Steps to Heaven: A Sgt Major Crane Novel (4 page)

Chapter
Six

Captain James Edwards had been in command of the SIB in Aldershot for the past year. That made him a newbie as far as Crane was concerned, having himself served there, between his posting in Afghanistan, for over two. A fact that Crane had been known to needle Captain Edwards with, citing superior knowledge of the garrison and the men stationed there. This time though, neither Crane nor the Captain had ever dealt with a murder/suicide before, so it was new ground for them both.

Captain
Edwards was sitting at his desk as Crane entered the room, which was not nearly as opulent as the Colonel’s office. Basic furniture including a small desk, were crowded into the small space. There was not enough room for a conference table here. Looking at his Captain, Crane saw a man with regulation short black hair and the kind of aristocratic features that came from years of family inbreeding – long aquiline nose and a weak chin. His eyes were a startling blue and he had the natural haughty expression of someone used to being obeyed, either because of his money or his rank.

“Sir,”
Crane said, remaining standing, before being invited to sit.

“Right,
what’s your update on the Crooks case?” Captain Edwards began.

Crane
proceeded to go over the reports presented at the meeting by Sergeant Smith and Major Martin, finishing with the team discussion and their proposed way forward.

“Sorry,
Crane, but isn’t this case closed?” said his superior officer in his most superior voice.

“Yes,
in terms of what happened, it is, sir.”

“Well
then, that’s all there is to it,” replied Captain Edwards, closing the file on his desk.

“Sir?”

“Case closed, Sergeant Major, don’t you agree?”

“Not
at all, sir…with respect,” Crane added.

“What
do you mean, Crane? It’s as plain as the nose on my face what happened,” the Captain said in exasperation, tapping the file in front of him to make his point.

“But
don’t you want to know why?”

“Why?”
queried Edwards.

“Yes,
sir. Why did he do it?”

“Is
that relevant?”

Breathing
deeply to calm himself down, Crane began to speak, choosing his words carefully. “It’s certainly relevant, sir. Perhaps there are lessons to be learned from what happened, so we could at least try and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Clearly
not looking favourably on Crane, or his opinions, Edwards rose from his chair, as though the increased height would give him back some of the advantage that his rank should have afforded him, and began prowling around the small space.

“Is
this the mamby pamby, new age shit I keep hearing about? Where we should wrap our men in cotton wool, instead of making soldiers of them? Generations of my family have served in the armed forces and in our experience men have to put up and shut up.”

Suppressing
a smile and keeping his face blank, Crane clarified things for Captain Edwards. “I don’t know about that, sir. What I do know is that Colonel Pearson has given me permission to investigate the matter from a personal angle.”

“A
personal angle? Are you sure?” The mention of Colonel Pearson made Edwards stand still.

“Yes
indeed, sir. Crooks could have been affected by family problems, financial problems, or even problems he faced in Afghanistan or that developed since he returned.”

Going
back to his desk, Captain Edwards said, “Colonel Pearson’s given his permission you say?”

“Rather
willingly in fact,” said Crane, stretching the truth somewhat.

“Oh
very well, but make it snappy. Let’s get this one wrapped up quickly. Dismissed.”

“Thank
you, sir,” said Crane, smiling inside. His face, his usual mask of respect.

As
Crane was leaving Captain Edward’s office, he received a call from Kim.

“Lance
Corporal Crooks’ Sergeant Major can see you in 15 minutes, sir.”

“Good.
Give me the details.”

***

Crane arrived at Lille Barracks and followed Kim’s instructions, finding his way to Sergeant Major Phil Tomlinson. Tomlinson was just finishing up on the parade ground and Crane watched with interest as he put the soldiers through their paces. His voice rang loud and true, bouncing off the walls of the buildings covering three sides of the large space. As a result, his instructions were barely intelligible to an untrained ear. But the soldiers under his command seemed to have no problem understanding and responded immediately to his every bark and shout. Once the officer commanding gave the order, Tomlinson dismissed the troops and marched towards Crane, his barrel chest pushed forward. Standing stiffly to attention in front of Crane for a few seconds, his face then relaxed and crumpled into a less formal arrangement of features, before holding his hand out to Crane.

“Crane,
good to see you.”

“And
you, Phil.” Crane shook his old friend’s hand. Crane and Phil Tomlinson joined up at the same time and went through basic training together, managing to keep in touch irregularly over the years as they passed through various locations on their way up the career ladder.

“Come
away to my office.” Phil indicated the building opposite. As they walked, the two friends caught up with each other’s recent postings and asked after their wives.

Upon
reaching the privacy of Phil’s office, they sat in a couple of chairs to discuss the subject both of them had been avoiding. Crane wanted to know about Solomon.

“Good
soldier, showing leadership potential. What else is there to know?” asked Phil.

“Come
on, don’t give me that bullshit,” countered Crane, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, “I know you too well for that. I need to know what was behind this whole sorry business. A man doesn’t just up and kill his family and then commit suicide.”

“Fair
enough, but I don’t have exclusive access to all the men’s thoughts and feelings you know. It’s more of do they jump high enough and fast enough as far as I’m concerned and Solomon certainly did that.”

“How
was he in Afghanistan?”

“Seemed
alright on the surface.”

“Meaning?”

“He did his job.”

“Any
signs of fear, questioning why he was there, that sort of thing?”

“Not
that I saw.”

“Who
would have seen? Who was he closest to? Come on, Phil, work with me on this,” Crane implored, standing and pacing around yet another small grey room, failing to hide his frustration with the ping pong of the questions and answers. It was becoming clear Phil wasn’t opening up as much as he hoped he would. Tomlinson remained seated and stared at Crane, refusing to answer the last question. Given no choice Crane returned to his own chair and changed tack.

“Had
an interesting conversation with Colonel Pearson yesterday,” he said casually.

Phil
made no comment but raised his eyebrows.

“He
was very concerned that this should have happened to someone in his regiment.” As the silence from Phil continued, Crane said, “He was most insistent that I investigate this matter from all angles. Obviously from the personal one – his family life – but also from a professional angle. For instance, he was particularly interested if anything had happened in Afghanistan that affected him and could have been an underlying cause.”

Leaning
back and folding his arms, resisting the temptation to finger his scar, Crane waited for Phil to respond. A range of emotions crossed Tomlinson’s face during Crane’s last words; widening of the eyes at the mention of his Commanding Officer; a slight wry smile at the mention of the personal angle; to finally a hardening of his eyes at the mention of Afghanistan.

After
a short pause, Phil grabbed a pad and pen from his desk and scribbled two names on it. Tearing off the paper and thrusting it at Crane he said, “Try these two, perhaps they can give you more of an insight into the man than I can. You’ll find them in the Mess Hall.”

Pushing
his chair back, Crane rose and after placing the paper in his pocket said, “Thanks, Phil, appreciate it.”

***

Walking through the mess, Crane caused quite a stir. In the same way a policeman is easily marked out even when in plain clothes, SIB personnel seem to have a neon sign on their foreheads, particularly as Crane was in civvies not uniform amongst a sea of khaki. He was holding a piece of paper and scanning the tables looking for stripes on arms.

Approaching
two corporals leaning against a side wall, Crane asked them to find the Sergeant and Corporal named on his piece of paper. Within minutes the two men in question met Crane at the door of the Mess and he made arrangements to interview them in his office later that day.

As
he left the barracks he phoned Kim demanding to know if she had contacted the Padre. Pleased by her response, he made his way over to the Church.

The
Royal Garrison Church of All Saints stood in its own grounds, with brick pillared sentries guarding the entrance to the driveway. Not a tall building, it sat low and squat, reassuringly nestled by hedging and flowering shrubs either side of it. The front was covered by an ivy creeper that had settled itself around the front of the building like a warm blanket.

The
ivy had been kept clear of a large mullioned stained glass window that dominated the eye. This grand window was protected on one side by a tall steeple and on the other by a smaller version of itself. Crosses were littered around the uneven roof line, warning possible invaders from every vantage point.

Opening
the door and entering the gloom of the church, Crane took a few minutes to let his eyes adjust. As he looked around the cavernous space, the light from the arched stained glass windows seemed muted, causing shadows in every nook and cranny. The layout was very traditional. Down the centre of the church were wide rows of highly polished wooden pews, facing the large high altar at the end, with the pulpit placed between it and the congregation. Bisecting the pews on either side, were large pillared arches, pointed at the tops, echoing the shape of the large stained glass window that rose majestically above the high altar. Flags and standards hung from both sides of the arches proudly announcing the regiments and battalions that had served at the garrison over the years. Crane spotted the Padre on his knees before the altar rail. Walking towards the front of the Church, Crane’s footsteps heralded his arrival, no matter how hard he tried to be unobtrusive. The Padre turned at the disturbance and stood to meet Crane.

“Sergeant
Major,” he calls. “I believe I told your office that I wouldn’t be available until later today.”

“Oh,
really, sir? Sorry, I didn’t know that. I just called in on the off chance, as I was passing. If it’s not convenient?” Crane let the question hang in the air, without turning to leave.

“Oh
very well, as you’re here now, follow me.”

Chapter
Seven

Padre Symonds had a small office behind the vestry and he ushered Crane inside. The room smelled musty and faintly damp, with only a very small window set high on the wall offering any sort of illumination. The room resembled a cave rather than an office. Book shelves were crammed with religious tomes. Richly coloured, textured robes hung in a wardrobe, peeping through the slightly open doors. The Padre’s desk was lit by a small desk lamp and full of papers and books, which he pushed out of the way.

“Just
working on my next sermon,” he explained, moving to sit behind the desk, indicating that Crane should sit in front.

“Sorry
to interrupt, Padre.”

“Actually,
it’s not going too well at the moment. I was seeking divine intervention when you came in, but that wasn’t helping either, so maybe a break was a better idea. I was trying to explore how faith in Jesus could help our serving soldiers when they are on tour in a war zone.”

“Why
was that proving difficult to write?” Crane was interested to know. He crosses his legs and leaned his head to one side.

“Probably
because I haven’t experienced service in a war zone,” the Padre sighed. “I must admit I’m finding it difficult to deal with the problems soldiers face in these situations, in relation to their faith, because I haven’t actually been there myself. It’s all very well to talk about the love and support Jesus could provide to the individual in general terms, but I wish I could draw on relevant personal experience and then cross reference that with the scriptures. Somehow it would ring more true, don’t you think?”

“I
see your point, sir, although I’m not a religious man myself. Even when I served in the most hellish places on earth I personally found it difficult to turn to the Church, although I know many who did. It seemed to me that in order to try to make some sort of sense out of what they had seen and been subjected to, they needed help and guidance from the Padre.”

“Exactly,
Sergeant Major, so I want to make what I say relevant to their experiences.”

“Do
you think you will ever serve in a war zone, Padre?”

“I
think that’s a discussion for another day, Sergeant Major,” said the Padre, starting to tidy up the mess of his desk.

After
a short silence, Crane changed the subject. “So, do you have any information for me on the Church of Jesus is King?”

Before
responding to Crane’s question, the Padre pulled out several leaflets from his top drawer.

“I
had a meeting yesterday afternoon with Elias Montgomery, the Church Elder of Jesus is King, who gave me these pamphlets. He said he had no personal knowledge of Solomon, but would ask around the congregation to see if anyone knew him. Elias was very concerned we felt there could be a link between the murders and his Church, but I did my best to reassure him that we didn’t think any such thing. I told him that it was just that Special Investigations Branch wanted to leave no stone unturned and he seemed to accept that.”

“What
was his general demeanour?”

“Well,
he was concerned, but not overly embarrassed or nervous. He didn’t seem to mind that I’d gone to see him. In fact he understood it was logical, as you’d found the church’s literature at Solomon’s house.”

“Mmm,”
Crane thought for a moment and then asked, “Do you think he’ll take your request seriously?”

“I
think so, but he did say it might take some time, maybe a few days or even a week. He wanted time to talk to people naturally, you know, not in an accusatory way. If you can understand that?”

Rising from his seat, but not to the bait, Crane thanked Padre Symonds for his efforts and asked to be kept up to date, leaving the Padre to grapple with his sermon. He needed to get back to the office to interview Solomon’s fellow soldiers.

***

Sergeant Bullen and Corporal Palmer were both waiting at Crane’s Barracks when he walked in, even though they had separate appointment times.
“What’s this, safety in numbers?” he joked to the two men standing awkwardly to attention in front of him, before assuring them they could stand at ease. But his efforts at light hearted humour seem to have made them even more nervous, as their hands fidgeted and eyes roamed around the open plan office. Neither man seemingly brave enough to look at Crane’s face.

Giving
up on the humour he said, “I need to speak to you separately,” causing two sets of eyes to widen in fright. “Sergeant Bullen first and then Corporal Palmer.” After pointing to a chair where Palmer could wait, he barked, “Follow me,” to the Sergeant.

The
interview room Crane was using did nothing to put an interviewee at ease. Plain walls were painted army green and the only furniture was a metal table with two hard chairs placed on either side of it. Nothing else. No papers, no telephone. Two small windows were high up on one wall, grey light from the outside fighting with the gloom of the inside and losing. As a result the room seemed dim, confined and claustrophobic. Seating himself on one of the chairs Crane gestured for Sergeant Bullen to sit opposite him, as Billy slipped in through the door and leaned against the wall.

“Right,
Sergeant,” Crane began. “I understand from Sergeant Major Tomlinson that you are in command of Solomon’s platoon.”

“Sir,”
was the extremely brief reply.

“How
well did you know him?”

“Well,
you know…” the Sergeant spread his hands and hunched his shoulders.

“No
I don’t, so tell me.”

“He
was just another solider. Normal, like everyone else.” Bullen began to study his hands as though he had never seen them before.

“Since
when have soldiers been normal, Bullen?”

“Come
on, sir, you know what I mean.” He replied, head down, still looking at his hands.

“No
I bloody don’t – so explain.”

As
the silence stretched, Crane left his chair, leaning against the wall next to Billy, folding his arms and staring at the Sergeant. “Are you a good sergeant?”

Bullen
seemed confused by the change of subject, his eyes flicking from Crane to Billy and back.

“Sir?”

“If I was to look at your record, would it say that you were a good leader, understood your men and got the best out of them?”

“I
would hope so, sir,” was the immediate response. Bullen sat up in his chair as though sitting to attention.

“Then
bloody well prove it and tell me about Lance Corporal Crooks.”

Crane
pushed off the wall and returned to his seat. Bullen looked around the room, glancing once again at Billy, who still hadn’t moved and was managing to make his open friendly face look menacing. Clearly finding no help from that quarter, Bullen looked at Crane and began to speak.

“He
was a good soldier, you know, followed orders, tried hard, and worked to the best of his ability. But...”

“But?”

“Well, sir, he could be a bit odd at times.”

“What
does odd mean?” Crane masked the urgency in his voice with a gruff tone.

“Well,
when we were on our last tour, he started disappearing out to a far corner of the camp when off duty, instead of mucking around and relaxing with the other lads. You know how it is, sir, we all keep each other’s spirits up, combat the boredom by playing cards, having a cup of tea, that sort of thing.”

“So,
a bit of a loner then?”

“Yes,
but he didn’t used to be, if you see what I mean. Just on this last tour,” Bullen shook his head sadly. “I don’t know - the pressure seemed to get to him somehow. Changed him.”

“Was
there any incident in particular that seemed to spark off this behaviour?”

After
moment’s consideration Bullen said, “I couldn’t say, sir. Corporal Palmer may be able to help there. He’s obviously closer to the lads than I am.”

“Fair
enough, Sergeant. Thanks. “

Walking
across the room and opening the door, Crane indicated the office outside with his head. “Hang around for a bit please, in case I need to speak to you again before you make your statement and send Corporal Palmer in.”

Palmer
entered the room and sat in the seat Crane silently pointed to. Closing the door, Crane saw Palmer jump at the noise and then start again when he saw the implacable Billy leaning against the wall.

“Why
so jumpy, Corporal?”

“Sorry,
sir,” Palmer replied, clearing his throat after speaking.

“Solomon.”
Crane said nothing else, merely waited, standing beside Billy, and leaning against the wall.

After
once more clearing his throat, Palmer said, “Nasty business that, sir.”

“Yes,
yes.” Crane was exasperated by the term that many people had already used to describe such horrific and saddening murders. “What can you tell me about him?”

“Umm,
he was a good soldier, sir.”

“For
God’s sake man, I know that already!” exploded Crane, as he pushed off the wall. Still standing, he leant on his arms, which straddled the table. Putting his face right up to Palmer he said, “Look, I’ve talked to Colonel Pearson, Sergeant Major Tomlinson and just now, Sergeant Bullen. This is serious and everyone is helping as much as they can. So, now it’s your turn to spill the beans – or do you want me to report back up the chain that you’re impeding my investigation?” Crane stopped talking, but stayed in the intimidating position, banking on the young man’s fear of his chain of command being greater than his fear of the Branch.

Slumping
in his chair as if realising there was no alternative, Palmer mumbled, “What do you want to know?”

Getting
out of Palmer’s face and sitting down, Crane said, “I want to know everything you know, from the beginning, from when you first met him.”