Steps to Heaven: A Sgt Major Crane Novel by Wendy Cartmell

with the plethora of cushions plumped and strategically placed. Too neat and tidy for a home that housed a five year old boy, in Crane’s opinion. But then again, not having children, maybe that opinion wasn’t worth much. He found it surreal to be yet again walking through a house that only a few days ago, had been the secure refuge of a happy family. Traces of them were everywhere, despite the neatness. Family photographs were displayed to their best advantage, books adorned the shelves with a selection of DVDs - albeit regimentally straight and alphabetically arranged.
    Passing through to the kitchen, Crane found it once again spotless. Not even any dishes from the family’s last evening meal drying on the drainer. As he turned to leave the room, he saw a large fridge freezer in the corner. Here was the only evidence of a more normal family life, Crane realised. Pinned on the front by magnets were letters from the boy’s school. They included forms to be filled in and notices of forthcoming events and a child’s picture. The normal type of stuff all kids did at school, he guessed. It was entitled “My Family” written in wobbly letters, each one a different colour. Under the heading were pictures of a house and three people. Each was carefully labelled by a teacher, with the words painstakingly copied underneath in a child’s handwriting. My house. Mum. Dad. Me. Crane felt the weight of the deaths on his chest and had trouble breathing.
    Turning away, Crane ventured up the stairs. The first room he entered was the double bedroom occupied by Sergeant and his wife. Crane spent some time looking at the bed, which had been stripped bare of linen and compared it with the crime scene photos. The blood on the mattress was concentrated on one side of the bed in a large pool near the headboard. The photographs in his hands showed an attractive brunette lying on her back. She was clad in a thin nightdress, which could just be seen above the bedclothes. Her face was unlined, her skin smooth and perfect. Her long slender neck now permanently disfigured by a deep red slash.
    The second room he went in was the child’s room. Again the bed had been stripped. Crane referred to the photographs. These showed Sergeant lying on his back on the bed, propped up against the small headboard with his son cradled in his arms. Being a large man, he took up much of the narrow bed. The bed, headboard, Spiderman bed linen and the boy were all covered in massive amounts of blood. The boy’s eyes were closed. Sergeants were still open. He was dressed in his army uniform. He was also wearing a smile that mimicked the cut in his throat and that of his son.
    Having seen enough, Crane left the house, hoping to leave the images behind, sealed inside the house. But they followed him anyway. Deciding to skip lunch, he returned to the Special Investigation Branch office intent on spending the afternoon going through the case with Brown.
    “So, have you come up with any theories linking the two incidents yet?” Brown asked sarcastically, as Crane arrived.
    Unperturbed by Brown’s attitude, Crane made him go through the file in some detail, all the time looking for connections. There weren’t any.
    “Right,” Crane said, draining his third cup of coffee.
    “Right what?”
    “Let’s look at what we haven’t got.”
    “For God’s sake, Crane, there’s nothing there. Can’t you just leave it alone?” Brown’s anger which had been simmering all afternoon finally erupted. He pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up.
    “Not until there’s been a full investigation.”
    “How dare you!” roared Brown, his fists tightly clenched. “You can’t just bloody well come down here onto my patch and accuse me of not doing my job properly.”
    “Sit down, Brown. I’m not doing that,” Crane said his voice low, counteracting Brown’s shout. “I’m just helping you to finish up.”
    “Finish up, finish up, what the bloody hell are you