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

you might be able to go out and socialise this evening without being assassinated. Although don’t quote me on that.”

“If I do, I’ll wear a bulletproof vest.” Fraser flopped onto the sofa; legs splayed in a picture of slovenly relaxation. He balanced the small espresso cup on his stomach. “But that is brilliant news, detective. Let me guess, Becs?”

As he weighed up his response, Garrick noticed a new copy of Flying Magazine was open on the classifieds section. “Tell me about you and Huw Crawford.”

Fraser’s brow furrowed. “Crawford… Crawford… you’ll have to give me more to go on.”

“He’s in a relationship with Terri.”

Fraser leaned forward in his seat, resting his arms on his knees. He knocked the coffee back in one gulp and put the cup on the table.

“I knew she was seeing some other fella. But it’s not really my business. Why him?”

Garrick was disappointed to see he looked as confused as Garrick was feeling.

“He ran over a police officer while resisting arrest. He recognised me from your hotel room. He was the one trying to rob you. He was also involved with security truck heist in Tonbridge a couple of weeks ago, with an old friend of yours. Oscar Benjamin.”

All signs of ease vanished from Fraser. His right knee began to nervously judder.

“He’s no friend of mine, I can assure you. Although I think the worst revenge that I could unleash on him is to encourage him to stay with Becs. What makes you say he and Crawford did this thing?”

“He used the same gun in the heist and to rob you.”

Fraser gave a dry chuckle and shook his head in disbelief. “Some people…”

“It appears that Crawford was dragged into this through his girlfriend. Terri. Speaking of who…” Garrick gestured to the two new paintings he had noticed when he entered. He instantly recognised them as Hoys: large and awful. “Another two new Hoys?”

“You’re keeping my other two in evidence.” Fraser stood and moved closer to one to admire it. “I see you’re developing quite an eye.”

“Let’s just say I know what I like.” Garrick hadn’t meant to sound so disparaging. “And I know Terri is your mysterious artist. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Unless of course she’s implicated in this mess as anything other than a victim. In which case, I would start searching for a new golden goose.”

Fraser didn’t turn around. His fists clenched. Garrick had been hoping for more of a reaction, but in retrospect, he had potentially just destroyed Fraser’s route to fame and fortune.

When he spoke again, Fraser’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Terri is an innocent in this. She’s too trusting. Too naïve.”

“Are you saying that as the father of her child, or…”

Fraser sharply turned with a thunderous expression. “He is not mine. How many paternity tests do I need to take? It doesn’t matter what she says. It doesn’t alter the truth that she slept around.”

“Which is what you were doing to, between her and your wife. And you suspected she and Mark were sleeping together.”

“She was sleeping with everyone behind me back.” He drew in a sharp breath to calm himself. “But that has nothing to do with anything. This Crawford fella is after our time together. Terri has nothing to gain from doing me in. Rebecca, on the other hand…”

“She potentially gets her hands on the house and a valuable artist. And Mark?”

Fraser became pensive as he turned back to the art. “He was just in the way, wasn’t he? Poor sod.”

“He was also using the gallery to launder money.”

Fraser searched for something to say. “He was always looking for a get-rich-quick scheme.”

“Aren’t we all? And he knew Oscar Benjamin through you.”

“I would hardly say they were friends.” He held up a hand. “And before you ask one of your meandering questions, I did my time – which I still say was a miscarriage of justice–”

“Naturally.”

“And with no jiggery-pokery involving Mark. I wouldn’t have even suggested something illegal to him. Or to anyone,” he quickly added. “I’m a bona fide member of the art community these days.” He lifted his chin, daring Garrick to challenge him.

“So I see.” Garrick stood, a jolt of electricity shooting through his backside. He hadn’t told the paramedics about his wing mirror spanking and was now wondering if something was fractured. He looked at the paintings. Fraser caught the disapproving look.

“You still don’t see, do you?”

“I think these are worse than the last two.”

“That’s because people inheritably try to bring people more successful than themselves down. There is a famous saying about it: everybody’s a critic.”

25

“You’re certain that you have had no interaction with Huw Crawford?” asked Detective Sergeant Okon as Garrick poured a paper cup of water for Rebecca.

Rebecca took the cup and sipped it. Then she shook her head. Out of habit, Garrick checked the video was recording her every expression.

“You’ve asked my client that three different times,” said her solicitor, consulting his legal pad. “And each time she has replied the same way.”

Garrick resisted a snide comment. Since the case was coming together so neatly, he let Chib run the interview. He was still in pain when he sat, but had fared far better than PC Harry Wilkes. He was being kept in hospital suffering a concussion, a dislocated left shoulder, and he’d broken his right leg in two places. Garrick was hoping he'd have time to pop into the hospital to see him before the end of the day, although he suspected that Rebecca would not crack so quickly.

“I’m just trying to find out if she has remembered anything new,” Chib replied with an easy smile.

In her cell, Rebecca Ellis had been unaware of the developments with Huw Crawford, but Garrick knew all too well that her solicitor’s confidential discussion before the interview would have alerted her to developments. Crawford appeared to have pulled off a trick and was still hiding from the authorities despite the intensive manhunt and his face being plastered across the