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

Rolling to his knees, he could just make out the figure disappearing into the dark grounds. With a snarl, primarily of self-loathing, Garrick clambered to his feet, ignoring the pains that seemed to come from everywhere, and ran in pursuit.

The wet grass seeped into his shoes and socks, but it was the least of his discomforts. From some hidden reservoir within, Garrick gained a second wind and charged forward.

The man had slowed his pace as he glanced behind. He obviously hadn’t expected the detective to follow because, even in the near-darkness, Garrick could see his eyes widen in surprise as he lunged into him. It had been a while since Garrick had played rugby in school, but he remembered how to tackle.

Both men crashed to the ground, sliding through the white H of a helicopter landing pad chalked on the grass. Garrick had weight on in his side and manoeuvred himself on top, reaching out to block a hand from clawing for his eyes. He felt nails dig into his cheek and draw blood. It was only at the last moment he saw a gun swing in from the other hand.

The cold metal slammed across his temple.

Everything started to spin – then he heard the deafening crack of gunfire so close that a tinnitus whistle screech through his ears. He couldn’t resist as the man shoved him off. His face pressed into the wet grass, his nose filling with the scent of wet earth. He caught his breath as the whine lowered into something a little less intrusive. He felt as if he might vomit as he pushed himself upright. The spinning motion settled, but it took him two attempts to stand on wobbling legs.

The gunman had vanished into the darkness. Garrick turned as a couple of people brave enough to investigate the gunshot ran towards him. They were shouting, but the words were muffled in his ears. They were led by the bobbing light of Molly Meyer’s phone.

Uniformed police and a pair of ambulances were on the scene by the time Garrick returned to Fraser’s room. The Scotsman was sitting on his bed, drinking a whiskey offered by the night manager and fending off the paramedics.

Garrick allowed the scratches on his cheek, and the grazes on his temple and hands, to be sterilised with a swab, but other than that nobody had been injured. After convincing the arriving police officers he was responsible for the crime scene, he directed them to taking statements from the rest of the guests. Throughout, Molly Meyers had lingered quietly in the corner. Garrick had told her to leave, but she had protested, pointing out that was no way to treat anybody who had his back in the face of a gun-wielding maniac. Plus, she was a witness. Garrick didn’t have the strength or patience to argue with her.

“When I got to me room, the door was ajar. I thought it was housekeeping,” Fraser reported between generous gulps of whiskey. However drunk he had been thirty minutes ago, the shock had sobered him up. “When I walked in, he was pawing over me art!” He indicated to his leather carry case propped against the wall. “I shouted – and then saw he had a gun. I threw the chair at him.” He indicated to the wooden desk chair that was stuck part-way through a window. He shot at me as I threw it. Then he shouldered past and out the door. I was terrified. I had only just got back to me feet when he barged back in again, waving his gun. He made it out of the window with you following.”

“Has anything been taken?”

“No. Let’s face it, we both know what he was after.”

“Who knew you had them here?” Garrick glanced at Molly. “You said you hadn’t even told her.”

“Exactly!” snapped Fraser. “I told you I wanted police protection, and you didn’t provide it!”

Garrick cast another look at Molly, who was intrigued by the unfolding story.

“You can’t report any of this.”

“Oh, I think I can.”

“Not if it interferes with an active investigation.”

“Then I’ll tell people,” growled Fraser. “I wasn’t offered the protection I wanted and was then attacked.”

Garrick’s head was swamped by pain. He held up both hands, one to stop Molly, the other to silence Fraser.

“Of course we’ll assigned somebody after this.”

“And I don’t want to stay here. I want me own house. I feel safer there.”

In front of Molly, Garrick didn’t want to argue the point, especially as that was the scene of the first murder. How safe could he really feel there?

“Not tonight.”

“Then in a cell. Me and me art.”

“You want to spend the night in a prison cell?”

“Unless you don’t think I’ll be safe there?”

Garrick could see he was being deadly serious. He nodded. “Okay, I’ll lock you up you myself.”

Fraser opened the bedside table and took out a phone charger and his passport.

“Did the attacker seem familiar to you?”

Fraser shook his head as he moved to the wardrobe. “Couldn’t see much, but no. He was younger than me, I reckon. My height. Armed.”

Garrick realised Fraser was packing his belongings. “Leave everything as it is. Forensics will want to sweep through it all. If he got to the paintings, they’ll want to check for prints.”

“Fine. But they can do that anywhere. That case is staying with me.”

Garrick pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned to Molly.

“How much did you get on video?”

“The whole thing. Including your heroic leap out of the window.” Garrick winced. He knew he would look a complete fool. “That’s now evidence.” He held out his hand for her phone.

“Of course. I’ve already emailed the file to you.” She smiled sweetly. “I don’t see how my phone is needed.”

“And you can’t show that to anybody.”

She sucked in her breath. “Ah, sorry. If only you told me that earlier. The BBC has it too.”

“Molly…”

She lowered her voice; her freckled face breaking into a cheeky smile. “This is career pay dirt for me.