A Killer’s Calling
A novel in the ‘Incite to Murder’ series
by
John Stuart Owen
Copyright © 2015 John Stuart Owen
The right of John Stuart Owen to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The e-book cover was designed by McNally Associates.
All rights reserved.
The e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be reproduced, resold or given away in any form, or by any means except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, real locales, businesses or establishments are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Copyright
About this Book
Beginning
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About this Book
"Beneath the civilised, ordered veneer of the Leek Wooton Police HQ swirl dangerous currents of jealousy, secrets, lies ... and murder. Everyone seems to have something to hide and a front to maintain, but who is actually capable of solving a series of murders?”
Author, John Owen, displays masterly skill in casting three detectives who are faced with the task of establishing the events leading up to the deaths, and identifying the killer. His skill at conveying alternative thinking in dedicated police work, and fascination with human behaviour, aids the reader to unravel the complex characters and relationships in the investigation. His skilful by-passing of bureaucracy, overcoming internal police rivalries, maintains graphic horror and suspense to ultimately unmask a serial killer.
Tony Brady. Author and Chair - Fermanagh Writers.
Chapter 1
The white Transit van cut a zig zag path through the busy traffic, its sat nav seemingly re-chipped with a missile upgrade. The driver, unconcerned at the carnage left in his wake, continued hell bent on his suicidal mission; a pretty normal day in a commuter Britain accustomed to living under a veneer of organised chaos.
Veering left, he entered the feeder road of the Coventry City freight depot screeching to a halt at the lowered security boom. The usually busy depot was eerily quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. Agitated at the lack of any action, he hooted . . . twice.
A security guard emerged from the comfort of the kiosk laughing as he shared a joke with a colleague the smile quickly fading as he wandered over towards the waiting van. ‘Viktor Maric! I guessed it was you; most everyone else greets us with a wave.’
‘If you moved your arse a bit quicker I’d also greet you with a wave. What’s going on? The place looks dead.’
Arms now folded, the guard stifled a yawn. ‘The computers are down and they won’t be back up and running anytime soon; so it looks like you’ve got a night off.
You’ll be able to spend some extra time in the sack with that bit of skirt you keep at home; or so you tell us!’
Viktor paid no mind to the remark but cursed at the thought of a wasted day; this was not the way he liked to do business. It had been almost two years to the day, not since October 2007 had he missed a collection. That was the price he had been prepared to pay to build a successful business and to satisfy his wife’s need for some status in their adopted country. He should be driving north, the first of his twice a week trips to Aberdeen; instead, he would be heading home.
A Serbian National with no trade or profession meant his arrival in the UK had left him short on choices. His decision to become a freelance courier had been a goodcall, but success hadn’t come easy. Viktor’s life had followed a tortuous path. A petty criminal from an early age, he had moved seamlessly into the Belgrade underworld. With his wife Ana, they had enjoyed the high life but a sudden turn of events had exposed him to the prospect of facing serious criminal charges. He needed to find a safe haven and with the added complication of his wife’s health issues there was only one option; the UK beckoned.
* * *
‘You’ll have to reverse out.’ The guard gestured with a dismissive wave as he turned his back on the disgruntled courier. ‘I’m not lifting the boom.’
‘So that’s OK then; the computers have crashed so implement plan fuckin’ B. Shut up shop!’
Viktor now reconciled to his fate, suddenly brightened to the prospect of an evening at home. How will Ana react? She won’t be expecting me; should I phone her? He smiled . . . No! I’ll surprise her.
Chapter 2
Viktor pulled into the parking bay behind the small block of flats that served as home. Grabbing his overnight bag he eased himself from the cab and strode towards the entrance. The stone stairs to his first floor apartment were scaled two at a time. He entered quietly in his best attempt to maintain an element of surprise; but the curtains were drawn and the room was empty.
‘Ana!’ . . . There was no response. He wandered from room to room. Where the fuck is she? Sifting through the numbers in his phone he dialled her mobile; it went straight to message. Shit; I hate that! Her day bag had been thrown on her bedside table; the contents littered the bedspread. She would only change bags if she was going out on the town! He threw the bag against the wall. A small book that had been secreted in a side pocket fell to the floor; flipping it open he saw that it was a diary. Most of the insertions were work related but there were some that grabbed his attention; he turned to today’s date.
She has a hairdressing appointment in Warwick at five, why the hell would she go there for her hair and what the fuck’s this? J. . . Antelope at 8.His hackles now raised, he paged slowly back; Thursday -Forest . . . R ok for 8. The two day’s that I’m away, she’s out and about. Now agitated he looked deeper. It’s almost every week; same two initials, same places.
His mobile rang; a chirpy voice greeted him.
‘Hi darling . . . sorry I missed your call.’
‘Where are you Ana?’
‘I’m at home . . . I was in the bath when you rang. What's the matter? You sound upset! Are the roads busy?’
Struggling to control the tension in his voice, he replied. ‘No I’m not upset; What are you doing?’
‘Nothing special; got home about four, tired out as usual, and here I am. I’ll probably climb into bed early and read. Why did you phone? You don’t usually.’
‘Just wanted to hear your voice.’
‘Ah . . . that’s nice. What time will you be home tomorrow?’
‘The usual . . . when I get there.’
‘Viktor, someone’s at the door; I’ll have to ring off. I’ll see you tomorrow then.’
He screwed up the diary and flung it against the wall. What the fuck am I dealing with here? She promised to give up that shit. Viktor paced the floor. Venting his fury, he kicked her discarded handbag across the room, his distress now turning to quiet, seething anger.
A stiff Vodka began to give him some clarity. Increasingly, the liquor began to work on his mind and what started off as being the need to inflict hurt and pain on these two faceless individuals became the need to eliminate them. His time engaged in the Balkan conflict had given him a ruthless side to his nature that few could envision. To him, taking out a couple of upstarts wishing to invade his territory, was not something that would sit heavily on his conscience.
What time is it?. . . six thirty! She must be feeling good . . . nice new cut and blow. He looked about him for some inspiration; he needed a weap
on. A length of electrical flex came to hand. Wrapping it around his fists he stretched it taut; perfect. He made his way towards the door. Ana’s mountain bike had been left in the entrance and as he squeezed past, it hooked his shirt; he cursed as he freed himself. For a second he stood there, his thoughts galloping. Taking a pair of side cutting pliers from his toolbox, he carefully snipped through a spoke, close to the rim. Removing it from the hub he took care not to impale himself on the sharp angled point. I can use that; I’ll make the bastard squirm.
Now finished, he lifted the inner tray from the toolbox to replace the side cutters; a rolled up rag took his attention. Unfurling the cloth, a 9mm Glock pistol fell into his palm. Instinctively he released the magazine; it was fully loaded. Pulling back on the slide assembly, he put the gun through its motions. It operated perfectly. He replaced the magazine and slid the weapon into his coat pocket. Now ready, he made his way to his van.
As a courier, Viktor had passed through most of the county’s outlying villages. He knew the Antelope as a classy pub hidden away in the hamlet of Lighthorne, close to Warwick. He looked at his watch. I need to move!
The roads were clear and he parked up close to the pub with some minutes to spare. Removing a bottle from the door pocket he took a hefty swig clenching his teeth as the neat vodka hit home. A box of fire-lighters in the passenger footwell took his attention. His plans for an evening barbecue now well forgotten, he tore open the packaging, broke off a couple of segments and slipped them into his pocket.
It’s time! Keeping to the shadows, he approached the pub. He was drawn towards a small hatchback the interior light acting as a beacon. He crept closer. Ana was busy with her face. An approaching car slowed, turned into the car park and pulled up alongside. She looked across; a beaming smile lit up her pixie face as she scrambled from her car and into the sleek, white BMW. Her happy laughter floated across the open ground ceasing abruptly as she became embroiled in a passionate embrace. Viktor watched; he had seen enough.
Chapter 3
Crossing the forecourt he reached the car unseen. Ana and her date were locked together, lost in another world. The interior light shocked them back to the present as Viktor slid into the rear seat.
The driver, shocked by the incursion and with his vision somewhat obscured by the headrest, yelled out. ‘What the . . . Get the fuck out!’ . . . Ana, unsettled by the commotion turned and looked back into Viktor’s piercing eyes. She covered her face as the breath left her body.
Viktor spoke. ‘Ana . . . aren’t you going to introduce us?’ . . . Cool and without emotion, he waited.
‘My name is Jeremy . . . Who the fuck are you?’
‘My name is Viktor . . . Ana’s husband!’
A startled Jeremy began to waver, ‘I had no idea she was married!’
Ignoring the response, Viktor turned his attention to Ana. ‘Give me your bag!’
‘No . . . You can’t have it! I’ve got all my stuff in here.’
‘Give!’ . . . With her face turned away, she meekly complied. Removing her keys from the bag, he threw them at her. ‘Jeremy and I are going to take a short drive and you are going to follow us, but don’t think of driving off; you know better. Park behind us when we stop . . . and make sure you switch your lights off; is that clear? . . . Is that clear?’
She grabbed at the door handle and fell from the car. What’s going to happen? He’s going to hurt me . . . and Jeremy . . . Oh God?
‘What do you want?’ Jeremy had found his voice.
‘Just drive.’ Viktor looked backwards over his shoulder was relieved to see that Ana was following. He turned his attention back to Jeremy. ‘I’m going to give you some instructions; follow them to the letter.’
‘And if I don't?’
‘Then you’ll get this!’ Jeremy felt the cold barrel of the 9mm parabellum pistol against his cheek.
‘Why would you do that . . . you wouldn’t?’
The noise was deafening as the Glock exploded, putting a bullet through the floor of the car. ‘I don’t make idle threats . . . you’ll need to remember that.’
‘Take the car . . . anything .’ A cold sweat coursed through Jeremy’s body as he meekly complied with Viktor’s instructions.
‘Turn right . . . that’s it . . . now follow the road around to the left.’
‘Where are we going? What do you want?’Jeremy’s fear driven anxiety was beginning to surface. ‘This is bullshit’. Viktor removed the sharpened bicycle spoke from inside his coat and carefully picking his spot thrust it through the back of the driver’s seat.
A hideous scream shattered the relative quiet as Jeremy collapsed on the wheel. ‘I can’t breathe. What have you done?’ He struggled with the car, his sight blurred by the tears.
‘Just slowed you down a bit, now turn left here into the cemetery.’ Viktor leant over and helped guide the car through the site. They rolled to a halt against a wire fence separating them from the densely wooded backdrop. Ana, still deep in shock, watched from her car as Viktor turned and motioned to her to extinguish her lights.
Now in complete darkness and unable to move, Jeremy uttered. ‘What’s here? What do you want?’
‘My life back for starters, but that’s not going to happen. I’m the prat who goes away, driving his truck around the country trying to make a buck so that he can keep the fucking home together, but you . . . you selfish little shit, got in the way of that, so there you are, actions have consequences.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘You lying bastard . . . You must take me for an idiot.’ Viktor uncoiled the length of flex from his coat and circling it around each hand, threw it in a loop over
Jeremy’s head.
‘No . . . you don’t need to do this, I won’t see her again!’
‘You got that right!’ And with that, he slowly began to choke the life out of him. Jeremy thrashed about as his throat was slowly crushed by the wire noose, the moaning and gurgling ceasing abruptly as he went limp. Viktor quickly tied the wire to the headrest but he still had one more task to perform. From his coat he removed the firelighters, positioning them on the floor beneath the driver’s seat; the Bic lighter soon had them aflame. So much for any forensic crap.
Viktor clambered from the car. He looked around as he brushed himself down. The cemetery grounds were dark and deserted; he climbed into Ana’s car.
Tearful and agitated she spoke. ‘What have you done to him?’
‘Just get moving or you’ll get some of the same! How could you be so stupid as to get yourself mixed up with this shit?’
She screamed back. ‘Why did you have to come? How did you find me?’
He pushed her away. ‘Don’t talk . . . drive! Take me back to my van.’ Viktor was breathless; the emotion of the moment had drained him. As they neared the Antelope, he broke the silence. ‘Who the hell is “R”?’. . . Well?’
‘It’s Roger.’
‘And are you seeing him on Thursday?’
‘You found my diary!’
‘Well are you?’
‘Maybe . . . If he comes to the Bistro for lunch.’
‘So that’s how they picked you up, these . . . predators!’
‘You make it sound so sordid. They are just nice people who didn’t want to spend an evening alone.’
Viktor swore and cursed under his breath.
Ana’s fears were rising. Viktor had her phone, her money, her medication; everything that meant anything to her. ‘I want my bag.’
He ignored the request. ‘Keep to the main roads on the way back . . . and don’t even think of losing me.’
The silence of the drive home brought Ana some relief, but even with Viktor out of the car he remained a threat, his van blotting out her rear view vision. Now close to home, she again began to fear for her safety. She had covered all options to escape from his tyranny; none were workable. She had neither the physical nor the mental strength to pit herself against this menacing thug. At her wits end, she pulled i
nto her parking bay.
They climbed the steps to their flat Viktor pushing her through the door with such force that she fell to the floor; he brushed past her. Her spunky nature had begun to return and as she scrambled to her feet she spat at him. ‘They treated me like a lady, not like you do . . . you . . . Ox!’
A crashing blow hit her on the side of the head. Her cheek and nose were broken before she reached the floor. His large signet ring ripped the flesh on her face, her lip splitting as she hit the carpet; but she didn’t feel it, she was already out.
Viktor looked down at the crumpled heap. Her short, tight skirt had ridden up exposing her bare backside, the panties having been discarded as an unnecessary accoutrement. He lashed out and kicked her exposed body. It shuddered with the impact, her leg splaying outwards with the force of the blow.
‘If I had a skip you’d be in it!’ Bitter and filled with rage, choking on his tears, he fell into a chair. The frail form that lay crumpled on the floor in front of him bore no resemblance to the woman that had been the light of his life.
Chapter 4
Ana’s early years had been a struggle. Life in downtown Pancevo, Serbia, in 1990 was tough for a single parent. Eking out a living as a prostitute, Erica Banovich was firmly at the bottom of the food chain and the laws of supply and demand would see that she stayed there. What she hadn’t bargained for was a daughter and a sickly one at that. With a nonexistent health service, life for the young Serbian mother and her daughter, Ana, had become a life and death struggle.
‘You said your daughter was unwell; what’s wrong with her?’ Nikolai Groi posed the question as they relaxed on the bed after a particularly heavy session, wistfully watching the smoke from their shared cigarette as it curled upwards towards the open skylight.
A Killer's Calling: Incite to Murder 1 Page 1
