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

“What about upstairs?”

“I had a quick look to make sure nobody was there. But it didn’t look like anybody had been through it. Something is missing though.”

Garrick looked around but couldn’t notice anything obvious. “Did he have a cash register?”

“A cashbox. That’s still there,” she pointed to a small red tin sitting amongst bubble wrap and brown paper on a shelf under a display cabinet, just out of sight from regular punters. “His phone has gone. Remember when we first came? He clung onto it as if his life depended on it. Every time I saw him, he had it in his hand. I had a quick shufty around and can’t see it anywhere.”

Garrick swept his gaze around the room. “The attacker comes in, expected. After midnight. They probably argue. He gets whacked over the head. Nothing is taken other than his phone. Not even the valuable paintings that have been splashed all over the press.” He looked quizzically at her. “Would you agree that’s odd?”

“I suppose.”

Garrick moved to the broad windows. A few paintings hung there, but the space was minimalist, offering passers-by a glimpse into the gallery.

“It would have been dark. The streetlights are over there and there,” he pointed to either end of the street. “They don’t shine straight in. He probably would have had some lights on. Probably some low-key mood lighting knowing him.”

Fanta thought, then shook her head. “There were no lights on when I came in. It was all ambient.” She indicated to the lights that were now on. “The officers on duty must have done that.”

As she was in plainclothes and had left her police ID at home, it had taken some explaining to convince the uniformed officers turning up at the scene that she was undercover. It hadn’t been until Garrick had turned up, that she had been allowed out of a police car.

“Then the killer turned off the lights and shut the door,” Garrick said. He eyed the parade of shops up and down the street. “There must be a few security cameras along here.”

“I’ll get onto it.”

“You’re heading home.”

“What? Why?”

“Your role as surveillance was overtime.”

“That’s bollocks… sir.”

“No, that’s a fact that Drury will be very keen on pointing out. I need your head clear and hanging around this place will not help.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he ploughed on. “Tomorrow we’ll need all hands to piece this together.”

They exited the building. The street immediately outside had been cordoned off to prevent people from looking into the crime scene. Patrol cars with their flashing blue lights guarded either end of the street.

Garrick walked her to her car. He only got a few yards when his name was called from behind. It was Molly Meyers, wearing a green jacket with the hood up, framing her freckled face. Garrick quietly told Fanta to go, he didn’t want any of his team bombarded with questions.

“Ms Meyers. News travels fast.”

“All part of the service,” she beamed, then nodded at the gallery. “How about an exclusive?”

“I’m not sure how exclusive this really is. The victim is Mark Kline-Watson, the gallery owner, but I’m sure you know that.”

“How did he die?”

“Gruesomely. Look, Ms Meyers–”

“Molly.”

“Molly. It’s too early to say anything for sure.”

“What was stolen?” She stared at him with a half-smile, anticipating the answer.

“As far as we can tell, nothing at this stage.”

Her smile faltered, and she jerked a thumb towards the gallery, which was only now being obscured by a damp white forensic tent. “But there are a pair of Hoys in there. They’re only going up in price.”

Garrick shrugged. “What can I tell you?”

“So, it’s not a robbery.”

“It’s a murder.”

Molly’s brow knitted together. For a moment all they could hear was the rain pelting the fabric of her hood.

“Are you sure the paintings are genuine?”

Now it was Garrick’s turn to hesitate. The thought hadn’t occurred to him. He recovered quickly.

“It’s too early to say anything.” He was relieved when he saw Chib pull up in her Nissan Leaf. “Now excuse me. It looks like I will have to do some work to answer your questions.”

He ducked under the police tape barrier and hurried across to DS Okon as she locked her car.

“Morning, sir. I came as soon as I heard.”

“PC Liu found him. I’ve sent her home.” He glanced across at Molly, who was taking pictures on her phone. “I want you to bring the Hoys in as evidence.”

“They weren’t stolen?” she sounded as surprised as everybody else.

“We need to bring Fraser in for questioning, and Rebecca Willis too.”

After a few hurried calls, Derek Fraser agreed to come in later in the afternoon, claiming he was suffering from shock after hearing the news. Rebecca Ellis was far more evasive and told Garrick that she didn’t have time to waste today but could meet him in the Costa Coffee at Maidstone Services.

Evidently, a murder would not interfere with her social life.

15

Garrick’s Land Rover refused to start, so he was forced to ask Chib for the loan of her car. She handed him the keys with great reluctance. Five minutes later, Garrick was easing out of Rye in her toy car, although he was rapidly reassessing his opinion as he enjoyed the blistering acceleration. By the time he had made the twenty-eight-mile journey to the Maidstone service station on the M20, the fancy dashboard screen alert him for the needed to recharge. He found an empty charging bay in the car park. Wasted several minutes trying to work out where to connect the lead before calling Chib to talk him through it. Leaving the vehicle charging, and deciding they were far too much of a faff to be practical, he met up with Rebecca inside the service station.

Rebecca Ellis sat at a corner table in the Costa Coffee, instantly recognisable in her bright red coat. She spotted Garrick and waved him over. Unblinking, she held his gaze as he sat down. Garrick couldn’t shake