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

The cubicle door clanged again. It hadn’t been locked, as if somebody was holding it from behind. Curious, Garrick walked over. Somebody was in there; he could see the shadows move from the gap between the floor, and he could hear the shuffle of shoes.

“Hello?” No answer. “Are you alright in there?”

The absence of any reply was unusual. This was a police station, not public washroom. If this was one of the lads trying to wind him up, then they would suddenly find themselves at the end of a temper he often kept hidden.

He pushed the door open. The cubicle was empty.

Garrick took a breath. The gentle swaying stopped. He pulled to door closed and checked the shadows. There were none.

“Shit…” he mumbled. Then took out his phone and made an urgent call.

He wanted to squint against the bright light, but Dr Rajasekar prised his eyelids open.

“Look straight ahead,” she said, so close that he could feel her breath on his ear.

After a moment, she turned the light off and sat back behind her desk to type her notes on the computer.

“Your pupils are fine. Although I wish you hadn’t driven over here. Next time, get somebody to give you a lift,” she admonished.

Rajasekar was the consultant looking after the lump in his head. She had mentioned hallucinatory side effects could be an issue if the tumour grew and pushed against his brain. He had called her straight away to book an appointment and then driven to Tunbridge Wells.

“Your blood pressure is elevated too. I put that down to stress. Let’s monitor that. You are sure you haven’t had no episodes like this before?”

Garrick shook his head, although he was wondering if that was true. He was sure his recollection was a bit off, and after receiving a phone call he had thought was from his sister – his dead sister – he was feeling uneasy. Such comments appearing on his medical file would mark the end of his career.

“I am going to book you in for another MRI. It may take a while.”

“You think it’s…” he pointed to his head.

“Let’s not leap to conclusions. That’s why I want another MRI. My instinct is telling me this is a combination of medication, stress, and a chronic lack of sleep. I’m going to prescribe you something to ensure you get some rest.”

Garrick rolled down his shirt sleeve. His arm was still tingling from the four successive blood pressure tests the doctor had given him.

“I’d rather avoid sleeping tablets.”

“It may be a choice between them, or hallucinations brought on by fatigue. What do you prefer?”

What choice did he have?

Rajasekar sent the perception off to print, then steepled her fingers under her chin as she watched him put his Barbour on.

“I am aware of how worrying something like this can be, David. Not just for the physical implications, but also career ones.”

Garrick didn’t meet her gaze. It was as if she was reading his mind.

“But it is important that you and I have an honest relationship. I am under no obligation to your employers, that is your responsibility.”

“I know.”

“So please tell me if you have any reoccurrences. Any slight doubt that you are experiencing issues. It’s purely between you and me. Your health is the most important thing.”

Garrick forced a smile. “I assure you, doctor. You will be the first to know when I start to see my victims rise from the grave.”

Rajasekar gave a gentle laugh. “Lucky for you, we all saw that on television. That was not a hallucination”

Garrick’s smile faltered. For a moment he’d blissfully forgotten that Fraser’s reappearance was on international television.

“Okay. Perhaps that was a bad example.”

Despite his reluctance to use sleeping pills, he headed up the hill to the Boots pharmacy in Royal Victoria Place to get the prescription. The pharmacist quickly processed the order and, stopping at Greggs to buy two sausage rolls, he was halfway down York Road, heading for his parked car, when a voice from behind startled him.

“David!” DCI Oliver Kane was jogging the last few steps to catch him up. “I thought it was you.”

Garrick glanced around suspiciously. The road was mostly residential, and he was yards away from the main Mount Pleasant thoroughfare.

“Yeah. Fancy bumping into you. Sorry I can’t really stop and chat. I have to be somewhere.”

“Me too. I’ll walk with you.”

Garrick’s mind was jumping from the rational to irrational in just a few short hops. Was Kane following him? Had he seen him enter his Consultant’s office, or even buy his prescription? Not that it should matter… but the timing felt wrong.

“I see your Mr Fraser is enjoying the limelight.”

“He may be a bit brusque, but if I was in his shoes, I’d probably be doing the same.”

“Would you?”

Garrick ignored the hanging question. He quickened his pace, forcing Kane to huff for breath as he spoke.

“I’d hate to be caught up in something like that. Everybody watching your every move. The pressure to crack the case must be horrendous.”

The media had made and destroyed good police reputations in their pursuit for a neatly packaged story. And it wasn’t only the press or public who wore people down. He had known good officers fall into depression as their colleagues jibed them just for being at the centre of a high-profile investigation. God help the ones who had been at the epicentre of a collapsing case. Their careers had essentially stopped there and then. But those perils happened to other people. It wouldn’t happen to David Garrick. Of that, he was sure. He’d admit to many flaws, but lack of determination was not one of them.

“So, this is where John Howard’s lockup is.” If Kane was playing games with him, he might as well do the same.

“Wish I could tell you, David. Really do. I think your input in the wider life of your friend would be most useful, but you know how it is. Somebody would point out your