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

Garrick glanced around, noticing most of the baby’s belongings were now packed in cardboard boxes. A MacBook Pro laptop was open on the coffee table. She quickly closed the screen.

“We want to talk to you about Mark Kline-Watson.” Terri’s eyes darted around the room before she bobbed her head. “You remember him?”

“Of course,” she sighed. “He ran a second-hand shop in Islington. He focused on artwork that came from people wanting to get rid of it. He occasionally displayed work from new artists too, but to be honest, the shop was a bit of a dive. More a collection of bric-a-brac.”

“Can you describe your relationship?”

“I was studying art. He was selling it. Sort of. I noticed a few new paintings that I thought were quite good, so we got talking and became friends.”

“Do you remember any names of those artists?” Terri shook her head. “And you two were just casual friends?”

Terri self-consciously combed a strand of hair around her ear and looked offended.

“Do you mean was I shagging him?” she snapped.

Garrick shrugged. “I merely want to establish how it was between you.”

Her tone was suddenly cold. “We were friends. Did Derek put you up to this?”

“What do you mean?”

She stood and paced the room. “From the moment I introduced them, Derek accused us of having an affair. No, not ‘us’, just me. He wouldn’t say anything to Mark’s face. Oh, no. He didn’t want to upset him. But upsetting me was fine.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Because he’s a control freak! Derek Fraser has always been a manipulative bastard, but I didn’t see that until I got pregnant. Then he started asking if it was Mark’s.”

Garrick tried to reconcile Fraser’s claims that he had given Mark a slightly bigger percentage to help him out, to Terri’s accusations that he once thought Mark had been sleeping with her behind his back.

“Forgive me for asking, but Mark isn’t the father.”

“I never slept with him!” she said, staring out of the window, visibly upset.

With a single look, Chib berated Garrick for his heavy-handed approach. He scratched his nose, feeling embarrassed.

“I’m sorry to have asked, but we need everything to be clear.” He silently mouthed to Chib to continue the interview, then he stood. “May I use your bathroom?”

She didn’t look at him. “Down the hall on the left.”

Garrick walked past the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, through which he could see a cot and a couple of cardboard packing boxes inside. He found the shabby bathroom and relieved himself. He could hear Chib and Terri quietly talking in the living room. From the sound of it, Terri seemed much more at ease talking to her. Garrick regretted his direct questions. He hadn’t meant to upset her, and it was an unwelcome reminder that the newer generation of cops were a much more tactile understanding breed. He’d always been critical of the emotionless policing of the eighties and nineties, now he was finding himself falling foul of similar criticisms. Maybe each generation of officers was becoming more understanding and gentler. He chuckled to himself. God help the ones coming in after Chib. They’d probably be so soft they’d want to hold counselling sessions with their suspects, just to make sure they didn’t upset a murderer’s feelings.

He zipped up his fly and flushed the toilet. Squirting the last dregs of soap from a plastic dispenser, he quickly washed his hands… then he noticed something draped over the radiator.

“Bloody hell…”

He took a quick photograph of it before hurrying back to join the women. He paused in the hallway to read a message from Fanta. She had details on Mark Kline-Watson’s old shop in Islington. He glanced into the bedroom next to him as he heard the baby gurgle. He nudged the door a little wider until he could see movement in the cot. The lad was sleeping and gently rocking his legs back and forth. Garrick wasn’t one to fawn over babies, but it made him chuckle.

Now he could see the packing boxes in the room were filled with clothes that had been hastily thrown in without care. He spotted a black holdall bag in the corner. Just like the ones he had seen Rebecca Ellis put into her car. They were common enough, but the coincidence rankled him.

It brought with it questions he hadn’t considered. Had Rebecca and Terri seen one another recently? Fraser’s affair with Terri was the reason for their divorce, so why would they? Was there some truth in Rebecca’s statement about trying to help a friend leave her partner? Terri was clearly packing in a hurry and had been dismayed to see the police on her doorstep; then again, most people were. But if that was the case, why had Rebecca lied about her friend’s identity?

He had a theory about that. One he was eager to share with Chib.

Garrick casually strode into the living room as Terri was reiterating how hard it was being a single parent.

“Well, thank you for your time, Terri. But please call us if you remember anything else about Mr Kline-Watson.”

“I’m sure I won’t.”

He tapped the top of a packing box. “Leaving soon?”

“As fast as possible out of this dive.”

“Moving in with a boyfriend?”

She shot him a black look. “I don’t have one. Unless you consider that med student who won’t leave me alone. I don’t want him following me.”

“Who is he?” asked Chib.

Terri shook her head. “A bloke from Canterbury. One of a string of bad mistakes.” She cast a finger across the boxes. “That’s all going into storage.” She stopped herself from elaborating. “Then Ethan and I will find somewhere better than here. Anywhere, really.”

They left Terri just as the baby woke and began to cry. It wasn’t until they were several yards away that Chib spoke up.

“That was a brand-new laptop.”

“I noticed. She was a little hostile over Mark K-W, I thought.”

“You were a bit… clumsy, sir. Sorry.”

Garrick waved a finger at