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

using her maiden name affect her first name? Y’see, there was only one Jenny, or Jen or Jennifer, registered as a passenger all day. I’m as surprised as you. It is quite a common name. And that Jenny went to Disneyland with her husband and two children.”

Garrick loved how thorough Fanta had been in drilling down into the details. She even knew which hotel they were staying at. And she had gone further.

“And CCTV doesn’t show you dropping her off at the station.” He spread his hands. “I’m confused.”

To her credit, Rebecca’s smirk only slightly drifted into mild irritation. “I didn’t drop her at the station. I dropped her near the Outlet centre. She wanted to pick up a few things before she left.”

The Designer Outlet was an elliptical complex of about seventy stores, selling mostly out of season fashions at low prices. From a distance, the rooftop looked like a line of tents and always put Garrick in mind of an enormous circus. It was a popular destination for tourists and local bargain hunters alike.

“I see. Shopping?” He waited for Rebecca to confirm with a single nod. “Carrying those two big holdalls filled with her belongings?”

“If she was smart, she would have put them in storage.”

“So, after saying goodbye, she went shopping, then failed to get on the train. A train which she didn’t have a ticket for?”

“I’m not her mother. Maybe she had a change of heart. Maybe she lied to me.” She sighed and drummed her fingers on the table. “What else can I tell you? She was in a relationship she wanted to get out of. I never met him, and I don’t know his name.” She shrugged, end of story.

Garrick was impressed she was keeping her cool.

“Maybe. Lies have a way of tripping people up.” He let her fidget in silence, then toyed with the mug of matcha tea he had brought with him. “Humour me. You had no visitors at the house.”

Forensics reported a few indicators of other people, but as a rental that was to be expected. They had jokingly commented that it should get an extra star on its TripAdvisor rating, because it had been so thoroughly cleaned. But one thing hadn’t been.

“There were two cups in the sink.”

Garrick paused. Rebecca’s lips parted, but then she had second thoughts on whatever she had been about to say.

“One had lipstick marks that match you. The other had normal lip marks, but it wasn’t you. Who was it?”

Rebecca folded her arms. “Why don’t you tell me?”

It was a woman, that much he knew. Otherwise they were drawing a blank on anybody with a previous criminal record.

“I think it’s your non-existent guest.”

“That cup was dirty when I found it in the cupboard. In fact, there were several plates and a knife that hadn’t been washed properly. I was livid. When you rent accommodation at that standard, you expect it to be hygienic.”

The smirk had returned. Garrick knew she was lying. With the obsessive level of cleanliness they had found, he doubted a few dirty cups would have survived unnoticed. Finally, he passed her a photograph of the Colt pistol.

“Does this look familiar? It’s old I know, but…”

She gave it a cursory glance. “Why should it? I hate guns.” After a pause she added, “How long do you expect me to be in here? My flight home leaves tomorrow.”

Garrick didn’t dignify her with an answer. Something had just occurred to him.

“Cast your mind back to your argument with Mr Kline-Watson.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes and sighed theatrically. “I have told you all I remember. I wanted to find Hoy. I wanted to screw my ex-husband over. And if there was a law against that, then you would be arresting over half the women in the country.”

“Did you know what Mark Kline-Watson did before opening his gallery in Rye?”

Rebecca licked her lips. He hesitated, unsure where he was going. “No.”

Garrick flashed a shark-like smile. “I do.”

He had told Chib to drop everything and drive him into London. He had explained little and spent most of the journey silently piecing together strands of information. They arrived in Camden, and Chib again found a free parking space where she could charge the car. She caught Garrick’s look.

“You’re seriously tempted to get one of these, aren’t you, sir?”

“What? And join the twenty-first century driving a yogurt pot on wheels? Perish the thought.”

They rang Terri Cordy’s doorbell, but she didn’t answer, so they found a window seat in a Starbucks across from the street and waited. Chib ordered a large mocha, while Garrick was content with a small green tea and a blueberry muffin that was far too big to be healthy. He outlined his thinking.

“I can’t persuade Fraser to reveal Hoy’s identity. He still hasn’t returned the questions I gave him, and they’ve seen one another recently. Rebecca told me she thinks they met while he was seeing Terri. Terri put Fraser in touch with Mark Kline-Watson. They the two most lively to have met Hoy.”

“But he didn’t know Hoy’s identity.”

“That’s what he told Rebecca. Let’s face it, why would he give anything away when she came charging in? Fraser told me Mark was demanding a bigger percentage, and he had big business debts.”

“Fraser refused to budge.”

“I don’t blame him. But it also means Mark K-W really didn’t know Hoy or he would have gone to him directly.”

“Only Fraser knows.”

Garrick pointed at Terri’s flat above the betting shop. “So does she, whether or not she is conscious of it. If Mark didn’t get them together, then Rebecca is right, and she did. We just need to jog her memory.”

It was fifty minutes later, and after another coffee for Chib, when Terri returned to her apartment, carrying her baby in a papoose. They gave her five minutes so she could settle the child down before they crossed the street and rang the bell.

Terri was not pleased to see them, and it took Garrick two attempts to persuade her to let them inside.

“I’ve