A Killer's Calling: Incite to Murder 1

by John Stuart Owen

  ‘I’ll be packed in ten minutes and I’ll be waiting in the car.’ She disappeared into the bathroom.

  ‘Christ! Bloody women!’ He started to pack and was finished before Catherine had emerged from the bathroom. Growing more agitated as he waited for her to appear, he yelled out. ‘I’m going down to settle the bill.’ And he set off down the stairs. There was no one around. Kevin could see that the other guests had already checked out as their key was lying on the reception desk. He went in search of Mrs.Vaughan and found her in the back room sorting out her linen.

  She turned as he approached, ‘Good morning Kevin, are you ready for breakfast?’

  ‘We won’t be staying for breakfast; need to make an early start.’

  ‘Oh that’s a shame, I’ve got some bacon and eggs lined up; it won’t take more than a few minutes.’

  ‘If you could just make up our bill, we will be on our way thanks.’ They headed back to reception.

  Catherine appeared at the foot of the stairs and cut in front of them dragging her case behind her. She didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge their presence before disappearing out of the door.

  ‘Is your wife not well this morning?’

  ‘She’s under the weather; wants to get home.’

  ‘I understand Kevin, by the way, how was your walk last night?’

  A shiver went through his body. ‘Walk,’ he stuttered.

  ‘Yes I noticed you took the cliff path. You should know nothing happens here that I don’t know about.’ Kevin was fumbling with his wallet, his mind attempting to come to terms with what he had just heard.

  ‘Are you all right Kevin?’ Seeing he was unable to count his cash, she was immediately concerned. ‘Do you need to sit down?’

  What does this old biddy know? What did she see? What the hell do I do now?

  He came to his senses, ‘Sorry . . . No I’m fine. Two hundred and ten pounds, there you are,’ and he handed her the cash. ‘I don’t need a receipt; just put it in your pocket, and thanks, it’s been great.’ He ran back up the stairs to collect his case. In the short time it took, he’d reached a decision. Now back at the car, he threw his case into the back.

  Catherine was already behind the wheel. ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘Fine, no problem . . . wait on a sec, I think I left my dressing-gown on the back of the bathroom door.’ And he walked briskly back into the house.

  Where was she? He made for the back room, the door was ajar and he peered around the jamb. The laundered clothes were in a pile to one side and the iron was sitting on the ironing board waiting to be plugged in. Mrs. Vaughan had her back to him. He crept towards her . . . swept her up in his arms and brought her head down heavily onto the corner of a nest of tables that lay to the side of the hearth. She immediately went limp. He gently laid her down; she was still breathing. He placed a finger under her nostrils taking care not to squeeze. She was gone in less than a minute.

  Kevin had to work fast. He laid the body in front of the ironing board and taking the iron, he unravelled the cord, wrapping it around Mrs. Vaughan’s left leg. The outstretched cable was positioned so that the plug lay on the carpet, just short of the wall socket. He switched the socket to ON, and the iron itself was laid on the carpet, just to the right of her outstretched hand. He picked up the nest of three tables and placed them to the side of her head. Taking one of her laundered tea-cloths, he carefully wiped down everything he’d touched. He stepped back and surveyed the scene. ‘Perfect’.

  Kevin arrived back at the car and climbed in beside his wife. ‘Did you find it?’

  ‘Did I find what?’

  ‘What the hell did you go back for?’

  ‘Oh that! No . . . I must have packed it.’

  ‘What took you so long?’

  ‘Call of nature.’ He whistled tunelessly as he buckled himself up.

  Catherine pointed the card back towards town, her eyes blinkered and her mind in overdrive. As they passed the car dealership, she pulled up into one of the many parking bays.

  ‘What are you stopping here for?’

  Catherine had opened the tailgate to retrieve her case. ‘I’m buying back my Micra,’ and with that she slammed the door.

  Kevin tried to sound interested. ‘I’ll see you at home then?’

  ‘Maybe!’. . . maybe not!

  Chapter 29

  An incoming text message brought Orla out of her dreamlike state. She knew it was morning but was not ready to acknowledge its presence. She saw it was from Matt. Call me before you leave for the office.

  Her call was picked up immediately. ‘What is it Matt? I’m barely awake.’

  ‘We need to revisit that “Broadwood” flat in Acocks Green, Ana’s last address; something I want to check out.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I don’t know whether you recall, but opposite the flat, there was a woman sweeping her path!’

  ‘Yes, vaguely. . . the house on the end.’

  ‘Well she was still sweeping the same spot when we left! I bet she knows everything that goes on around there; let’s see what she has to say.’

  ‘Will you pick me up then?’

  ‘I’ll be there at nine.’

  ‘I’ll have some coffee ready. No point in getting fouled up with the morning traffic; or you could let me sleep in an hour.’

  ‘See you at nine.’

  The drive was uneventful and they arrived back at the flats, Matt deliberately braking hard causing the tyres to squeal as he stopped opposite the entrance.

  ‘Take out that clipboard; see if we can arouse some interest.’ They walked slowly across the road, Orla scribbling on her pad as she walked.

  ‘Just stand and look bewildered.’

  ‘I know that comes easy to you Matt . . . I’ll try.’

  ‘That’s no way to talk to a superior officer!’

  ‘Sorry Sir.’

  ‘Insubordi . . . Look who we have here! Broom and all! Leave it to me, these lonely old women much prefer to talk with a man.’

  ‘You sure know how to pick ’em!’

  He stifled the smile, bitch! ‘Good afternoon Ma’am, nice day!’

  Without looking up, a gravelly voice answered. ‘Nice day for some!’

  ‘Indeed!’

  ‘Who are you looking for?’ She stopped sweeping and gave Matt the “eye”.

  He studied the woman for a few moments. She was probably about sixty but looked twice that. The voice had been nurtured on forty plus cigarettes a day and the cheap booze had completed the package.

  ‘Like what you see?’

  Matt blinked; taken aback by the question he quickly came back to earth. Orla couldn’t handle it and had to turn away.

  ‘She left in a van!’

  Matt couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘Who?’

  ‘The trollop! The wife of that fella that shot hisself.’

  ‘Did you see her then?’

  The woman started to smile; she had an audience. ‘Maybe I did, maybe I

  Didn’t!’

  ‘Well let’s say you did!’

  ‘What’s in it for me?’

  ‘My name is Detective Inspector Black!’ he flashed his badge. ‘If you know something about this woman and you withhold it from the police you could find yourself in a lot of trouble.’

  ‘Keep yer shirt on. I didn’t see much!’

  ‘What did you see?’

  She breathed deeply, and then pointed with her broom. ‘It was a Friday morning . . . early. The van came up to the front door of the flats and this woman came out of the building with a suitcase. She went back inside and came out with another one. Then she looked around the corner to where they park the cars and then she got in the van and they drove away.’

  ‘That’s very interesting: are you sure it was the dead man’s wife?’

  ‘She had a scarf all around her head and she had dark glasses on, but I could see it was her. I could also see that she had blood on her face; her lip was all swollen up like sh
e had been in a fight.’

  ‘And what about the van?’

  ‘It was a florist’s van . . . Not from round here though.’

  ‘Can you remember the name?’

  ‘That’s easy . . . I can remember it because of my Granddaughter’s name. . . Judy.’

  ‘Judy Florists?’

  ‘No detective . . .Garland . . . Garland Florists!’

  ‘You have been most helpful. Thank you very much Mrs. . . ?’

  ‘Stansby . . . April Stansby.’ As she looked up, a sly grin emerged . . . ‘But that’s not all! After they left, I went and had a look in the car park,’ and she pointed behind the building, ‘and I saw that his van had parked behind her car, so she couldn’t get out. Then, about a week later, the cops were here . . . all over the place. Then about two weeks after that, some people came with a breakdown truck and took his white van away. And then about a week after that, the same florist van came back and I saw her driving her red car away. That was the last time I saw them.’

  Matt took out his wallet and gave her his card. ‘If you see her again, please call me!’ Hidden behind the card was a twenty pound note. He turned on his heel, leaving her grinning.

  Orla listened intently as Matt relayed the details of the conversation. ‘I don’t believe it! What a break! Let me look up that number . . . Garland Florists . . . Here we are, Alcester Road, Kings Heath . . . Got it!’

  ‘We’ll go straight there Orla, I know we ought to call Bob Dillon but he can wait.’

  She nodded in agreement. ‘But before we do that, I’ve a notion that our Estate Agent and his little helper were a bit backward in coming forward when we were last there. While we are this side of town, just take me back to their office. I’ve a question for them.’

  ‘OK; if that’s what you want, let’s go!’ He cast her a glance; her jaw was set.

  I wonder what she’s got in mind.

  Chapter 30

  They were soon back at the Agent’s office. Orla looked over her shoulder as she left the car. ‘Are you coming?’

  A surprised Diane arose from her chair as they entered. ‘Oh! detectives! How are you? Have you located your “Ana” yet.’

  ‘No, not yet Diane . . . Just a couple of questions for you though.’ Orla sensed tension immediately. ‘Tell me . . . when you draw up an inventory of the contents of a flat or house, how do you do it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean!’

  ‘Well! . . . Do you do it alone?’

  ‘No not usually. If we haven’t got a checklist, Mr. Turner calls out the contents as we go through the cupboards and I log them down onto a notepad.’

  ‘And then you type up the contents and print off the sheets?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what happens. Doesn’t everyone do it like that?’ Diane was puzzled by Orla’s line of questioning.

  ‘What happens to the handwritten sheets after you have finished with them?’

  ‘They stay on the file in case we made a mistake; we can always refer back to them.’

  ‘Could I have a look at the notes that you made when you emptied the flat in question? The handwritten list you used to type up the list you showed us.’

  ‘Ooh! I would have to ask Mr. Turner!’

  ‘Then please do!’

  Diane spoke quietly on the extension. Hushed words were exchanged.

  Eventually she lifted her head and without speaking, took out the file and placed it on the desk. ‘Everything is in there.’

  Orla was losing her patience. ‘Then would you please show me the handwritten list?’ Diane fussed about with the open file and then placed it before them. The contents of the flat tallied, there were no omissions.

  ‘Diane, that all seems to be in order.’

  ‘Yes, we do take care with these lists.’

  ‘Just one thing.’ Orla pushed the list towards her. ‘How come the bolt cutters appear on the printed list . . . here . . . but they are not here on the handwritten list. Where did you magic them up from?’ Diane’s face dropped as she searched for an answer. ‘Do you have a separate list for the van’s contents?’ Without speaking, she turned over a couple of pages and handed the file back. Orla read from the page. ‘Contents of Transit van: One pair of heavy duty bolt cutters. Here we go . . . One Carrera Mountain Bike, Blue! Tell me Diane, what happened to the mountain bike between you logging it here . . . and not typing it here?’

  ‘I don’t know! Perhaps it was left in the van when the Finance Company collected it!’

  ‘But you thought fit to remove the bolt cutters! Get Mr. Turner out here now!’

  A couple of minutes went by before the sullen pair appeared.

  Before they could speak, Orla tore into them. ‘We are not here to chase up the whereabouts of your ill gotten gains. That bicycle happens to be an essential piece of evidence in a murder investigation that we are conducting. You will be held to account if you can’t produce that bike; failure to do so could jeopardise our whole case. Now where is it?’

  A tearful Diane whimpered, ‘It’s in the back room.’

  ‘We need it now; please get it!’ A triumphant Orla stepped aside as Diane brushed past her. A bike wheel appeared from around the door jamb. Matt leant forward and helped steer the cycle out of the room. His heart was pounding as his eyes searched the wheel rims for gaps.

  ‘YES!. . . Orla look!. . . YES! There are spokes missing from the front wheel. It looks like side cutters were used. Look, the adjusting nuts are still in place.’ Matt couldn’t hide the excitement that was bursting from within. ‘I can’t believe it. We’ve cracked it!’

  Orla was just as thrilled; caught up in the moment. ‘How many spokes Matt?’

  ‘Two . . . Two not three . . . I knew it.’ Matt was silent; a frown now covered his face that a second or two ago had been happy and smiling.

  Diane Ashby watched closely, a bemused look on her face as she watched and listened to the banter that passed between the pair. How the hell can they get excited about a couple of missing spokes.

  ‘It’s my fault detective; I told her it was OK to take the bike. It was a birthday present from the company.’

  Ignoring his remark, Orla turned and spoke sharply. ‘Mr. Turner, before we go, I need a piece of paper, stating that this bicycle and the bolt cutters were removed from the said premises at Broadwood Court, and were released to me. They will be returned to you on completion of our enquiries.’

  With the wheel removed, the cycle fitted quite easily across the rear seat foot-wells. As they drove away, Matt smiled, ‘How did you know they were hiding something?’

  ‘I didn’t really but last time we were there, there was a pink cycle helmet hanging on the wall; just set me thinking.’

  Matt laughed, ‘The way today has gone for us, I think you deserve a nice bouquet of flowers.’

  Orla grinned. ‘I’ve heard that there’s a good florist in Kings Heath. I think we should give them a visit!’

  Chapter 31

  The Alcester Road in Kings Heath was a busy thoroughfare and shops lined both sides of the road. Street parking reduced the road to an extended bottleneck which would normally exasperate most commuters, but today was different. The kerb crawling pace allowed the detectives to locate the florist and to make a judgement call on how to proceed. A pedestrian crossing fifty yards ahead also worked in their favour. As the traffic came to a halt, their car allowed them an uninterrupted view into the open fronted shop. A lone woman could be seen attending to a single customer, who as they waited, left the shop. Closing the till, the florist walked slowly to the entrance and began to rearrange the cut flowers in the pavement display.

  She was an attractive woman in her mid thirties. Her long black hair was gathered into a pony tail. She wore jeans topped with a bright lumberjack check shirt and her tightly bound apron only helped to accentuate her figure. Matt watched her with interest. ‘Nice display out front!’

  Orla ignored the bait, her eyes looking for signs of a petite blond. ‘S
he looks to be on her own Matt. I don’t see the van anywhere . . . perhaps there’s a driver!’

  ‘Can’t you use your influence to find us a parking bay?’

  ‘I don’t need to; there’s a loading zone coming up; that’ll do!’

  Matt was quiet as he considered the options. ‘I think we should start slowly. Just get her talking; once we are doing that we will we know how to proceed.’

  ‘OK, let’s give it a shot!’

  Matt smiled as he caught the assistant’s eye. ‘Good afternoon! I would like to buy my friend some flowers.’

  The woman flashed Orla an enquiring look. ‘My . . . where did you find him? . . . How about roses?’

  ‘That would be nice.’ Orla was blushing slightly. Even though she knew they were putting on an act, she was caught up in the moment.

  Matt interjected. ‘How about chrysanths; a mix of colours would be nice.’

  The two women looked at each other in a knowing way. ‘No . . . chrysanths would be fine for your mother, but I think you should choose roses for your lady friend.’

  ‘She’s right Matt, and I’ll leave the choice of colours up to . . . ?’ and she looked across at the shop girl.

  ‘Katrina’.

  ‘Thank you Katrina.’ The detectives watched on as the bouquet began to take shape. The shop phone began to ring; Katrina ignored it and after five rings it fell silent. Both detectives had the same thought. Someone picked that up!

  ‘It must be very difficult being here on your own, what with phone calls and deliveries.’ Orla was showing genuine interest. ‘How do you cope?’

  ‘It is difficult, but my sister helps me a lot and I do have some additional help on a weekend, but we manage.’

  ‘Did your sister pick up the call just now?’

  ‘Yes, she would normally be in the shop with me but she had a bad car accident a few months back and has got quite a lot of facial trauma that she is very conscious of.’

  ‘Oh, how dreadful!’

  The florist acknowledged her concern with a nod. ‘There you are!’ And she placed the bouquet in Orla’s hand. ‘Now don't forget to water them.’ Orla looked over at Matt; he was motioning for them to leave.