The Grass Tattoo (#2 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (14 page)

“Joanne.” Whatever...

“Do you really think that the press here don’t know everything about politicians? It’s a tiny country; you can’t keep secrets in Northern Ireland. Anyway, he won’t give in to blackmail.”

“You said that already. But how the hell do you know? You would.”

“Yes, I would. But he’s not me and I know men. Watson will just tell you to ‘shove it’.”

She slumped abruptly in the preposterously expensive Corbusier chair he’d given her for their twentieth anniversary, and put her head down. Declan could see tears running down her cheeks and he instantly felt sorry for shouting. Then he shivered, as the white clenching of her fists said that they were tears of fury. He felt as if she was walking over his grave. No, not his...

She raised her head and looked at him and the room felt completely still. Her brown eyes were like slits and, combined with her darkened lips, the whole effect was pure movie evil. She didn’t say a word, she didn’t need to, Declan could see now that their argument about blackmailing Watson had just been a charade, put on for his sake.

She’d wanted him to argue that it wouldn’t work, it gave her just what she wanted, confirmation that there was only one option left. And it was something much worse. She’d been planning this all along. But for how long?

He couldn’t believe the thoughts running through his head, as he looked at his Malone Road wife sitting on her expensive anniversary present. Surely he must be wrong. But he wasn’t.

Joanne sat back, casually, drawing her long tanned legs up beneath her to form an elegant curve, a trick learnt from her student modelling jobs. Her eyes locked onto his and she carefully rested her empty glass on the black marble lamp-table. It was as if she was gauging his thoughts, while not caring, not even a little, what they were.

When she finally spoke, she was calm, all sign of hysterics gone. “You know I’m right Declan, you’ve just confirmed it.” She’d walked him straight into it. “He won’t be blackmailed. You said it. That means if he doesn’t cave in there’s only one way out of this.”

He froze, willing her to stop before she said the words that would end his love for her, end their marriage, and perhaps even ruin lives. He knew with certainty that theirs would be among them.

Every ounce of him willed her not to say it, but she did.

“If the blackmail fails, I’ll have to kill him.”

There, it was said. But she didn’t stop there. She was on a roll.

“Well of course, I won’t actually kill him myself, but he’ll have to be killed. Don’t you worry, I’ve organised everything. There’s no way it can be traced back to me.” His eyes widened as she talked. “I’ve done it before so don’t worry. Here’s what’s going to happen.”

***

Liam stared at the list that Davy had handed him, totally confused. When Leighton had hit the tarmac a day early, two hours ago, they’d been on him immediately, and they were on him now. He was heading to Donegal, somewhere that they could easily watch him, albeit from a distance. But that didn’t explain the list in his hand.

He looked down at the paper, puzzled. It held the names of nine countries, but what did they have in common? Apart from the fact that Leighton had spent the past twenty-four hours visiting their Embassies.

International energy partners? Or maybe he was buying a holiday home. Liam looked sceptically at some of the countries listed: he would need to wear a flak jacket with his sunglasses there.

He made a note for Davy to run more checks tomorrow and looked around the empty floor. Everyone else had the sense God gave them and had gone home, time that he was away too. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, catching sight of the wall clock. 10pm. Oh crap. Danni would kill him.

Ten was bad at the best of times, but his wife’s normally placid nature had been replaced with a temper that could melt glass in this pregnancy, so he knew that he’d get it in the ear. He stood up and stretched, smiling at the thought of his five-foot-four wife yelling up at him. He’d never admit it at work but he loved her dearly, and he couldn’t wait for this baby to be born. He loved kids, for their jokes and fun and unconditional affection. A sudden thought struck him and he smiled mischievously. No, he couldn’t wait for this baby to be born. Then they could start working on the next.

***

Bob Leighton pushed quickly through the front door, looking around for Kaisa. He found her in the kitchen. He stood hesitantly in the doorway, admiring her slim waist and pertly curved backside and instantly feeling guilty about Irene. He pushed it away quickly. There’d be time to mourn later. But right now, he had to get out of here, and he wanted Kaisa to get out with him.

She stood, washing a glass and pretending that she hadn’t seen him. She’d seen him all right, pulling hastily into the wide double drive, not even bothering to remove his travel bag from the boot. He’d nearly tripped over the suitcases in the hall in his rush.

She turned to him and smiled calmly, wiping her hands on a cloth. Then she moved slowly towards him, meeting him in the middle of the room. They both remained silent, all the talk about ‘the future’ that she’d known was coming, had already come on the phone last night. She’d agreed to pack the cases, leave Ben at his parents and get ready to go as soon as he arrived. Just for a few days, just to Donegal, just to talk. Both of them already knowing that Bob Leighton never intended to see Belfast again.

***

Liam yawned and smiled to himself, staring out the window at the bright morning. Danni had been in a sympathetic mood the night before, even though he’d got home very late. They’d spent a pleasant few hours researching names on the internet, agreeing on a shortlist for girls, but differing wildly on the boys. There was no way his son was being called Tristan! He pulled his mind reluctantly back to work, attempting to focus.

“Here, Davy. What’s the story with the print and D.N.A.? Any matches?”

Davy was swinging around in his chair energetically, and Annette was waiting for the wheels to come off, literally. He was in a good mood and they all knew why. His first date with Maggie was on Saturday and they’d all be eagerly awaiting an update on Monday. All except Nicky that was.

“Nope, nothing. Nowhere in the U.K. or Ireland, and nothing from Interpol yet. But I have news on your list, Liam.”

Annette stood up and leaned on her partition wall, curious. “What list?”

“The Met have been tailing Leighton for us since Wednesday.”

She looked at Liam competitively. “You told us that, yesterday.” Irritated at his ownership of the information when she was stuck finding background on Kaisa Moldeau, or not finding background more to the point. And not finding the lady herself to re-interview either.

Liam ignored her sharpness, putting it down to hormones, but only in his head. He could do without a feminist lecture; he’d learned the hard way to avoid those.

“Aye, but Leighton visited nine embassies in his London trip and Davy’s looking at the list, for connections, like.”

Before she could comment, Marc Craig strolled onto the floor, tiredly.

“You look exhausted, sir.”

Annette said it kindly and Craig nodded at her, smiling. “Busy week.” The truth was slightly different. Busy week followed by no sleep after Camille’s call. He’d overheard the last part of their conversation and picked it up quickly, still blushing under Annette’s maternal scrutiny.

“What have you found, Davy?”

“Nothing yet on the prints or D.N.A, but Liam’s list of countries is interesting.”

Craig put his hand out and Liam placed a copy of the list in it. He scanned it quickly.

“Non-extradition countries.”

Davy nodded at him, smiling, and Liam looked baffled.

“None of the countries on that list have an extradition agreement with the U.K, Liam.”

“What does that mean?”

Davy was sitting forward eagerly so Craig nodded him on, pulling over a chair.

“If there’s no extradition agreement, then the country w...won’t allow other countries to demand that people are deported back to them. S...So, if I commit a crime in Belfast and run to Venezuela, then even if the U.K. government ask for me to be s...sent back for trial, Venezuela won’t make me go. Brilliant isn’t it?”

Craig looked at him dryly. “I’m not sure brilliant is the right word, Davy. But I take your point.” Davy looked down, hiding a smile. Extradition appealed to his wilder side.

“You’re saying Leighton’s looking to do a runner?”

Annette interjected. “And those countries will grant him asylum, just like that?”

Craig yawned. “I imagine that he’s made some useful contacts through his job, but he’ll probably still have to pay them. I can’t see them going through the hassle just for love.”

“But why’s he gone to Donegal, boss?”

Craig looked at Liam, interested. “Since when?”

“Since two hours after he landed last night. He landed a day early at the City, belted home, collected Kaisa Moldeau, and then ran.”

Annette smarted; Liam had located the girl and she hadn’t. Then she smirked knowingly. “Oh, did he now? Was the little boy with them?”

Davy shook his head. “He’s at Leighton’s parents.”

“Leighton nipped over the border into Donegal, boss. We’re keeping a loose eye.”

Craig looked at Liam sharply. He should have called him last night with an update, but then,
he
really should have called-in to check. Camille had distracted him and he wouldn’t let it happen again.

The room fell quiet while they watched Craig thinking. What good would it have done for Liam to tell him? He was a good operational officer who hadn’t lost sight of Leighton from the moment that he’d hit London on Wednesday. Craig couldn’t have done any better himself.

And Bob Leighton wasn’t on bail; they didn’t even believe that he’d harmed his wife, so how could they have prevented him from going anywhere, even if he had seen the list last night? The truth was that they couldn’t have. Leighton could go to Timbuktu and they would be powerless to stop him.

Craig shot Liam a quick look without the others noticing and they both knew what it meant. ‘Keep me informed.’ Liam nodded imperceptibly in reply, knowing that it was a minor slip that could have been much bigger. Annette was still talking in the background.

“But, sir. Where can he get to from Donegal? He has to fly from somewhere and they’ve no airport.”

“Oh yes they do, Cutty. There are domestic flights to Dublin and Glasgow from Donegal Airport, near Carrickfin.”

Craig looked at Liam surprised, he’d never heard of it. Liam’s local knowledge was impressive. He nodded in respect, and continued. “He wouldn’t get far from there, Annette. But once he’s in the Republic he can travel around anywhere by road or train, and then fly from any one of nine airports.”

“But s...sir, we have an extradition agreement with the Republic.” Davy’s face said that he didn’t think it was fair.

“We do Davy, but Bob Leighton isn’t a criminal. And even if he was, any border transfer would take time. No, I think we’ve seen the last of Mr Leighton. He intends to get as far away from here as possible.”

Annette was surprised at Craig’s apparent lack of concern.

“But that will destroy our case, sir. We’ll never find Irene Leighton’s killer without him. And what about Kaisa? We haven’t ruled her out. She has no alibi for two days.”

Craig smiled quietly. “Leighton didn’t kill her, Annette. And we’ve plenty of other roads to our killer. The bullet, the print, D.N.A, tattoos...we’re a long way from running out of leads. And call it a hunch, but I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Ms Moldeau. She doesn’t sound the type to suit exile. My bet is that she’ll be bored with Bob Leighton long before he leaves Ireland.”

Chapter Twelve

Portsalon Donegal. Friday.

Kaisa propped herself up on one elbow and watched him. He slept like a child, curled up on his right side, with his left arm across his chest, as if he was guarding his heart. She’d decided months ago that he was quite good-looking, in a pale skinny way. His red-brown hair curled up at the base of his neck, just above the top of his spine, revealing the soft, vulnerable space in between. He was so unlike her Stevan, but not completely repulsive.

She watched and waited, her face expressionless, ready to morph into a facsimile of love as soon as he awoke. She knew what love was supposed to look like, God knows she’d been force-fed enough romantic movies by men over the years. Dragging her along to see them, as if it was hard-wired into the female psyche to like dreary stories of love and loss. All they did was make her yawn and long for a Wesley Snipes DVD.

But enduring them had served its purpose. She’d sat through them all, hugging their arms, looking up at the big strong men, sucking them into her net, to protect and adore her. Just long enough to give her what she needed.

In return, they’d taught her how people in love were supposed to behave. She knew exactly what was expected of her. That had always been her talent; she always knew what was expected of her. She’d never felt romantic love, but who cared, they could keep it. The only thing she loved, apart from Stevan, was money. And she took any currency.