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

changed it. Rebecca knows it. And anybody she told.” He moved quickly to a fruit bowl and retrieved his car keys. “Looks like the moron left all the valuable stuff.”

“Why did you leave your car and take the train?”

“Because it was supposed to be a relaxing break. Time for me to re-evaluate my life and plan. I can think on a train.” He gestured to the paintings. “I was wondering if the art would finally come together. This was a real chance to turn my life around and get the success that was always being torn from my grasp.”

“By who?”

Fraser gave a sharp intake of breath. “Women usually.” He looked at the blood on the floor and became thoughtful. “Do you want my theory on who did this?”

“I’d welcome it.”

“Rebecca.”

“She wasn’t in the country.”

“No, but her boyfriend was.”

“Ah, yes. Oscar Benjamin. You both had history. And he is our primary suspect.”

“Becs is a conniving bitch, and I wouldn’t put anything past her. She would have hated seeing me be successful, and I was getting attention with Hoy. I wouldn’t put it past either of them to set up some dodgy deal on the side. They got somebody who looks a bit like me to pose for a buyer, in me own house, for authenticity. Probably trying to rip him off. It all goes wrong.”

Garrick hated to admit that he was working on a similar assumption, but the paintings at Fraser’s feet were a problem.

“If that was the case, why didn’t they take the paintings?”

“Because if they surfaced anywhere else, questions would be instantly raised, wouldn’t they? I’m the only one who knows Hoy’s identity. So where would they come from apart from the dead man’s house?”

“Good point.”

“I do sometimes make them. If these ended up being the last two left and were stashed in some vault somewhere, then they’re effectively worthless. If nobody knows they exist, then they have no value.”

“Why would your ex-wife go to all that trouble?”

“I told you, because she’s a spiteful cow.”

“I’m not sure that would hold up in a court of law, Mr Fraser.”

They went upstairs so Fraser could select clean clothes, underwear, socks, several shirts, and another suit. Garrick noted every item he packed, but Fraser didn’t act furtively or suspiciously. He even asked Garrick which of the two seemingly identical Hugo Boss shirts he thought looked best. With every passing minute, Fraser was becoming friendlier and more at ease.

“I’d like to speak with Hoy,” Garrick said as Fraser neatly folded his clothes into a small plastic wheeled cabin bag.

“Would you now? He’s not exactly a witness, is he?”

Garrick mentally noted the masculine tag. At least that ruled out half the population.

“If his work proves to be central to the case, then he may have useful information.”

Fraser smiled. “I’ll put in your request, Detective. You gotta remember, everybody wants to speak to him. His whole brand is based around anonymity.”

“How did you meet?”

Fraser slowed his packing and ruminated thoughtfully. “It was at a small art fair. Brighton, I think. I thought the pieces had promise, so I asked if I could represent him. I’ll be honest, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I had this vague idea about creating this enigmatic figure.”

“A Banksy. Wasn’t that Terri Cordy’s idea?”

“No, it weren’t!” he snapped angrily. He roughly closed the case and zipped it up. He breathed sharply in, then calmed. “She had some smart ideas about marketing, but the Banksy thing was my idea.”

“Why did you break-up?”

“Why d’you think?” Garrick shrugged, encouraging him to continue. “Because she started insisting that kid was mine.”

“But you didn’t leave her when you first found out.”

“Well, no. I had hoped that maybe it was mine. But then I realised she was just after my money.”

“And it led to your divorce.”

“Becs was cheating on me too. Our marriage had died years ago.”

He lifted the case and headed downstairs. In the hallway, Fraser selected a pair of tan deck shoes and put them in his case. He left pairs of green wellies, blue trainers, and polished black brogues.

“You have to admit all of this hasn’t done your reputation any harm.”

Fraser grinned. “No. It’s the best thing Becs has ever done for me. Aside from the divorce.”

“You’re convinced it’s her.”

Fraser took the lather carry case containing the paintings. “She’s got everything to gain. You heard how mental she was about not getting the house. Made her come all the way over here.” He chuckled. He opened the front door and gestured for Garrick to step outside first.

Garrick took in the house, which looked quite beautiful in the spring daylight, despite the SOCO tent on the wing. Garrick took the door keys and locked up.

“Nice place. How much is it worth?”

“About one-point-four million.”

Garrick whistled appreciatively. “And who would benefit from it? Who’s your next of kin.”

Fraser smirked and walked to the garage. “I don’t like anybody but me benefiting. I’ve been trod on all my life.”

He opened the garage, revealing the black Mercedes inside.

“I can see how you’ve suffered,” Garrick said under his breath.

Fraser carefully laid the painting bag and suitcase in the boot.

“How long are you planning to stay in Chilston Park?”

“Until you let me back here. Besides, I won’t be going too far now I know Becs is around. You need to watch her, Detective. I feel unsafe.”

Garrick watched gravel spray as the Mercedes sped away. Fraser had confirmed his own suspicions about Rebecca Ellis. The team had put together an extensive background check on her. She had trained to be a nurse but dropped out before graduation to travel the world with her boyfriend at the time. She returned alone as that relationship fell apart. Since then, she appeared to have sofa-surfed, and lived off the proceeds of a handcrafted jewellery website she ran. It turned over just enough to pay the bills. She found her feet with Derek Fraser. They’d been married for six years, during which it looked like she had spent a lot of