MURDER IS SKIN DEEP by M.G. Cole (read dune .txt) 📕

“Yes. I’m quite strapped for time…”

“How long had you known Mr Howard?”

“Since I moved to Kent. Twelve years. He always had that bookshop in Wye, which is how I got to know him. I believe that was in my report.”

“And you were close friends?”

“Friends. As to how close, well I suppose the answer would be quite telling in the fact he concealed his homicidal tendencies from me.” He gave a laugh, almost mimicking Kane’s own jollity.

“Indeed. I have to say, I am most impressed with the fact you exposed him at all. And all the other things you uncovered. I’d tip my hat if I wore one. But just so I understand, how close did you think you were? Personally. From your point of view.”

“It’s not closeness. He was intelligent. Useful. You’re talking about a man who had a broad expanse of knowledge. In several previous cases he had proved to be a good sounding board. He had a natural way of illuminating points we’d overlooked.”

“You regularly discussed active cases with him?”

“He was very much more a consultant, I suppose.”

“And expert on the criminal mind, so it turned out,” Kane laughed again. “And in your case, he was a purveyor of misinformation.”

“Very much so.” Garrick was distracted by one of the backing boards behind the table toppling noisily over. What he didn’t need was the set crumbling before the eyes of the national news.

“What makes you think he hasn’t done that before?”

“Done what?”

“You said that you’ve consulted with him over many cases–”

“Consulted wasn’t the right word–”

“I just wonder how many of those cases he could have seeded with misinformation.”

“None. He wasn’t personally involved with those. We closed many of them.”

“Many. Not all.”

“DCI Kane, I’d tip my cap to you and your hundred per cent track record… if either of us had one.”

Kane was officially pissing him off now, and Garrick wasn’t in the mood to be toyed with.

“You said you were in the area? Why? He lived above his shop and it all burned down, save the shed. And forensics went over that multiple times. What is there left to look at.”

“It turns out he may have had a lockup that you didn’t know about.”

“Where?”

Kane tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “It’s an active investigation. You understand. And to confirm, you didn’t know about this, or any other property that Mr Howard may have had?”

“No.”

“Regular acquittances? Family?”

“He mentioned a brother once. But I think he passed away. His parents too.”

“And relationships…?”

“I sometimes thought he was gay, possibly. But every now and again he would produce a girlfriend he’d date for a short while. Nothing ever serious.”

“Do you remember any of them? Have any pictures?”

“We were not the type of friends who holidayed together. Going out to lunch was enough.”

“And did you every introduce him to your family, friends, or work colleagues?”

“My social circle is best defined as a dot. And he was it. He never came out to any police booze-ups, you know how wild they can get,” he added with pointed irony. “Although he met my DS a few times when we quizzed him for advice. Other than that, no.”

“DS Eric Wilson?”

Garrick nodded. He and Eric Wilson had always got on and had stayed in touch when he’d taken compassionate leave over his sister’s murder. Over that period, Wilson had been seconded to Staffordshire. He’d meant to call him, and had even emailed him, but Wilson hadn’t replied. That was the nature of the job. Often it sucked your personal life away into a vacuum.

“And your sister?”

“Pardon?” Garrick was aware he’d zoned out for a moment, lost in his own thoughts.

“Are you okay?” Kane studied him with concern.

“Yes.” Garrick spat the word a little too harshly. His medical files were kept even from his superior officer, so there was no reason to defend himself from a Met detective who obviously felt he was superior to his colleagues working out in the sticks.

“I asked if he ever met your sister.”

“A few times. What’s that got to do with anything? I barely saw my sister. We didn’t exactly hit it off. When she came to visit, I think once we swung by his shop to pick something up. Another time he took us out for lunch. But that was early last year. No, longer than that. The year before. It was a wholly unremarkable event.”

DCI Kane watched as the stage backing board was fixed upright. He glanced at his watch. “I suppose I best leave you to it. I always get nervous before these things.”

Garrick felt relieved to see Chib enter, bone dry as she shook an umbrella in the doorway. He hadn’t been feeling nervous, but the encounter with DCI Kane had thrown him off-kilter.

“Be seeing you,” Kane said with a smile as he walked away.

“Of course. And Oliver,” Garrick took some satisfaction to see the first-name cause a flicker of annoyance across Kane’s face as he turned. “Any time you have questions, day or night, please don’t hesitate to email me.”

Kane gave a small smile and turned away, pointedly ignoring Chib as he passed her.

Chib sized Garrick up with a frown. “You okay, sir? You look as if you haven’t slept all night.”

Garrick and Chib stood in a side room as the main hall filled with reporters. He counted nine television cameras, complete with assorted reporters. Microphones with BBC, SKY and ITV logos were flashed like status badges. He was surprised to see CNN, ABC, France 24 and an Al Jazeera logo amongst them too. An army of at least another thirty reporters and photographers swelled the ranks. He’d asked PC Harry Lord if there was a collective noun for reporters. Harry suggested it had to be a Bastard of Press.

“Bloody hell. It looks like the entire world is out there,” he said to Chib.

For once, her confident demeanour was shaken, and she looked ready to throw up.

“Are you sure you need me out there, sir?” she said in a weak voice.

“Pull yourself