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

delivery guy calls the police. By which time the swelling and bruising on Oscar’s face has become worse, making identification difficult.”

“And how is Crawford tied into this?”

“The pathologist said that the broken jaw, teeth and cheekbones were done with just a little too much precision.”

“Which a medical student would know.”

“Huw either did it or advised Fraser. Just enough to make it look like torture, and just enough to leave Oscar Benjamin unrecognisable.”

“But what brings Fraser back from the dead? Why go to all the effort of faking his own death using a man he hates?”

Garrick steepled both hands over his nose and mouth as he took in the scene once more. He started chuckling as tiny clues took on a whole new meaning.

“He was killing himself off and at the same time getting revenge on Oscar. Fraser was never coming back. He was hiding out in Hay – until the news of his death hit. That’s what triggered the sudden interest in the Hoys he had been trying to sell.”

“His own work.”

“Which he had tried to pass off as a new discovery. And it was working, just not enough.”

“Until he died. And the price shot through the roof. Which would have left Mark Kline-Watson with his commission and Fraser’s unclaimed share.”

“So he makes a lot of noise at the Hotel in Hay so everybody can say he’s been there the whole time. And he comes back. Makes a dramatic entrance…”

“And the value of the art keeps increasing as he magically produces more Hoys for sale.” She nodded. “Right.”

“Right.”

“But…”

“You’re going to find a hole in my theory, aren’t you?”

“Only one I can drive a car through. Okay, maybe two. Why? He’s running from creditors; he could just go missing without having to kill anybody. Especially not Oscar Benjamin. And Huw Crawford tried to rob him, not help him.”

“You’re wrong, Chib. You can drive a bus through it…” then a thought struck him. “Crawford and Mark Kline-Watson knew one another. Fraser and K-W were already in cahoots trying to sell the artwork… no, that doesn’t make sense either...” Garrick slumped onto the sofa, his mind hopping from one random fact to another, desperate to draw them together.

“Although…” teased Chib. “What if we’ve been looking at this from completely the wrong end? You just said yourself that he came back from the dead because his art sold.”

“Right.”

“That was an unforeseen benefit. A side effect of his apparent death. Oscar Benjamin was over here two weeks before all of this, not to scam Fraser over an artist who was selling paintings for hardly anything. We know he came over for one last job. The security heist. Remember what Sean said, nobody wanted to work with him after he let Noel take the fall. If he’d do that to his own brother, who’d want to work with him? He needed somebody he could trust – not necessarily like – somebody who was as desperate as he was for the cash.”

“Fraser? So it wasn’t Crawford and Oscar holding up the truck. It was Fraser and Oscar…”

Chib nodded. “And Fraser used the Colt he had got from Mark Kline-Watson.”

Garrick stood suddenly as inspiration struck. “The same gun he then gave to Crawford. That’s why he was using blanks, it was a stunt to drive up the price again.” Garrick looked to the heavens as if it had been obvious. “Fraser wasn’t drunk. His bar bill showed he’d bought hardly anything. He wanted her there during the fake robbery, knowing it would be a huge press scoop.”

“An instead he got you, and a video that went viral.”

“Fraser was in the hotel the whole time. He could have cut the security cameras. And that’s why Crawford looked so terrified when he saw me and tossed the gun as soon as he could. He knew Fraser’s plan hadn’t gone smoothly.”

“Okay, I retract my statement. There’s only one flaw. The money from the truck.”

“The money from the heist wasn’t what they had expected. Remember, there had been a last-minute change from the two million they’d been expecting. It wasn’t enough to clear Fraser’s debts. It wasn’t enough to start Terri and Ethan up with a new life. They’re going nowhere. And with Oscar out of the picture, Crawford thinks he can still win Terri back. Although he’d be living in fear of Fraser saying anything.”

“And Mark Kline-Watson?”

“I don’t think it was Rebecca or Terri. They may be a lot of things, but they’re not killers. And I reckon once was enough for Crawford. Our favourite Scottish bastard has blood on his hands there.”

“And now he’s scarpered.” Chib sighed in frustration. “He could be anywhere. What would you do if you were him?”

“Leave the country. But he’s smart enough to know Border Force’ll stop him.” He shook his head. Then he spotted the new Flying magazine on the table.

“I think I know where he is!”

Bridle Farm was just over twenty minutes away outside the small village of Postling, and Fraser had a head start. With headlights still triggering his migraine, Garrick didn’t trust himself to drive at speed, so he let Chib drive his Land Rover. She drove like a maniac, taking the blue light flickering on the dash as a sign to drive aggressively. Used to the instant power of her electric car, she was constantly grousing under her breath as Garrick’s aging diesel failed to deliver power on demand, and the gears ground every time she shifted. She took the tight country bends at such reckless speeds that Garrick clung on to the door strap above his head to prevent him from being thrown out of his seat. As well as his headache, he now had to contend with severe motion sickness.

Following the GPS on his phone, they were soon racing down the narrow Pilgrim’s Way. Their destination was up on the right.

The gate accessing the farm was wide open, and the huge farmhouse beyond was bathed in darkness. It was only 7pm, but Garrick had recalled that the family