A Killer's Calling: Incite to Murder 1

by John Stuart Owen

  ‘Catherine . . .’

  ‘That’s it, Catherine. Where is she?’

  ‘She got married!’

  ‘Oh! . . . What happened? . . . I remember you saying that, this was the one!’

  ‘I had to go away for a couple of weeks and she met someone else and well, that was that!’

  ‘Sorry about that Matthew, but I’m a firm believer in Kismet! Things that happen only happen for the best! By the way, well done on that multiple murder case they dropped on you. There were a number of people very relieved to see the back of that one, believe me! So . . . I know you have come and see us because you miss our sparkling company, but I can’t help thinking that there’s something else that’s brought you out here. . . . What is it?’

  Matt laughed quietly. ‘Is it that obvious?’ Tom had poured two glasses of Beaujolais and handed one to him.

  ‘Well . . .Yes! It’s pretty obvious that something must be troubling you; what is it?’

  ‘Where do I start?’ Matt was a little embarrassed at being found out quite so quickly.’

  ‘Start anywhere you like lad, and don’t worry about how it sounds, I’ll soon pick up the gist.’

  Matt spent the next half hour explaining how he and Orla had managed to track down Ana from where they were able to identify her husband as the killer in the first two murders. Tom listened with interest, following the sequence of events as they unfolded.

  A shout from the kitchen interrupted their flow. ‘Dinner’s ready!’

  ‘Dammit! It was just getting interesting. Sorry Matthew, dinner awaits us. We’ll continue on after we’ve eaten; come on or she’ll get upset.’

  ‘Sit here Matthew, between us; then I won’t miss out on any of the conversation that you two were busy with.’

  ‘Oh no Mirabelle, we were just talking about stuffy old police business, it would bore the socks off you.’ Matt was reluctant to discuss what was classified business across the dinner table, especially with a high ranking officer present.

  ‘Rubbish Matthew! Tom often discusses his cases with me, I find them intriguing to say the least, and although he would be loath to admit it, I have given him some good pointers on more than a few occasions; isn’t that true Tom?’

  Tom’s face puckered up. . .‘Well there were a few instances where you did give me a helping hand.’

  ‘A few instances my foot; do you know Matthew, I used to sit between your father and Tom, just as we are doing now, as they used to try to make some sense of the cases that they were working on: and that was twenty years ago. You see Matthew, I’m a very good judge of character and I know when something just doesn’t sit right. . .

  How’s your Avocado?. . . Not too much Tabasco is there?’

  ‘It’s perfect Mirabelle, thanks.’

  ‘So where were you in your story?’ Mirabelle was all ears.

  Tom took over to bring her up to speed. ‘So there you have it; you know as much as I do.’ He sat back and nodded in Matt’s direction. ‘This third murder! How does it feature?’ Mirabelle’s meal began to take second place to the table talk, but somehow the three courses were presented and eaten.

  Matt continued with his unfolding story. ‘It was only after we found out that Ana’s husband had killed the first two victims and was now himself dead, that we realised the third was a copycat killing.’

  Tom thought hard. ‘And you think that the only person that could have known all the details of the first two murders and who would have had a motive to commit the third, was the DI, this Kevin Crystal, in charge of the case.’

  ‘Yes. . . So you see my dilemma!’

  ‘And you are certain that this Ana . . . the wife . . . couldn’t be implicated?’ ‘No! . . . both Orla and I are sure that she suffered domestic violence from her husband, but there is no connection. I’ve only included her in my reports in order to buy some time while I look into Kevin Crystal.’

  Tom looked at Mirabelle, and for the first time that evening, no one had anything to say.

  ‘It doesn’t get any better!’ Matt had their attention. ‘There’s something else I need to tell you. Kevin Crystal is the guy that married Catherine. . . my Catherine!’

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake Matthew’, Tom spluttered, throwing down his napkin. ‘What the hell’s going on here?’

  Mirabelle got up from the table. ‘I think I’ll make some tea!’

  ‘Don’t slope off Belle! I need you here . . . to try and talk some sense into

  Matthew! And anyway, tea isn’t nearly strong enough; bring me that Dimple Haig!’

  Mirabelle came back with the whisky and re-took her place at the table. She produced a glass and poured herself a drink before passing the bottle on.

  ‘You were right about one thing Matthew.’ Tom was trying to make some sense of what he had just heard. ‘You mentioned earlier that if you had brought this to anyone’s attention you would have been taken off the case. . . You were dead right!’

  Matt continued. ‘What you say brings us to another problem that we have. When Orla and I started collecting evidence on these murders, before we had any clues as to what had gone on, I passed on certain bits of information that would have to be considered as classified, to Janet Warley, my immediate superior . . . and that information was in Kevin Crystal’s hands the next day. That really is the main reason for me being here today. Although he has now left, Kevin often calls on her at Leek Wooton and they talk behind closed doors. I can’t talk to anyone about my fears and suspicions.’

  The next hour was spent covering all the evidence that had collected. He had a captive audience who as the night wore on, became totally engrossed in the enigma that was Kevin Crystal.

  ‘This Irish gal that you’ve got working with you sounds to be quite a smart cookie!’

  ‘God Tom, if you mean she appears to be a capable detective then why not say so!’ Mirabelle was angry at Tom’s demeaning comment.

  He just smiled at Matt. ‘Actually, we were in Ireland last year, went to some conference or other but we managed to do a bit of touring . . .went up to the Giants Whatsit, and the interesting bit I’m coming to, is we went around the Bushmills Distillery; it’s up there you know.’ He got up from his chair and moved across to his liquor cabinet; proudly he held a bottle aloft. ‘Ten year old Bushmills Irish Whiskey! Just what we need! I’ll be able to think a little clearer after a couple of these; where’s your glass? And before you ask, No you can’t have any coke in this one. . . you have to savour the flavour . . . it’s a single malt, whatever that means!’ Tom poured two hefty drinks; Mirabelle covered her glass with her hand and shook her head.

  He settled back in his chair. ‘Right. . . now . . . where were we? Ah yes. . . All the evidence you’ve collected, and it is convincing, is purely circumstantial. One thing that bothers me is would you have been quite as focussed on this Crystal chap if Catherine had not been involved?’

  Mirabelle spluttered. ‘Tom, how could you say that, let alone think it?’

  ‘It’s all right Mirabelle. Tom is only saying what many others will be thinking when this gets a public airing; mind you, we’re a long way from that.’

  Tom had recovered from his wife’s put-down and was trying to recap on their conclusions to date. ‘You’ve made the connection between the victim and Crystal, they were known to each other. The knowledge, the methodology that had been applied in the murder was known only to a handful of people, all were detectives working on the case. And then there is the comment, I have to say, a throwaway comment, “that all we need is another murder.” You are going to need more Matthew, quite a lot more if you are going to get the CPS interested. Crystal’s future was definitely in the balance but what sort of sort of sick bastard would murder someone on the off-chance that they could keep their job going?’

  ‘A psychopath Tom, a devious stinking psychopath! One who thought he could solve the first two murders and tag this one on the end. I mean he was the Investigating Officer; who would question it?’
>
  A silence hung in the room as each of them kicked around in their troubled minds, all that they had gone through.

  ‘Well Matthew I don’t really know how we can help. When suspicions are raised about another officer you know the procedure. You have got to hand it over and step back.’

  ‘I know Tom but if I do that it will all just fade away and collect dust in some back office.’

  Mirabelle had been a silent listener for a while; she felt her presence was needed. ‘Is there anything you had in mind that Tom could perhaps do for you, sort of on the quiet?’

  ‘Well yes Mirabelle there is. When Kevin left the force, he and Catherine left to go on a second honeymoon. They went away to collect a new four wheel drive vehicle and spend a few days in Llantywyn, Pembrokeshire. Well we learnt that when they came back, Catherine left him and went back to stay with her parents: something went on! Also he tried to conceal the whereabouts of where he bought the Land Rover, which strikes me as being very odd to say the least.’

  ‘Yes I agree!’ Mirabelle was back with interest. ‘So you want to go and visit the place they went to, and see if Kevin has been up to something that helps your case.’

  ‘Well yes Mirabelle; that’s it in a nutshell!’

  Tom stroked his chin. ‘Why don’t you speak to Catherine; find out what she has to say on the matter? That would seem to me to be the obvious starting point.’

  ‘I considered that Tom, it was the first thought that came into my mind, but my mother and Catherine speak quite often, and I learnt only yesterday that she is thinking of giving her marriage another try! I’m scared to contact her. If Kevin finds out that we are looking at him, I don’t know what he would be capable of: I worry for Catherine’s safety!’

  ‘So you feel that if Janet Warley got a sniff of what you were about, your chief suspect would be forewarned and his response could be unpredictable?’

  ‘No, I think his response would be very predictable. I think that if he knew he was going down, he would take as many down with him as he could.’

  ‘I see . . . So you want me to set up a meeting with the Head Honcho in this Llantywyn place . . . Is it on the map?’

  ‘It’s on the Pembrokeshire coast, granted it’s not very big but big enough to have retained its local station, and has an Inspector up front.’

  ‘I want to help Matthew, I really do, but I’m also nearing retirement and if this got out, it could cost me a lot: I could lose my job. . . who knows . . . even my pension!’ Tom sat back, a troubled frown etched on his face.

  Mirabelle leant forward and looked hard at Matt; her eyes bore into him.

  ‘Matthew, we will do it! We have followed your career closely and Tom has always been the first to admire the successes you’ve achieved. You would not have come here today if you were not absolutely sure that you had correctly identified a murderer, and a cop at that! Tom you must sort something out!’ And with that she got up and walked off.

  Tom looked up and watched her leave the room. He sat quietly, thinking deeply but saying nothing . . . ‘There’s only one way we can do this Matthew. I’ll contact this Inspector chap, and tell him that we are trying to trace the steps of a certain individual that we have under surveillance and we know he came through their town and stayed over for a few nights. We just want to check that he wasn’t involved in anything whilst he was there. You can be vague about what he is supposedly involved with; in fact be as vague as you can be, about everything.’

  Mirabelle had returned and caught the end of Tom’s discourse. ‘Tom gives lessons on how to be vague, don’t you dear?’

  Tom was too engrossed with his thoughts to offer a comment. ‘I’ll tell them that you are operating out of my Oxford base. If you have need to speak to me, do it only through my PA, John Brown. He will be fully versed as to what is going on and no one else will have any knowledge of this at all. You must put in for a few days leave, and take that Irish gal with you, it’s always easier to operate when there’s two of you. No one at your end must be aware that you are away on police business. If all fails and you find nothing, you will have to hand it over and trust the force gets it right. If you find something incriminating that can be used to bring this Crystal chap to book, then at least I’ll have a good reason for bending the rules. I’ll give you my personal card; it has my Direct Dial number on it. John Brown will answer it and he will relay any messages you may have to me. He’s a civilian you know. We have a few in administration posts. Lets the real coppers spend more time on the beat . . . that’s a laf.’ Tom chuckled to himself as he thought about the role John Brown played in his working life. ‘You know he really looks after me; he’s more of a Batman than a PA; organises my whole life!’

  Mirabelle had heard enough. ‘Does he wear a cape?’

  Tom came back from his whimsical trip. ‘Only on a Friday.’

  ‘God, it’s two o’clock! I’ve kept you both up too long. You have been absolutely great; I can’t thank you enough for letting me bend your ears.’

  ‘It is late, but what the hell!’ Tom got up from his chair. ‘Matt . . . before you go to bed, there’s a bottle of vintage port that is screaming to be opened. Mirabelle, have we got some cheese biscuits. Matthew would like some cheese biscuits before he goes to bed.’

  ‘No really, I’m OK!’ Matt’s protestations went unnoticed.

  ‘There are cheese biscuits in the sideboard but Matthew, don’t let him bully you into staying up longer than you want to. I’ll say goodnight.’ And with that she gracefully left the room.

  It took Matt a full hour before he was able to summon up the strength to say goodnight. He crawled into bed, his head pounding. Who the hell drinks port, let alone vintage port? The name should warn you; it becomes vintage because they can’t sell the bloody stuff! His head stuffed underneath the pillow, Matt searched for pressure points around his head in an attempt to ease the hurt. The day had gone well.

  Chapter 40

  Orla had woken early. What to do? A whole day to myself. She pondered the thought but her mind strayed straight back to that Catherine woman! She must know something! And in that second her day plan was made.

  She would drive into Leamington Spa, drift around the Royal Priors Mall and just by chance bump into her. That is if she is working: she will be working . . . think positive. A meagre breakfast of Special K and half a banana was deemed sufficient. If I’m having a mid morning snack at Drukkers, better not overdo it now!

  Orla arrived at the Royal Priors, it was ten forty five. Just right . . . if she goes for a snack it’ll probably be around eleven. She dawdled through the arcade, her eyes searching for Catherine before eventually arriving at “La Senza”. Looking through the window display she carefully studied the girls behind the counters; all were slim and

  trim . . . but no Catherine.

  Dammit, wrong day! Orla was miffed; what had started out as a grand plan had fizzled out to be a waste of time. Drukkers grabbed her attention. Their Danish pastries were . . . how had her pals described them? . . . orgasmic! They were right! Orla wandered in and joined a short chatty queue. With coffee and pastry safely secured, she made her way past the tables looking for a vacant space. Nothing doing, she moved out onto the promenade and soon found a spot that was suitably protected from the passing shoppers. She began to nibble away at her Danish cookie. As always it was perfect but trying to eat a crumbling pastry and look elegant was always going to be a battle. Still self conscious at her attempt to eat gracefully she raised her serviette to dab away some of the sticky mess around her mouth, her eyes darting here and there to make sure her antics were going unnoticed. At that second, a fashionable young couple came into view. The man was tall, blonde and handsome, his companion slim, elegant, her long brown hair covering most of her face. She turned her head as they approached. Orla almost choked; it was Catherine and Kevin. She hid behind the raised napkin and watched. Although they were together, their body language said otherwise. Kevin appeared at ease, slowly loo
king around as they wandered through. Catherine was anything but: drawn and tense, her lips tight and narrow, her eyes focused on some distant object. She held her bag in front of her, clutched tightly with both hands.

  God, did they see me? Orla kept the napkin raised as she watched their progress.

  Kevin tugged at Catherine’s arm and turned her away towards a shop in the far corner. Orla smiled; it was the Ann Summers store.

  Although never having had the courage to wander into this store, Orla, like everyone out there, knew exactly the sort of wares they provided. She had often had girly chats with her mates, usually over drinks, imagining how the sales personnel get their product training. Wonder what he has in mind?

  Catherine broke free of Kevin’s grip and turned on her heel.

  If she wasn’t upset earlier, she certainly is now!

  Kevin walked into the shop as Orla sat, watching and waiting. It was a full fifteen minutes before he reappeared. Bag in hand and with a smug expression on his face, he strode purposefully towards Orla’s position. She hid behind her mug. Please don’t see me!’

  Although Kevin was walking towards her, his gaze was focussed away to his right. He drew level with her table and then shot a glare straight at her. Her heart missed a beat as his icy stare bore into her. She shivered; the menace in his eyes spoke volumes. This was a wicked man; Matt had been right all along. She had had some doubts, believing his motivation to pin something on Kevin as being largely an act of vengeance over Catherine, but no . . . he had picked up something far more sinister in this man. As Kevin passed by, his expression changed into a leer, not directed at Orla but definitely meant for her to see.

  She was shaken. Why the hell is she still with him? Orla’s thoughts on Catherine took on a new angle. That poor woman!

  The lift to the roof parking clanked to a halt as Orla made her escape.