Free A Limited Justice (#1 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) by Catriona King

here.” She indicated her shoulders.
    “The ends were sticking out; it looked like she hadn’t put a comb through it for weeks.” She pursed her lips again, sniffing disapprovingly. “Her jacket was very rough looking; dark green like the ones the trainers wear at racecourses, but the hood was grey.”
    She was describing a green Barbour jacket and a grey hoody, Liam was sure of it. The constable leaned forward, desperate to assist, but Liam shook his head slightly, motioning him not to lead her. She was going to be a valuable witness.
    “Then she walked onto the forecourt, and cheeky as you like just walked on into the shop, and the owner definitely wasn’t in there.”
    “Was the door open?”
    She paused for a moment, thinking, “It must have been, she didn’t use a key, she just pushed it open. She was in there for about ten minutes.”
    She consulted her notebook. “Yes here it is. She went in at 1.50pm and then she came back out at 2pm on the dot.” Liam could have hugged her for her accuracy.
    “Which way did she go then Mrs Foster?”
    “Ida”
    “Sorry, Ida”
    She smiled at him forgivingly. “She walked out the door and turned to her right, towards the cars, and then she stopped and looked at one of them. I thought she was going to steal it, so I kept a very close eye on her.”
    The hairs on the back of Liam’s neck stood up suddenly. “Which car?” Knowing the answer even before she spoke.
    “A red one. A small, fat car. That’s what I call them anyway.”
    She smiled and looked up at him, hopeful that he’d laugh at her joke. And he did, so loudly and for so long that it verged on hysteria. He’d spoken to the killer; he’d actually spoken to the killer - the red car confirmed it.
    It was the woman who’d called Ian McCandless’ mobile, Monica Gibson. That wouldn’t be her real name of course, but at least they had a number, and even if it was false, it might give them something.
    Ida was still talking and Liam was pulled out of his self-congratulation by her next few words.
    “Then she went round the corner and disappeared.”
    “Did you see her later?”
    “I can’t be sure. I saw the man who owned the garage driving up in his navy car at 2.11pm. He walked right into the shop. But then my phone went. It was my sister Jane in Sydney and we were chatting for ages, so I stopped watching. When I looked again, it was 3.15 and all your cars were there. Did I miss anything important?”
    Only a murder, Ida.
    Liam bit back his disappointment. It had been too much to hope that she’d actually witnessed the murder. They’d already been spoiled, and now she’d confirmed time of death as well.
    “No, you’ve been brilliant, Ida, really brilliant.” She beamed at him, and he felt sure that his next words would bring an even bigger smile to her face.
    “You’ve given us very valuable information, so would you work with our sketch artist to produce likenesses of the people you saw yesterday? Especially yesterday afternoon.”
    “Can I really? Are they all murderers?”
    “No, I’m sure they’re not all.” He fervently hoped that one of them was. “But one of them might be.” Ida looked as if she might burst. “And the rest we’d like to rule out, with your help.”
    He paused for effect. “Would you be free if I sent a patrol car to collect you, in the morning? Say about ten?”
    She nodded vigorously, immediately lifting the phone to tell her daughter, and they said their farewells, leaving her chatting happily. Then Liam called Craig, to give him the biggest break they’d caught yet.
     
    Shaftesbury Square, Belfast
     
    The taxi driver dropped Jessie at the strip of bars and clubs that made up the rough end of Belfast’s ‘Golden mile’. What started with drinking and fighting at the Shaftesbury Square end, finished one mile further up in Malone, with multi-million pound houses and shops selling Armani and Chanel. The size of the city prevented the spectrum of life being