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

“Sorry for not being flexible, Detective, but my time here is limited. And after all, it wasn’t as if it was a formal request,” she added with a thin smile.

Garrick was already annoyed with her power play attempts, and it was all he could do to proceed civilly. He certainly wasn’t in the mood for subtlety.

“Mark Kline-Watson was murdered in the early hours of this morning.”

Her perfectly tanned brow wrinkled slightly. “Who?”

“The owner of Cinq Arts Gallery in Rye.” He watched as she sipped her coffee without betraying a flicker of recognition. “You must remember him. You were there the other day, arguing.”

She calmly put the cup down and nodded thoughtfully. “I remember him. The arrogant young man working with Derek.”

“Why were you there?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes flicked around the service station. It was busy with travellers rushing in to use the toilets or snatching snacks for their journey ahead.

“Derek may not have been entirely forthcoming about his financial holdings. Ones that were supposed to be declared at the divorce hearing.”

“Such as…?”

“Such as offshore accounts that he and Mr Kline-Watson used. Which also made me think that perhaps he, and this mysterious artist of his, were working together when we were still married. In which case that is a vested business interest left undeclared too.”

“You believe you are entitled to half of his income from Hoy?”

“Bingo.” She shrugged and sipped her cappuccino. “Derek is duplicitous man, Detective. He tells you what you want to hear, unless that is the truth, of course.”

“But Hoy’s art has only just started selling recently. I mean, after your divorce.”

“So? Perhaps I would have like to take a stake in upcoming talent?” Garrick doubted that very much. Her dark eyes peered at him from over the grande-sized cup. The bitter smell was already making his stomach churn. His doctor had warned him not to drink coffee, and now he had recently developed a penchant for herbal teas. His migraine flared up with a sudden blinding pain across his temples. Surely it couldn’t be triggered by a smell. Or was Rebecca Willis proving to be more stressful than he expected? He closed his eyes and rubbed his right temple, only focusing back on Rebecca as she put the cup down against the saucer with a loud clatter.

“Are you okay, Detective?”

“Yes, fine,” he managed. “Just had something that’s not agreeing with me.”

“My ex-husband has that effect on me.”

“tell me what you and Mr Kline-Watson discussed.”

“He denied having any link to Derek’s off-shore account, other than paying money into it. He refused to give me the account number, so I shouted. I consider that a quite reasonable reaction to somebody who is trying to swindle me. To add insult to injury, he had another two paintings that Derek had given him. He was boasting about receiving ludicrous offers for them.”

“Did he say how much?”

“Two-hundred thousand. Each. A Middle Eastern buyer, apparently. Well, if they have been stolen now, that would be some good news to irritate Derek.” She lifted her cup in silent cheers, before taking a sip.

“They haven’t been stolen.”

He watched as an eyebrow raised in surprise. Was it genuine? Her reactions all seemed too controlled, too slow.

“Where were you yesterday evening?”

“I was having a drink at the Oak Tavern in Sevenoaks with an old friend.”

“He can confirm this?”

“She can. Yes,” she snapped tartly.

Garrick opened the notepad app on his phone and slid it across to her.

“I will need details to confirm that.”

She treated him to a poisonous look, then typed in a name and mobile number. Garrick glanced at it.

“Maria?”

“And old friend who lives there. I was there until eleven thirty. Then I went back to my Airbnb.”

“What times where you there?” He handed the phone back. “And I will need your address.”

Rebecca didn’t know the address by heart, so copied it from a booking email on her phone. “If I left her at eleven thirty, then I was probably there fifteen minutes later until about nine this morning when I went to McDonald’s for breakfast.” She reached into her coat and retrieved her purse. Sliding through a wad of carefully organised receipts, she pulled out one from the fast-food outlet and indicated to the time and date. “See?”

“Can anybody confirm you were there all night?”

“Of course not. Can anybody confirm where you were last night?” She raised a suggestive eyebrow and put the phone and purse back in her coat pocket.

“What makes you think he knew the artist when you were married?”

“Aside from the fact that he’s a serial liar?” She frowned when Garrick shook his head. “You must know about his affair. She had connections in the art world. That’s when his interest started up.”

“It’s possible that he could have started representing Hoy afterwards.”

She put the cup down and leaned across the table, her voice dropping in volume. “Derek is talentless. He doesn’t know one end of a paintbrush from another. When we were living together, he had no interest in art. And then suddenly, he is an expert? Please!”

She leaned back as Garrick digested this.

“And what does your boyfriend think of all this?”

She angrily snatched her cup. It was the first genuine emotion she had displayed.

“I wish I knew. I haven’t seen him if that’s what you want to know. He doesn’t have a house over here anymore, and what few friends he had haven’t seen him either. I don’t know where he is. And I’m worried.”

“Why did he come over?”

“Business. I respect him, so I never pry into what that means.”

“He spent most of his time with you in Portugal.”

She tilted her head coquettishly. “Do you blame him?” She sighed and waved a hand around. “After all, what is here for either of us? Terrible weather and suspicious people.” She looked pointedly at him. “Oscar has done nothing wrong. His brother is doing time, not him. Yet everybody thinks he is the criminal.”

Garrick gently tapped his hand on the table.