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

talking about?” But the volume was fading and he dropped back into his chair.
    Continuing in the same flat voice, Crane said, “I just wondered if you had thought of looking into Sergeant’s religious views?”
    “What?” Brown’s head snapped up.
    “You know, did he go to church? Believe in eternal salvation? That sort of thing.”
    “How the bloody hell should I know?” the volume rising once again.
    “By asking neighbours, friends, family, the garrison padre?” suggested Crane.
    “But why in God’s name should I do that?”
    “Trust me on this one, Brown. Just find out will you. Then just maybe you’ll get me out of your hair and out of your barracks. Unless you want me to make the enquiries?” Seeing the look on Brown’s face he smiled and added, “I thought not.” Putting all the files back in his briefcase he stood. “I’ll be in the Mess.”
    ***
    Later that evening, Crane was annoyed, having still not heard from Brown. He was just about to leave the Mess, where he’d been enjoying a quiet drink to go outside, have a smoke and phone Brown, when he saw him striding through the room.
    “What are you drinking?” Brown asked Crane without any preamble.
    “John Smiths thanks.”
    Crane watched as a dour Brown ordered and paid for the drinks. Once back at the table, Brown sat down in the easy chair opposite Crane and took a large gulp of his lager. “Why did you want to know about Sergeant’s religious inclinations?” he demanded, placing the half drunk pint on the small low table between them.
    “Just a hunch,” shrugged Crane, looking at Brown over the top of his pint.
    “Yeah, right.”
    “Why, what have you found?” Crane placed his drink next to Brown’s and leant forward across the table.
    “These,” Brown pulled some leaflets from his pocket and threw them across the table.
    ‘ Jesus our Savour’ screamed the banner headlines. As Crane picked them up and glanced through them, cold fingers of dread crept across his shoulders and down his arms, hugging him in their icy embrace.
    “Jesus Christ,” he whispered.
    “Now will you tell me what’s going on?”
    “We found similar pamphlets at Lance Corporal Crooks’ house.”
    Crane saw Brown close his eyes for a moment.
    “And?”
    “And, I don’t know,” Crane replied honestly. “But there has to be a connection somewhere, between the two men and the two churches.”
    “But they’re hundreds of miles apart!” Brown couldn’t contain his astonishment.
    “Yes, I know, but,” after a moment, Crane continued, “what do you know about this place, this Church of Jesus our Savour?”
    “Nothing. I’ve only just found the leaflets,” Brown had to admit.
    “Only just found them? What do you mean?”
    “They were in a pile of papers still being sorted through. Because of that they hadn’t been logged.”
    “Bloody hell, Brown.”
    “Look, there was no hurry on this one. A straightforward murder and then suicide. We would have got to them eventually.”
    “Eventually?” Crane’s tone suggested he was seriously unimpressed.
    Taking a moment to finish his drink, Brown retorted, “Alright, give it a rest. I went through all the papers myself after you left the office and that’s how I found them. To be honest if you hadn’t said anything earlier, I don’t think I would have taken any notice of them. In fact I still don’t really know why we should. Couldn’t this just be a coincidence?”
    “Maybe, but then again maybe not. Can you make some enquiries about this lot?” he asked Brown, indicating the pamphlets.
    “Sure, but don’t hold your breath, Crane. It’ll take some time. I’ll have to ask the chaplain for help. It’s going to have to be a favour. Let’s face it, there’s no evidence to suggest a pile of innocuous leaflets have anything to do with anything.”
    “Understood. I’m pretty much in the same boat over in Aldershot. The Padre made some enquiries about the pamphlets Crooks had in his