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

What time suits?”
    “Any time before six. I’ve a squash game at seven, up at Queens.”
    “Who’s your victim?”
    John had competed in squash for the university and had won every match that he’d played. Every other sport had been Craig’s domain, but squash wasn’t called ‘jet-propelled chess’ for nothing, and what John lacked in strength he made up for in strategy. It was perfect for him. Craig just wished that his coordination on the court carried into normal life, but one glance at his office was coffee-stained proof that it didn’t.
    He immediately looked shy, and Craig knew who he was playing.
    “It’s Natalie Ingrams, isn’t it?”
    He nodded, embarrassed. Not because there was anything wrong with Natalie, but because everything was right about her. He was falling hard and Craig knew exactly how that felt.
    “She’s not bad at squash, you know.” It was high praise, but Craig decided not to tease him, turning back to the case to save his friend’s blushes.
    “Davy will call you later. Liam’s busy checking Leighton’s alibi, and Annette’s at the house interviewing the nanny.” He paused for a second.
    “It’s unlikely that Leighton did this, John. He’s been in Dublin for days.”
    John nodded. “He was very cut-up when he I.D.ed her. I think he really loved her. But where did he think she was all week?”
    “At her mother’s in Fermanagh. Of course, he could have arranged for someone else to kill her, but why, if he loved her? You were right about children, they have a son.”
    “I’d be surprised if there weren’t more, Marc. The bracelet around her neck was the right size for a baby girl.”
    Like Lucia’s. Craig nodded briskly and headed quickly for the door. “I’ll call you later.” Then he turned and smiled. “And let Natalie win a game this time.”
    ***
    The re-interview with Bob Leighton yielded some more information, although how useful it would be in finding their killer remained to be seen.
    He had a son, Ben, three-years-old, a precious baby after many years of trying. He was at home with the nanny, Kaisa. But there were no other children and Leighton had never even asked his wife about the bracelet around her neck. It indicated a level of indifference that took Craig’s breath away.
    Yes, he’d been away for the past four days, in Dublin for the last two, back for a meeting of the Strategic Finance Foundation at Stormont last night. But he wouldn’t disclose his location for the first two days; ‘no-commenting’ Craig into frustration. His solicitor was briefing him well and Craig couldn’t insist on Leighton telling them. He wasn’t under arrest. Yet.
    Yes, his wife often went to stay with her elderly mother in the Fermanagh Lakelands, in a small village near Enniskillen called Belleek, where the porcelain came from. Craig knew of it, his mother had a set.
    No, he hadn’t spoken to her that week, but then that wasn’t unusual. They often went for days without speaking, more often now that he was in Westminster.
    Of course their marriage was fine, absolutely fine, why wouldn’t it be? And do you really need to ask such personal bloody questions when my wife has just been killed, D.C.I. Craig? I’m a victim here too.
    Craig was astounded at his selfishness, insisting on equal victimhood with a dead woman. But they’d exhausted every option they had without charging him, so after another wasted hour he headed for the lift, taking it the eight floors back to the squad. He was fitter, but not that fit yet.
    Annette McElroy, his sergeant, was still out, so when he entered the floor only his personal assistant Nicky, and Davy Walsh their technical analyst, were there. He strolled past Nicky’s desk quietly, praying for temporary invisibility. No such luck.
    “Good afternoon, sir. Your diary says that you have half an hour free, that’s if you haven’t booked yourself something.”
    She gave him her best ‘head-teacher’ look for daring to fill his