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

Hellberg tactfully remained silent.

“Well, I am delighted to see you are alive, and very vocal,” said Garrick with forced jollity. His inner voice was screaming for answers. “I must admit, we were struggling to find a credible suspect for the murder.”

Fraser held his hands palm up. “Well, I’m here. Right in front of you.”

“I can see. And was that an admission of guilt?”

Fraser froze as his arrogant swagger hit pause.

“What now?”

Hellberg cut in. “My client is admitting nothing, Detective, as you well know. He was using a common expression to indicate he is alive and well. Which is something the police seem to struggle to establish.”

“But somebody isn’t alive and well. Somebody was brutally murdered in your house. And if it’s not you, then who is it?”

“How the bloody hell should I know?” He looked at Hellberg again. “Can you believe this crap? Somebody breaks into me house when I’m away and he’s pointing fingers!”

“Mr Fraser, pointing fingers is a large part of my job.” He wagged a finger at Fraser. “See? It takes years of training.”

“You thought he was me. Did he look anything like me?”

Chib slid several pictures from the crime scene across the desk. Fraser picked them up, closely examining each. He passed one to Hellberg, who gave the smallest of frowns.

“Hardly an exact likeness.”

“The victim’s face was badly smashed with a hammer. Then he was executed with two gunshots to the chest.”

Fraser was shaken as he tossed the pictures back on the desk. “That carpet is buggered too.”

Garrick watched him carefully. “You hardly seem concerned about the dead man.”

“Concerned about somebody breaking into me home? No, not really.”

“Do you live alone, Mr Fraser?”

“Aye.”

“When were you last at home?”

“Three days ago. I left in the morning to go to Wales.”

“The day of the killing.”

“He wasn’t there when I left. I would’ve noticed.” Fraser crossed his arms, defiance seeping back.

“It was actually the next day when an Amazon delivery driver found the body.”

“I still wasn’t there.”

“Then who killed him?”

“Maybe the delivery driver did it? Ever think of that? Or… or another thief. What made you think it was me?”

Chib tapped the photo. “He is wearing your clothes, isn’t he?”

“Look similar.”

“He was in your house.”

“He broke in.”

“Your DNA was all over him.”

“I do live there. It is me house.”

Chib nodded, but she had clearly exhausted her line of reasoning.

“Mr Fraser, with all that evidence in hand, it does rather point the finger in your direction.” He mimicked Fraser’s earlier finger pointing.

“That is ridiculous,” Hellberg cut in. “My client willingly entered your terrible excuse for a press conference to stop you from making a mistake. Not only was he in a retreat in Wales, and isolated from the news, you now throw unsubstantiated accusations at him with no evidence. His DNA was at the crime scene? In his own house? I am appalled you would even mention that.”

Chib hung her head. Garrick was becoming increasingly annoyed.

“Then you are overlooking the one piece of evidence we have.” He forcibly tapped a photograph. “The corpse down the morgue!”

“And who is he?” Hellberg goaded him with a cocked eyebrow.

“Obviously, that’s what we need to establish.”

Hellberg gathered her case and stood up. “In that case, we are done here.”

“You can’t go…”

“I assure you, we can. And we are. Come on,” she nudged Fraser, who stood up, slightly bewildered.

“I guess we are,” he said with a shrug.

“I want to talk to you about Oscar Benjamin.”

Fraser paused. “What’s to tell?”

“You owed him money. And until an hour ago, I was about to accuse him of your murder.”

“Well, I don’t owe him shit. And I don’t want to see him, ever. And I am sure the scum bag is responsible for somebody’s murder. Just not mine.”

“When did you last see him?”

“I can’t remember. Why don’t you ask Rebecca? She’s sleeping with him. Why do you think we got a divorce?”

“Mr Fraser, you don’t have to answer any of this.” Hellberg gave Garrick a withering look. “I suggest you issue an apology to the press and stop hounding my client with false accusations.”

“I’ll need full details of this retreat you were on.”

“I shall send them to you,” Hellberg said. “Good day, Detectives.”

She ushered a grinning Fraser from the room.

“God, I felt like I was back in boarding school,” muttered Chib. “As much as I hate to say this, but what if he is telling the truth?”

“Then somebody is trying to set him up.”

“Who?”

Garrick could think of only two people. Mark Kline-Watson and Oscar Benjamin. The man they still needed to find, but Garrick suspected that their plea to locate him will have been swamped by Fraser’s rise from the dead. He wasn’t wrong.

By the time they returned to the incident room, Fanta confirmed that the footage of Derek Fraser crashing the conference had gone viral worldwide. It was also playing on every channel. A text from Wendy declared:

I’ve just seen you on TV!

And as Drury entered the room, he knew he and his team were in from the biggest bollocking of his career.

10

The clinical white light erased almost every shadow from the morgue. The corpse, formerly known as Derek Fraser, lay on the slab. An elderly bespectacled coroner, who had the mannerisms of a timid priest, and gave every sign that he was unhappy with his job, spoke so softly that Garrick had to strain to hear. He pulled the white sheet from the face and upper body and carefully folded it across the chest, taking a little too long to ensure there wasn’t a single crease.

Chib stiffened slightly, her expression mostly hidden behind her mask. Garrick wasn’t sure how many victims she had seen, but in the short time they’d been together, she had composed herself with cool aplomb. He put her reaction down to the smell that lingered around a several-day old corpse, which the room’s extractor fans were struggling to remove.

“We should have a full DNA analysis from the lab in the morning,” the Coroner said reverently.

The