A Killer's Calling: Incite to Murder 1

by John Stuart Owen

  ‘There’s nothing with a Banovich name but I’ve got one here for a Mr. & Mrs. Maric at number 3!’

  ‘Maybe that’s them. Let’s go and speak to the agents; they must have something on them. There’s always a deposit; no-one leaves money behind!’ Orla punched the numbers into her phone. ‘No joy from the agent. They won’t give me any info over the phone, you know the usual Data Protection rubbish. We will have to go through to their office, it’s in Yardley. It won’t take us long.’

  Ten minutes later they were in the agent’s office. ‘Mr. Turner won’t be a minute detective.’ The desk clerk tried to look busy, moving envelopes around. ‘Nice day isn’t it?’

  ‘Lovely.’ Orla smiled sweetly.

  Mr. Turner appeared from his office. ‘Ah detectives! What can I do for you?’

  ‘We are trying to trace the whereabouts of Ana Banovich. Her last listed address was number three, “Broadwood”.’

  ‘Yes, I know the flat; but the name isn’t familiar. Oh yes! Of course.’ And he removed his glasses. ‘Tragic what happened there detective. The flat was occupied by a Viktor Maric and his wife; I believe her name was Ana. It seems she left him and he shot himself. The neighbours were worried; it was the awful smell. I went there with the key and we found Mr. Maric in the bath . . . dead! He had shot himself in the head. He must have been there like that for over a week. It was awful. We had to rip out the whole bathroom; the smell was just . . . ugh! I still have nightmares about it. We ordinary folks aren’t used to that kind of shock.’

  ‘No, of course not: what of the wife, this Ana?’

  ‘I have no idea. I would have thought your colleagues would have had all this sort of information what with the suicide and all. Perhaps they were able to contact her.’

  ‘We are not local Mr. Turner. We are from another division and we were actually looking for the whereabouts of Ana Banovich who it now appears could be the wife. When was this suicide discovered?’

  A voice from behind them interjected. ‘I remember the date detective; it was the twentieth of March. I know because it was my Birthday.’

  ‘Thank you Diane.’ The secretary acknowledged Mr. Turner’s response with a conceited nod.

  Orla was counting the days. ‘That would be a week after the second death . . . and Ana’s last day at work would have been the Tuesday, of that same week.’

  Matt stroked his chin as he tried to make some sense of the new-found information. ‘Which Police Station handled this incident?’

  ‘I called the Yardley Road station; they were here in no time. The detectives came shortly afterwards; the one in charge was Detective Inspector Robert Dillon. He would be the one to speak to. But don’t call him Bob; he tore a strip off one of the other guys.’

  ‘Thanks for your help Mr. Turner we will see if we can track him down; by the way, what happened to the contents of the flat? If the wife wasn’t there, who took charge of that?’

  ‘We did detective. We are responsible for all that sort of thing, on behalf of the owners.’

  ‘What did you do with them?’

  ‘We have them under lock and key. Our lawyers are busy with that as we need to auction the stuff off to go towards meeting the damage and restoration costs. We are holding one month’s rental as deposit but our loss is considerably greater than that.’

  ‘Do you have a list of contents handy?’

  Mr. Turner turned towards Orla, nodding his head as he did so. ‘Absolutely; Diane could we have the list?’

  Diane Ashby jumped to attention and produced a printout from a nearby filing cabinet. ‘Here you are Mr. Turner!’

  He immediately handed the list to Orla. ‘What are you looking for detective?’

  Matt answered for her. ‘We are trying to trace Ana Banovich because we believe her to be implicated in a double homicide or worse. The fact that her husband has apparently killed himself complicates our investigation and we are looking for anything that will help us with our case. Anything there of interest Orla?’

  ‘There’s a pair of bolt cutters here but other than that, only the usual stuff that you would expect. Hardly any women’s clothes or belongings here which I suppose

  substantiates the belief that she had left him! But no bike!’

  ‘I’m going to ask you to hang onto the bolt cutters Mr. Turner: we may need them for evidence. Thanks for your help, we will be back in touch and if Ana should get hold of you, take some details from her. Here’s my card!’

  They walked back to the car. ‘Orla let’s see if we can contact that detective, what’s his name? Bob Dillon. Maybe he has located the wife! It would save us a lot of time and trouble.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to be found Matt.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right; hold on it’s ringing! . . . Dammit! Cannot be reached call again later!’ Matt looked at his watch. ‘We’re going to have to leave it there Orla, we’ve run out of day; we’ve got to get back for Crystal’s farewell. But what a day! I still can’t believe that we’ve made the connection between our first two victims and this Ana, but this suicide . . .’ He shook his head. ‘What the hell is that all about?’

  ‘She certainly had an effect on the men that she got involved with, at least the ones we know of; they all died such horrible deaths. Every man that she was involved with that we know of is dead.’

  ‘I wonder how many more there are?’ They looked at each other, lips pursed as they pondered the gravity of the chance remark.

  ‘You know what we’ve got to do now. We’ve got to go and say goodbye to that . . .’ Matt couldn’t lower himself to say the word.

  ‘Prat.’ . . . He smiled as Orla bridged the gap. They looked at each other and spontaneously burst out laughing.

  ‘We need to report to Janet Warley before Crystal’s do; have we got time?’

  ‘Yes, it’s just gone two.’

  ‘She’s not going to believe that we have made the connection with waitress Ana and our two sales reps!’

  ‘I’m still trying to believe it myself Matt, but where is she? After she got sick it seems like she just . . .well . . . disappeared.’

  ‘I don’t know but let’s be positive, we’ve got the morning to sort out our next move and after today’s turn of events I’m not going to let anything upset my mood or yours. Perhaps Bob Dillon has located her; if he has that’s going to save us a whole lot of time . . . and work. After we’ve briefed Janet Warley we need to celebrate; the only question we need to address is which pub? And you can make the choice.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  * * *

  Janet Warley stared into space; her mouth open. ‘We’ve spent months pursuing false leads and you two have come up with the break we were looking for in a matter of days.’ She sat slumped in her chair; the relief that the news had brought her was beginning to show. She smiled. It had been months since Matt had seen her smile and for once she was speechless.

  Orla broke the silence. ‘Still a lot to do Ma’am . . .’

  She wasn’t allowed to finish the sentence as Janet Warley came back to life. ‘I realise that there is still much to do detective but you’ve made the connection; we’ve now got something positive to work with.’

  The silence was back; all three minds were churning as the breathing became deeper and the eyes became restless.

  ‘I don’t want you to mention this development to anyone. You haven’t seen most of the staff for a while and no doubt they will be asking many questions. Please stay mum; at least until after your report has been filed and Crystal is no longer with us. Are you OK with that? And once again . . . well done. Look, it’s almost time for Kevin Crystal’s farewell and I’ve asked him to call on me first. I’ve a few things I have to discuss with him so why don’t you go along to the operations room before he gets here and we’ll join up with you there.’ She ushered them out of the door.

  Matt was ill at ease but this day could not have come sooner; to think that Kevin Crystal was leaving the force. He hadn’t been g
iven an option. Take the generous offer now or leave at the next lay off at greatly reduced figures.

  Matt and Orla were in great demand. They were bombarded with questions on the move to Wellesbourne and on their progress with the case in hand, but they gave nothing away.

  Kevin Crystal appeared; most were glad to be seeing the back of him. There was quite a bit of banter being thrown around especially as early retirement was usually aimed at people approaching retirement age and Kevin was far from that. Mark Wheeler, one of Kevin’s closer mates had introduced him to the off-road scene, and knowing that he had secured a deal to purchase a late model Land Rover, was pumping him for an introduction to his source.

  ‘I’ll put a word in for you Mark, give me a call when you are ready.’

  ‘Thanks’ Kevin, will do.’

  A voice broke up the conversation; Simon Hawkes as always, was ready to lighten the mood. ‘Kevin, when politicians say that we should be using more sensible means of transport, they mean the TRAIN not the TERRAIN!’ Laughs were traded as Kevin said his goodbyes.

  Matt had successfully stayed out of the way, but Kevin, now on his way out, passed closely by. Standing between them was Ronnie Gibson. Kevin half turned towards Ronnie and with a casual wave called out, ‘See you.’

  ‘See you N T,’ hissed Matt through his teeth, completing the phonetics of the word that best suited his mood. ‘Thanks for going!’

  His spat with Kevin had not gone unnoticed. A voice from behind floated over, ‘No love lost there then!’ Matt ignored the remark.

  Kevin hesitated, then turned and walked slowly back. Matt tensed up as he approached; both men seemed to grow in bulk as they stood face to face. Kevin leant forward using his slight height advantage in an attempt to unnerve his rival. ‘Just to let you know there are no hard feelings, you taking over my case and all that, but drawing on my experience, I think you will find that this third death is definitely connected to the other two; mark my words.’

  ‘And why would you think I thought otherwise?’ Matt’s question was barbed; Kevin’s reply, flippant.

  ‘Oh, I heard it through the grapevine . . . as you do.’

  ‘I think you mean the gropevine.’

  Kevin turned and walked away. ‘Whatever!’ . . . He did not look back.

  Chapter 22

  ‘I can’t believe it’s actually ours.’ Catherine Crystal laughed out loud as she threw back her head, her black curls catching the wind from the open window as they drove off from the showroom floor in their gleaming Land Rover Discovery.

  Husband Kevin’s response was more muted. ‘Not much point in having an uncle in the Motor Trade if you don’t use him.’

  She looked across at the handsome man who was now a major feature in her life; his firm jaw and blonde hair silhouetted by the afternoon sun. ‘Listen to you. . . Lighten up. It’s ours and we’re on holiday. You’re going to love this part of Wales and going off-road, you meet so many interesting people . . . you’ll see.’ Catherine had traded her well loved Micra to lessen the financial burden, but now surrounded by the feel and smell of the new Disco, she felt good. They motored along the seafront before heading out of town on the coast road. As they turned around the headland a sandy beach lay before them.

  ‘Look! . . . Can’t we go down there; onto the beach?’ Catherine was eager for them to put the vehicle through its paces. A gap in the hedgerows appeared and a natural driveway led down to the flat sandy beach. Turning off the road they were confronted by a large sign, “NO VEHICULAR ACCESS TO BEACH.”

  ‘Oh damn it Kevin . . . but it looks so nice. Let’s take a chance; there’s no-one about.’

  ‘Yeah . . . why not. I’ve still got my warrant card. If we get challenged I’ll use that.’ Kevin gunned the Rover down the track and towards the deserted beach. Catherine giggled, enjoying the nervous tension. Tyre tracks on the sand gave them the confidence to push ahead and they sped happily along the beach, chasing the tide out.

  Getting braver, Kevin began veering in and out of the water, sending spray up into the air. Both were laughing and shouting as they careered up and down the open expanse of sand, carefree and loving it.

  Catherine’s high spirits had her shrieking, ‘We must look like one of those old cigarette ad’s they had on the movies,’ and they both laughed out loud at the thought of it. ‘Let’s jump out for a couple of minutes; I love to feel the sand in my toes.’ Catherine had already kicked off her shoes in anticipation.

  Pulling away from the water’s edge, they rolled to a halt. ‘We’ll be fine; the tide’s still going out . . . isn’t it?’ She cast a gaze down the beach, questioning her own judgement. ‘The sand is still very wet.’

  Kevin took her hand as he looked about him; still unsure, he followed her lead. ‘We should be OK, but let’s not stretch it out.’ Five minutes turned to ten and before they knew it, a quarter of an hour had gone by.

  ‘Time to get back.’ They walked back towards their car now appearing as a dot in the distance. As they approached the vehicle, Kevin’s pace quickened.

  Catherine followed him. ‘What’s wrong? Oh my God . . . No . . . it's sunk in the sand; but it’s a four-wheel drive . . . we’ll be OK . . . won’t we?’

  Kevin ran to the car and started the motor; the turbo diesel roared into life. He engaged first gear and dropped the clutch; the engine coughed and stalled. Swiftly restarting the motor he attempted to rock the vehicle by alternately engaging forward and reverse gears. It sat firm. In desperation he gave the thing its head. All four wheels gnawed away at the sand as they settled even lower. Kevin jumped out and tried to peer underneath. The axles were hard down onto the sand. He held his head in his hands . . . he knew! This Disco’ was going nowhere, four-wheel drive or not. ‘I can’t believe this . . . SHIT!’

  Catherine’s voice trembled as she spoke. ‘What are we going to do? . . . Quickly, phone back to the garage . . . they must be able to help us.’

  ‘God yes!’

  The Receptionist answered the call. ‘Hello, Frisbees Garage. How may I help you?’

  ‘Moira, it’s Kevin Crystal, I’ve just left you. Got myself into a jam. We’re stuck in the sand on the beach, just past the “Bucket & Spade” café.’

  ‘Hold on Kevin . . . you’ll need to speak to Stan.’

  Kevin listened impatiently to her fading footsteps as she hurried into the back office . . . Come on . . . come on Stan . . . where the fuck are you?

  ‘What’s up Kevin?’ Stan listened in silence as Kevin explained their situation.

  ‘You’ve got a bit of a problem there . . . that beach has private access; I know it well. You’re not the first to have got caught out there and they won’t allow any tow trucks onto the sand. You’ll have to get hold of the owner. Sorry, but I can’t help . . . I don’t even have a number. You’ll have to ask around. There are some beach-front properties there; someone must know.’

  Kevin rang off; he turned to face Catherine. ‘That just bloody great! We are well and truly buggered. I think the tide’s turned; it’s coming in.’

  A motorcycle approached. ‘Got a problem?’ shouted the youngster riding it. ‘Oh yeah, I see you have. Tide will be in fully in about half an hour and then you can say goodbye to your Jeep.’

  ‘It’s not a Jeep . . . and thanks for that.’

  ‘Do you know of anyone who can tow us out of here?’ pleaded Catherine.

  ‘Well, there’s a board up there on the road and there’s some phone numbers on it. Maybe there’s something there you can use. Do you want me to get them for you?’

  ‘Quick Catherine; a pen and paper for our friend.’

  ‘Petrol’s expensive,’ said the youngster.

  Kevin peeled a tenner from his wallet. ‘That should cover it!’ The youngster

  sped off on his errand.

  ‘Little shit!’

  They watched in silence as the lad was seen to scribble something down. In no time he was back. ‘Here you are; maybe you’ll be lucky.’


  Catherine was agitated, ‘Phone the land line first.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Kevin fumbled nervously with his mobile. ‘Damn . . . it’s engaged.’

  ‘Quick . . . the mobile; here’s the number.’

  Kevin punched the numbers into his phone and waited. ‘No one’s picking up; well that’s it then!’ He sank to his knees, head in hands.

  ‘Try again Kevin . . . please! How the hell did we get into this mess?’

  ‘You wanting to take a walk comes to mind.’ He threw her the phone. ‘You try. It’s your damn car!’

  Catherine began to redial. An incoming call caught her unawares; she glanced at the screen . . . unknown. ‘Quick, you answer it!’ And she handed the phone back.

  ‘Hello.’

  A gruff voice answered. ‘Are you the geezer stuck on the beach?’

  ‘Yes . . . Can you help?’

  ‘I’ve been watching you through my scopes; wondered how long you’d take to call.’

  ‘Can you tow us out then?’

  ‘Yer not local are yer; otherwise yer’d know that access to that beach is private and if yer chance to drive on it, good chance yer’ll get stuck.’

  ‘I didn’t know . . . I apologise for the trespass; can you tow us out?’

  ‘There’s a standing charge . . . same for everyone.’

  ‘No problem; how much is it? I’ll pay . . . gladly!’

  ‘Well now, that’ll be ten per cent of the vehicle’s value.’

  Kevin choked. ‘You can’t do that it’s almost new!’

  ‘Take it or leave it. Call me back if you need me.’ The phone fell silent.

  ‘Do you know what that bastard just told me? It’s going to cost us ten per cent of the Discovery’s value to tow us out. That’s a bloody fortune!’

  ‘How the hell can he do that? We can’t afford that sort of cash!’ Catherine was close to tears.

  A sense of hopelessness began to settle on them as Kevin voiced the reality of their situation. ‘What choice do we have? The insurance will give us grief ’cause we’re not on the highway . . . then there’s the excess and we’ll lose our no claims. But if that’s what it’s going to cost us it’s going to cost him a fucking sight more.’ Kevin’s face was drained of colour and he had a menace about him that Catherine had never seen before; it scared her.