes, ears, nose and mouth, rendering him blind and deaf. He felt as if a million iron filings were wearing away his skin. As the wind continued outside, so it continued in his dream, filling his head with an unholy noise from which there was no relief. He was lost and alone, fighting to get over the next sand dune where he was sure he would find his fellow soldiers. But no sign of life in any direction left him disorientated, not knowing which way to turn.

***

Morning did nothing to lift Crane’s mood, even though the stormy skies had cleared. Later in the day the team gathered for a briefing, Crane, Kim, Billy and Captain Edwards. They all sat around an oval conference table partitioned off in the main SIB office, ready to debate the evidence, or rather lack of it, Crane thought.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Edwards intoned. “Would you begin please, Sergeant Major?”

“Thank
you, sir. Well, first of all there is irrefutable evidence from forensics and the post mortems that Solomon killed first his wife, then his son and finally committed suicide. But, if that wasn’t enough, I believe it wasn’t a domestic argument that went wrong, but a deliberate and premeditated act, as all the windows and doors of the house were locked. Aldershot Police had to break down the front door to gain access. Lance Corporal Tomlinson is on report for tampering with evidence, as he had opened the back door, having found the keys in Solomon’s pocket. Also, we are still awaiting the results of the analysis of the trace evidence, which could prove to be significant. So,” he finished, “if the act was indeed deliberate and premeditated, the question is, why?”

Captain
Edwards ignored the question and nodded to Kim.

“Thank
you, sir. Well, with regard to the family relationships there is no evidence to suggest marital difficulties from conversations with close friends, neighbours and family. Neither Solomon nor his wife have ever been to welfare with any problems.”

“Billy?”

“Well, sir, the techies haven’t yet managed to come up with anything on the computer. They send their apologies, but it’s due to a backlog of work, not helped by their recent move to temporary premises. I’m afraid they are yet another departmental casualty of the garrison’s upgrading.”

“Yes,
yes, Sergeant, get on with it please.”

“Sorry,
sir. Um, the only strange thing in the family finances was Solomon taking £50 from his local cash point every Sunday.”

This
led Crane nicely into his suspicions about the Church of Jesus is King, based in an old cinema on Aldershot High Street. He stood and passed around the religious pamphlets he found in Solomon’s bedside table.

“Right, everyone, take a look at these. I think that perhaps Solomon withdrew the money every Sunday morning to place at least some of it in the church offering.”

“So?”
asked Captain Edwards.

“Sorry,
sir?” Crane looked up from his pile of pamphlets.

“So
what, Sergeant Major? Is there anything wrong with that? Surely you can’t think there is something disturbing in a young soldier turning to the church? Or is it that you think there’s something wrong with this particular church?”

“Well,
no, sir. I mean, there’s nothing at the moment to suggest there is anything untoward about the church.”

“So
by that, I take it the Padre hasn’t been able to help.”

“The
Padre has advised that at this moment in time it appears there isn’t a connection between Solomon and the Church, after speaking to the Church Elder,” Crane had to admit. “But—”

“Right
then, let’s move along.”

Crane’s
eyes widen at the rebuff from Captain Edwards, but he made no comment.

Billy
then reviewed the statements of Sergeant Bullen and Lance Corporal Palmer. “Sergeant Bullen had nothing much to say apart from the fact that Solomon was a bit of a loner towards the end of their last tour in Afghanistan, but he doesn’t know the cause. Palmer’s statement is more interesting. He reported that Solomon had begun to question why they were there and what it was they were achieving, if anything, in Afghanistan. He’d become more and more disillusioned. Palmer didn’t feel it was any one incident in particular that caused this questioning, but a combination of things.”

“Such
as?” Crane interrupted. He wanted to make sure Captain Edwards heard the reasons.

“Palmer
talked about the daily fear every time they went on patrol. As he put it, ‘not knowing if today was the day you would die’. He talked about how difficult it was being away from family and friends for such a long time. A six month tour really takes it out of them all. Palmer also said that they were well aware that when they went home, all they had to look forward to, after an all too short respite, was another six month tour in Afghanistan. But Palmer felt Solomon was more depressed about it than the other lads. “He also described Solomon as very much a family man,” Billy continued. “According to Palmer, he particularly doted on his child, talked about him all the time. So the cold blooded killing shocked Palmer and the rest of the men. So much so that no one wants to talk about it, as if by ignoring it, they can pretend it hasn’t happened.”

After
Billy finished, no one speaks.

Crane
eventually broke the silence. “Well, I’m afraid we can’t ignore it and pretend it hasn’t happen.”

Clearing
his throat, Captain Edwards addressed the group, “No, quite, but we have investigated and to me the conclusions are clear.”

“Really,
sir?”

“Really,
Sergeant Major. A clear cut case of murder and then suicide. Very unfortunate but there it is. Cased closed.” Edwards closed his file to make his point.

“For
God’s sake!” exploded Crane. “You couldn’t seriously close the file.”

“Sergeant
Major, I know you’re upset by this case, but—”

“Upset!”
Crane cut in, his head jerking upwards, yet he remained seated, “Of course I’m bloody upset.”

“Sergeant
Major!” Edwards shouted, which had the desired effect of shutting Crane up. After dismissing Kim and Billy, the Captain turned on Crane. “Don’t you ever do that to me again and certainly not in front of the rest of the team.”

“Sorry,
sir,” conceded Crane, as he struggled to put a lid on his temper for the moment. “It’s just that I really want to find out why. I need to make sure this doesn’t happen again on our garrison.”

“Crane,
it’s just a one off. So put the file away and get on with the rest of the cases that need your attention.” Edwards gathered his files, left the table and turned towards the open office.

“Don’t
you care, sir?” Crane called to Edward’s back.

Wheeling
round, Edwards insisted, “Of course I bloody care, man. But you have no real evidence to support any theory you’ve come up with. So case closed.”

With
that, the Captain left the room. Crane followed, intending to pursue Edwards, but as he glanced around the office, he saw Billy shake his head. Heeding the warning, Crane changed direction and went outside, intent on taking out his frustration on the nearest wall.

Walking
around the car park at the front of the Barracks, Crane simmered with rage and frustration. Drawing deeply on a cigarette, he tried to calm down. He understood his Captain’s attitude, but just couldn’t let the case go. The question ‘why’ echoed through his thoughts, but he had no answer.

Just
then his mobile rang. Looking at the screen he saw it was Tina. It was unusual for her to ring during the day.

“Yes,
love?” he answered.

“Hi,
Tom, how’s things?”

“Fine,
fine, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing
at all, in fact it’s good news.” Crane could hear the happiness bubbling in her voice.

“What
good news?” asked Crane, trying hard to ignore the fear building in the pit of his stomach.

“I’ve
just had a meeting with personnel. The maternity pay and benefits are great and they’ve assured me maternity leave won’t hinder my future promotion prospects – isn’t that fabulous?”

Crane
looked around the car park, hoping for someone to come and call for him. But no one appeared. He was alone, being forced to face his fears. He realised he was holding his breath.

“Tom?”

“Sorry, love, someone was trying to attract my attention,” he lied. “I can’t really talk now. But yes, it’s great news,” he continued, trying his best to inject a lighter tone into his voice. “We’ll talk about it tonight.”

Clearly
deflated, Tina’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Oh, okay then. Sorry to have disturbed you.”

Shit,
now look what I’ve done, Crane thought and tried to retrieve the situation by saying, “Sorry, Tina, it really is good news. Let’s have a good talk tonight and make some plans together. Love you.”

“Love
you too,” Tina said, her flat tone devoid of emotion, belying the words. “Bye.”

And
with that she broke the connection. Leaving Crane alone in the car park. Leaning his back against the wall, he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. Sliding down to sit on the floor, he put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

Chapter
Nine

Crane’s mobile phone rang again, stopping any further wallowing in self pity. He listened to the voice of his Captain.

“Crane,
there’s a problem. Fire at 26 Mason Street. Possible arson and we’ve a missing person. As you haven’t got anything more pressing on at the moment, I want you to go over there and check it out.”

“Sir,”
Crane acknowledged the order, ignoring the jibe. He closed the phone and returned to the office to find Billy. He didn’t like it one bit, but an order was an order and the Crooks case was clearly out of bounds.

Entering
the office he called, “Fire at a house on the garrison, come on, Billy,” and they both ran to Crane’s car.

Aldershot
Garrison was slowly being enveloped in mist coming off the low lying playing fields as Crane and Billy drove along Queens Avenue. Fingers of grey grasped at their car as they turned right and drove into the housing estate located at the top edge of the garrison, near North Camp. The gathering gloom of early evening was split by the glow of the fire coming from a nearby street.

Abandoning
the car at the top of Mason Street, Crane and Billy threaded their way past RMP cars, fire engines and snaking hoses. A cluster of uniformed men were talking at a safe distance from the burning house and at their approach, one of them detached himself from the group.

“Sir.”
Staff Sergeant Jones acknowledged Crane and nodded at Billy. Jones was in uniform, but minus his cap, so his nearly bald head gleamed in the light of the fire.

“What’s
up here then?” Crane pointed in the direction of the house fire. “How come the Adjutant called us out?”

“Because
we believe Sergeant Barnes is in there,” Jones replied. “At least according to his hysterical wife he is. She had to be pulled away before she plunged into the house to find him. She’d just got back from a visit to her sister and found the house ablaze. We’ve evacuated the adjoining houses and the fire brigade reckon they have it under control.”

Crane
shivered in the damp of the early evening, rubbing the mist out of his short dark hair and then his short dark beard.

He
turned to look at the house, where indeed the firemen seemed to have the blaze under control. The flames had subsided and firemen in breathing apparatus were preparing to go inside. The damage didn’t look too bad from the front of the house and Crane saw that the street contained a neat row of semi-detached houses. There were no driveways, just small front gardens with short pathways leading to the front doors. He knew there were garages at the rear of the houses, with access through the back gardens.

Turning
to look at Jones he asked, “So what do we know about Sergeant Barnes?”

“Career
soldier, done over 12 years so far. Been at Aldershot for the past two. Responsible for the St Omer Barracks Stores. In his late 30’s, married but no children.”

“And
he can’t be found?”

“No,
looks like the silly sod must be inside. He finished work around 17:00 hours. Apparently he wasn’t known for frequenting the mess after work, so it’s probable he followed his normal routine and went straight home.”

“The
firemen are coming back out, sir,” Billy interrupted.

As
they waited for the fire officer to come and brief them, Crane lit up.

“Bad
for you, those, sir,” murmured Billy. As Crane turned to look at him, he saw Billy’s open boyish features crease into a grin, his shock of blond hair falling over his forehead as usual.

“Don’t
think they’ll do me much harm tonight, not with all this smoke around,” laughed Crane. His laughter was also tinged with relief. He was glad to be investigating again after what he perceived as a failure with the Crooks case.

Their
mood became more sombre as the fire officer approached.

“Found
a body,” he confirmed. “At the back of the house in the kitchen. Looks like that was the seat of the fire. Sorry but I can’t tell you anymore until the house is safe and we can do a proper investigation and get a pathologist in there. That might not be until tomorrow morning.”

“Fair
enough,” said Crane. Effectively dismissing the fire officer by turning his back on him, he turned his attention to Staff Sergeant Jones.

“Make
sure the scene is secure and keep the rest of the houses evacuated. Alert the local police,” he ordered, “because of the body. I’ll be back tomorrow morning when I can enter the house.”

Crane dismissed Billy and went home to face Tina, cold fingers of guilt over their telephone conversation still playing across the back of his neck. He hoped telling her about his new case would avoid any more discussion about having children. All he wanted was to get out of his smoke filled clothes and have a hot bath.

***

The next day saw Crane back at the scene. His plan last night worked and Tina had been solicitous and caring, agreeing that it would be best to put their conversation about children and their finances on hold, conceding that she hadn’t had time to put the information from personnel into their budget forecasts yet. With that domestic matter dealt with, Crane pushed it to the back of his mind and concentrated on the case in hand. He met the pathologist coming out of the front door of the Barnes’ house.
“Morning, Major. What have you got for me, sir?”

“Well,
one body inside, pretty certain it’s Sergeant Barnes, but as you can appreciate, the fire damage to the body is considerable.” The Major pealed the latex gloves off each hand, managing to make the snapping of the rubber sound professional.

“Where
is he?”

“Where
the firemen found him yesterday. Still in the kitchen, at the back of the house. We’re just about to move him.”

“Give
me a minute in there,” Crane said, more of a statement than a request.

“Be
my guest,” replied the Major, turning away to get the body bag and stretcher organised. “You can’t go upstairs though, it’s not safe,” he called over his shoulder.

Crane
entered the house. Before investigating the kitchen and inspecting the body, he walked into the lounge, which was immediately on his right. Despite the smoke and water damage, the furniture and fittings were mostly intact. A couple of paintings still hung on the wall, although a bit crisp at the edges. They were nothing to write home about, just something to put on the walls rather than well chosen artistic pieces, even to Crane’s untrained eye. The three piece suite was old fashioned, large and chunky, a mixture of wood and fabric, with a coffee table and side tables dotted alongside the sofa and two chairs. A large writing bureau stood under the front window, the top filled with pictures. Crane walked over to scrutinise them and found they were all of Sergeant Barnes at various stages in his army career. There were no pictures of Mrs Barnes, he noted with some surprise. Looking through other people’s homes made Crane feel like a voyeur. A ghost-like figure, intruding into private spaces, stealing impressions of their lives.

Crane
walked back through the hall into the large kitchen/diner, to see what remained of Sergeant Barnes. The body was on the floor, close to the door that opened into the back garden. The smell, which had been present in the front room, was now cloying, draping over him like a blanket. Crane put a handkerchief to his mouth and nose as the stench stabbed at him, stifling his breathing and blurring his vision.

Barnes
was unrecognisable from his photographs. Facial features had melted away leaving a prominent jaw and teeth, frozen in an agonised scream. He was lying on his back, with arms raised and bent across his body. There were only small fragments of clothing left. Melted flesh and fat had long since congealed and become solid again, in all the wrong places. A horrible death. Crane had heard stories from older colleagues about men melting into the metal of the Sir Galahad, in front of their eyes, during the Falkland’s War. Now he understood that they only kept such images at bay through sheer willpower. Employing that tactic himself, he ripped his gaze from the body.

Looking
around the kitchen, Crane was struck by the greyness. The units that hadn’t been burned and turned into grey ash were coated with it, leaving the kitchen looking as if Vesuvius had recently erupted in the vicinity. The walls and floor were black with smoke damage. The door to the garden was partially destroyed by the fire and partially by the fire brigade, similarly the windows. Turning away, Crane left the house and met Major Martin returning to retrieve the body.

“When
will you be able to do the post mortem?” Crane realised he still had his handkerchief clenched in his fist, but couldn’t seem to uncurl it.

“Oh,
tomorrow morning, first thing.”

“Good.
Briefing at 12:00 hours tomorrow, in the SIB office…sir.”

Ignoring
the quizzical look on the Major’s face, caused by his habit of effectively giving a superior officer an order, Crane left the scene, trying not to run, anxious to put the horror behind him. Returning to Provost Barracks he spokes to Staff Sergeant Jones and telephoned the fire officer and DI Anderson, directing them to be present at the meeting as well.