Orange Notice

    The sudden turbulence made me grip the seat nearest me as I returned down the aisle. My hand lightly touched the hair of the woman sat in front of me and she pulled away, frowning, so I gave an apologetic smile.

    “Her phone is already on,” I whispered to Millray, sat beside me.

    A warning bonged as the ‘please fasten seat belts’ sign flashed overhead.

    “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are approaching Zurich Airport, please fasten your seatbelts and please keep your phones on airplane mode until you have entered the terminal building.”

    Millray raised his eyebrows and nodded his head in the direction of the woman travelling as Alex Williams in the row ahead. I gave a half smile, tapped my jacket pocket just to make sure my passport and the other paperwork was still there.

#

    We waited in the security line, passports at the ready. Millray had been obedient and only turned his phone on the moment we got into the spacious arrivals hall. I hadn’t even changed my phone’s settings. The message confirming tomorrow’s appointment arrived when we landed.

Williams, in the queue for another booth, was studying her phone intently.

    “Sir?”

The security clerk called me forward, and I showed my passport which she scanned.

“The purpose for your visit?”

I felt in my pocket and took out my warrant card and other papers, “Business.”

    My eyes flicked over to Williams as she passed through security and headed towards the exit.

    “May I see your travel documents?”

    I opened the wallet app on my phone and showed her my ticket and boarding pass. I’ve grown used to reading expressions after years of undertaking interrogations. Her eyes widened, her brain processed, then she gave a noncommittal smile and returned everything, stamping my passport.

    “Thank you, sir.”

    Millray was waiting for me, “She didn’t wish you a pleasant stay?” he laughed.

    “Did you see where Williams went?” I said, subject changed.

    “A local cab company collected her. I’ve got the firm’s number and car registration. The Zurich police are waiting for us.”

#

    Our arrival at the underground carpark beneath Kantonspolizei Zurich was underwhelming. Concrete grey upon grey with bright strip lights, this was not the land of confectionary, cuckoo clocks, and fine timepieces I’d visited with Jan. The guard, businesslike and efficient, took us through the oppressive gloom towards a utilitarian lift and up into the police station.

    Ushered past the serious looking officers of various ranks, dressed in their royal blue jackets and trousers, some wearing intimidating firearms, we were shown to a small office. It smelt newly scrubbed. There were no used coffee cups littering the place, no pits in the plaster walls where a frustrated kick had landed, no peeled paintwork. The seats bordered on uncomfortable, designed for short meetings, not for lounging around and chewing the fat.

    A thin woman, very pale with brown hair tied back, dressed in a black business suit, walked in, and closed the door behind her.

    “Inspector Keller, pleased to meet you. Call me Sophie, please.”

She offered her hand to us both.

    “I’m Detective Sergeant Kevin Millray.”

    “I’m Detective Constable Lee Sherratt.”

    Her hand was soft and warm, but her nails weren’t painted. A sudden jolt to my ribs made me wince.

    “Are you okay?” Keller looked concerned.

    I smiled and nodded, “Fine, fine, I had food poisoning last week.”

    Millray went to speak but checked himself, now satisfied why I’d been swilling indigestion medicine.

    “We received the Orange Notice from Interpol early yesterday morning. It’s not a common occurrence for us to be involved in hunting down foreign visitors but we have channels we can use.”

    Her accent to me was German, her voice clipped and precise, her English impeccable.

    “I took the details of the cab…” Millray began but Keller interrupted.

    “We understand she is staying at the Hotel Imperial on Beethovenstrasse. This Miss Alex Williams, she has expensive tastes.”

    “Very,” I nodded. “The intelligence we gathered is that she will approach her target at seven o’clock this evening at, hang on...”

    Keller tilted her head inquisitively, amused, as if observing a performing monkey. The muscles around my ribs contracted again and I folded up.

    “Damn!”

    Millray spoke up, “Weisses Rossli, I’m sure I’ve butchered the pronunciation, on…”

    Keller didn’t let my boss finish.

    “Bederstrasse, yes, possibly the best restaurant in central Zurich, though few can afford to eat there. Thank you, we can arrange a security detail on all entrances and exits. Mr Sherratt, may I get you some water, a pain killer perhaps?”

    I was embarrassed, “No, please, I have my medication.”

I reached into the laptop bag, the only luggage I’d brought with me and lifted out the small plastic bottle taped up with a ‘permitted liquid’ label. I don’t like a fuss, so I stood at the window and took a few sips. It’s good stuff. It acts pretty much straight away.

    “As long as you’re sure?”

    “Inspector Keller,” Millray, my boss, the life saver. “We wanted to arrest Williams at the hotel, but Detective Sherratt has acquired more recent information. She intends to use a weapon in or near the restaurant, the weapon itself will be given to her by a member of their waiting staff. Are you able to run a check on the people who work there?”

    Keller sucked the inside of her cheek, “Difficult. Not impossible, but we can contact the owners for the names of staff and who’s on duty…”

    I let her voice fade as she briefed Millray on the ins and outs of Swiss people management issues, court orders and so on. My eye was caught by the traffic moving sluggishly on Guterstrasse, remembering the time I came here with Jan, last year.

    We too came in the spring and there was still snow on the distant mountain peaks, the air carrying a sharp chill blown in from the lake. We ate expensive pastries and drank extortionately priced coffee and relished each moment. She died a day later.

    Our hotel wasn’t as upmarket as Alex William’s gaff, but it was functional, and I wasn’t sharing with my boss which suited me fine. Millray was booked to fly back the following morning, hoping to be cuffed to Williams, accompanied by a Swiss guard. I was staying on.

    I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, top button of my shirt unbuttoned, jacket open. I patted my pocket again. Still there.

    There was a knock. I opened the door to find Millray, looking concerned.

    “I got your message. Why has she cancelled the restaurant booking?”

#

    I sat in the back of the unmarked car, Millray beside me, he chewed on gum as I sipped from my bottle. It was dark, and we’d pulled onto a side street off Beethovenstrasse, lights off, people watching; couples, businessmen and women, stunned tourists clutching bags of eye-wateringly pricey chocolates, all walking at pace. There was no litter blowing about, it wasn’t a bit like Tottenham Court Road.

    “We have all the elevators monitored, all ways in and out covered. All staff have been given her description.”

    Keller had loaned us Officer Fuchs for the night. I didn’t smirk, but I swear Millray was trying not to laugh. Anyway, Fuchs was dour and business-like. He didn’t do small talk which was fine by me.

    A crew of the Imperial Hotel housekeeping staff walked past, their shift over. Still dressed in their coveralls, a couple of them giggled as they passed by, peering into the windows at the men slumped in their seats trying to hide their faces. More walked past, largely ignoring us, faces lit by the glow from their phone screens, and I watched as they turned a corner.

    Hang on.

    “I’m pursuing on foot,” I clicked the door open. “Have William’s room checked, now.”

    Setting off at a quick trot, I followed in the direction of the hotel’s cleaning team.

    “Sherratt, what’s going on?”

    Millray was half shouting, half whispering.

    “Get her room checked. Something’s not right…”

    I tried picking up my pace, but I clutched my side, and my breathing was getting more laboured the faster I tried to go. The women separated in front of me, some stopping at a bus shelter, two continuing to walk ahead. One turned to look back at me, her hair was long and blonde, wearing large sunglasses. At night. On a street in Switzerland.

    I reached for my phone and called Millray.

    “She’s dressed as one of the hotel housekeepers, alert local teams she’s on foot, heading east towards the bridge.”

#

    Alex Williams was no dummy. In fact, she didn’t exist. Alex Williams was, one of four aliases used by Natalie Rey, she of Rey Investment Holdings. High end property, modern art, expensive wines. The Rey’s, her, and husband Gary, had worked hard and done very well for themselves, thank you very much, until they got a bit too trustworthy with some Middle Eastern financiers who turned out to be total frauds.

The Rey’s had put all their eggs in one banking basket with a return on investment too good to be true. Not only did they go under, but they were already in hock to the tune of nearly seven million to a less than sympathetic oligarch, who called in the debt and took Gary Rey as a downpayment. He was found face down in the Thames, missing his ears, fingers, toes, and other assets.

    It was my first case back after losing Jan. I did a deal with Natalie Rey, you give us the names of your banking buddies and middle eastern contacts, we’ll provide protection and a new identity. I wonder if it was that gave her the idea?

    She disappeared one day, off grid. Walked out of her safe house, her phone found in the dog shit bin at the bottom of the road. Three months it took before I got a possible ID, and by then two of the wives of the dodgy banking contingent turned up dead; one bludgeoned with a champagne bottle in Chelsea, one garrotted with a piano wire snipped from the Steinway in her Hampstead home.

    A Red Notice was issued through Interpol, alerting police forces globally that Natalie was a wanted person and if found, please return.

    Then I got a lucky break. A couple in Norfolk had a coastal holiday home, mothballed over the winter. They went to open up during the Easter break and found the place had been occupied. Squatters they thought, until the local police recovered what appeared to be a quickly abandoned stash of personal items, mobile phones registered in various names, clothes, wigs, the full dressing up box.

    CCTV picked Natalie Rey up at a phone shop in York, then again at the railway station catching the London train to Kings Cross. I followed her to a grotty B&B in Lancaster Gate, found her registered as Alex Williams. She’d gone by then, of course, but whether being careless or plain dog tired, she’d left behind a scribbled note that said,

    Zurich, Asfour

    Interpol issued an Orange Notice, or a warning to crime agencies to intercept Natalie Rey who was a threat to art collector, Ali Asfour, a known associate of the fraudulent financiers. Every year, Asfour attended The White Cave gallery’s spring show in Zurich, stayed at The Imperial Hotel and ate at Weisses Rossli.

    Millray and I were in the boarding queue for the flight to Zurich when I saw Natalie Rey, or Alex Williams as she was now, a few feet ahead of us. I’d had to face down a few demons before continuing the chase to Zurich, especially after being there with Jan. I was determined to do this, and in a way, it killed two birds with one stone.

#

    I picked the housekeeper’s overall out of a wheelie bin behind a bar near the opera house. Williams had faded into the evening.

Jan and I had toyed with the idea of squeezing in a visit to the opera house, but neither of us had the first clue about art and was that really the last thing we wanted to see on our last night together? Instead, we walked along the quayside as the sun set, holding hands, and laughing, both of us wearing our bravest faces despite what was coming, and the pain Jan was in.

    I sipped at my bottle to stave off the stabbing sensation in my side, feeling like a complete prat. She’d given me the slip, possibly had a new identity in place I didn’t know about and was already heading out of the city and into another country. I was about to call Millray and tell him to alert police at the railway station and airport when I stopped. Laughter and a tinkling piano came from nearby. I followed the sounds, the noise growing louder as I moved closer.

    The rear of The White Cave gallery was open to the street, brightly lit, rich people networking over glasses of vintage Cristal. Millray and I had pored over pictures of Zurich’s criminal haunts back at our desks, familiarizing ourselves with the geography of the city and the locations Rey might haunt.

I had warned Millray that she’d throw us a false trail of breadcrumbs somehow, and that was turning out to be a posh restaurant booked under her name, a meal she had no intention of eating, and where the police would place all of their resources.

My phone rang.

“Sherratt.”

“Where are you?”

I looked for a street sign.

“Hufgasse, near the rear of The White Cave gallery. I think she’s heading for him here. Alert Keller, all teams to the gallery on Falkenstrasse.”

“Stay there, we’re on our way.”

#

It was nearly two in the morning when we got out of the police station and back to the hotel. Millray could barely speak to me, but when he did it was hissed through his teeth.

“I can’t believe she doubled back to the restaurant. It’s in another part of town. She must have caught a bus or tram. How did you miss her?”

News of the shooting of a Saudi Arabian businessman in the foyer of world renowned Weisses Rossli was blowing up. Keller and her superiors were being hauled over the coals by the Swiss Federal Department of Justice and Police, their fingers pointed at us for our deficient intelligence.

I said nothing, I sipped from my bottle and slipped into a long sleep.

#

The phone in my room rang. I looked at the clock, seven fifteen.

“Good morning, Mister Sherratt, this is your morning call.”

I thanked them and got out of bed, did my usual morning ablutions, and got dressed. No suit today. I changed into the t-shirt, hoodie, and jogging pants I’d brought with me.

I picked at breakfast, checked the train timetable, presumed Millray had gone to catch his flight back and avoided reading the two WhatsApp messages until I reached the railway station.

The train calling at Forch was dead on time. I boarded, sat, and then read what I’d received from Millray.

“Lee, we need to talk.

“Something twigged when I got to the airport.

“You were the only one who saw Williams leave the hotel in a maids uniform, the only one who said it was her on the plane with us and caught that cab. The only person in the whole of Zurich who saw her heading to Asfour’s favourite gallery.

“It was then I realised, Jan’s maiden name was Williams, wasn’t it? Her and Natalie Rey were sisters, Janet and Natalie Williams. And why didn’t I spot it? Because you kept me one step behind.

“The place in Norfolk, conveniently abandoned with various effects belonging to the fictitious Alex Williams. The woman travelling from York to London you and only you identified as Williams.

“The hotel in London with that convenient clue about Zurich and Asfour.

“Rey tipped off we were coming to the Imperial Hotel.

“Then the double bluff, calling all available officers to The White Cave gallery as Natalie Rey walks into a posh restaurant on the other side of town and blows Asfour’s brains out.

“Where is she? I suggest you book a ticket back to London today or I’ll arrange transport to bring you in. Be sure of this, Lee, I’ll personally call Interpol and raise an Orange Notice for you.

“You’ve got twenty-four hours.”

I sighed. Millray was a nice guy, he stood by me when Jan died, got me back on my feet at work. But there’s a lot he still doesn’t know.

The other message was from Natalie.

“Lee. Thanks. We lost everything, me and Gary, you and Jan. I couldn’t have done this without you. Safe journeys. X”

    The train to Forch only took twenty minutes. With some difficulty, as my pain was getting worse, I managed to get a cab to the destination. The driver must have been used to dropping people off here, he gave me a resigned smile and thanked me for the tip. He didn’t ask if I needed collecting later.

    I’d walked Jan up these same few steps into the same reception lobby and sat her in the same seat where I now found myself. We’d both received our diagnosis weeks apart. Talk about shitty luck. All our savings wiped out by those fraudulent bastards, and now cancer.

    A kind faced woman approached me wearing a lanyard printed with the words,

To live with dignity – to die with dignity

“Do you have your paperwork Mr Sherratt?”

I reached into my jacket pocket and handed the letter from my consultant confirming the terminal diagnosis, and the signed declaration giving authority to end my life.

“Is anyone with you?” she asked.

My phone buzzed in my pocket as I shook my head.

It was a message from Natalie.

“Goodbye Lee. Say Hi to Jan when you see her.”