The Grass Tattoo (#2 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Page 21

  “He must have liked her a lot.”

  “Drake said he did. Joe confided to him that he intended to leave his wife for her.”

  “Phew... Now there’s a motive for Mrs W to frame him.”

  “If she knew, Liam.”

  “She knew...never underestimate a woman, boss. They spot the clues. And God gave them a heightened sense of smell, especially for other women’s perfume.”

  Nicky looked at him despairingly and Davy nodded sympathetically, agreeing with her.

  “Do w...we have anything on the girl’s voice?”

  “Drake said that she never spoke, never. It was strange, lad. But she always smiled at them as she walked past. He described her as ‘sex on legs.’ That should make her easy enough to find in Northern Ireland.” Craig shot him another warning look.

  “She’d got in the habit of calling Watson after she left. He’d go outside to the front of the hotel and they’d talk to each other looking at the same sky.”

  Ellis stuck two fingers down his throat and was joined by Keith.

  “You’ve got to be joking. How old is this man, Marc?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s why he won’t discuss her. One, he hopes that she’s coming back, and two; he knows he was set-up and made a fool of himself. Ian Sinclair said that he heard her voice, and it didn’t sound like any Northern Ireland accent he’d ever heard.”

  “Where then?”

  “He thought maybe Serbia. Liam, what about the tapes from the Castleton? Anything there on the girl?”

  “Aye. Well she’s a real little weapon of mass destruction all right, never seen a wiggle like it. But as far as identifying her, there’s nothing useful, boss. She kept her face covered the whole time. All we have is her build, height and facial outline. If we do find her, it could be useful for matching, but not enough for a straight I.D. But short of actually having cameras in Watson’s rooms there’s nothing else that would have done.”

  Keith Ericson piped up. “I might be able to help a bit there. Lilith said the girl came to her four months ago, with a story about how she needed to make money for her sick father - the usual stuff. Anyway, they have a reputation to uphold, if there is such a thing in the brothel business. So she insists that all her girls are H.I.V tested and seen by a doctor before they meet customers, so at least we have a name for the girl. Ausra Mitic. I’ve checked it out and no one with that name exists. But we have two more people now who can identify her if we find her. Lilith and the doctor.”

  “Get them both to do photo-fits please, Keith. Or better still get any photographs that Lilith might have. Let’s see if we can get an I.D. on this girl.”

  Ericson had come to a natural halt and Craig quickly grasped the opportunity to move on. “Ross?”

  “OK, Irene Leighton was killed by an ace sniper - just the single bullet, no mess, lovely job.” He nodded to himself half-admiringly. Ellis was a good shot and not adverse to a spot of hunting, something that he and Craig had argued about a few times. Craig’s limit was clay pigeons.

  “Or maybe he’s just spent too much time playing computer games?”

  Ellis ignored Liam’s comment. “So let’s say, hypothetically, that Watson’s girl was something to do with the Leighton killings.”

  Davy sat forward, surprised. “W...why make that leap?”

  “Because she had the opportunity to get Watson’s prints and D.N.A. And they were dropped off at High Street with a convenient note linking him to Irene Leighton, a relationship which Watson has now admitted. Humour me, just for a minute.”

  Davy shrugged and Craig nodded Ellis on.

  “So, on Mondays, Watson is at the Castleton with his little dark-blonde hooker Ausra who was really white-blonde. It would explain why Sinclair noticed the patch of white-blonde hair at the back.”

  “She must have missed a spot, sir. It’s easy to miss a bit at the back of your head if you’re dying your hair yourself.”

  Liam looked nosily at Nicky’s hair and she firmly ignored him. “There are loads of wash-in wash-out hair rinses and gels on the market. She could easily have changed her colour and look, just with different clothes and a pair of cheap sunglasses from any supermarket.”

  “We don’t know what she really looks like, Ross.”

  “True, but we can have a fair guess that she’s involved with a professional killer, Marc. If she knew about the death of Irene Leighton or was working for someone who did, then the best we can say about her was that she was a honey-trap. And that they’ve been planning this for months.”

  “More like a Venus fly-trap.”

  “She didn’t do this alone.”

  John leaned forward, interjecting. “Irene Leighton was shot, Marc.”

  “And she was walked into Stormont by someone, John; it could have been a woman. The London killings indicate the possibility of a couple working together.”

  Ellis interjected again. “OK, so whoever framed Watson for the Irene Leighton murder had his D.N.A. on the cigarette and identified his prints. It must have been someone close to him, probably a woman? But the killing of the two Leightons must be linked, so maybe the woman who got close to Watson was somehow also involved with Bob Leighton?”

  Liam shook his head. “The girl involved with Leighton was their nanny, Kaisa; we have nothing to show that it’s the same girl. And just say that it was Caitlin Watson who got Joe’s prints and D.N.A, and then linked him to Irene Leighton’s death, what would she have to do with Bob Leighton?”

  John added. “Bob Leighton’s killer knew all about his family history of heart disease, and chose a method of killing that mimicked that. This Ausra is a complete stranger. Although…”

  Craig leaned forward urgently. “What, John?”

  “The information about the heart disease was probably available from newspaper reports or death records. His father died of S.A.D.S. and he was a prominent politician, so his cause of death would have been reported. Once she knew who her target was, it would have been an easy matter for any professional killer to do their homework and work their way into Leighton’s life. So I suppose…”

  Nicky interjected. “Sir, I know that Annette had another chat with Caitlin Watson. She was more fed-up with Joe than she let on.” She caught Liam’s smug look and scowled, continuing. “But not enough to frame him, Liam. She spoke to a divorce lawyer a few weeks ago but said that she just wanted to put the wind up him. She didn’t really want a divorce. And without Annette actually mentioning the girl Ausra, she said that she was convinced that Caitlin knew nothing about Irene Leighton, or the other woman.”

  Craig trusted Annette’s instincts. “Thanks Nicky, but if it is the same girl then we need to prove it. Liam, chase up McNulty again on the prints, and work with Annette to dig a bit deeper into Caitlin Watson. If she knew about Joe’s relationships with Irene Leighton and Ausra, then we need to find out.

  Davy, keep going on the databases, let’s see if Ausra Mitic’s D.N.A. is anywhere in the system, and find out who she is.” He turned back to Ellis. “But it still doesn’t get us any closer to finding out who ordered these killings, and why, Ross. Anything on the terrorism front?”

  “Only that a group called the N.I.F. have claimed Bob and Irene Leighton’s deaths.”

  “The who?” Craig thought quickly of his conversation with Andy White.

  “The Northern Ireland Freedom Brigade. They say they’re a new dissident group, except no-one has ever heard of them! It’s complete bollocks, Marc. They don’t exist. There’s no intelligence on them, nothing. Someone’s just invented a new acronym to stir things up. Claiming the killing of an M.P and his wife, and leaving her body at Stormont; that’ll work. Especially once the Chronicle gets hold of it.

  But I can tell you that the real guys are bloody annoyed about it, and they’re already looking for someone to blame. With a bit of luck they’ll bump each other off.”

  Liam muttered. “Here, here.”

  Craig rubbed his face tiredly, half-agr
eeing, but trying to keep a grip of the meeting. “I’m sure D.C.I. Ellis didn’t mean that.”

  Ellis just shrugged, he believed in the wild-west school of policing. Craig let the banter fly for a moment and then called them back to order. “OK, funny as they are, enough vigilante jokes. But this isn’t the first N.I.F. runour that I’ve heard.” He updated them on White’s comments.

  Ellis chewed thoughtfully at his pen. “The rumour-mill’s working overtime then. OK, real life. This is someone covering themselves on the Leighton’s killings, and they’re digging themselves a deep hole in the process. Either that or they’re deliberately trying to stir up the terrorism angle to cover-up something else; violent crime, drugs, girls, something.”

  Craig nodded, the terrorism angle felt right. The room fell silent until Craig broke it, bringing everyone up to speed on the bullet.

  Ellis interjected. “We’re looking at an overseas hit here, Marc. I’ve done a bit more digging and none of our guys could muster that sort of armour, not even back in their glory days. It’s too high-level. This was a professional job. What exactly were the Leightons involved in, that someone wanted them dead?”

  “I think the wife was sacrificed to get at the husband. No one has anything but good to say about her.”

  Craig paused for breath and Liam was about to jump in, but Ellis was quicker. “Davy, have you found anything on known contract killers?”

  “The Met are looking, and Interpol, but nothing s...similar yet.”

  “What about the gambling, Davy? Is Watson in trouble there?”

  “No, he’s just a recreational gambler, the odd game of poker. Mrs Watson gave us permission to look at their accounts and there are no problems. W…Watson made a load of money at Goldbergs and more from investments here.”

  “Liam, any other reason why someone would frame him for murder?”

  “Not a thing, he’s well liked, boss. I’ve been onto Newry and the people down there say Watson did a lot of work for poorer people, and built a lot of community bridges. Everyone says the same thing. Even his first wife likes him and that’s a miracle. They should canonise him just for that.”

  “But it doesn’t tell us who framed him and why. Davy, go back to his wife and dig a bit more. Any private business interests, investments, and people he hacked off in the past. Unless he was Santa Claus someone is bound to hate him.”

  “What about quangos, committees and s...special interest groups, s...sir?”

  “Good point. Liam, work with Davy to cover those. There’s a reason someone framed Joe Watson. People don’t bother to do that unless there’s something in it for them. So follow the trail backwards. Who does he have power over? And whose life is he disrupting, or about to disrupt? We’ll brief here at two every day unless you hear otherwise. Liam will be leading some of the briefings - I’m heading over to London tomorrow for a day or two, to follow up on some new leads.”

  ***

  Stevan took his room-card politely from the girl at reception, nodding as she smiled and handed him the receipt. She was really very cute, and he’d never seen so many freckles. For one brief moment, he thought that it might be fun to count them.

  “That’s room 407, Mr...” She looked down at her desk computer. “Mr Marberg. It’s a deluxe room. I do hope that you enjoy your stay with us.”

  Sven Marberg smiled down at her, nodding a polite ‘thank you.’ Then he turned and headed towards the back stairway, taking the lift to the fourth floor. He checked his watch quickly. The flight had been slightly delayed but it was still only 9.30. He had time to shower and change before he went to his imaginary business meeting, with his imaginary client. With the very real agenda of accessing his weapon and target.

  He opened and closed the room door quickly, keeping to his habit of staying low key. Then he threw his Mulberry travel-bag onto the bed, running the shower until it was hot. The plumbing in this country had proved a bit variable, and he didn’t want to step into freezing needles. Leave that to the real Nords. He looked at his newly blonde hair in the steel bathroom mirror; it went well with his tanned skin. He looked every inch the prosperous Nordic executive.

  He had stuck to the rules and kept the pretence of coming from an eastern European or Nordic country. People would take their cues from his height and colouring, and he was fluent in most languages. It was a good cover.

  He stood under the warm shower, letting the water flow over his dark muscular back, and he felt his mind drift. A holiday was definitely in order, somewhere very warm. Kaisa needed a bit of colour. He laughed to himself; she’d looked like ‘Casper the friendly ghost’ that morning.

  And he really needed a woman. Properly this time. Not the scripted groping of his character legends. Although Teresa had been pleasant enough; and the receptionist might provide a nice little diversion later tonight. He had a sudden vision of ‘joining the dots’ of her freckles with fresh cream and it made him smile.

  No, he needed a real relationship soon, someone to talk to and maybe even settle down with. Kaisa would try to sabotage it of course, but he knew that it was up to him to breed; she would never overcome her hatred of any man long enough. Yes, he would leave the life behind soon and marry, but he had to choose the girl well. And she would have to understand that he could never ever leave his little sister.

  ***

  “Here, boss. Does that mean I’m in charge ‘til you’re back? Annette and Davy will need supervising.”

  Craig was at his parent’s house in Holywood saying hello, and Liam had just called him, talking about his trip. He excused himself from the noisy family kitchen, ignoring his Mother’s finger wagging at his phone, and stood outside in the cool December evening continuing the call.

  “Annette can cope very well, Liam, and you know it. And Davy has plenty to get on with. Besides which, I’ll only be a couple of days.”

  “Aren’t you staying the weekend to catch up with your mates?”

  “Maybe next time. I just want to see if they can help us. If it looks like extending beyond two days I’ll let you know.”

  “Aye well...All right then...I suppose.”

  “Can you nip out to Lilith’s with Keith and see if they can do a sketch of the girl. And try Joe Watson again for a sketch, he had the best view of her face of anyone.”

  Liam gave a lecherous laugh. “And the rest.”

  “And you can knock comments like that on the head right now, especially at Harrison’s briefing.”

  “What? Ach, boss. Do I have to go to that?”

  “Yes. It’s the only way to find out what’s happening elsewhere. One of the privileges of rank you’re so fond of mentioning. I bet you won’t feel so privileged after you’ve been to it. Davy is working with Des on the bullet.”

  “Is Des back then?”

  “Yes, on Monday. And D.I. McNulty is finishing up in Donegal this evening. She’s sent all the prints they found over to John, so follow up on those with her please.”

  “I’ll put Kevlar on before I go near her.”

  Craig laughed, more relaxed about Julia McNulty than he had been in months. “I’d better get back inside; I’m getting dirty looks through the kitchen window. And don’t worry, I’ll be on the phone every hour, trust me, if only to stop Annette and Nicky strangling you.”

  They cut the call and he went back into the warmth, sitting on the wide kitchen bench beside his sister. She smiled, and he noticed that she was looking tired. “What’s tiring you out, Luce? Partying?”

  “I wish! No, just work unfortunately.”

  She worked for a charity helping the growing immigrant population in Northern Ireland, and there’d been a recent spate of racism causing people to leave their homes. Uniform had told him that they’d seen her there trying to help.

  She brightened up quickly, grinning at him. “We’re planning a big rally at the City Hall next month. We’ve got people coming from all over the E.U.”

  Craig groaned loudly. That meant the tactical support gr
oup would get involved and he’d get ripped about her for weeks.

  “Don’t you moan at me. If you were in those people’s positions, you’d be glad we were doing it. Anyway, freedom of speech and all that, aren’t your lot supposed to uphold it?”

  “My lot! Listen miss, I must caution you that anything you say...”

  Tom Craig sat in the middle of the kitchen ignoring everything around him, reading his Scientific American while Murphy barked loudly at his feet. It was a technique that he’d perfected many years before when he’d had to write scientific papers in a house filled with two noisy children. And a pianist wife who was constantly practicing for some or other concert. He could tune out every single sound now.

  Of course, it had its dangers. Especially when he didn’t hear Mirella saying, “dinner’s ready” for the third time. Then it was likely to result in a bread roll thrown at his head, followed by a stream of incomprehensible Italian, the only safe response to which was a weak smile and next-day flowers.

  Both of their children spoke Italian but he’d never managed to get further than ‘amore’. Still, it kept the mystery alive. His reverie was rudely interrupted by a loud banging on the worktop.

  “Stop doing that, now.”

  They all turned, puzzled, towards the small dark-haired figure of Mirella Craig, unsure which one of them she was talking to.

  “All stop everything, now. You stop reading, you stop torturing your sister, and you stop up-winding your brother. Now eat!” So they did.

  Chapter Twenty

  Declan hadn’t slept all night from disbelief that Joanne was capable of killing someone, anyone...and especially for money. Could he ever kill? Perhaps to defend his kids or parents. Yes, he could definitely kill for them, but for money? No. That was a whole different type of cold.

  He shuddered. He couldn’t believe that he’d ever made love to Joanne now. Worse still, that his lovely daughters were fifty-percent from the evil bitch. Nature versus nurture. He just prayed to God that his genes were stronger.