Read The Grass Tattoo (#2 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) for Free Online Page A

Leighton had been spared that horror. He realised that he’d been too optimistic after John’s next words.
    “I believe the injuries were caused in a struggle, while she was still alive, possibly to insert the note. I think the left was her dominant hand, so she used it to fight with. Her husband can confirm that.”
    He closed his eyes for a minute, as if preparing for the worst.
    “Her feet tell the rest of the story. As well as the tattoo on her back, there’s a fresh one on the sole of her right foot. We didn’t notice it at the scene because she had her shoes on. It might be linked to the tattoo on her back, but it’s much newer.”
    Craig tensed, already guessing what came next.
    “It was tattooed within thirty minutes of her death, Marc.” John paused and cleaned his glasses, like he always did when he was unhappy. Craig said nothing, just looked down at their victim sadly, waiting for him to restart.
    “The tattoo was so fresh that it was still bleeding, while she either walked or ran barefooted onto an area of grass. It was probably the grass at Stormont, but we’re awaiting confirmation of that. Her shoes were on when she was found, but her killer could easily have replaced them after she died.”
    Then he delivered the words that outlined Irene Leighton’s final ignominy too clearly.
    “The grass attached itself to the tattoo as the blood clotted.”
    As he talked, he lifted the sheet to reveal the sole of Irene Leighton’s right foot, and Craig could clearly see the mixture of ink, blood and grass, combining to form exactly what John said next. “It’s a grass tattoo, Marc.”
    Craig looked at him horrified; this was something that neither of them had seen before. Irene Leighton’s back had been tattooed two to three days earlier, and then her right foot tattooed thirty minutes before she’d been brought to Stormont that morning. There, she had either walked or run bare-footed across the grass, so that its wet blades had embedded in her fresh wound. She’d been shot and lain face-down in front of Parliament Buildings in the shape of a cross, or lain down and then shot through the back. Her shoes had been replaced, and finally, a note had been forced into her hand as she was dying. Craig shuddered. It was chilling.
    Neither man spoke as they returned to John’s office and sat there in silence for several minutes; thinking about Irene Leighton’s suffering. Craig formulating scenarios and questions for her husband, and John wondering about the bullet.
    Finally, John removed a cardboard file from his desk drawer, setting it in front of his friend. Craig stared silently at it for a moment and then removed the photographs inside, spreading them across the desk. They both stood, looking down at them. Two were of special interest. One, of the area below Irene Leighton’s left scapula, the other, of the sole of her right foot. They were tattooed in the same ink and style.
    The image on Irene Leighton’s back was easily recognisable, a Madonna and child, a symbol of many Christian and orthodox religions. The excoriated image on her foot was less clear. John had magnified it and Craig could see that it was writing, but it wasn’t made up of English words, and it wasn’t in any script that he recognised .
    «Я здесь и я жду».
    What did it mean?
    John interjected, reading his thoughts. “I’m pretty sure it’s the Cyrillic alphabet. Used in Russia and some other eastern countries. I’ve sent it off to be translated, so we should have it back later. The design on her back is interesting, and so is the note.”
    Yes, they were. A Madonna and child. And the number 10. But what was the connection? And what had they to do with Stormont? Craig was more puzzled than he’d been in a long time, but at least he had more to go on than before, so he stood up quickly to go, ready for another session with their victim’s husband.
    “Will you be back for the translation?”
    “Davy will call you.