Cold Times, page 1
COLD TIMES
A Sgt Major Crane Cold Case
Book 2
By
Wendy Cartmell
© Wendy Cartmell 2024
Wendy Cartmell has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of contents
Table of contents
By Wendy Cartmell
Cold times
Five years ago
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Present day
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
ALDERSHOT NEWS
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
ALDERSHOT NEWS
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Cold Water
A note from Wendy
By Wendy Cartmell
By Wendy Cartmell
Wendy Cartmell is a bestselling Amazon author, well known for her chilling crime thrillers. These include the Sgt Major Crane mysteries, Crane and Anderson police procedurals, the Emma Harrison mysteries and a cozy mystery series, set in Muddlebay. Further, a psychic detective series has been written, the first of which, Touching the Dead has been followed by six further books in the series. Finally, the haunted series is a collection of ghostly happenings in buildings or objects. Just click the covers to go to the book pages on Amazon.
Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers:
Crane and Anderson crime thrillers:
Emma Harrison mysteries
Supernatural suspense
Cozy mystery
Haunted houses
Cold Cases
All my books are available to purchase or borrow from Amazon by clicking the covers above or entering Amazon HERE.
Thank you so much for your support.
Happy reading until next time
Cold Times
When a good turn ends in murder…
Is it possible to have been murdered, five years on from an assault?
When Owain Deans slips and falls at home and two days later he is dead, the pathologist thinks so and contacts Sgt Major Crane.
It’s now up to Crane. Can he really prove it was murder, or will he be left with egg on his face.
And if it is murder, where the hell is the murderer?
Five years ago
Chapter 1
‘Get a bloody move on!’
The shout rang around the range as Owain struggled through the mud, with his elbows helping to propel him forwards.
‘Keep low. Do not raise your head.’
Owain Deans, his elbows and knees working in perfect harmony, crawling through the mud in a ditch in a so called ‘exercise’ would never do anything as stupid as lift his head. Not with all the bullets pinging overhead. He was steadfastly following the man in front when the dickhead suddenly stopped and Owain went straight into the bloke’s boot, which smacked into his cheek bone.
‘Do not stop!’ rang out the voice. ‘Keep crawling.’
‘Come on, mate,’ urged Owain. ‘You’re creating a bottleneck.’ He was being pushed from behind and the grumbling of the men was threatening to spill over into anger from them, as well as from the instructor.
‘I… I… can’t.’
The man in front seemed terrified. Couldn’t go forwards, couldn’t go backwards. Frozen. Owain had to do something.
‘It’s okay,’ he shouted. ‘Come on, with me, dig those elbows in. That’s it. Just one slither at a time. You can do it,’ he urged as the man whose boots were in his face, managed to get moving again. ‘Left, right, left, right,’ Owain called, mimicking the man’s movements himself. ‘That’s it, mate, you’re doing well,’ he urged, not knowing if the man in front had heard him.
Finally, they slithered down the slope, towards the end of the ditch, covered in mud from head to foot, but finally safe. They clambered up, and Owain pulled up his unfortunate colleague.
‘Well done, mate,’ Owain clapped the man on his back and wandered away to find his own unit.
‘Deans!’ the shout rang out. ‘Over here – now!’
For fuck’s sake, grumbled Owain to himself. What the hell does he want now? To be honest the thought of doing that crawl through the mud again, with bullets whizzing over his head which threatened to pummel him into the ground was terrifying. He was just too tired. But the Sgt Major had called his name. He had no choice but to go over.
‘Sir?’
‘Saw what you did there.’
Owain’s cheeks flamed underneath their coating of mud. Here we go. He thought the worst.
‘Well done. That’s the sort of thing we like. Helping out without being asked. Coming to the aid of a mate in distress.’
Owain’s face burst into a grin.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he stood proudly now, legs straight, back straight, shoulders back.
‘Now fuck off back to barracks with the others. You stink to high heaven.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Owain shouted, saluted, then ran like the clappers.
Chapter 2
That evening, Owain Deans stood outside his newbuild two bedroomed terraced house. He was clean and dry and had had time to gulp a couple of pints with the lads at The Crimea. But he was tired and all he wanted was to get home and crawl into bed.
It was quite an achievement for a lowly squaddie to buy his own house. But to be fair, it had partly been paid for by a little money left to him by his grandparents. They had died as they had lived – together and frugally. Owain envied their love, and their togetherness. He wasn’t married, wasn’t even going out with anyone, the army was his life and his family. Pretty much all he needed for the immediate future.
He once again admired his house. The glow of the golden bricks, the small porch which served as protection for the front door and the fire-engine red of the door itself. He'd recently moved into the house but had quickly realised he’d need a lodger to help pay for it. He’d got the mortgage easily enough, but that wasn’t the reality of the day to day running of a house. He’d advertised for a housemate and agreed that John Berry could move in, for a price of £400 per month, which would help enormously with the monthly bills.
Berry worked at Frimley Park Hospital, so Owain had figured he’d be okay as he had a responsible job. But what he hadn’t banked on, was the bloke’s behaviour when he was on his days off. Let’s just say he liked to party. Anyway, they’d more or less rubbed along ok, probably because of Owain’s job, which meant he wasn’t there much. At such times Berry had the run of the house.
Owain hefted his kitbag on his shoulder and opened the front door. He’d just been on a 5 day exercise and was knackered. He was looking forward to a cup of tea. But that wasn’t to be, as he walked in to find the house in total disarray. It seemed that Berry had had a party. There were cans, glasses, mugs, everywhere. Full ashtrays made the house smell disgusting, and the stink of weed was overwhelming in the kitchen.
Owain bunched his fists in anger. Being over six foot and all muscle from working out in the gym, he was a force to be reckoned with. He called Berry downstairs in a voice that would have impressed any Sgt Major.
‘What the hell is all this?’ he shouted when Berry appeared.
‘Oh, yeah, right. Had a few friends over.’
‘The mess is unbelievable, John. You’ve got to get rid of all this shit. I’m going upstairs to unpack and change my clothes and when I come down, I expect the house to be clean. If you keep doing this, you’re out, do you hear me? It’s about time you started to show some respect for me and for my home.’
Owain pushed past Berry, slamming him into the door frame and ran up the stairs, resisting the impulse to look in Berry’s bedroom and the bathroom. He opened his bedroom door and dumped his kitbag on the floor. Looking around the room in the gloom, he saw the curtains were closed. He walked over and yanked them open, then turned to his bed and wondered why it was moving. It was as though there were animals under his duvet, making it roll around and look like it was boiling.
‘What the fuck,’ he yelled and pulled the duvet off the bed to find a naked, writhing couple, underneath.
The woman screamed and the man started shouting at Owain. ‘Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘What I’m doing is getting you out of my fucking bed. Now piss off if you know what’s good for you.’
As the couple scrambled off the bed, Owain scooped up their clothes, took two steps out of the bedroom and threw them over the banister and down the stai rs.
‘Get out of my bedroom and out of my house,’ he yelled after them as they sprinted away from him.
Owain sat down on the bed, his head in his hands. It was no good. John had to go. The only question was, when should he tell him. Just then he heard John calling for him.
He moved to the top of the stairs to see what the man wanted. As he started down the stairs, he saw John running up them, towards him, with a knife in his hand. Before Owain could react, John was stabbing him repeatedly in the stomach.
As Owain collapsed he heard a man ask, ‘What the fuck have you done, John?’
Then a woman’s voice saying ‘Hello? We need an ambulance, someone’s been stabbed.’
Looking down, Owain saw he was pushing his hand into his stomach and could see blood seeping through his fingers. Bloody hell it’s me. I’ve been stabbed! Then the pain hit. Worse than anything he’d ever endured. His insides were on fire, and he couldn’t think what to do. As he heard sirens, getting closer every second, he hoped to God they were for him, mumbled, ‘Thank God,’ and passed out.
Chapter 3
As he walked along the corridor in the Aldershot police station, which was as grey indoors as the pebbledash on the outside of the building, Detective Inspector Anderson read the file in his hands. He was in a typical concrete structure from the 1970’s. A new station kept being promised by local officials, but so far there had been no movement on that score. And Anderson doubted there ever would be.
The file said that as a result of a 999-call last evening, the police were called to a house in the Ash Vale area, above Aldershot, which was shared by the victim, Owain Thomas Deans and the offender, John Berry.
The first officers to arrive found Owain slumped at the foot of the stairs bleeding heavily from knife wounds to his abdomen. John Berry was present, and he told the officers that he had stabbed Owain, and the knife was recovered.
Anderson looked through the viewing window of the room at the man sat at a table waiting to be interviewed. He was dishevelled, his skin pale grey, he was sweating, either from a hangover or fear - probably both. Derek had never had a clearer cut case than this. When arrested, John Berry had the victim’s blood all over his hands, his fingerprints were all over the handle of the knife, which had the victim’s blood on the blade. Oh yes, this was going to be a good one, thought Anderson as he barged through the door of the interview room, startling John Berry, just as he'd intended.
He pulled out a chair, allowing it to scrape along the floor. Once seated he patted the pockets of his tweed jacket, as if looking for his cigarettes, before remembering he didn’t smoke. Nor were there any chocolate goodies, as he’d been put on a diet by his wife. Only then did he lift his face to the suspect sat opposite him.
John Bery was dressed in a paper suit, his clothes having been taken for forensic testing. A duty solicitor sat next to him, Mr Boult, looking bored. When the door opened and Detective Constable Brian Jones entered the room, Anderson could begin.
‘Right, John,’ said Anderson, ‘the good news is that Owain is not dead.’
‘Thank goodness,’ mumbled John, not sounding in the least bit pleased.
‘Oh, sorry, were you hoping he’d die?’ snapped Anderson.
‘Sorry,’ mumbled John again.
The solicitor put his hand on his client’s arm as if to tell him to shut up, but Berry shook it off.
‘Anyway,’ said Anderson, ‘he’s still unconscious and likely to be so for the next few days, so the doctors have told us. In the meantime, you are being charged with grievous bodily harm and when you go in front of the magistrates tomorrow, we’ll be asking for you to be remanded to prison as we feel you’ll do a runner.’
‘Me?’ John faked outrage.
Anderson just glared and John Berry was forced to slump back in his chair in acquiescence.
‘So, this is your chance to tell us what happened last night,’ said Anderson.
‘No comment,’ said Boult, once more laying his hand on Berry’s arm.
As before Berry shook it off and said, ‘Owain came back from exercise in a foul mood. He was shouting for me and seemed very angry. He was opening and closing his fists, you know? It was very intimidating, and I took a few steps backwards. I was afraid of him.’
‘Where was this?’
‘On the landing. I’d been in my bedroom when he came home, and I came out when he shouted for me.’
‘Then what happened?’ Anderson urged.
‘Well, after shouting at me, he punched me in the face and knocked off my glasses.’
‘Mmm,’ said Anderson, unconvinced, wondering why the man hadn’t any bruises on his face, nor broken glasses, but decided to keep quiet about that.
‘I picked myself up and ran at Owain, managing to barrel him out of the way, avoiding the kicks aimed at me. But then Owain dived into his bedroom and a moment later ran back out onto the landing with a dumb bell in his hand. Terrified, I ran back into my bedroom.’
Anderson nodded. ‘I can understand that.’
‘Mr Berry, I think that’s enough for now,’ intoned his solicitor.
But Berry ignored him and said, ‘I took out a knife from my room and holding it at arm’s length, I returned to the landing and told Owain to stay back. But Owain didn’t listen, he lunged at me and fell onto the knife.’
‘And that’s your explanation, is it?’ DC Jones asked.
‘Yes, it is,’ Berry said decisively.
‘So did he fall on the knife several times in order to stab himself multiple times?’ Anderson asked.
‘Well, he must have done, mustn’t he?’
Anderson motioned to DC Jones, ‘Get him out of my sight, for God’s sake, the Custody Sergeant is waiting for him.’
‘Yes, Guv,’ said DC Jones and moved to grab John Berry’s arm at the elbow, yanking him up off his seat and dragging him towards the door.
Anderson was glad to get the weasel of a man out of the interview room. He was clearly lying through his teeth. Anderson had heard some stories in his time, but that one certainly took the biscuit. He shook his head and gathered up his papers, looking forward to a cup of tea and maybe a chocolate bar to go with it, as long as his wife didn’t find out.
Chapter 4
Owain came round in Frimley Park Hospital with a blinding headache and his stomach on fire. ‘What the fuck?’ he muttered.
A nurse walking past heard him and went over to his bed.
‘Hey, Owain, nice to meet you,’ she said. ‘We’ve waited a while for you to be back with us.’
Owain tried to move and winced with pain.
‘It’s ok, don’t move, let me adjust the bed.’
Once his head was raised by the motorised bed and he could see her without lifting it, he asked, ‘What day is it?’
‘Wednesday.’
‘When did I arrive?’
‘Friday afternoon. By ambulance. You’ve sustained very serious stomach wounds I’m afraid and had a lifesaving operation. The doctor will be round later, and I’ll get him to come and talk to you. For now, here have some water.’
‘Any chance of any grub?’
‘Best I can do is a cup of tea. Liquids only at the moment I’m afraid.’
As Owain’s fantasy of a fry up dissolved, she bustled away.
When the doctor came, which seemed to be moments later, but the clock told him was two hours after the nurse had been, Owain wished he hadn’t arrived, for he completely dispelled Owain’s fantasies of a fry up, then or in the future.
And the future was something that Owain hadn’t wanted to face either.
‘Hi, Doc,’ Owain said as the young man arrived, looking harassed, no doubt as a result of being over worked and under paid. ‘So, when can I get back to work?’ was what he really wanted to know. ‘My regiment are due to move out next month.’
The doctor introduced himself as Alex Dorman, running a hand through his already dishevelled black hair, making it stand up and giving him the look of someone who’d just been electrocuted.
‘Ah, Mr Deans, first of all let me say that you’ve sustained multiple stab wounds to the stomach.’
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