MURDER IS SKIN DEEP M.G. Cole (best beach reads TXT) 📖

Chib blinked in surprise. “Didn’t hear a thing, sir.” She noticed he was acting more uptight than usual. “Are you okay?”

“Rattled, Chib. I’m rattled.”

Chib glanced through an email on her phone. “It turns out Fraser’s alibi checks out. He was in Wales two days before the murder. The hotel owner remembers he was quite reserved until it came to paying the bill.”

“Fancy him kicking up a stink. What was this ‘retreat’, anyway?”

“Oh, you’ll love it. It was a spiritual art getaway. According to the website, it was a chance for participants to expand their own artistic skills with the group, or to find contemplation within the countryside to open up one’s connection with a higher power.”

“I didn’t realise our Mr Fraser was so spiritual.”

“It was out near Hay-on-Wye. Powys police asked the participants about him. Seems he chose the countryside reflections as he didn’t socialise. Kept himself to himself. When he checked out he was effing and blinding, as the hotel manager recalls.”

They neared their cars parked side-by-side. Chib’s Nissan Leaf was the epitome of modernism and the future; Garrick’s dirty old Land Rover… he didn’t need to finish that mental analogy. He was feeling it each day.

The Nissan lit up and unlocked as Chib approached. Garrick had to jiggle the key in his door several times before the central locking allowed him entrance. He paused.

“How did he get there?”

“A taxi picked him up when he left. So, I assume by train.”

“I imagine it’s not the easiest place to get to, and he had a perfectly nice car in the garage. One that could have made the trip there and back on a single tank of petrol,” he added pointedly.

“He’s been asking when he can return to his home.”

“He’ll have to wait. It’s still a crime scene even if he is alive.”

“His solicitor’s been demanding we allowed him to pick up some clothes and essentials at least.”

Garrick thoughtfully drummed his fingers on the car roof. “Let’s get full coverage of where Mark Kline-Watson was over the last few days. I want a whole timeline of his association with Fraser and Hoy. We’re missing something…”

“Probably, but what?”

“A connection between our gallery owner and Oscar Benjamin.”

“You still think he’s the killer?”

“He’s in the mix somewhere. The possible affair. The debt. The fact he has gone missing.”

“But he would have clearly known the difference between Fraser and somebody doubling as him.”

“True. We’re talking about a man who let his brother take the fall for something people claim he was responsible for. He’s not the sort of man to get his hands dirty. Others do that for him. Others who wouldn’t know they have killed the wrong man if they’ve never met him before.”

The drive home was hampered by thickening fog. The concentration needed to drive didn’t help Garrick’s throbbing head. The news on the radio led with the story of Fraser’s dramatic rise from the grave. Garrick switched it off before it cut to an interview with Derek Fraser. He knew that the canny Scotsman was milking his time in the spotlight.

Several text messages from Wendy said how much she was looking forward to their theatre trip. That was a welcome distraction. But it didn’t last long. Garrick knew that the media fervour surrounding the case would only worsen if he couldn’t give the lions some meat. His team needed to find something that would break the case soon.

He did not know that it was about to get a lot worse.

11

Garrick only became aware that Derek Fraser was in the lobby when the shouting began. He had been waiting for him in the lobby of the splendid Chilston Park Hotel, just outside Maidstone. The stately, red-bricked country house had put Garrick back in time to a more elegant Jeeves & Wooster era as he had driven up the driveway. Fraser was clearly sparing no expense for his temporary accommodation, and Garrick suspected his nasty solicitor was planning to bill the department for the extravagance.

He had been engrossed in his phone, so hadn’t noticed Fraser skulk past on his way to the dining room. But somebody else had. There was a flash of scarlet, and a woman intercepted her prey.

“You son of a bitch!” she screamed. “Why are you still alive?”

He instantly recognised Fraser’s ex-wife, Rebecca Ellis. In person, she was even more impressive. Wearing a tight black top that emphasised her bosom, and skinny jeans, she sported a healthy tan and looked more radiant than the photograph gave her credit for. She wore a long bright scarlet long coat that matched her lipstick.

Fraser looked horrified to see her. “Becs? What’re you doing here?”

“I had to see it with my own eyes! My solicitor said you had cut me from your will! We had an agreement!”

“Of course I bloody cut you out! You’ve already bled me dry in life, so you’re not getting a penny outta me when I pop me clogs!”

“You’re so spiteful you even came back from the dead to rub it in!”

Garrick considered intervening as a crowd formed at a discreet distance. In the dining room, heads were turning. The staff behind the desk exchanged nervous glances. Garrick decided it was a personal moment between them, so linked his fingers together and sat back to enjoy the show.

“And I’d do it again!” Fraser screamed back.

“I’m going to make you wish you’d stayed dead.”

“I wish that every time I see you, you harpy!”

Her voice dropped to a sibilant hiss. “I want it all, Derek. Everything.” With that, she spun around and marched from the lobby.

Fraser glanced around, his face red with embarrassment. It was then he saw Garrick walking towards him with his hands in his pockets.

“I see you and your ex still get on.”

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to ask you a few questions.” He tilted his head in Rebecca’s direction. “But I think I’ve just found somebody much more interesting to chat to.