No Mercy (Sgt Major Crane story)



  No Mercy….

  A small collection of short stories

  and excerpts from the Sgt Major Crane novels

  by

  Wendy Cartmell

  Copyright © Wendy Cartmell 2011

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Wendy Cartmell

  No Mercy

  What If?

  Another Satisfactory Day

  The Telephone Call

  About the Author

  Steps to Heaven

  40 Days 40 Nights

  Violation

  Also by Wendy Cartmell….

  Steps to Heaven

  Sergeant Major Crane, is a Special Investigations Branch Detective in the British Army, based at Aldershot Garrison. Crane is disturbed by the horrific case of a soldier who, after recently returning from Afghanistan, murdered his wife and 6 year old son and then committed suicide. It seems Solomon was attending a local church, offering salvation. But as Crane investigates and the body count rises, events take a darker turn and he wonders if the church is offering salvation, or slaughter…?

  "A very well written book. I am impressed with the author's ability and am convinced that she is on par with the literary giants of this genre." ZenCherry Writer and Book Reviewer

  40 Days 40 Nights

  Accidents, thefts, murders, terrorist plots....they all plague Sgt Major Crane. It was originally planned that Aldershot Garrison would host a Team GB training camp for the 2012 Olympic Games. This is the story of what might have happened if they had…

  “Crane is a charismatic leading man who clearly has the legs to support a whole franchise….in this gripping and memorable novel.” Indie Book Spot.

  Violation

  Sgt Major Crane is unwillingly dragged into an Aldershot Police investigation after a young girl is raped and murdered, because witnesses describe the attacker as a young soldier. Can Crane stop the rapist before he strikes again, whilst simultaneously working on his own case - the repeated rape and bullying of a soldier on Aldershot Garrison?

  No Mercy

  A Sergeant Major Crane Investigation

  “In my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it. But it’s not my place to judge. That’s up to a Court Martial or civilian jury,” Crane said to Billy.

  “Don’t you find it frustrating when we arrest someone and then they get off, Sir?” Billy asked. “Especially when you know deep down they’re guilty?”

  Crane paused, his features becoming hard and his eyes distant. Then, as if suddenly remembering where he was, he seems to deliberately relax before casually shrugging and saying, “Sure, who wouldn’t?”

  “So how do you cope?”

  Again a pause. “It makes me more determined to do a better job next time.”

  Crane’s phone rang, precluding any further discussion. After listening silently, he acknowledged the order, replaced the receiver and turned to the waiting Billy.

  “Fire at a house on the Garrison. Looks like we’ve just got our chance to do a better job,” he smiled as they left the offices of the Special Investigations Branch of the Royal Military Police.

  Aldershot Garrison was slowly being enveloped in mist coming off the low lying playing fields as Sergeant Major Tom Crane and Sergeant Billy Williams 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 their car at the top of Mason Street, Crane and Billy threaded their way past Military Police cars, fire engines and snaking hoses. A cluster of uniformed men were talking a safe distance from the burning house and at their approach, one of them detached himself from the group.

  “Crane.” Staff Sergeant Jones of the Military Police acknowledged the Non Commissioned Officer from SIB. Jones was tall and wiry, the physical opposite of Crane and his nearly bald head gleamed in the light of the fire.

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

  “Because we believe a certain Sergeant Barnes is in there, at least according to his hysterical wife. She had to be pulled away before she plunged into the house to find him. It seems 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 evening and buttoned up his suit jacket. He immediately opened it, as he realised that he was putting on weight and resolved yet again to start running more often. Even though he was short and stocky, he had to admit that a growing stomach couldn’t be put down to muscle. He guessed that battling with weight gain was only natural when you were in your late 30’s. Rubbing the damp out of his short dark hair, he passed his hand over his short dark beard.

  He wasn’t entirely comfortable with the beard he had grown in an attempt to hide the scar running across his cheek to his chin, a souvenir of a tour in Afghanistan. The scar itself was still red and angry, as though the skin on his face was an outward reflection of his inner feelings. So he had grown a beard. Not because of vanity, but to stop his disfigurement being a distraction, when he was interviewing suspects or making requests of superior officers. And as he had to get permission to grow it, he decided he better stick with it.

  He turned to look at the house, where indeed the firemen had the blaze under control. The flames were subsiding 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 to 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 Stores in St Omar Barracks. 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 5pm. Apparently he wasn’t known for frequenting the mess after work, so it looks like he followed 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 a cigarette.

  “Bad for you, those, Boss,” murmured Billy, who was the epitome of a healthy, fit young man, with a well muscled body. Crane knew Billy spent his spare time running or in the gym and it showed. 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.

  Their mood immediately became more sombre as the fire officer approached.

  “Found a body,” he confirmed. At the back of the house. 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 an
d 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 Sgt Jones.

  “Jones, make sure the scene is secure and keep the rest of the houses evacuated,” he ordered. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to see how things are going.”

  The next day saw Crane back at the scene. As SIB don’t wear uniform whilst on active investigation, Crane wore a smart dark suit with a white shirt and military tie. His wife Tina hated ironing and made him iron his own shirts, claiming she was too busy as she worked long hours at a local Bank. But Crane didn’t mind, as he would rather do them himself, being somewhat particular about his appearance. He always thought that short and smart kind of summed him up - totally belying the picture conjured up by his surname. Short in stature, but smart in both appearance and intellect.

  He met the pathologist coming out of the front door.

  “Crane.”

  “Morning Major Martin.” Crane greeted the retired army medical officer who had taken a civilian post at Frimley Park Hospital. “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.”

  “Where is he?”

  “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, he walked into the lounge, 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. The three piece suite was old fashioned, being large and chunky, a mixture of wood and fabric, with a coffee table and side tables dotted around. A large bureau stood under the window, the top filled with pictures. Crane walked over to scrutinise them and found they were all of Sergeant Barnes at various times in his army career. There were no pictures of Mrs Barnes, he noted with some surprise.

  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 opens onto the back garden. The smell, which was present in the front room, was now cloying and Crane placed a handkerchief over his mouth and nose.

  Barnes was unrecognisable from his pictures. 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.

  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. 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, who was returning to retrieve the body.

  “When will you be able to do the Post Mortem?” Crane wanted to know.

  “Oh, tomorrow morning, first thing.”

  “Good. Briefing at 1200 hours tomorrow, in the SIB Office,…Sir.”

  Ignoring the quizzical look on the Major’s face, caused by Crane’s habit of effectively giving a superior officer an order, Crane left the scene. Returning to Provost Barracks he spoke to Staff Sgt Jones and the Fire Officer, ordering them to be present at the meeting as well.

  The following day at the meeting, Crane waited whilst everyone settled themselves. He asked the Fire Officer to give his report first. The report confirmed the initial suspicion that the seat of the fire was Sergeant Barnes himself. Evidence of an accelerant, most probably petrol was found. Crane wanted to know why the body was so badly charred. The FO explained that when a body burns, first the thin outer layers of skin fry and begin to peel off, as the flames dance across the surface. After a few minutes the thicker dermal layer of skin shrinks and begins to split. This allows the underlying yellow fat to leak out. The clothes Sergeant Barnes was wearing then acted as a wick. This meant that the small pieces of cloth absorbed the fat and pulled it into the flames, where it vaporised and burned. In his opinion, for the body to be that badly burned in a short period of time, the accelerant was most likely on the body itself, rather than close to it.

  Major Martin was next. He confirmed the body was that of Sergeant Barnes and his death was caused by burning. After a couple of low sniggers from somewhere in the room, he explained that there was no evidence of gunshot wounds or stab wounds on the body. There was smoke damage to the throat and lungs indicating that Sergeant Barnes was alive when he was set on fire. His arms were raised and bent, most probably because the heat of the fire caused muscles to dry out and contract. This made the limbs move and adopt characteristic postures, such as the position they found Sergeant Barnes in.

  Crane broke the silence by thanking the Fire Officer and Major Martin for their reports and they both left the meeting.

  “Bloody hell,” mumbled Billy, as he ran his hand through his shock of blond hair.

  “Bloody hell indeed, lad,” agreed Jones.

  “Right, what else have we got?” Crane wanted to know, determined they should get on with the job and not dwell on the horror of Sgt Barnes’ death.

  “Two possible leads,” Jones said. “One is that local kids on the Garrison have been making a bit of a nuisance of themselves. Riding around on bikes and generally being a bit lippy. Sergeant Barnes was very upset about this and the more he tried to stop them, the more the kids took pleasure in winding him up.”

  “How do you know about this?”

  “Barnes made a couple of complaints to the RMP office, named the kids as belonging to Sgt Hollins but to be honest we didn’t take him too seriously. Thought he was over reacting.”

  “And the second one?” Crane asked.

  “As you know Sergeant Barnes was in charge of the Stores. He had suspicions about a couple of lads pilfering stuff. Nothing major, but again it wound him up. He gave us the nod, but without any evidence there wasn’t much we could do.”

  “Barnes seemed to get wound up a lot wouldn’t you say?” observed Billy.

  “Looks that way,” agreed Crane. “Leave these two cases with me Jones.

  “But…..” Jones blustered, “Is that really necessary? We can follow them up.”

  “We’ll look into them.” Crane persisted. “This is an SIB investigation now.”

  Mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like, “For fuck’s sake,” Jones left.

  “If I need you, I’ll let you know,” Crane called to Jones’ retreating back.

  Crane decided to take the second allegation first and after making the necessary arrangements, the following morning he and Billy went to the St Omar Barracks Stores. Looking through the glass in the entrance door, they observed two men lounging around. Both looked untidy with creased uniforms and their hair was just a bit too long. Crane put them both in their early 20’s.

  “When the cat’s away eh?” said Crane as he pushed open the door.

  The two men jumped to attention, their faces suffused with embarrassment. To them it was obviously a visit from SIB. In the same way a policeman is easily marked out even when in plain clothes, so are SIB. The first obvious sign was that Crane and Billy were in civvies not uniform and the second was the ID clipped to their jackets.

  “Sir” they called in unison.

  “Tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee, I take it?”

  “Corporal Potts, sir.”

  “Lance Corporal Mathews, sir.”

  “That’s what I thought. Billy stay here and talk to the Corporal would you whilst Lance Corporal Matthews and I have a chat outside.�
��

  Crane turned and walks out of the Stores without bothering to see if he was being followed.

  “Right, son, you know why we’re here I take it.”

  “Sergeant Barnes, sir?” was the nervous response.

  “You catch on quick. But we’re also here about rumours of pilfering from the stores. Got a good business going on the side have you? A bit here and a bit there, hoping no one will notice.”

  The young Lance Corporal remained silent.

  “That’s what I thought,” said Crane, rubbing his beard. “Barnes had rumbled you, hadn’t he? So what did you decide to do about it? Maybe you just meant to frighten him by setting the back door on fire? Perhaps it was a warning that went wrong?”

  Crane could see Matthews was severely uncomfortable. From being red in the face, his colour had drained to grey, his skin clammy, as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and he wiped his hands on his trousers.

  “Sir,….no, sir…” stammered Matthews. “I mean yes …….to the pilfering, but not to anything else.”

  “Well, we’ll see. Staff Sgt Jones and his Military Police lads are just around the corner, waiting to take you into custody on suspicion of murder.”

  “Jesus,” the young man murmured. “I swear we never did it, you’ve got to believe me!”

  They both turned as Billy emerged from the stores, holding Corporal Potts by the arm. The young man was clearly frightened, relying on Billy to hold him up.

  Once the two men were in custody, Crane and Billy made their way to Lille Barracks, to speak to the father of the kids causing trouble in the street. They pulled Sergeant Hollins off the parade ground to interview him in an empty office.

  “What the hell’s this all about?” the Sergeant growled. He had a large frame and barrel chest and at over six feet, towered above Crane.

  “Sit down, Hollins,” barked Crane.

  “No need, I won’t be here that long. You lot don’t frighten me. I’ve done nothing to warrant an interview by the Branch,” he finished, glaring at the two SIB men.

  “Maybe not, but your kids have,” said Crane.

  “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Heard the news about Sergeant Barnes dying in a fire?”

  “Of course, it’s all over the Garrison. But what’s that got to do with my kids?”

  “They seem to have known Barnes from what we hear.”

  “Oh that, nothing but kids messing around.”

  “Really?” Crane pointed a finger at Hollins. “Is that what you call setting fire to his house and burning him to death, messing around?”

  At that point the Sergeant sat.

  “You can’t seriously think that?”

  “We can and we do,” replied Crane. “And you’ll do well to remember that you are responsible for your children, Sergeant. If they’ve done anything wrong, it’s you that gets busted as well. This isn’t civvy street where parents can let their kids do whatever the hell they want.”

  By now Sergeant Hollins looked bewildered and crushed, slumping in his chair. Gone was the bluster and anger.

  “So I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” said Crane leaning over the table towards Hollins. “Have a nice little meeting later on today at your house. Say 1700 hours. Make sure your kids are there and your wife if you like.”

  “You can’t do that!” was the furious response.

  “I can do what the bloody hell I want.” Crane hissed in Hollins’ face. “Remember that your Commanding Officer knows we’re speaking to you. Do you want him to know how uncooperative you’re being? That you’re impeding a murder investigation?”

  Slowly Hollins shook his head.

  “Well done, right answer.” Crane straightened up. “I intend to get to the bottom of this, Hollins,” he warned.

  They left the Sergeant staring blankly at the wall.

  The next morning found Crane and Billy sitting despondently in the office.

  “So, neither lead is any good then?” sighed Billy.

  “Doesn’t look like it. Potts and Mathews checked out. Solid alibis for the afternoon of the fire. The only good thing is that they were so frightened they spilled the beans on the thefts. As for the kids, I’m pretty sure they were telling the truth about having nothing to do with it. At 8 and 10 years old you can’t lie that effectively. One of them would have burst into tears and confessed. Still, it’ll keep them off the streets in future and stop them annoying the neighbours.”

  “You don’t suppose he did it to himself?” asked Billy.

  “What?”

  “Sergeant Barnes. Maybe it was suicide.”

  “A bit bloody extreme,” was Crane’s reaction. “And anyway, why would he do it?”

  “Who knows? Medical reasons perhaps? Maybe he was ill?”

  After a pause Crane said, “Okay follow it up. Get his medical records from the Garrison Health Centre. After all, we’ve nothing else.”

  “Sir,” agrees Billy as he left the office.

  It was some time later that Crane realised Billy hadn’t come back with the medical records, so he went in search of him. He found Billy at his desk going through some papers.

  “Billy,” snapped Crane, “what the hell are you doing? Where are Sergeant Barnes’s Medical Records?”

  “Well, Sir, I was just about to come and see you about that.”

  “Well come and see me then,” called Crane striding back to his office.

  Billy sat opposite Crane. “Well, Sir, it’s just that I’ve cocked up.”

  “What have you done this time?”

  “Well, you know you asked me to get Sergeant Barnes’s medical records?”

  “Of course, where are they?”

  “Still in the medical centre.”

  “So what’s in your hand?”

  “Mrs Barnes’s medical records, Sir.”

  “What the hell!” Crane exploded. “How did that happen? No, don’t tell me, a pretty young receptionist?”

  Sheepishly Billy had to agree. “She is really sweet Boss, with big you know whats. Anyway we got chatting. So she was a bit distracted when she gave me the records for A. Barnes. I just took them and when I got back I realised she had given me Mrs Barnes’s records. Alice, that is, not Adrian.”

  “You bloody idiot!”

  “I know Boss, but, it could be a good thing.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “It seems Mrs Barnes has had several ‘accidents’ over the past few years.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “Yes. Broken ribs, injured knees, broken wrist. All plausibly explained…… but….”

  “Domestic violence,” Crane said with resignation, “probably over a prolonged period.”

  “Looks that way, Boss.”

  Crane pauses to think, subconsciously stroking his scar.

  “Right,” Crane came to a decision. “Get those bloody records out of my sight and back where they belong before anyone notices they’re gone. Then we better liaise with DI Anderson of the Aldershot Police. Don’t forget Mrs Barnes is a civilian and as her husband is dead, she is effectively outside of Army jurisdiction.”

  Detective Inspector Derek Anderson was drinking tea in his office at Aldershot Police Station and enjoying an iced cake when they arrived. He was slumped in his chair and looked as crumpled and tired as his office. His dark tie and tweed jacket were full of cake crumbs. His thinning dark hair was unruly, as though he has just been out in the wind. After talking to Crane and Billy he pushed away the sweet cake and picked up the phone.

  It only took an hour for Anderson to bring in Mrs Barnes for questioning and during that time Crane got Jones and his MPs to search the garage at the bottom of the Barnes’s garden. They reported their findings to Crane just as Mrs Barnes arrived at the Police Station.

  DI Anderson and Crane interviewed Mrs Barnes together, with Billy listening and watching from another room via surveillance camera. Mrs Barnes refuses legal representation and sat quietly in a chai
r. She was in her mid thirties and very thin. Skeletal even, Crane thought. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

  At first Mrs Barnes was vehement in her denial that she killed her husband. She stuck to her story about being at her sister’s for the day and finding the fire on her return.

  It was only when they started asking questions about the rumours of her having a lot of ‘accidents’ that she became agitated. She finally admitted that her husband had physically abused her ever since they got married. She explained that he usually hit her so that any bruises or injuries were not noticeable, but every now and again he got it wrong. Once he threw her down the stairs and her wrist got caught in the banister and broke.

  Then she lifted up her jumper. A web of bruises, some dark black and fresh, others fading and yellow, jumbled on top of each other, spreading around to her stomach and back. Mrs Barnes let the jumper drop and hugged herself as if for comfort, rocking slowly from side to side.

  Ignoring her distress Crane pressed on and confronted her with what the Military Police had found in her garage. After that, she was ready to tell them what really happened.

  Hiding behind her curtain of long dark hair, Mrs Barnes admitted to feelings of dread as she returned from the day out with her sister. The freedom she’d enjoyed for just one day had been liberating. No violence, no shouting, no one putting her down. As she got closer to home she decided, on impulse, to try to free herself from her tyrannical husband. She parked her car on the edge of North Camp and managed to walk to the back of her house and slip into the garden without being seen by the neighbours.

  “I could see him in the kitchen, making a cup of tea,” she explained. “I went into the garage, poured some petrol into a jug and walked up the garden path. When I opened the back door he looked at me and demanded to know where I’d been. He wanted to know why I wasn’t at home preparing his dinner. He called me a lazy slut and told me I’d get what I deserved later. I……I……” Mrs Barnes faltered and fell silent.

  “So what did you do then,” Crane asked, no longer the demanding investigator.

  “I threw the jug of petrol in his face. Whilst he was recovering from the shock I pulled a box of matches from my pocket and went to light one. He looked at me in horror and wanted to know what the bloody hell I thought I was doing. He told me to stop being so bloody stupid and to pull myself together.”

  Pausing to take a deep breath, she then continued. “You can’t imagine the feeling of power I got from holding that box of matches,” she confessed. “For once I was in charge, not him.”

  Raising her head and looking straight at Crane she said, “He fell to his knees and begged for mercy, but I decided he didn’t deserve it. So I struck the match and threw it at him.”

  Author’s Note

  What If….?