The Grass Tattoo (#2 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (9 page)

“I’m going to London to try to borrow the money, you avaricious bitch.”

“Good, glad to hear it. I look forward to seeing you when you get back on Friday.”

“How did you know I was back on Friday?”

“You can’t hide from us anywhere, Bobby. Remember that.”

*** 

John stood by the ballistics’ lab door taking one last look at his light show. He’d finally worked it out. The bullet was identified, ready to be matched with the rifle, if they ever found it. He corrected himself mentally, when, not if. And now the bullet’s angle and speed of trajectory had been calculated to within half a millimetre.

He knew that he should be pleased with himself for succeeding, even once, in Des’ domain, but all it showed was that they were dealing with a professional. And if they’d been that professional in their aim, they’d be equally professional in their disappearance. Marc had his work cut out on this one.

John shrugged, resigned to the knowledge that too many murders were never solved. Then he smiled. Craig’s fail rate was much lower than average. He’d find their killer, if they could be found. He flicked off the light and left the safety of his clean, sterile world, to get ready for his squash match, and the much messier, less safe one of romance. He felt nervous already.

***

Joe Watson pulled off the Bangor Road into the layby outside the high wooden gates of his detached home and the gates opened slowly inwards. He was grateful that they’d been shut, needing the ten-second delay before he pasted on the smile of a devoted husband, one that he’d have to wear all evening.

He could already hear Caitlin’s kitten heels crunching down the path, accompanied by the bark of her small terrier, knowing that his own giant Airedale would be resting sensibly by the fire in the cool December evening. His thoughts ran frantically through the day’s events, crushing-in one last moment of remembering.

Remembering what? The woman that he’d always loved but never owned, not since they’d been young, and free. Before life had ground them both down. Remembering the promise that he’d made to her; a promise that he had really meant, but that she had broken. Remembering their child; the happy, sweet girl whose loss had broken them both, and put a wall between them that he’d eventually been too weak to climb.

The gate was open far too soon and he looked through the car windscreen at his attractive wife, whom he loved, but obviously not enough. He smiled at her in reflex, but without feeling, hardly seeing her at all. And then he drove in for another evening of charades, counting backwards to Irene, and forwards to next Monday night.

***

Craig turned up the C.D. player and accelerated up the M2, nearing Limavady, hoping that he’d soon feel better about the call that he’d just taken. Nicky hadn’t wanted to phone him, but Susan Butler, Harrison’s austere P.A. had insisted upon it, and no one sensible ever argued with Mrs Butler. He smiled at the certainty that Nicky was already planning her revenge.

He wasn’t annoyed by the call, just irritated with Harrison. And astounded that he thought it was acceptable to summon him back from Limavady just to placate a bunch of journalists. As if he was really going to come! Maybe he’d call the Chief Constable and accept the superintendent’s post. At least it would stop Harrison being his boss anymore.

He mused for a few miles further, against a background of ‘Run’ by Snow Patrol and then turned sharp right into Limavady’s Victorian police headquarters, flashing his badge at the lad on the gate, and parking near the building’s low front entrance.

He took the three flights of stairs two at a time and arrived at the long office corridor, still breathing normally. The workouts were definitely paying off, time to add in a few weights. He slowed his pace, eventually reaching Julia McNulty’s office. But before he could knock, the door opened inwards, sharply, and she stood in front of him with a face like thunder, ready to rant.

“I’ve just had Harrison’s office on, shouting about you ‘coming to see me for coffee’ when you should be at some press conference in Belfast. Thanks very much for getting me the blame for whatever you’re up to!”

The words flew out without punctuation, in her crisp light accent, and Craig couldn’t stop himself from smiling, both happy to see her and amused by the tirade. He looked down affectionately at the absurdly pretty, absurdly angry woman in front of him.

A red curl from her chignon was straying onto her cheek, like an escaping prisoner and he wanted to reach forward and stroke it back, already knowing that the action would earn him a slap. He wouldn’t do it anyway, it wasn’t fair on her, but he gifted himself a moment longer, drinking in her beauty.

Her soft blue eyes were on fire, set against flushed cheeks sprinkled lightly with glitter-fine freckles. His eyes moved unbidden down her fine up-turned nose to her curved lips, remembering their kisses that evening months ago, and his overwhelming desire to repeat the event. He was dragged rudely from his reverie by the sheer volume of her next words.

“And then, she had the cheek to tell me to send you right back. As if I’m a bloody delivery service!”

He slipped easily past her through the gap by the door, and entered the office, lifting a seat from the wall and seating himself calmly at her desk. She turned around quickly, incensed by his cheek, and sat down proprietarily in her chair. Her office.

She stared at him with a mixture of anger and affection, trying desperately to hide the latter, while he didn’t at all.

“Mind if I help myself to coffee?” The words were only a courtesy, he was already doing it. He returned to his seat and took a sip of the too-hot drink, knowing immediately that she’d brewed it fresh for his visit, and encouraged by the sign.

“Don’t worry about Mrs Butler; she’s just letting off steam.”

She half-smiled, and then stopped herself, determined not to be charmed. She was ex-army and war had been declared between them two months ago. She was in ‘no surrender’ mode today.

“Why did you ask for this meeting, D.C.I. Craig?”

He didn’t answer, just smiled at her infuriatingly and she continued, flustered. “I’m very busy, and it seems that you are too.” She sniffed. “Although you obviously take your duties less seriously than I do.”

She’d scored and he bristled, then he spotted what she was doing. He’d read Sun Tzu’s ‘Art of War’ as well. He controlled his temper and leaned forward, placing his cup on the desk slowly, and as he relaxed, so did she and they fell into a less hostile silence.

Finally, he spoke. “The conference is a token to appease the press, so that they can write something bland and justify their own oxygen. The D.C.S. is just flexing his muscles.”

She interrupted him quickly. “So are you, and I’m getting caught in the middle. I...”

He held both hands up signalling truce and she stopped abruptly, letting him speak. “We caught a tricky case this morning that involves politicians, so Harrison is covering his back. That’s all the press conference was about, appeasing the local hacks.” She could see him getting angry now. “We don’t have anything solid yet, and he shouldn’t be going near the press, so I’m damned if I’m supporting it by standing beside him while he name-drops.”

“That’s all they wanted you back for?”

“Yes.”

She smiled at him, then realised that she had, and turned away abruptly, towards her computer. She stared at the screen as she spoke. “Why did you want to meet me, D.C.I. Craig? I’m in a hurry to get home.”

She realised immediately that her tone was too abrupt for a senior officer, even one who’d hurt her, and she rushed for a balance, overbalancing on the way.

“My brother is here. I promised to cook...We don’t get to see each other often...we...”

Craig could see her getting flustered and rescued her, kindly. “Is he older or younger?”

“Younger…by seven years. He’s a doctor at Peter’s Hill in Enniskillen.”

Then she realised that they were being friendly again, and stopped. He wasn’t her friend, he was her senior officer and her...What? Possible past lover. Except he wasn’t. Possible future? No, she couldn’t allow herself to think that, or hope that. Back to business.

“Why did you want to meet with me, D.C.I. Craig?”

Craig sighed. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him, and half of him knew that she shouldn’t. So he pulled out the copy of the file that they both knew he could have posted to her, and they had their meeting. Their relationship would have to wait for another day.

Chapter Nine

Joe Watson stared at the clock tiredly. Six am. He still had an hour. He looked at the empty space beside him, relieved. Caitlin had left for Pilates and he had the place to himself, just him and the dogs. He needed the time to think.

Not about Irene. No. He couldn’t let himself think about her, or he’d get nothing done. Except…He wondered if he could send flowers, would that be OK? Or hypocritical when her husband and he were political rivals? But did that really matter when the flowers were for her, for them. For Rebecca.

He pushed his emotions down and thought about Tuesday night’s S.F.F. meeting, and yesterdays with John Cabot. He’d been shocked on Tuesday, although in retrospect he really shouldn’t have been. Everyone had known that Ron Burgess was an idiot, and a crooked idiot to boot, there was no surprise about that.

But that the whole Foundation had been fooled, that
had
shocked him. Politicians and business people together,
all
denying that there was anything wrong with Horizon. Honestly Minister. That was where he and doubt had parted company, he was certain that at least some members of S.F.F. were up to their ears in fraud.

A last vain hope rose in him, maybe he was wrong, maybe all the contracts were kosher, maybe Horizon would be built and this was all just him being suspicious. But as soon as it rose, the hope died again. This was fraud on a massive scale: he knew it. And the Commissioner for Public Conduct agreed with him.

***

As Craig followed John down the ballistics’ lab corridor, he could have sworn that he saw him saunter. Yes, there it was again, a definite spring in his step. He decided that banter was in order.

“Good squash game, John?”

Winter took the bait innocently. “Yes actually, it was. I won four games to one. Natalie wasn’t too pleased, though.”

John was happy and Craig was pleased for him. As long as he’d known him he’d never had a serious relationship, and he’d never understood why. He was kind and chivalrous, a New Age Knight in every way, and attractive, Lucia had told him so. So Craig could only put it down to; wrong girl, wrong time or ‘the job’, plumping for the last.

Few women would or could tolerate their 24/7 sense of duty, but Natalie seemed different, she never complained about John working too hard. She was a surgeon and even Craig didn’t work the gruelling hours that they did. John’s voice broke through his thoughts, his next words surprising him.

“I really like her, Marc.”

Craig was astounded, it was the closest that John had ever got to saying he was in love. He was pleased he’d confided in him.

“She’s great, John.”

John hesitated. “I know, but I’m...I’m not great about showing it. I don’t really know how. Now she...she wants to meet my family.”

John had been the much-loved only child of parents in their forties when he was born. They were academics, bemused by children and childhood generally, while unconditionally adoring their small son. But he had grown up shy and solitary, until he’d met Marc Craig.

After that, he’d never been away from the Craig’s lively house, with his parent’s blessing, relieved that their overly adult twelve-year-old was finally behaving like a child. Now that both of his parents were dead, the Craigs were the only family that he had.

Craig thought of something. Tomorrow was Friday and that meant that his mother would insist on the full Italian family dinner, plus guests.

“Bring Natalie to my folk’s tomorrow evening.”

An immediate look of gratitude crossed John’s face, followed by one of abject terror. Mirella Craig was quite an experience, even for him. Craig laughed, knowing exactly what he was thinking, and warmed to the idea.

“It’ll be great. Natalie and my Mum will get on brilliantly, you wait.”

John looked at him warily, and then said hopefully. “Will Lucia be there? Natalie and she could chat.”

Craig’s younger sister could chat to anybody, at length, about anything. She worked for a charity and cared about everyone, passionately, so he was certain they would find plenty of common ground. He laughed at John’s anxiety.

“Don’t worry. Lucia will keep Mum in check. And she won’t let her ask Natalie her intentions towards you.”

John smiled nervously, that was exactly what he was worried about. Since his parents had died, Mirella had acted as if she was his mother as well, and they both knew that was exactly what she’d ask.

“At least it’ll make a change from her pushing me to get married.”

“Oh, thanks Marc.” Then he smiled, blushing slightly and warming to the idea. “I’d love to come. But let me ask Natalie before you tell your Mum.”