The Grass Tattoo (#2 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) by Catriona King Read Free Book Online Page A

was rescued by his mobile phone ringing, and with a mock-apology, he answered it gratefully. “Marc Craig.”
    “It’s Maggie Clarke, Inspector Craig. What have you got for me?”
    He didn’t know whether to be surprised or annoyed at her cheek, so he opted for neutrality. “Absolutely nothing, Ms Clarke. I told you this morning that I would call you when we were ready.”
    “But there are other reporters sniffing around your press office, and you promised me an exclusive.”
    He sighed. She was right; it was never going to take the hacks long. A dead body anywhere was hard enough to keep quiet, but in a place full of five thousand civil servants, there was no hope. He shrugged silently, conceding defeat.
    “OK, Ms Clarke.”
    “Maggie”
    “Ms Clarke. Leave it with me. I’ll be in touch later.”
    “But...”
    “Later. Now, goodbye.”
    He clicked the phone down and looked at his watch, feigning surprise.
    “Is that the time, Nicky? I have something for Davy to chase-up with John, and I need to catch Liam.”
    She looked up at him sceptically, tapping her long painted nail on a file. “Dr Winter has already called Davy, and Liam is still checking Mr Leighton’s alibi, so we have at least ten more minutes.”
    He gave up on the escape, smiling, and slumped back in his chair, adjusting it very deliberately, at some length. At least he could control that.
    *** 
    Kaisa Moldeau didn’t look like a nanny to Annette, well, not one that any sensible woman would want anyway. She was nothing like Mary Poppins. She was barely thirty, barely eight stone, and barely dressed at all.
    When she’d first answered the door at the Leighton’s opulent home on Belfast’s prosperous Stranmillis Road, Annette had thought that she was going clubbing, wondering who the mini-skirt was for, certainly not the giggling three-year-old hiding behind her tanned legs. She was stunning.
    Annette had always thought ‘stunning’ was a much overused word, beloved by women’s magazines. This stunning reality star, that stunning pop star, always applied to perfectly ordinary looking girls with extraordinary egos. Stunning had never applied to any of them that she’d seen. But it did apply to the girl making the coffee.
    She had white-blonde hair that looked unfeasibly natural, and a lightly tanned perfection that made Annette conscious of her own forty-something flat shoes and bitten nails. When she smiled it was through even, white teeth, and her clothes, what there were of them, were moulded to her. Irene Leighton must have been a saint or insane to hire this girl, while her husband had a pulse.
    Kaisa returned with a tray of coffee and sat down opposite her, with the magnanimous charm of a woman who knows that she’s perfect, faced with another one that she knows isn’t.
    “Can I ask you a few questions, Ms Moldeau? Just to clarify timings, and get a picture of life with Mr and Mrs Leighton?”
    The girl leaned forward to pour the coffee, and although Annette couldn’t see the expression in her eyes, she could have sworn that she was smiling. When she sat back again the smile was no-where to be seen, a fixed sadness in its place.
    “Poor Mr Leighton, poor Mrs Leighton.” Interesting order. “They are both so kind.”
    One more than the other, if Bob Leighton’s earlier outburst was anything to go by.
    “They bring me to care for leetle Ben five month ago. He is lovely boy.”
    “May I ask where you’re from, Kaisa?”
    “Ah yes, I am from Estonia. I come to Ireland six month and type, but now I love the children.”
    “Can you tell me when you last saw Mr and Mrs Leighton?”
    “Ah yes, Mr Leighton was saw on Saturday evening. And Mrs Leighton, she leave for Mama house on Sunday noon.”
    Irene Leighton had been there on Sunday. She’d disappeared less than three days earlier.
    “Did they often leave Ben with you?”
    “No, but Mrs Leighton Mama very sick. She got phone-call, so she rush to see.”
    “Had either of them