The Grass Tattoo (#2 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (40 page)

Annette finally brought the conversation back to the case, to a chorus of ‘kill-joy’.

“Kaisa must have done a lot of research on both men, sir. She tailored her looks to suit each of them. She was a dark-blonde, like Caitlin, for Joe Watson.”

“And his first wife Jenny, she was dark-blonde as well.”

“And apparently Leighton’s mother and sisters all have light blonde hair and are very petite.”

“But her hair was naturally w…white-blonde anyway, Annette.”

She looked at Davy kindly. “Yes, but if Leighton had come from a family of brunettes she would probably have died it dark for him. She gave each of them what they wanted, and got them eating out of her hands. People often fancy the same type, or someone who looks like a family member. There’s lots of research on it.”

They paused and thought of the implications for their own lives. Craig smiled widely, thinking of John. Natalie was a ringer for his late mother Veronica, and every bit as eccentric. But had Kaisa Mitic really been that clever?

“It can’t be that simple to get things out of people, Annette.”

Annette smiled and started laughing to herself. “Sir, no disrespect, but have you
really
no idea how stupid men are sometimes?”

He laughed. “Well, Lucia tells me often enough. Go on then.”

“She was beautiful. Stunning in fact. She played vulnerable and completely pliable with both men. And she probably…”

“Bonked their brains out, Cutty?”

“God Liam, do you have to be so basic? I was going to say that she seduced them. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted from both of them. She got expensive perfume, jewellery, and money from Joe Watson. And she got the offer of a home and protection from Bob Leighton, from both of them in fact. She didn’t need to ‘get’ anything out of them.” She paused for effect. “They volunteered it, just to impress her.”

The three men sat silent for a moment, while what she’d said hit them. She was absolutely right. Every one of them had told or given a woman something, to impress her about how clever, rich or strong they were. It was all about sex, and it was powerful enough to bring down Presidents, mostly the male ones.

“You’re right; some men really are that stupid.”

“I know. Great isn’t it?” And she and Nicky smiled at the weaker sex’s strongest, and most politically incorrect weapon. Lust.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sharm El Sheikh. Egypt.

Stevan yawned loudly and reached for his drink, relaxing in the sun’s warmth. He had never seen winters like this in Serbia, or wealth. He lifted his sunglasses and looked around the hotel pool, eyeing the bikinied women with their long, glossy limbs. One of them had caught his eye in the bar the evening before. He could see her now, lean and edgy, her costume just
that side of avant-garde, and her reading material matching. She was just his type. But she would have to wait; he had business to attend to.

He smiled at his sister happily. She was
already turning brown and filling-out, after only a week of five-star meals. He’d made the right decision bringing them here first instead of the villa. The trail needed to cool before they reached their final home. It wouldn’t do to be followed.

Besides, it was better for Kaisa to be here when he left. She could entertain herself with pampering and shopping, and make little friends. He watched as she threw a beach ball to the ten-year-olds she’d befriended. Splashing and smiling like the child she still was, in so many ways. He rose and wandered over to the water’s edge, calling her. “Draga, I must go soon.”

She pouted up at him, shielding her eyes with a hand. “Must you, Stevan?”

He nodded, kindly.

“For how many days?”

He held three fingers up and she pouted again. Then one of her small companions got water in their eyes and cried, and she rushed to care for them, Stevan all but forgotten. He smiled quietly and went his room to prepare, passing the edgy beauty with a long look, and a thought. Three days, then we’ll see.

***

The murder squad office was quiet for once. Harrison had taken them off the rota for a few days, to give them time to tie up loose ends and tidy-up the case, before it went to the public prosecutors.

Two people were dead, but there could have been more; Declan Greer had had a near-miss. But Irene and Bob Leighton were definitely murdered, and Craig didn’t want to leave any loopholes that Joanne Greer’s slick legal team could wriggle her through later. She had the money to hire the best the U.K. had to offer.

He was confident that they would convict her. They had her motive. Horizon’s money trail led straight back to her private accounts, not Declan’s. The poor bugger had just been her patsy. She’d had a good go at hiding the funds, routing transactions through five banks around the world. But the forensic accountants were unpicking things nicely, and they had the added bonus of her husband giving evidence for them, finally standing up to her to save his children’s future.

His daughters would be angry with him initially, but he had the time to make it better. And more importantly time without his wife manipulating them, which it sounded like he hadn’t had for years. He’d given them everything that he knew about Joanne, and it wasn’t pretty listening. Now they had her call to Ershov, the payments that she’d made through an intermediary for the hits, and Ershov turning against her.

Of course, her defence team would discredit Ershov without much difficulty, and
say that the hit-team worked for him. But he’d been careful. They could show that he knew Stevan and Kaisa Mitic, but it would be difficult to tie him to directly commissioning the hits. And as no money from Horizon had entered his accounts yet, where was his motive? No, it would all stick to Joanne.

Ershov wasn’t their problem now anyway. He’d struck a deal that meant they couldn’t prosecute him for the Northern Ireland killings. But Yemi and Rajiv Chandak were working hard to find Kaisa and Stevan, and nail them all for The Met’s two unsolved cases. Paris was next in the queue. Realistically, they would be lucky if they got Ershov and might have to leave it at that. If Kaisa and Stevan had any sense, they’d be far away by now. The last sighting had them boarding a plane for Cairo on the 13
^th
.

That’s what he would have done, although he wasn’t sure that they would be safe even there. Watson was still looking for Kaisa, even though they had advised him strongly against it. If he didn’t stop looking, Craig’s money was on Stevan finding him first.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the office door. He was grateful for the interruption. “Come in.” The door swung wide open and Liam was standing there, grinning broadly.

“Here, boss. It’s 12 o’clock, legitimately lunchtime. And it’s too nice a day to be hugging a desk, so we were thinking lunch...Maybe up at Cutter’s Wharf? You could call it team-building, or some other management shite?”

Craig laughed. He could see three faces like something from of the cast of ‘Oliver’ hiding behind Liam. Davy, Nicky and Annette were in on the escape. He looked at the pile of paperwork in front of him with absolutely no inclination to do it, and then through one of his long glass windows and out over the Lagan. The sun was shining, highlighting a buoy in Belfast Lough, bobbing gently up and down with the water. And a faint boat horn was sounding, the sound echoing plaintively in the cold winter air, heralding Christmas and holidays.

He looked at the files again, calculating the shortest time it would take to write them up, and then struck a deal with himself. Leadership classes had their uses.

“OK, here’s the deal, and the price. Liam, phone John and Des and invite them to meet us at Cutters at one. Annette, help me sort out these files. Nicky, you’re going to take dictation directly from me now, instead of me having to tape it. And you’re going to type up my letters by tomorrow lunchtime, please.”

Nicky smiled at his uncharacteristic cheek. Craig looked at Davy realising that he’d run out of tasks, the smile on Davy’s face showing that he’d realised it too. He searched for a moment longer, and then shrugged, defeated. Liam had already loped back to his desk to make the call, smug that he’d got off so lightly, when Craig remembered something else.

“Come back here, you’re not getting off that easily.” Liam slumped back, caught.

“If you’re not taking paternity leave, you’re going to write up the liaison reports with Derek Cantor’s and Rick Ellis’ teams, and...” Liam opened his mouth wide to object. “Over lunch you’re going to tell us what
really
happened at Lilith’s. And remember, I’ve already got Keith Ericson’s version on tape...”

***

Stevan walked quickly through arrivals and hailed a cab, collecting his unmarked car at Langley. He drove quickly around the M25 until he reached the M11, driving towards Ongar and deep into Epping Forest and then parked and switched off the engine, putting the seat-back down. He pulled his baseball cap over his eyes and snoozed, waiting. It wasn’t long before a dark-blue Mercedes pulled off the main road, crushing the leaves and branches in its way. It came to an abrupt halt and parked close-by, but not too close. Stevan stayed very still, mimicking sleep.

The Mercedes’ driver made no move, idling the engine, as if considering the wisdom of his choice. Finally he cut the engine, clicking open the boot remotely, silently inviting Stevan to come and look. Stevan moved swiftly from his false sleep and crossed to the car without speaking, fingering the Ruger at his waist, ready. He lifted the boot and touched its contents carefully, examining every inch. Then he stepped-back, and motioned the car’s driver to emerge and come towards him.

The man who stepped out was no more than twenty-five: lean and dark. His head was shaved to two days growth, and a single silver earring hung from one lobe. He wore a dark metal Dukh around his neck.

He reached out a hand in greeting and Stevan saw the familiar eight-pointed star tattooed across his wrist. “Hello, Stevan.”

The hand hung in the air for a moment, unshaken. Then he shrugged and lifted a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it, blowing the smoke skyward in the icy forest air.

“Let’s get this over with, Josyp. The less time I spend with you the better.”

Josyp smiled coldly and showed the whitest teeth that Stevan had ever seen. Alik had spared no expense on his young cousin’s welfare. Following the code: ‘Teach the criminal way of life to youth with potential.’

“So polite, Stevan. As always. Good thing that I’m not sensitive.”

Stevan pushed through his sarcasm, ignoring it. “Where is he?”

“At the house.”

“When did they let him go?”

“Tuesday. He’s under house arrest. They’re watching him - two in the house and two in the grounds.” He paused and continued sarcastically. “No problem for you, surely?”

Stevan looked at the younger man, disgusted; even he couldn’t kill a relative. But then, he’d never wanted power, and the man in front of him did, very much.

“He has brought trouble to us...for a…woman.” Josyp spat out the word, in a way that made Stevan pity any future wife. “He breached Ponyatiya law trusting this Joanne. A true Vor cannot be brought down for a whore. He has to go.”

There, he’d said it, the thing that they both wanted. Alik Ershov’s death. But for two entirely different reasons.

Stevan jerked his head towards the boot. “SAKO.”

“Your usual choice.”

“Not this time, this time it must be face to face. He has to see me kill him.”

“Don’t be insane. The police will catch you.”

“I’m touched that you care, Josyp.”

“I don’t give a shit about you, but I might need you when I’m Chief. You can’t go near the house. Anyway, I thought you liked distance. Alik always said you didn’t like it when they looked at you.”

“I’ll make an exception for him.”

Josyp stared at him in realisation. “That’s why you came so quickly when I called. You were already on your way, weren’t you?”

Stevan nodded once, sharply. After a few seconds the other man nodded too, understanding. “He touched Kaisa, didn’t he?”

Stevan spat the next words out. “When I was in Belfast. It’s why I missed Greer. Deliberately.” His fists clenched white. “He laid his hands on her against her will, and now he’ll die.”

Bile filled his mouth as he remembered his sister’s raw tears at the racecourse, and every night since then. He’d never stopped Kaisa sleeping with men on a job, if she chose. Although he hated it, she’d always felt in control. And mostly they’d died as payment, except Joe Watson, and she was still angry with him for that. But Ershov had visited The Randle on the night that he’d left, and what he’d done there had revived her childhood memories and set her back years. For that alone he deserved to die.

Josyp nodded in agreement. The rape of a woman after drinking with her wasn’t considered wrong by a Vor. But Kaisa was deeply troubled, and Alik could have any woman that he chose. Even Josyp agreed that she was out of bounds.