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

He had no right to stop her, but it was bloody galling that Fraser was once again going to be a media darling, and he was dragging Garrick with him.

20

Derek Fraser was the first person who Garrick had place into a prison cell who was relieved to be there. Molly Meyer had pestered Fraser for an exclusive interview, which he had finally agreed to give from his cell, although Garrick suspected that he only wanted to hear her beg for the privilege. The press coverage was going to add to his own burgeoning legend.

Garrick’s hand was still shaking by the time he reached home and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. His left temple was an angry red wealth from where he’d been struck with the pistol. The scratches on his cheek were small, but vivid. They had bled the most. His hands and forearms were blotched with grazes and bruises from his various falls, and when he twisted around, his back and buttocks were a patchwork of larger ugly purple bruises, making it uncomfortable to sit or lie down.

He desperately needed sleep but didn’t dare take a pill because he had to be up in just a few hours.

Sleep never came.

He felt terrible by the time he reached the station. News of the previous night’s incident was all over the early morning news, with Molly’s video going viral. When he walked into the incident room, he was greeted with a round of applause from the few who had made it in early. From the BBC News website, Chib was playing Molly’s footage of the assailant disappearing through the window and Garrick fearlessly charging after him. By the time Molly caught up with the camera, Garrick could just be seen disappearing over the edge of the conservatory. The darkness concealed his pratfall and preserved his dignity. The TV presenters were rich in their praise of the heroic policeman.

The image of the gunman was too blurry to provide a useful identification, and the hotel’s security camera in the lobby and one looking across the car park had both had their wires snipped. The staff claimed they had been intermittent for months since a new software update, so they had thought nothing had been wrong.

Fanta caught an update on the computer system. “Forensics said the bullets were only blank 9mm shells.” She flashed him a grin. “Still, jumping out of the window was pretty awesome, sir.”

“Blanks can still be lethal.” Garrick didn’t know why he suddenly felt the need to defend his actions. “And regardless, Fraser wouldn’t have known either. It doesn’t change the thief’s motives.”

His mobile rang. It was Wendy.

“You’re on the TV again!” she squealed with delight.

“I noticed.” He moved to a quiet corner of the room, which was becoming busier by the moment. His freehand covered his ear, and he lowered his voice.

“I’m dating a real hero! I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to that. I suppose rambling isn’t as exciting as chasing gunmen across rooftops.”

“I will take a ramble with you anytime.”

She tittered suggestively. “Ooh, detective…”

Garrick felt himself blush. God, he was feeling like a schoolboy. Or perhaps it was the lack of sleep and his jangling nerves.

“Maybe you can tell me all about it later tonight? Or at least as much as you can.”

It was going to be a long day. He’d had no sleep, and he was feeling awful. He saw Superintendent Margery Drury marching into the room. She met his gaze and gave him a thumbs up.

“That would be great,” he found himself saying. “Sorry, I have to go. Let’s talk later.”

“Take care, hero!” The spark of awe in her voice was alarming. He was concerned that he was setting her up for a massive disappointment. He pocketed the phone and clapped his hands to gain his team’s attention.

“We need all hands for this.” His eyes fell on Fanta who sudden sat upright, not quite believing him. “Including you. We have our search warrant. With any luck, this is going to slam the case closed.”

Two police Mercedes Sprinters skidded to a halt on the Airbnb’s gravel driveway, followed by four marked police cars. They had been running silent and before they stopped, six burly police officers in body armour had already piled from the Sprinters and were converging on the house. Four carried Heckler & Koch MP5 semi-automatic carbines, while another lugged a heavy red steel enforcer battering ram.

“ARMED POLICE!” they yelled as they reached the door.

Garrick and Chib watched from the back of the lead marked car. Fanta sat in the front seat, fingers gripping the dash as she watched the battering ram smash against the front door’s lock. It took three hard whacks before the wood around the lock splintered. A further strike was required to force it to swing open.

The four-armed officers hefted their weapons and slipped inside in one fluid motion. They could hear the muffled shouts from within the building, then it fell silent. Garrick’s anxiety rose as, for two minutes, nothing happened. Then the two unarmed officers who had waited outside quickly dashed in. Moments later they escorted a dazed Rebecca Ellis out. She wore trainers, grey jogging slacks, and had her distinctive long red coat draped over her shoulders. She was taken to the back of a police car and cast a scowl in Garrick’s direction as he climbed from his vehicle and stretched his sore back. He waved to a liveried Volkswagen Crafter van parked near the gate. It was marked DOG SECTION. In moments, the trained handlers leashed up a pair of keen sniffer dogs, immediately sending the German Shepherds searching across the drive.

Garrick led the way inside the house, Fanta, Chib, Wilkes and Lord following. They split to search the separate rooms they’d been assigned to. Garrick joined the armed officer standing in the living room who was watching the muted BBC rolling news playing an on enormous projector screen. He held