The Grass Tattoo (#2 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) Read online

  She could see Davy at his desk straining to hear, so she beckoned him over. “Dr Winter, would you mind if I put you on speaker? So that Davy can listen?”

  “Not at all, good idea. Right, well. You’ll know that we didn’t get any prints at the hotel except Watson’s, from the girl’s handbag mirror?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, we’ve just had a break-through. There were some prints on the bathroom mirror. Her spray bandage must have washed off in the shower. We’ve eliminated the staff and room-cleaners, and no one else has stayed in that room for three weeks. Luckily, it’s the quiet season. So we were optimistic that they would belong to her. That’s just been confirmed.”

  “How?” She leaned forward excitedly and Nicky could see that something was up. She strolled over to join them, leaning on Annette’s cubicle-wall.

  “D.I. McNulty has been in Portsalon and they finished printing the house. Some fingerprints were found on the mirrors and...” He hesitated, embarrassed. “Well, they were also found on the headboard in the bedroom, so...”

  He didn’t need to finish the sentence, they all had imaginations. “Anyway, they match the ones found in the Castleton. Joe Watson and Bob Leighton were involved with the same girl.”

  Annette stayed silent, thinking, so Nicky jumped in. “That’s brilliant, Dr Winter, really brilliant.”

  “Yes, but there’s more. We have D.N.A. from the lipstick belonging to Joe Watson’s lover and we have D.N.A. from Bob Leighton’s body, his last sexual contact.”

  Davy could hear him getting shy again and jumped in to the rescue. “It confirms that W…Watson’s lover was also Bob Leighton’s”

  “Yes. And the piece de resistance is that D.I. McNulty had struck out completely for witnesses in Portsalon – no one had seen anyone with Bob Leighton. But there were some old takeaway boxes from lunchtime on Friday, so she went to the restaurant an hour ago and they said that a young woman with white-blonde hair had signed for the delivery.”

  “W…Why would she do that? She was trying to keep a low profile.”

  “Hunger I suppose, Davy. They probably had no food in the house if they arrived late on Thursday night. The delivery man is doing a sketch so we should have that this afternoon.”

  “Joe Watson is doing one now, and then Liam is getting onto Lilith’s. We should be able to confirm that it’s the same girl by later today. That’s brilliant, Dr Winter.” Kaisa Moldeau and Ausra Mitic could be the same woman.

  Davy interjected. “This matches with the sighting of a fair-haired woman at the two London shootings, and I’ve a call out to La Prefecture of police in Paris too.”

  “Dr Winter, do you want to call D.C.I. Craig with this information...” Annette hesitated, hoping. “Or shall I?”

  John smiled to himself generously. “You do it, Annette; I’ve got to get back to the print. We’re running it in every database we have, but no hits yet.”

  He was hardly off the line when Annette phoned Craig.

  ***

  “Here, Joe Watson is a busy wee boy. There’s hardly a committee up at Stormont that he isn’t on.”

  “He’s Enterprise Minister, Liam. Every department will want him at their meetings to get money out of him. But he can’t have attended them all personally. He would have sent his advisors to most of them, to report back.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “Have you never watched ‘Yes Minister’? It’s really funny.”

  Liam looked at her kindly. Annette found the Telly-Tubbies funny. She caught the look. “No honestly, it is. They’re making a new series. It tells you all you need to know about government. They spend all day in committees, and I can’t imagine Stormont’s much different.”

  “Aye well. His name’s on a lot of stuff up there, that’s all I’m saying. He sat on a few outside boards as well. Mostly dealing with public funds. There’s the Q.I.X., the F.I.W. and the S.F.F. Why do none of these things have a proper name? Why not just call them Fred or Mavis, it’d be a lot easier to remember.” Then he grinned lasciviously. “I can think of a few names that they’d never forget.”

  Annette tutted at him impatiently. “Give me the list and I’ll get Davy onto it. We need to find what was worth framing Watson for murder. He must have been about to lose someone money, or he’d already lost them money. Or…he was up to no good with someone else’s money. Agreed?”

  “That’s fair enough, but it’d be a damn sight easier if he’d just tell us, instead of clamming up. By every report on the man, he’s two things that point away from him being up to no good personally. He’s honest and he’s loaded. He didn’t need to do anything criminal to make money.”

  Annette nodded. Liam was right. “His wife says he gives a lot away secretly and doesn’t tell anyone, and he doesn’t even take his M.L.A.’s salary. So let’s concentrate on him losing someone else money. All these boards are involved in bringing contracts here, either building something or manufacturing something.”

  “Mostly building developments and I.T. projects, Cutty. Here, that fits with the Vors being into land development.”

  “Big land projects are a licence to steal. Let’s focus on land projects that Watson might have recently interfered with, or was about to. I’ll give Mrs Watson a call and see if he’d mentioned anything to her. And let’s get the kettle on; this is going to take a while.”

  Liam cast a covert look at his watch and Annette leapt at him immediately.

  “Don’t you dare think that you’re leaving all this to me, Liam Cullen. There’s far too much to get through.”

  “Sorry, but I’ll have to leave you to it for an hour. I’ve to go to Harrison’s briefings while the boss is away.”

  She snorted. “Well, if you want to play the big boss then you’re taking me...” she saw Nicky winking at her behind his back, “and all of us, to The James for dinner when you get back.”

  He bowed mockingly. “No problem. Or as the boss and Doc Winter would say ‘that will be entirely my pleasure.’”

  ***

  Liam was late, so he ran up the two flights to the twelfth floor, taking them three at a time, the advantages of being six-feet-six. The door to Terry Harrison’s office was closed and he could just make out the short, round shape of Eric Jenner propped against its glass panels. Good, Ross Ellis was delegating to his Inspector as well. He didn’t feel so out of place now.

  He knocked the door quietly, half-hoping that he would go unheard and could nip away, when the high thin voice of Terry Harrison came through the glass. “Eric, could you just open the door for Liam, please. Thanks.”

  Liam had forgotten that his huge frame and noisy entrances announced him long before he spoke. Jenner opened the door and looked slowly up at Liam, as the rest of the room’s occupants smiled. They looked like Morecombe and Wise.

  “Come in and find a surface to lean on, Liam. Sorry, we’re out of chairs. We haven’t started yet.”

  “Sorry, sir. I forgot all about it.”

  Harrison smiled, sardonically. “Now, that’s how to make me feel important.” The room collapsed in sycophantic laughter, then settled again quickly as Liam’s face reddened.

  “OK. Each section read through your reports quickly, please. Then I’ll summarise.”

  There were ten people in the office and it was going to take a while to get to Liam, so he drifted off into a daydream, trying to solve the case. Eventually, he heard something that made him listen.

  “338 Lapua, sir. Very unusual.”

  He looked around quickly and saw that Derek Cantor, the D.C.I. covering the Lisburn and Antrim areas was talking.

  “It happened at the Antrim charity race meeting earlier this afternoon. The intended victim was a Mr Declan Greer; he’s a partner in Greer L.L.P. He was watching the races from the VIP tent.”

  “Yes, I know of the Greers. They have the tallest office building in Belfast, the glass pyramid in the city centre. I met the man and his wife once, at some function.”


  “They’re both heavily involved in land development, sir. And he does a lot of charity work. ”

  Harrison nodded approvingly at the charity work, more so because he could claim association with the man.

  “Right. Go on.”

  “The attempted shooting took place at the start of the 2.40pm race. Mr Greer had been off to check the runners and riders and had just come back to the marquee five minutes before, to watch the race. Apparently there’d been a bit of a scandal in the tent earlier, when he announced to everyone that he intended to divorce his wife, Joanne. It seems it was the first that anyone had heard of it, and the announcement created a bit of an uproar, according to his friend, Neil Hurtham, who was there as well.”

  He flicked-open his notebook at the relevant page and quoted. “I couldn’t have been happier for Declan. Joanne’s a selfish, nasty bitch.”

  “No love lost there then. I have to say that I didn’t warm to the woman.” Of course you didn’t, sir.

  “It seems not, sir. Anyway, as Greer was watching the race start he heard something passing his left temple, near the ear. It was a single shot and the bullet lodged in the central pole of the marquee, that’s where we retrieved it. If it had hit him, he would have died instantly. He was pretty shocked so the medical examiner checked him out, but he’s fine now. And, as I mentioned, the bullet is a 338 Lapua Magnum. It’s very unusual, a sniper round...”

  “Usually shot from a SAKO TR-42 or an A.I.” Liam immediately realised that he’d just finished Derek Cantor’s sentence, and that everyone was looking at him.

  “Liam, can you help us on this?”

  “Sir, our case used the same bullet. Irene Leighton, the M.P’s wife.”

  Harrison nodded. Craig had briefed him but the name of the bullet had slipped his mind.

  “Wasn’t that a dissident murder, Liam?”

  Liam went to answer Cantor’s question, then hesitated politely. Harrison nodded him on.

  “It wasn’t the dissidents, sir. I’ll keep it short, but we now have reasons to think that Irene Leighton, and probably her husband Bob, were killed by professional contractors from overseas.”

  “But I thought Bob Leighton died of natural causes. Didn’t he have a family history of heart disease? S.A.D.S or something?”

  “He did, but Dr Winter did a second P.M for us and he was definitely murdered.”

  “Yes, I authorised that P.M. Good help?”

  “Very much, thank you, sir.” Craig would’ve been proud of his diplomacy.

  “Irene Leighton was killed using the same type of bullet that D.C.I. Cantor has just described, so what are the odds of them not being related somehow?” Liam had forgotten the ‘sir’ and considered going back for it, but Harrison didn’t seem to have noticed.

  “I agree. They were both professional killings, although thankfully he missed Greer. Still, damn close. To judge the distance and velocity of a bullet like that so accurately, this man is very talented.”

  Cantor spoke up. “We did a sweep of the likely shooter-site and found a lump of metal lying on the hilly ground, to the back of the hospitality pavilion. Forensics thinks that it could be the gun, and the shooter destroyed it deliberately.”

  Liam interrupted eagerly, forgetting where he was. “Who’s your forensic guy? I’ll get Des Marsham onto him.”

  Harrison nodded them on, interested in the exchange. “Tim Norris, I’ll send you his number, Liam. Anyway, I think that we have to look at the wife, Joanne Greer, as a possible killer, sir. She was dumped very publically about thirty minutes earlier. A woman in the tent, Phoebe Murtagh, admits that she got straight on the phone to Mrs Greer, as soon as her husband made the announcement that he was divorcing her.”

  What a friend.

  Harrison shook his head. “There may be a connection in there somewhere, Derek, but a professional hit couldn’t have been arranged that quickly. You said that everyone was shocked by the announcement about divorce, so Mrs Greer may not even have believed that he meant it.” It was said hopefully, and everyone in the room knew that Harrison was thinking of his own rocky marriage. “By all means work up the ‘woman scorned’ angle, but look for other reasons why someone wanted Declan Greer dead too. And see if there are any links with Liam’s case.

  Liam, continue with your investigation of the Leighton killings, with this new information and a possible link between the two in mind. Just bring D.C.I. Craig up to speed in London.”

  Harrison noticed the quizzical looks from others. “Marc’s in London on something else related to his case. The Met’s had two deaths using the Lapua, and there was a third one in Paris two years ago. The feeling is that we have an international hit man at work, and unfortunately he decided to pay us a visit.”

  ***

  Annette sat open-mouthed looking at the two sketches in front of her, kicking herself again for not making the connection earlier. The charcoal likenesses had all the detail of photographs. One was of the dark-blonde woman that Joe Watson had described, and the second had the white-blonde hair that Ian Sinclair was convinced of, the colouring just confirmed by the takeaway boy’s sketch of Bob Leighton’s companion. There was no question, they were the same woman. It was Kaisa Moldeau.

  ***

  Liam left Harrison’s office already pulling-out his phone to make the call. It rang five times and he was just about to give up when Craig finally answered. Liam could hear from the echo that he was in a stairwell too.

  “Hi. Is everything all right? Annette’s just been on.”

  “What for? No, don’t worry, I’ll ask her. I’ve just been to Harrison’s briefing, boss.”

  “Thanks for picking that up, sorry to lumber you.”

  “Actually it was good. Long story short, there was another Lapua shooting. Yesterday.”

  “Damn. Give me the details.”

  Liam filled him in, outlining what they’d agreed.

  “That’s great. E-mail the details to D.C.S. Chandak’s office.”

  “How do you spell that?” Craig laughed. Liam had trouble enough with Northern Irish names.

  “Nicky has the address. Send it over as soon as you can please, Liam. I’ll give John a call; you just get on with working Joe Watson. Is it Derek Cantor’s case?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right, I’ll give him a call as well then. That’s great. Thanks, Liam.”

  “Aye well, it’s not that great. We’re playing catch-up.”

  “Only by a few hours, don’t worry. They’ve just been doing the basics. We’ve picked it up at just the right time. I’ll call you later.”

  He clicked the call off and redialled immediately, getting John Winter’s secretary, Marcie. “He’s down with Dr Marsham, Mr Craig. I’ll just put you through.”

  Des answered the phone quickly, handing it over to John.

  “Hi, John. Do you know Tim Norris?”

  “Yes, I taught him on a training course last year. He’s from Glasgow. What about him?”

  Craig filled him in quickly. “Can you pick up that side of it with Derek Cantor’s team, and the ballistics on the bullet? We need to get all five shootings lined up for comparison. And could you send everything over to D.C.S. Chandak. Nicky can give you the details.”

  “I can, but the bullets might not give us anything, Marc. The ballistics won’t match if they’re from different rifles. But if we’re lucky, they might have a lot number that will show if they came from the same batch. Hang on for a second.” There was silence for a moment then John spoke again.

  “Des was just telling me that Norris has already been on. It seems that there was a metallic remnant at the possible shooter-site and they’re pretty sure that it’s the gun. But we’ll confirm that with the residue. I’ll put it all in my report.”

  “Thanks, John.”

  Craig rang off quickly and swiped into the bright open-plan office, where Yemi was sifting through The Met’s two cold cases. He sat down on the edge of the desk.

  “We�
�ve had another attempted killing. Using a 338 Lapua Magnum.”

  “When? Was it in Belfast as well?”

  “Today, twenty miles away at Antrim race course. At a charity fixture. Thankfully, they missed, but it would have been a single head shot to the left temple. This guy can really shoot. They managed to distance it so accurately that it had just enough momentum to lodge in the tent pole.”

  “Definitely the same calibre?”

  “Yes. The intended victim was a businessman. The team that picked it up are playing it as a wife’s revenge killing. But it can’t be totally unrelated to the others, there has to be a link. The odds of such an unusual round being used in two shootings in a small place like Northern Ireland are miniscule.

  We think that they might have destroyed the gun and left it at the scene. It just looks like a lump of metal now but it might still give us something. Our Director of Pathology will send over his findings later this afternoon. ”

  Yemi looked at him shocked. “Man, that’s quick. We would be waiting a whole week here.” Craig laughed.

  “It would be four days for us normally, but he’s a friend. One of the benefits of a small place. Is the D.C.S. free? I need to bring him up to date, and then we can sit down with all five reports and see what they have in common.”

  As he approached the glass office Craig could see that Rajiv Chandak was alone. He knocked the glass door gently and was waved in.

  “Anything new?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve just had a call from my D.I. There’s been another shooting outside Belfast using the Lapua. It happened earlier today and another area’s team picked it up, so we’ve just caught it. They’re following it through as a wronged wife murdering her husband, but it has the hallmark of our man. The reports are being compared and they’ll be with us later. So I thought Yemi and I could spend an hour or so then, comparing all five murders to see what we can connect. If that’s ok?”

  The D.C.S. nodded thoughtfully and Craig leapt into the silence. “The sniper missed this time.”

  Chandak sat forward urgently. “A miss. Explain please.”