The Grass Tattoo (#2 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (25 page)

“His father?”

“Yes, Robert Leighton senior, his father. He was high up in government here for years. Everyone knew him, and respected him.”

Annette’s interest in local politics was zero, so she sincerely hoped that someone’s back at the ranch was higher. She swallowed, forming her next question as diplomatically as possible.

“Did your husband have any direct dealings with Mrs Leighton? Perhaps in her charity work?”

Caitlin Watson just stared at her uncomprehending, and then laughed lightly. “Joe? Charity work! He’s a good man, but not a saint. No, I don’t think he ever met Irene except at functions. Why?”

Annette closed her notebook and slipped it into her handbag, standing to go. The woman in front of her obviously knew nothing that could help them.

“Just general background questions, Mrs Watson. That’s been very helpful, thank you. I’ll leave you now.” She extended her hand and the other woman shook it without rising. “I’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”

Then, without giving Caitlin Watson time to ask ‘what questions’, she was out of the door and into her car, heading back to Docklands.

***

The briefing had been called for three and everyone had gathered, ready, apart from Davy. Craig nodded Annette on and she’d just started reporting when Davy hurtled in, raising a hand in apology and sliding his chair in beside Liam’s.

“I did my best not to give Mrs Watson any clues, sir. And she didn’t seem to pick up on anything.” Annette paused for a moment, looking wistful. “You should see the house. My whole downstairs could fit into the living room. And the decor...”

“How the other half live, eh, boss.”

“You mean how the other five-percent live nowadays, Liam.”

Annette smiled at Craig, continuing. “The only contact they had with Irene Leighton was at charity functions; Mrs Leighton ran a number of fund-raisers.”

“Did Joe ever see her separately, Annette?”

“Not as far as Mrs Watson was aware. And I think she was being truthful, sir.”

“The wives are always the last to know...”

Annette turned on Liam angrily. “God, Liam. Do you have to drag everything into the gutter? There’s no sign that Joe Watson was having an affair with Irene Leighton.”

Craig looked at her ruefully. “I’ll come back to that in a minute, Annette. Carry on.”

“You mean he was?”

Craig shook his head sadly, not answering, and waved her on.

“Apparently Bob Leighton is crooked. Everyone knows that he fiddles his expenses and maybe more.”

“Did she give you any details?”

“No. But she did say that Joe hated him. No, sorry, she said he loathed him.”

“That’s worse, isn’t it, boss?”

“It’s certainly sounds like it. Anything else?”

“No. Nothing, sir. I didn’t get any sense that there was animosity between Mrs Watson and Irene Leighton at all.”

“OK, thanks. Davy?”

“Yes, s...sir. As you know I’ve been downstairs with Ross Ellis, from counterterrorism.” Davy laughed. “He w...was having a cig when we arrived.”

Craig smiled. Ellis had been addicted to nicotine since university. One of the last surviving smokers. Him and Julia McNulty.

“Who’s we, lad?”

“I introduced Davy and then left them to it. Did Ross throw any light on the bullet, Davy? Or the Vors?”

“None. And he looked really w...worried when I left. He was already calling D.I. Hamill.”

It was just as Craig had thought; the Vors had no presence in Northern Ireland. If they were here now it was for a specific reason.

“Liam?”

“Nothing much, boss. The prints match Watson and we’re waiting for the D.N.A. to come back. When we lifted him, either he did a good imitation of knowing nothing about Bob Leighton’s murder, or he was telling the truth. We’ve sent his prints to London, on a long shot, but I doubt they’ll match anything else. Oh, and Bob Leighton was playing golf in Scotland on the lost weekend before he went to Dublin. Innocent enough but he obviously didn’t want the wife to know.”

Craig nodded. “Detachment rules.”

“What?”

“It’s a military expression. It refers to when you are away playing and tell no one the details. OK, then. As you all know, Liam and Annette picked Joe Watson up at Stormont at lunchtime and brought him in for interview on a voluntary basis. That has now been made more formal since his prints matched. But I still
don’t think that he had anything to do with Irene Leighton’s murder. In fact, I’m sure that he didn’t, although I’m certain that his D.N.A will match that found on the cigarette. By the way Annette, did his wife confirm that he smoked?”

Annette nodded. “Yes, then went into a rant about how awful it made the house smell.”

Liam leaned forward, looking serious. “Why so sure he’s innocent, boss? The prints look pretty convincing.”

Craig shook his head. “Too convincing. I was convinced that he didn’t do it before the interview, and I’m positive of it now.”

“What did he say, sir?”

“First of all, he was devastated by Irene Leighton’s death and he had no idea that Bob Leighton was dead until I told him.” Craig was like a lie detector and they knew that he wouldn’t have been fooled.

“W...why devastated?”

Craig looked down sadly, and what he said next surprised them all. “Because he loved her, Davy.”

Liam opened his mouth ready with cynicism, but Craig kept going. “Twenty-two years ago.”

“What?”

“But she was only eighteen, sir”

Craig nodded. “And he was thirty.”

“Dirty old man.”

“Here Davy, don’t you be too quick to say thirty’s old, you’re only five years off.”

“I meant the age-gap.”

Annette was nodding furiously in the background as Craig continued. “Yes, that was an issue, but it seems to have been a genuine relationship.”

He paused and looked down, his next words quiet. “Irene Leighton, or Irene Hannigan as she was known then, became pregnant. Watson wanted them to get married, so they went to England.”

Davy leaned forward, innocence written all over him. “W...Why didn’t they stay here?”

Annette turned to him gently. “It was 1990, Davy. You were only three. But a girl who got pregnant and wasn’t married in Northern Ireland back then, would have got a very hard time from her family.”

Liam nodded. “Even worse if she lived in the country.”

“And the man?”

“A bit, but not as much, lad.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Craig nodded, agreeing. “But it’s the truth, Davy. Equality wasn’t always what it is now. Anyway, they left for London and the baby was born, a little girl called Rebecca.” The ‘R’ on the baby bracelet.

“They were planning to marry and return home afterwards, when...” He hesitated. “The baby died at three months from S.I.D.S.”

Liam and Davy looked at him blankly, and Annette nodded. “Cot-death.”

The room fell silent, until eventually Craig broke it. “Watson wanted them to get married, but Irene Leighton was grieving so badly that she pushed him away and flew home to be with her family. He stayed in London and joined Goldbergs’ Bank. The rest is history.”

“She married Bob Leighton two years later, sir.”

“Yes. And Watson married wife number one, and then Caitlin fifteen years ago. But that’s not all he told me.”

“I bet that he and Irene Leighton were seeing each other again.”

Annette glared at Liam and then looked at Craig for denial. He shook his head and she smiled. “You see, Liam, not everyone’s unfaithful to their wives. Caitlin Watson has a good marriage.”

The way Craig shook his head again told her that she was wrong.

“Sorry Annette. Liam’s half-right. Watson
was
having an affair.”

Liam’s smug look annoyed even Davy, and he knocked Liam’s elbow away, making him fall forward.

“But not with Irene Leighton, Liam.”

A shocked Davy stared at him. “God, are you over forties always at it?”

Craig smiled ruefully, understanding his twenty-five-year-old perspective.

“I can see where you’re coming from, Davy. Watson has been seeing a girl for a few months, and by all accounts he’s fallen hard for her.”

“Girl?”

“Sorry, woman. Late twenties.”

“Even dirtier old man.”

“
Was
seeing her?”

“She hasn’t returned his calls since yesterday.”

“That’s a convenient disappearing act.”

“I know, but I still believe him. He’s not helping himself though; he won’t say anything about her.”

“Hoping that she’ll come back, sir?”

“Something like that. He says he loves her.”

Craig shrugged; men were good at deluding themselves. He’d believed Camille was coming back for years. And just when he’d finally stopped hoping, she’d reappeared.

“He was planning to leave his wife for her.” He turned to Annette quickly. “Do you think Caitlin knew, Annette?”

Annette shook her head slowly. “I honestly don’t think so. But I could be wrong. I’ll question her again.”

“Watson won’t give me a name or a description for the girl.”

“But she would have been in the perfect position to get his prints and frame him, sir. So would his wife.”

“She’d have plenty of access to his D.N.A., boss.”

Annette shot Liam a warning look to keep it clean, as Craig continued.

“I agree with both of you. And if Watson won’t tell us about her, we’ll interview his bodyguards. They’ll definitely describe her.”

***

Julia was secretly pleased that he’d asked her, especially after her coolness during his last visit. It showed that he trusted her professionally, as she did him, but only professionally now. She pulled out her badge and showed it to the blue-uniformed Irish policeman guarding the
white villa. They’d
sealed it off at Dr Winter’s request, once it became clear that Bob Leighton hadn’t died naturally. Two men had been guarding it day and night since then, preserving what little evidence might be left.

She
lifted the crime-scene tape and walked slowly up the path, looking at the expensive house set in its private ocean driveway, where Bob Leighton had breathed his last. She stood on the elevated front step for a minute, looking out at the view. Portsalon beach stretched out below them for half a mile, sweeping towards the Atlantic Ocean inlet. It was a bright, dry day and there were crowds of people milling across the white sand, making it feel like summer.

She could just make-out a rider ready to mount a black horse, and a kite-flyer with his bright red charge, his finger pointing high in the air looking for the wind. A little family, the mother laden down with clothes and beach toys, was walking towards a shaded area just north of the house. Her toddlers running behind her like baby ducks. It was idyllic and she wished that Craig were here to see it.

Just then a small, uniformed officer tapped her on the back, waking her from her daydream and she shook Marc Craig from her head, turning to enter the house

“We’re ready for you now, Inspector.” His accent was lilting and soft and Julia could feel her own softening in reply. “That’s grand. Thank you.”

She ducked as she walked through the low front door and was immediately surprised. The ceiling rose spectacularly into a wide open-plan living area. It was enormous; one thousand feet of cream-carpeted luxury. Two squashed-leather sofas were angled in front of a wide, open fireplace, with an imitation animal rug lying in front of it. At least she hoped that it was imitation. She had a sudden vision of Bob Leighton frolicking naked on it and shuddered.

She wandered through the rooms slowly, the luxury growing with every high-ceilinged bedroom, and marbled ensuite. Finally she returned to the living room and sat down on a sofa, reaching into her pocket for the list that Annette had e-mailed through. Bob Leighton had been murdered, which meant that his murderer had definitely been here. Was it his son’s nanny? Was she capable of murder? Or was she a victim as well? She’d certainly disappeared.

No one but police and ambulance staff had entered since his death, so any forensics that they found should link to Leighton’s killer. But they’d be here for days finger-printing the place, unless they narrowed it down somehow.

He’d died in bed after recent intercourse and Julia knew that Annette was right. The only person that he would have let close enough to kill him in bed was his lover. And he’d left Belfast with Kaisa Moldeau - although it was unlikely that was her real name.

She looked at the list closely. Annette had identified all of the places that a woman might have touched. Julia smiled at some of them. In the kitchen: sink, cooker, fridge door. Dishwasher door, low cupboards more likely than high, cleaning materials and the bin. In the bathroom: mirrors, bath-taps etc.

But it was the bedroom that was the best. Apart from the expected mirrors and wardrobe doors, Annette had added one that really made her laugh; bed headboard, top and front. Naughty, naughty, Annette.