Free The Slowest Cut by Catriona King Page A

anything they were careful with money, pouring everything into paying off the mortgage on the townhouse Liam had visited the day before. There were no criminal records; in fact there was nothing that seemed a motive to kill them. And Ian Carragher definitely didn’t bungee-jump.
    Liam snorted. “Mr and Mrs exciting, not.”
    Craig hid a smile at the modern expression. Davy and Jake were rubbing off on him.
    “Don’t be so quick, Liam.” Craig pointed to a line on the table. “What’s that, Davy?”
    “Glad you noticed it. That’s the Carragher’s little hideaway. A house in Newcastle, near the Mourne Mountains. And not a s…small one either. Quite the mansion if the estate agents blurb from its s…sale in 1995 is to be believed. It cost one hundred and fifty thousand back then.”
    Liam whistled. “Mortgage?”
    Davy shook his head. “Bought outright with cash.”
    Liam sat forward, suddenly interested. “Now you’re talking, lad. A teacher and a surveyor affording that? Something stinks.”
    Craig interjected and pointed at another line.
    Davy smiled again. “That’s when they got married. 1995, two months before they bought the house.”
    “Any idea where they met?”
    “Every idea, boss. From 1989 until 2004 they worked together at a private school in Bangor.”
    “I can see why she might have been teaching there, but what was a surveyor like Ian Carragher doing at a school?”
    “He didn’t w…work there. He was on the Board of Governors.”
    Liam sat back, disinterested in the Carraghers’ romance. “That’s fair enough, boss. Lots of people meet at work.”
    “True, but how many buy a mansion for cash two months after they get married?”
    Craig turned to Jake and Davy in turn. “Excellent work, both of you. Now, I need to you do something else…”
    ***
    Bar Red. 6 p.m.

    The interior of Bar Red was full of wood and welcoming leather chairs that just begged to play host to conversations; deep or trivial depending upon the occupant’s mood. They’d certainly witnessed several of John and Craig’s meaning-of-life discussions through the years, and they were about to witness another one now. John was standing at the long curved bar when Craig arrived, his loosened tie and swiftly removed jacket saying that it was evening louder than any clock.
    “Hi, John.”
    “The usual?”
    “Thanks.” Craig scanned the room. “Let’s sit down. There are some chairs over there.”
    “Bad day?”
    Craig laughed. “No. But my back’s a wreck. Lucia had me under her car all day Saturday, fixing a leak in the petrol tank.”
    Lucia was Craig’s younger sister by eleven years and she worked for a charity. Her fifteen-year-old car had deserved a decent burial years before, but she didn’t earn enough money to replace it and she was too stubborn to let her family buy her another one, so big brother had got roped in.
    John grabbed the drinks and carried them across to two seats by the window. Craig threw his jacket down and took a deep drink of cold beer, like a man dying of thirst.
    “Do you fancy eating here or going on, Marc? There’s a new restaurant I fancy trying.”
    Craig laughed. John was always finding unusual new places to eat. He bowed his head in mock submission. “Whatever you want. What is it this time? Bolivian or Eskimo?”
    “Vegetarian. There’s a great place called Archana on the Dublin Road. Did you know there’re thousands of vegetarians living in Belfast now? A girl told me the other day in the bank.”
    “Good looking, was she?”
    John liked pretty women. Didn’t they all? But whereas most men had an agenda, John just talked to them. It was as if a conversation signalled that they found him attractive and he didn’t need to pursue it any further. Natalie was quite safe.
    Craig set down his beer and wrenched his tie lower; oblivious to the fact that he’d was revealing some dark chest hair. The women sitting to their right weren’t quite so oblivious. Craig decided