Read Steps to Heaven: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Online
Authors: Wendy Cartmell
Chewing on a sandwich that tasted of the plastic wrapping it had come in; Crane sat at his desk looking at the pamphlets from Solomon’s house. Spread before him the innocuous pieces of paper seemed to offer no threat, merely salvation. He pushed them away, as he couldn’t make any sense of them, dumped his half eaten BLT in the bin and went through to the main office.
“Sergeant
Weston,” he called. “I was told you’d have a report on the interviews with Lance Corporal Crooks’ neighbours ready after lunch.”
“That’s
right, sir,” confirmed Kim, rising from behind her desk in a corner of the room.
“Well,
as it’s after my lunch, my office. Now!” Turning away, Crane returned to his office and sat watching the newly promoted young Sergeant.
Kim
Weston was an asset to the team. A fact that he would share with her in due course, he decided. She was collating the paperwork strewn across her desk, to carry into Crane’s office but he knew that once she settled herself, her report would be clear and concise. Her work reflected her appearance, or was it the other way round? Smart, tidy and organised described them both. Her blond hair was scraped into a tight bun and her uniform pristine. In fact she was so focused that sometimes Crane wondered if she ever relaxed, even when off duty.
“So,”
he said once Kim was settled in the chair opposite him. “What have you got for me?”
Kim
opened her ever present notebook. “Well, sir, first I interviewed the immediate neighbours. It seemed the family were well liked. No history of marital problems, so as a result everyone was pretty stunned.”
“Any
gossip about the wife?” asked Crane, leaning back in his chair, pursuing the line of enquiry instructed by Colonel Pearson.
“What
sort of gossip? Are you suggesting this could have been her fault, sir?”
“Come
on, Kim, you know the score. Solomon had been away for six months. Did she get lonely? Turn to someone else to keep her warm at night? Maybe Solomon found out and lost it?”
“There’s
no evidence to suggest that, sir,” said Kim bristling. Crane could hear the lining of her skirt crackling. “If there was, I would have found it.”
“Look,
there’s no place for sensitivities here, Kim. We’re dealing with murder and then suicide. Something triggered it. It’s our job to find out what. Go back and interview the neighbours again. This time I want facts not feelings. And don’t forget to interview Mrs Crooks’ family. I want reports on interviews from them as well.”
“Sir.”
Kim snapped her pad closed.
“Have
everything ready for a full briefing at 09:00 hours tomorrow. Well off you go then,” barked Crane at the still seated Kim.
“Sorry,
sir, just one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been getting press calls. Specifically from Diane Chambers of the Aldershot Mail.”
“Refer
her to the press office and the Aldershot police.”
“I’ve
tried that, sir, but she won’t go away.”
“Then
make her, Sergeant. The Branch doesn’t talk to the press. Now off you go.”
With
his team fully occupied, Crane left the office and went looking for the army chaplain for Aldershot Garrison.
***
Padre Francis Symonds was the Senior Chaplain of the Royal Garrison Church, he was assisted by two other chaplains and between them they covered the large garrison and surrounding barracks. Crane found him in the Officer’s Mess, just finishing lunch and they met in an empty conference room. Padre Symonds had the type of soft rounded features that meant it was hard to accurately guess his age. Crane put him in his mid 30’s. He was dressed casually, wearing uniform trousers and a black clerical shirt with a dog collar. Simply furnished, the room had a circular meeting table and six chairs and Crane and the Padre took seats opposite each other.
Crane
explained that there had been a murder/suicide on the garrison, perpetrated by Lance Corporal Crooks and that Crane was in charge of the investigation. At first the Chaplain was reluctant to comment on the matter. As far as the he could remember, no one of Crooks’ name or description had ever approached him for help or advice. However, Crane pressed the mild mannered, courteous Chaplain, wanting to know about local churches in the Aldershot area.
“Well,
of course, a range, as you would expect,” was the non-committal answer.
“Could
you be more specific, sir?”
“Oh,
I suppose, Church of England, Roman Catholic, Baptist, Methodist…”
“Do
any of them actively recruit in the area?”
“Actively
recruit?” Symonds stared at Crane as though he was some sort of simpleton. “Well, of course, we all actively recruit in our own way.”
“Yes,
but are any of them more persistent than others?”
“More
persistent? Sergeant Major I really don’t grasp what you’re trying to imply. I rather think you’re the one that’s being persistent.”
Exasperated,
Crane fished the pamphlets from the Church of Jesus is King out of his pocket. Realising he would have to be rather more direct, Crane pushed the papers across the table towards the Chaplain.
“I
found these pamphlets in Lance Corporal Crooks’ bedroom,” he explained and then leant back in his chair. “I wondered what you knew about this church and their methods.”
“Ahhh…”
said the Chaplain after looking at the papers for a few moments and then adopting a reflective position with his chin resting on clasped hands.
“Ahhh,
sir?”
“Yes,
well, this is a little delicate.”
“Let
me spell this out for you, Padre. There is nothing delicate about a murder and suicide by one of our lads. Not the crime and not the investigation that follows. I need answers and I need them now. So let’s forget sensibilities and diplomacy and tell me about this church.”
“Really,
Sergeant Major, there’s no need for that kind of attitude,” rebuked the Padre, standing and folding his arms.
“Really,
Padre, there is.” Crane refused to be bullied, even by a superior officer. “I’ve been tasked by Colonel Pearson to find out what happened to one of his boys and I intend to follow orders. I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear that you were unwilling to assist in that investigation.”
After
a moment’s reflection, the Padre sat down again and began to talk.
“If
I may be frank.”
Resisting
a more sarcastic reply, Crane inclined his head and said, “Please do, Padre.”
“The
Church of Jesus is King in Aldershot had concerned me a little I must admit. Their methods are, well, a trifle over enthusiastic, when it comes to persuading people to join their church.”
“Over
enthusiastic?” Crane leant forward over the table.
“Yes.
It seemed that once you attend the church for a service, they are, shall we say, reluctant to let you go. They pile on the pressure to make you keep going. Ensnare you with invisible threads as it were. Also it’s a very evangelical type of worship.”
“Meaning?”
Crane was more than a little perplexed by the description.
“Well,
the congregation are encouraged to, ah, let themselves go. You know, fully join in, shout out when the need takes them and,” continued the Chaplain dropping his voice to a whisper, although there was no one else in the room, “I’ve heard reports of members of the congregation speaking in tongues.”
Not
liking what he was hearing, Crane wanted to know if members of the Church of Jesus is King were actively recruiting on the garrison.
“Not
as far as I’m aware, but I couldn’t say for certain.”
Crane
stood and paced the room for a moment, before turning back to address Symonds. “Thank you for your frankness, Padre, but I need to know if this church is active on the garrison. If our soldiers have been attending and getting ensnared by invisible threads, as you put it. Also, more specifically, if Lance Corporal Crooks was a regular attendee.”
“But,
Crane, I can’t just go along and start accusing them of what I deem to be inappropriate religious behaviour!” The Chaplain looked at Crane as though he had just suggested that God was the devil in disguise.
Crane
remained standing but placed his arms on the desk, closing the space between himself and the Padre. “Of course not, sir. But you could go and meet with the leader of the Church, as a result of the tragic events here on the garrison. Ask for any help and information on the Lance Corporal that he may be able to give. You know the drill, I’m sure. All in the spirit and love of Jesus and mutual co-operation in the community. That sort of thing.” Crane tried hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
A
gleam appeared in the Padre’s eyes and he smiled. “Of course, I see now. Very clever, Sergeant Major.”
Sitting
back down, Crane said, “Not really, sir, just standard investigative procedure. But much better coming from you, don’t you think? And of course I’m sure the Colonel will look favourably on your co-operation.”
Hesitantly,
the Chaplain finally nodded his agreement. “I’ll see what I can find out for you by tomorrow.”
“Thank
you, sir,” a relieved Crane replied.
That night at home, Crane was preoccupied. It was troubling him deeply that something as awful as the murders had happened on his garrison. He was aware things like this happen in ‘Civvy Street’, but he always thought soldiers more disciplined. Fair enough, most of them flare up at one point or another, Crane had to admit it was almost a given. But to go as far as murdering your family? He was having a hard time getting the whole business out of his head.
Unfortunately
Tina hasn’t picked up on his mood. “Tom...” she began over dinner at their large farmhouse table in the kitchen, which was far too big for just the two of them.
“Yes,
love?” he replied, looking up from his plate. The sight of her made him smile. She had changed from the business suit she wore for work at the bank into what he called a track suit and his wife called a leisure suit. Her long dark straight hair was loose, framing her face and most of her makeup had worn off. This was how he likes her best. Natural and relaxed, her arched eyebrows giving her a slightly quizzical look. Her eyes were searching his, as if trying to decide whether to speak or not.
“Well,
I’ve been thinking about our future,” she said, dropping her eyes to look at her food instead of him, pushing around the vegetables on her plate, studying them as if they were suddenly foreign to her.
Crane
groaned inwardly, whilst keeping the smile plastered on his face. “Oh yes,” he replied, trying to inject enthusiasm into his voice.
“You
know, wondering if the time was right. What do you think?” Tina raised her head and looked at him, with eyes like a timid dog. Soft, liquid and trusting.
What
Crane thought was that she couldn’t have picked a worse time to want a discussion about having children, when all Crane could see when he closed his eyes was the young boy dead in his father’s arms, by his father’s hand. But of course he couldn’t tell her that.
“What
about your career at the bank?” He answered a question with a question.
“I
know, I know,” Tina replied turning her wine glass round and round. After pausing to take a sip of the blood red liquid, she continued, “but I figured that I could take maternity leave and then see where we go from there.”
Dragging
his eyes away from the wine she was drinking, Crane took a long draught of his beer. Placing the glass back on the table, he got out of his chair and began to clear the debris of their meal. Another avoidance tactic, he knew that, but he couldn’t seem to help it.
“What
about the finances though?” he called over his shoulder from the sink.
“Well,
I was thinking that if I look into that first, taking into account my maternity pay and all the benefits you seem to get these days when you have a child, I was wondering if we could just manage, even if I don’t go back to work.”
Crane
slumped against the sink, thanking whatever God there might be up there for the reprieve.
“Why
don’t you do that then?” This time his enthusiasm was genuine. “We could talk about it again next week and go over the figures.”
Moving
over to the sink, Tina placed her arms around his chest and her head against his back. “Thanks, love, I knew you’d understand.”
Crane
dropped the plate he was holding, turned in her arms, kissed her and then whispered in her ear. “No, thank you.”
“What
for?”
“For
being just the kind of wife I need right now.”
“And
what kind of wife was that?” she teased.
“The
kind that doesn’t care if the washing up doesn’t get done tonight.”
***
Crane awoke refreshed the next morning and was in the office by 08.00 studying the incident board. As he requested, everyone was in place by 09.00 hours ready to go through the reports.
Major
Martin, an army officer who took up a position as pathologist at the nearby Frimley Park Hospital on his retirement from the forces, gave his report first. He was greatly respected by Crane and other members of the Branch, who did everything they could to ensure the Major dealt with any post mortems they had an interest in.
“Right,
well,” the Major began. “I can confirm that all three died by knife wound to the throat, made by a right handed man and that the cuts were consistent with the blade found in Solomon’s hand. The times of death, although very close together, indicated that Mrs Crooks died first, followed by her son and then Solomon. All this is consistent with murder and then suicide. None of the three had any health problems and the initial toxicology reports were clean. There was no alcohol in either Lance Corporal Crooks’ blood, or his wife’s. None had any fatal illnesses. Crooks was healthy, as one would expect.”
“So
you found nothing physical that could have caused Crooks to behave in such a way?” Crane asked.
“What
do you mean?”
“Oh,
I don’t know, a brain tumour or something, anything.” Crane rubbed his scar.
“Sorry,
Crane, I can’t help you there. You’re clutching at straws. If there was an illness behind this behaviour, I would have to say it was psychological not physical and even though I’m good, I’m not God. I can’t see from his brain what his last thoughts were.”
Amid
good natured chuckling, Crane said, “Thank you for your report and for coming along to give it personally, sir. Right then, let’s hear from Sergeant Smith.”
The
room stilled as Smith moved to the front of the room. “Well, sir,” he addressed Crane, “the Major’s opinion of murder and then suicide was borne out by the forensic evidence. The blood splatter was consistent with arterial spray and the finger prints found in the kitchen match all three victims. Other prints found in the house are too smudged to be identified, the house having been recently cleaned. The blood at the scene has been identified as belonging to all three victims. No other blood type has been found. Solomon had blood on his clothes from his wife and also his son. Only the boy had Solomon’s blood on him, consistent with Solomon killing his wife first, and then the boy and finally committing suicide. From the drag marks in the blood near Mrs Crooks, it is presumed she tried to reach the garage door, but failed. The footprints found in her blood matched the boots worn by Lance Corporal Crooks.” Smith paused and shuffled his papers before continuing. “All the rooms in the house have been examined and we found that all windows in the house had been locked, together with the front door. The door to the garage was closed and locked. The door to the garden was open when I arrived on the scene.”
“Anything
else we should know about?”
“Only
trace evidence, sir. We found something on his trousers. But I’m not sure what it is yet. I’m still waiting to hear from the lab.”
“What
sort of trace?” Crane was impatient. He hated having to wait for the results of forensic tests. Any trace evidence could be highly important and give them further leads, but the trouble was it took several days for the findings to be analysed. Crane fantasised about the labs in the American CSI programmes, but knew that in reality, results take days or weeks, not hours.
“Small
grains of two different substances,” Sergeant Smith explained. “I’ll let you know as soon as we get the results.”
“DI
Anderson, anything you want to add?”
The
policeman shook his head. “Not at this stage, Crane. It looks as if it’s fairly clear cut. So unless there’s anything else, I’ll see you at the inquest.” Anderson stood and collected his jacket and briefcase, both of which looked as tired and beaten as he did. After the three men left, Kim and Billy stayed on for a team discussion.
“Okay,
thoughts,” invited Crane, sitting on the edge of a desk.
“Clear
murder and then suicide,” said Billy, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head.
“Well,
of course it was. But why? Why in God’s name would Crooks kill his wife and son and then kill himself?” asked Crane.
Kim
and Billy failed to reply.
“Come
on, come on, you must have some theories,” said Crane raising his voice in frustration at their lack of initiative.
“Okay,
boss, how about his wife playing around?”
“Good,
Billy. Kim, what did you find out?”
“Absolutely
no evidence to suggest that, sir,” replied Kim, as formal as ever. “I spoke to the neighbours. Mrs Crooks was particularly friendly with Jean Byrd next door, so I talked to her at length. She said Mrs Crooks told her most things and had never mentioned a love interest. She also claims she would have known if ‘something had been up’, as she put it.”
“And
family?”
“I
spoke to Mrs Crooks’ mother and sister. Again both said that she had a happy marriage. They believed she had loved her husband and enjoyed being in the army community. They also stressed she was very proud of Solomon and his achievements. So it looks like that theory is a dead end. Crooks had no immediate family. His mother and father died a few years ago and he was an only child.”
“Billy,
what did you find out about their financial affairs?”
“Well,
as with most soldiers, they sailed pretty close to the wind, but were basically alright, just about keeping their heads above water,” said Billy as he consulted his notes.
“Anything
unusual? Any regular withdrawals? Maybe the one playing away was Crooks himself. If he was he’d need to finance it, either paying a prostitute or taking a mistress out for a meal, that sort of thing.”
“Not
really, sir. The only thing was that he used to take out money every Sunday morning, regular as clockwork, about 10am. £50 each time. Could have just been his weekly spending money I suppose.”
Crane’s
interest was piqued. He cocked his head and scratched at his beard. “Every Sunday at the same time?”
“Yes,
sir.”
“The
same cash point machine each time?”
Again
Billy consulted his notes. “Yes, sir. The Santander on the High Street. Just across the road from his quarters on the garrison. So I guess that was his nearest one. Maybe you’re right and he had an assignation every Sunday,” grinned Billy. “You know the sort he didn’t want his wife to know about.” Billy stopped short of winking, but gave Crane a knowing look.
“Is
that all you ever think about?” snapped Kim, her voice dripping venom.
“Just
exploring possibilities,” said Billy, putting his hands in his pockets and stretching in his seat.
After
a brief pause, Crane stood and said, “Alright, dismissed for now. Billy, let me know when the computer boys come back on the Lance Corporal’s laptop. Kim, check with welfare to see if there had been any visits there by Solomon or his wife. Oh and fix me up a meeting with Padre Symonds and Crooks’ Sergeant Major. Both for sometime today.”
“Yes,
sir,” Billy and Kim replied in unison.
Just
then the phone rang. Kim answered, listened and then replied, “Certainly, sir.” Replacing the receiver she looked at Crane, “The Padre is waiting in his office for you, sir.”