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

PC Wilkes was currently sifting through. His own cameras hadn’t been switched on the night of the murder.

“Of course, we now really need to contact Mr Hoy.”

Fraser leaned back in his seat as Rosamund Hellberg took over, opening her legal pad. Garrick suddenly had an inkling about what they had been discussing while alone.

“That is privileged commercial information.”

“Hoy is a suspect.”

“Really? How? He’s just a name. Nobody has identified him. You don’t have his fingerprints on the murder weapon. Mr Kline-Watson didn’t know him or have any contact with him, and vice versa. It was all channelled through my client.”

Garrick snorted in disbelief. “Are you refusing to hand over details of a person of interest?”

Fraser said nothing. He wouldn’t even look at Garrick.

Hellberg smiled. “Just so we are clear, Detective. My client is not refusing any formal request whatsoever. In fact, after you publicly declared he was dead, he has been cooperating with you to the best of his ability. He has even refrained from making any legal claims against you and the force that may have damaged his professional reputation–”

Garrick couldn’t hold back a derisive laugh. “Of course not! That mix-up made his name go international!”

Hellberg continued talking over him. “Instead, a man, whose identity still foxes you, was murdered in my client’s house. A business associate he heavily depends on, was murdered by an assailant unknown to you. And now you insist on knowing the identity of a third person you know nothing about! Ha!” she shook her head in disbelief. “Does the phrase chasing after the wind, mean anything to you? Or the word, incompetence?”

Garrick was furious. He felt his cheeks and forehead burn and suspected that was because of his migraine. He was also speechless because she was partially correct.

Point firmly made, Hellberg softened her tone. “However, because he believes in helping you as much as possible, Mr Fraser will put whatever questions you have to the artist.”

“That’s not good enough.”

Hellberg shrugged. “Just to be clear. I mean, crystal clear. Are you charging my client with anything? Anything at all?”

“No.”

“And he is helping as best he can. So that is just the way things are.” She closed her pad and turned to Fraser. “I think we are finished here.” She stood, but Fraser made no motion to leave. His hands were now clasped together, and he wore a haunted look.

“Why do you think Mark was killed?” he asked quietly.

“We’re trying to put that picture together,” said Chib, flinching at the inadvertent pun.

“They didn’t nick the paintings because there would be nowhere to sell them on to, really. They still have to be sold to justify their worth.” Fraser was internally working through the conundrum. “And the bloke killed in my house was dressed like me. Looked a bit like me.”

Garrick nodded.

“So, this is all about me.” Fraser cupped both hands over his mouth. “I think they want to get to Hoy.”

“Which raises the questions,” Garrick held up a finger. “Who is Hoy?” Then another finger curled upwards. “Who are ‘they’?”

Fraser looked between Garrick and Chib. “I think that’s obvious, isn’t it? That harpy ex-wife of mine, and Oscar Benjamin. He always said he’d get his own back on me. Kept claiming I owed him money, which I don’t. Blamed me for his brother being behind bars when he was a crook anyway!”

“We’re still looking for Oscar Benjamin,” Garrick admitted.

“Rebecca knows where he is.”

“She’s denying that.”

Fraser sniggered. “She’s a chronic liar, that woman. Why is she here? To shout at me for being alive? I haven’t heard jack from her since, so it can’t be that. I think they’re in cahoots trying to find out who Hoy is. And if they can’t do it through the people they killed, then it stands to reason they’ll come after me next.” He shifted nervously in his seat and looked at his solicitor. “Shouldn’t I have police protection?”

Hellberg looked expectantly at Garrick. “That is a good question.”

Garrick shuffled back into the incident room. The short time he’d spent with Fraser had drained him. He spent another twenty minutes sitting on the toilet with his eyes closed, letting the effects of two aspirin ease the pain in his head, and hopefully take the edge of the hot flush he had experienced.

Pictures of Mark Kline-Watson’s body hung on the evidence board, along with angles of the gallery from outside. Garrick groaned when he saw PC Fanta Liu was at her computer.

“I thought I ordered you to go home?”

“That was an order, sir? I thought it was a suggestion. I thought PC Wilkes could probably do with a hand going through the surveillance footage around the gallery, especially if we wanted to get it done quickly.”

Garrick bit his tongue; it was no use arguing with her. He flinched when Chib appeared at his side, offering a mug of tea.

“Are you okay, sir?” she said in a low voice, filled with concern.

Garrick nodded and took the drink. “I haven’t been sleeping much. And the more time I spend with Derek Fraser, the worse it is for my blood pressure.”

“It’s a matcha green tea.” She indicated to the cup. “Might help you unwind.”

He took a sip. It was exactly what he’d been craving. DS Okon’s preternatural power of reading his mind had struck again.

“Harry is still at the crime scene. I think East Sussex is relieved that we’re taking the lead. I don’t think they want to stretch resources fighting the media. The coroner’s initial cause of death is blunt-force trauma to the head. He was struck twice with the sculpture.”

“That’s hardly an accident. Twice to ensure he’s dead.”

“His phone is missing. Digital forensics are talking to the networks to see if it pings any masts. Other than that, nothing else was taken. As best we can tell. Time of death was probably between one and two. Nobody reported any banging of doors or shouting, so my guess is the visitor was expected. Harry showed Oscar Benjamin’s picture around. A few people recognised him from