A Killer's Calling: Incite to Murder 1 Read online

  ‘Do they still serve that sort of thing?’

  ‘Would you like one? Don’t be shy.’ They laughed quietly, enjoying each others company. It was the first time that Orla had been alone with Matt in a social setting.

  She watched him closely; he had a whimsical look about him, a smile was etched on his face and for the first time in a long time, he was relaxing in female company and enjoying it. No pressure; that could come back tomorrow.

  Chapter 18

  ‘My Dad used to come to this place you know, in the ’60’s. Matt’s ears pricked up.

  ‘In the ’60’s: I would have thought he would have been in Ireland at that time.’

  ‘No he was on contract here, not sure what he was doing but he used to come here to play the juke box; it was a transport café then, “The Cat in the Window”. Part of the old building is still there up on the bridge and the window that the cat sat in is overlooking the car park; not sure if it was a real cat. Matt! . . . Are you listening?’

  His eyes were bright with excitement as he gripped the table and pulled himself forward. ‘Orla . . .the cat in the window. That car that pulled into the drive as we were leaving, I swear that there was a cat in the window; you know, sticker on the windscreen!’

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you say so at the time?’

  ‘I didn’t see it at the time, I was watching the driver, not looking at the car but, I don’t really know how to say this without looking stupid, but my mind works in a weird way; always has. My subconscious seems to see things that I only see some time afterwards. I suddenly see things that my brain has locked away; I swear that there was something on that car’s windscreen. Have you got Ruth Taylor’s number in your phone?’

  ‘Yes . . . I’ll call her. I’m dialling . . . Here you are!’

  A young voice answered the phone. ‘Hello . . .Who’s speaking?’

  ‘Is that Megan?’

  Not recognising the voice, she replied cautiously. ‘Yes this is Megan.’

  ‘Megan this is Detective Inspector Black, I was with you earlier. Could I please speak with your mother?’

  ‘Yes detective, I’ll get her for you.’ The seconds ticked by; Matt was getting impatient . . .come on . . .come on!

  ‘Detective Black . . . Did you forget something?’

  ‘I’m sorry to trouble you Mrs. Taylor but as we were leaving your house, we met a car on the drive; he waited while we reversed out.’

  ‘Yes . . . that would be my son Peter.’

  ‘The car he was driving . . . did it have a sticker on the windscreen? A sticker of a cat?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know detective; I’ll get Megan to go and have a look.’

  Matt drummed the table with his fingers; he could hear voices echoing in the distance.

  Orla tried to catch his eye, the food had arrived and the waitress was trying to position the heavy plates; he placed his finger to his lips as he tried to shuffle out of the way.

  ‘Yes detective, there is a sticker; my daughter knows the sticker you refer to. She asked her father about it long ago. He said it was a parking permit for somewhere he went on business.’

  Matt gasped. ‘So that’s your husband’s car?’

  ‘Yes, it was in for service on the day he died so we still have it. The car he was using that day was a company pool car.’ Matt’s thoughts were racing; for a second or two he was speechless.

  ‘Does that help you detective?’

  ‘It certainly does Mrs. Taylor, it certainly does. Could you possibly take a photograph of the sticker and send it to this phone?’

  ‘I’ll ask Megan. I’m sure her phone has a camera . . . Yes detective she will do it now but it might take a few minutes. Let me jot down your number.’

  Matt relayed the number to her. ‘I’ll wait on the call and thank you for your help; and thank Megan for me too.’

  ‘Well what do you make of that?’ Matt was beaming. Orla beamed right back.

  ‘At last a break! C’mon this steak is too good to waste.’ They ate in silence; occasional eye contact brought smiles to both their faces.

  Their thoughts were interrupted by an incoming beep. ‘It’ll be our photo.’ Orla fumbled with the phone until she had the image on view. She stifled a shriek; her hand covering her mouth. ‘That’s it Matt! It’s the same as the one on file. I can’t believe it; we’ve got our link. At last, we’ve got somewhere to go.’

  Chapter 19

  Matt arrived at the Wellesbourne office. A misty Autumn morning had done nothing to dull his spirits and he was not surprised to see that Orla was already there. She looked up as he walked in . . . ‘Tea?’

  ‘Sure’. He settled himself at his desk; his eyes followed her as she busied herself, bending and stretching as she peered into cupboards and drawers. Dressed in a white blouse and black pencil skirt, she cut a tidy figure. Matt found himself mesmerised by the form that was moving about before his eyes and his mind began to drift back to the time that he had been under Catherine’s spell. She must be dressed up because we’ve got to go to bloody Crystal’s farewell do. He smiled to himself. Her outfit will contrast nicely with my one fingered salute.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ The voice startled him. Orla was brushing her backside with her hand. ‘What’s wrong with my skirt? Don’t tell me I’ve caught it on something!’ Matt was suddenly embarrassed; he’d been caught out and hurriedly tried to cover his tracks.

  ‘No sorry; I was dreaming . . . looking into space. I’m sure your skirt is fine.’

  She placed a steaming mug of tea in front of him. ‘That should keep you going.’ She smiled inwardly. Caught you!

  ‘That’s great, thanks. I managed to do some thinking last night; where to start looking for our cat connection. I don’t think that pubs would have such a structured parking arrangement. It’s always park where you can and larger restaurants would normally have ample onsite parking. I think we should start by looking at the Bistro style of small classy eateries. . . . What do you think?’

  ‘Do you mean like these?’ and she dropped a wad of printed pages in front of him. ‘I started with “The Cat”, then the “Black Cat”, the “Fat Cat” and just downloaded anything with cat in it!’ Matt’s jaw dropped as he thumbed through the pages.

  ‘That’s exactly what I meant. Gosh Orla you’ve really put some thought into this. We can get started straight away. You start at the top . . . I’ll start at the bottom. Let’s see how we go. Whoever you speak to, if the sticker isn’t theirs, ask them if they know whose it might be. It’s nine thirty, might be a bit early for some of them but let’s get going!’

  The time passed quickly. Orla finally felt they were getting somewhere. After months working under Kevin Crystal, chasing shadows, she was now looking at real leads. A short stop for tea and biscuits and they were back on the phones. The morning wore on until they both looked up together.

  ‘Nothing from me Matt.’

  Matt stretched, rubbed his eyes and yawned. ‘They are not making it easy for us are they? . . . Bastards! I’ve been down more blind alleys than Blunket’s dog!’

  ‘That’s nice! . . . We are just not looking in the right place; that’s all!’ Orla began to think out loud. ‘What if it’s one of those chic foreign places, maybe French. What’s the French for cat?’

  Matt was suddenly attentive. ‘I like it! You might be onto something. I’ve no idea what cat is in French. Believe it or not I did some French at school but nothing as challenging as cat!’

  ‘Here we are,’ Orla had already accessed the net. ‘Chat . . . Le chat!’ She sat back, proud as punch. ‘Actually that’s a nice name in English for a Restaurant. Nice place for a chat! What have we here?’

  ‘What is it? Matt peered anxiously over her shoulder.

  ‘It’s on the Stratford Road in Shirley, that’s what it is!’

  ‘My God. This has got to be it . . . surely? Phone them Orla, you deserve to make this hit!’

  The phone was picked up almost
immediately. ‘Le Chat, how may I help you?’

  ‘This is Detective Graham from Warwick Constabulary; I am conducting a search for a restaurant that uses a windscreen sticker with the silhouette of a cat, for favoured client parking. Would that be you?’

  ‘Yes we do operate that system; we have ten spaces that we keep for our regular business customers. They are always in a rush and parking around here is at a premium.’ Orla’s sparkling eyes were alight as she gave Matt the thumbs up. ‘We need to come through to see you. Is the manager available?’

  ‘The owner is here, let me get her!’

  ‘No better still, tell her that two detectives are on their way to see her. It’s important and we’ll be there inside forty minutes; make sure she doesn’t leave.’

  Chapter 20

  The traffic was light for once, and they covered the twenty or so miles quickly. As they neared their destination the congestion of the main roads brought with it the usual levels of driver frustration. Matt was no exception.

  ‘Pity we haven’t got one of those cat stickers; trying to park around here is going to be a bloody nightmare.’

  ‘Relax Matt; Look! There it is, “Le Chat Bistro” and look what’s coming up. A parking space!’

  ‘How did you do that?’ The smug smile that came back didn’t need a response.

  A classy doorway of etched glass and polished brass fittings took them into an equally flashy lobby. A “wait here for service” sign greeted them. The restaurant was fairly busy for a weekday lunchtime but eventually Matt caught the eye of a waitress. She hurried down the concourse and greeted them with a pleasant smile.

  ‘Table for two?’

  ‘We are here to see the owner!’

  ‘That would be Madame Caron; she’s talking to a customer at the moment. I’ll let her know you’re waiting.’

  Madame Caron stood about ten paces from them. Her appearance had taken some considerable time and effort. She was tall, four inch heels had seen to that. Her long black hair was expensively coiffured into a flowing array of extensions that she kept in motion by an annoying flick of the head and sweep of her hand. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses with a gold lame design scroll bedecked her face; a lanyard secured them around her neck. She wore a short tight skirt, a lace blouse with gathered cuffs.

  A huge shiny buckle on her belt completed the ensemble.

  The detectives waited patiently, their eyes going on a visual walkabout taking in the room. The décor was tasteful but too fussy for a working restaurant. Bored at the wait, Orla spoke. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘A bit too much chrome and plastic for my taste.’

  ‘I meant the room!’ Matt looked across at her but she evaded his gaze. If she made eye contact she would collapse.

  Madame Caron started off towards them, the aisle doubling as a catwalk as she approached the waiting detectives. An attempt at a cultured Brummie accent spoilt the image. ‘You must be the detectives . . . How may I help you? I can assure you that all our foreign staff are legal.’

  Orla produced the photograph of the car sticker. ‘Is this sticker from here?’

  ‘Why yes; this is one of our car parking permits. We give them to regular favoured customers; why do you ask?’

  ‘Do you recognise any of these men?’

  Madame Caron took the photographs and flicked through them. She hesitated. ‘Maybe the older man, but the other two I can’t say. You know we do get a lot of people through here and I don’t know about you, but when you see so many, they, well they just blur into one another.’

  A waitress had come up to Madame Caron’s shoulder and was waiting quietly to speak with her. ‘Excuse me a moment detective.’ She turned to the waitress. ‘What is it Alice?’

  ‘The gentleman at table seven is complaining that his soup is cold; he wants me to warm it up!’

  ‘But it's Vichyssoise!’

  ‘Yes Madame. I know what it is.’

  Madame Caron pursed her lips; she looked across at Matt. ‘You try to bring culture to these people but it’s hard work you know!’ She turned back to the waitress.

  ‘Just warm it up Alice!’

  Matt reached across, took the photographs from Madame Caron and offered them to the waitress. ‘Alice, do you recognise any of these people?’

  Alice welcomed the inclusion. She looked hard at the pictures and then looked up. ‘This one; Yes! This one; Yes! And this one . . . No! These two younger ones used to come here of a lunchtime and they always sat at that table; table number nine, in the corner.’

  ‘Do you mean they sat together?’

  Alice shook her head. ‘Oh no! They came on different days. I never saw them together. They always came when Ana was here. That was one of her tables. They haven’t been here for a couple of months now. They stopped coming when Ana left.’

  ‘I think you will find it’s more like six months Alice.’

  ‘Gosh is it really that long? What do you want them for? What did they do?’

  ‘They were both murdered!’

  Alice’s hands shot up to cover her mouth. A gasp still managed to escape.

  ‘Oh my God! . . . How terrible.’

  ‘Alice please!’ Madame Caron was unsettled. ‘We have customers that require attention.’

  ‘Yes Madame.’

  Matt intervened. ‘Madame, before Alice resumes her duties I need to ask her a few more questions.’ Not waiting for a response, he continued. ‘Alice, do you know if

  Ana was seeing these men after hours?’

  ‘You mean, was she carrying on an affair or something?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ana never really confided in anyone; she was very nice, very pretty and she

  did flirt a lot. I think that’s why we had a lot of male customers; they enjoyed her serving them. She wasn’t English and I think they liked that . . . She was different. I don’t know if she saw them at night but I remember, one lunchtime this one spilt his drink.’ She held up Jeremy’s photo. ‘And she had to go around his chair and wipe the table, up against the wall in the corner. As she came out, I saw her stroke the man’s cheek and sort of drag her fingers around his neck, you know, like a caress; waitresses don’t normally do that!’

  ‘No they don’t. Thanks for your help Alice.’ Matt looked hard at the owner.

  ‘We are going to need some information on your Ana.’

  ‘What sort of information do you need?’ Madame Caron was acting dumb.

  Orla sensed the disinterest. ‘Anything and everything that you have got on her! Surname, phone number, address, National Insurance number, car registration.’

  ‘Come through to the office; I’ll see what I can find.’ Her affected walk had gone and the cultured accent with it.

  ‘Do you have a photograph of her?’ Orla had espied a notice board with a selection of pictures taken of diners smilingly holding glasses high.

  Madame Caron turned and lifted her spectacles to her eyes. She pulled off a photo complete with drawing pin and handed it to Orla in a dismissive manner. ‘There you are, that’s her!’ Orla found herself looking at a smiling, petite woman, a champagne glass in her hand. Her companion, a smartly dressed man, had his arm around her waist. Orla thrust the photo up towards Matt’s face.

  He blinked hard and took the photo from her. ‘My God, it’s Jeremy Powell!’

  ‘Here we are; here’s her file. She was with us for about eighteen months. That’s a long time in this business. Her name is Anastasia Banovic. There you can see for yourselves. Address, phone, everything, but don’t expect to find her there!’

  Orla frowned. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Well, when her husband phoned in to say she was sick, he couldn’t tell me what was wrong with her or when she would be back. He wouldn’t let me speak with her. He was very difficult. We tried for a couple of weeks to phone her and I even went by their flat. It was empty. I have even got her “tips” here for the last week she was here.’ And she waved a brown envelope in f
ront of them. ‘So you see . . . best of luck!’

  Chapter 21

  As they approached the car, Matt reached out with his hand. ‘Congratulations detective; at last we know who we’re looking for.’

  ‘Congratulations yourself and now . . . I think we need to see what we can find in, where was it, Acocks Green. We’re not asking for much, just a little blonde with a gun and some bicycle bits . . . Let’s go.’

  Matt’s interest was aroused. ‘They’ve got a KFC in Acocks Green!’

  Ana’s home address presented itself as a square block containing four flats; two up and two down. The building stood at the end of a cul de sac and though lacking in any architectural merit was tidy enough, having recently been given a fresh coat of cream paint. A central entrance hall gave access to all four flats with a stone staircase leading to the upper stories.

  ‘We are looking for number three, that’s upstairs!’ Orla stepped aside, letting Matt by. The doorbell could be heard: then shadows appeared, silhouetted behind the glass panelled door. Then all was still.

  ‘Open up . . . Police!’

  A female voice answered the call. ‘I’m coming!’ A small child began to cry and hushed voices could be heard whispering.

  Matt called again. ‘Open up please!’

  A small dark haired woman appeared, her hands wrapped around the edge of the door. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘We are looking for Ana Banovich. Is that you?’

  ‘No! . . .We have only been living here for one month; maybe she lived here once, but not now.’

  ‘Did the previous tenant leave a forwarding address?’

  ‘No there was nothing here, the whole flat has been re-decorated; there was nothing in it. Perhaps you should speak to the letting agents. Their number is on the wall in the lobby.’

  Orla was miffed; dammit, she should have been here! A communal post box was attached to the main wall of the foyer and a host of junk mail littered the floor. Matt began sifting through some of the correspondence. Most were addressed to “The Occupier” but some had names and addresses of previous tenants.