MURDER IS SKIN DEEP Page 13

  His target jinked into the open door of a room and before Garrick knew it, he found himself in Fraser’s large suite. Fraser was sprawled across the thick royal-blue carpet. He was moving and groaning, which was enough for Garrick.

  The assailant was hunkered in the frame of an open window. The curtains billowed as rain gust in from outside. The only light came from a table lamp, showing the man was wearing all-black, with a hoodie top pulled tight. The handgun was slipped in the belt of his jeans. A black face mask covered everything from his eyes down. He looked straight at Garrick – not with the eyes of a killer, but those of a frightened young man.

  Then he jumped out.

  “NO!”

  Garrick darted to the window, unable to stop him.

  The drop was only a few feet onto the angled glass roof of a conservatory, below which he could see the startled faces of diners looking up. The man slid on his backside towards the edge and fell the rest of the way onto the grass below.

  Garrick wasn’t thinking. He clambered through the window and onto the double-glazed glass panel. Only when he applied his full weight and heard it creak, did it occur to him he was several stone heavier than the other bloke. He twisted to turn back, but his shoes slipped on the rain-soaked glass and he fell flat on his chest. His palms squealed along the glass and refused to gain any purchase as he slid backwards.

  Then he was suddenly flung off the edge. He landed on his feet – but momentum propelled him onto his backside, and he rolled across the slick grass, his breath knocked from him.

  Rolling to his knees, he could just make out the figure disappearing into the dark grounds. With a snarl, primarily of self-loathing, Garrick clambered to his feet, ignoring the pains that seemed to come from everywhere, and ran in pursuit.

  The wet grass seeped into his shoes and socks, but it was the least of his discomforts. From some hidden reservoir within, Garrick gained a second wind and charged forward.

  The man had slowed his pace as he glanced behind. He obviously hadn’t expected the detective to follow because, even in the near-darkness, Garrick could see his eyes widen in surprise as he lunged into him. It had been a while since Garrick had played rugby in school, but he remembered how to tackle.

  Both men crashed to the ground, sliding through the white H of a helicopter landing pad chalked on the grass. Garrick had weight on in his side and manoeuvred himself on top, reaching out to block a hand from clawing for his eyes. He felt nails dig into his cheek and draw blood. It was only at the last moment he saw a gun swing in from the other hand.

  The cold metal slammed across his temple.

  Everything started to spin – then he heard the deafening crack of gunfire so close that a tinnitus whistle screech through his ears. He couldn’t resist as the man shoved him off. His face pressed into the wet grass, his nose filling with the scent of wet earth. He caught his breath as the whine lowered into something a little less intrusive. He felt as if he might vomit as he pushed himself upright. The spinning motion settled, but it took him two attempts to stand on wobbling legs.

  The gunman had vanished into the darkness. Garrick turned as a couple of people brave enough to investigate the gunshot ran towards him. They were shouting, but the words were muffled in his ears. They were led by the bobbing light of Molly Meyer’s phone.

  Uniformed police and a pair of ambulances were on the scene by the time Garrick returned to Fraser’s room. The Scotsman was sitting on his bed, drinking a whiskey offered by the night manager and fending off the paramedics.

  Garrick allowed the scratches on his cheek, and the grazes on his temple and hands, to be sterilised with a swab, but other than that nobody had been injured. After convincing the arriving police officers he was responsible for the crime scene, he directed them to taking statements from the rest of the guests. Throughout, Molly Meyers had lingered quietly in the corner. Garrick had told her to leave, but she had protested, pointing out that was no way to treat anybody who had his back in the face of a gun-wielding maniac. Plus, she was a witness. Garrick didn’t have the strength or patience to argue with her.

  “When I got to me room, the door was ajar. I thought it was housekeeping,” Fraser reported between generous gulps of whiskey. However drunk he had been thirty minutes ago, the shock had sobered him up. “When I walked in, he was pawing over me art!” He indicated to his leather carry case propped against the wall. “I shouted – and then saw he had a gun. I threw the chair at him.” He indicated to the wooden desk chair that was stuck part-way through a window. He shot at me as I threw it. Then he shouldered past and out the door. I was terrified. I had only just got back to me feet when he barged back in again, waving his gun. He made it out of the window with you following.”

  “Has anything been taken?”

  “No. Let’s face it, we both know what he was after.”

  “Who knew you had them here?” Garrick glanced at Molly. “You said you hadn’t even told her.”

  “Exactly!” snapped Fraser. “I told you I wanted police protection, and you didn’t provide it!”

  Garrick cast another look at Molly, who was intrigued by the unfolding story.

  “You can’t report any of this.”

  “Oh, I think I can.”

  “Not if it interferes with an active investigation.”

  “Then I’ll tell people,” growled Fraser. “I wasn’t offered the protection I wanted and was then attacked.”

  Garrick’s head was swamped by pain. He held up both hands, one to stop Molly, the other to silence Fraser.

  “Of course we’ll assigned somebody after this.”

  “And I don’t want to stay here. I want me own house. I feel safer there.”

  In front of Molly, Garrick didn’t want to argue the point, especially as that was the scene of the first murder. How safe could he really feel there?

  “Not tonight.”

  “Then in a cell. Me and me art.”

  “You want to spend the night in a prison cell?”

  “Unless you don’t think I’ll be safe there?”

  Garrick could see he was being deadly serious. He nodded. “Okay, I’ll lock you up you myself.”

  Fraser opened the bedside table and took out a phone charger and his passport.

  “Did the attacker seem familiar to you?”

  Fraser shook his head as he moved to the wardrobe. “Couldn’t see much, but no. He was younger than me, I reckon. My height. Armed.”

  Garrick realised Fraser was packing his belongings. “Leave everything as it is. Forensics will want to sweep through it all. If he got to the paintings, they’ll want to check for prints.”

  “Fine. But they can do that anywhere. That case is staying with me.”

  Garrick pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned to Molly.

  “How much did you get on video?”

  “The whole thing. Including your heroic leap out of the window.” Garrick winced. He knew he would look a complete fool. “That’s now evidence.” He held out his hand for her phone.

  “Of course. I’ve already emailed the file to you.” She smiled sweetly. “I don’t see how my phone is needed.”

  “And you can’t show that to anybody.”

  She sucked in her breath. “Ah, sorry. If only you told me that earlier. The BBC has it too.”

  “Molly…”

  She lowered her voice; her freckled face breaking into a cheeky smile. “This is career pay dirt for me. A chance to jump from a local paper to television!”

  He had no right to stop her, but it was bloody galling that Fraser was once again going to be a media darling, and he was dragging Garrick with him.

  20

  Derek Fraser was the first person who Garrick had place into a prison cell who was relieved to be there. Molly Meyer had pestered Fraser for an exclusive interview, which he had finally agreed to give from his cell, although Garrick suspected that he only wanted to hear her beg for the privilege. The press coverage was going to add to his own b
urgeoning legend.

  Garrick’s hand was still shaking by the time he reached home and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. His left temple was an angry red wealth from where he’d been struck with the pistol. The scratches on his cheek were small, but vivid. They had bled the most. His hands and forearms were blotched with grazes and bruises from his various falls, and when he twisted around, his back and buttocks were a patchwork of larger ugly purple bruises, making it uncomfortable to sit or lie down.

  He desperately needed sleep but didn’t dare take a pill because he had to be up in just a few hours.

  Sleep never came.

  He felt terrible by the time he reached the station. News of the previous night’s incident was all over the early morning news, with Molly’s video going viral. When he walked into the incident room, he was greeted with a round of applause from the few who had made it in early. From the BBC News website, Chib was playing Molly’s footage of the assailant disappearing through the window and Garrick fearlessly charging after him. By the time Molly caught up with the camera, Garrick could just be seen disappearing over the edge of the conservatory. The darkness concealed his pratfall and preserved his dignity. The TV presenters were rich in their praise of the heroic policeman.

  The image of the gunman was too blurry to provide a useful identification, and the hotel’s security camera in the lobby and one looking across the car park had both had their wires snipped. The staff claimed they had been intermittent for months since a new software update, so they had thought nothing had been wrong.

  Fanta caught an update on the computer system. “Forensics said the bullets were only blank 9mm shells.” She flashed him a grin. “Still, jumping out of the window was pretty awesome, sir.”

  “Blanks can still be lethal.” Garrick didn’t know why he suddenly felt the need to defend his actions. “And regardless, Fraser wouldn’t have known either. It doesn’t change the thief’s motives.”

  His mobile rang. It was Wendy.

  “You’re on the TV again!” she squealed with delight.

  “I noticed.” He moved to a quiet corner of the room, which was becoming busier by the moment. His freehand covered his ear, and he lowered his voice.

  “I’m dating a real hero! I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to that. I suppose rambling isn’t as exciting as chasing gunmen across rooftops.”

  “I will take a ramble with you anytime.”

  She tittered suggestively. “Ooh, detective…”

  Garrick felt himself blush. God, he was feeling like a schoolboy. Or perhaps it was the lack of sleep and his jangling nerves.

  “Maybe you can tell me all about it later tonight? Or at least as much as you can.”

  It was going to be a long day. He’d had no sleep, and he was feeling awful. He saw Superintendent Margery Drury marching into the room. She met his gaze and gave him a thumbs up.

  “That would be great,” he found himself saying. “Sorry, I have to go. Let’s talk later.”

  “Take care, hero!” The spark of awe in her voice was alarming. He was concerned that he was setting her up for a massive disappointment. He pocketed the phone and clapped his hands to gain his team’s attention.

  “We need all hands for this.” His eyes fell on Fanta who sudden sat upright, not quite believing him. “Including you. We have our search warrant. With any luck, this is going to slam the case closed.”

  Two police Mercedes Sprinters skidded to a halt on the Airbnb’s gravel driveway, followed by four marked police cars. They had been running silent and before they stopped, six burly police officers in body armour had already piled from the Sprinters and were converging on the house. Four carried Heckler & Koch MP5 semi-automatic carbines, while another lugged a heavy red steel enforcer battering ram.

  “ARMED POLICE!” they yelled as they reached the door.

  Garrick and Chib watched from the back of the lead marked car. Fanta sat in the front seat, fingers gripping the dash as she watched the battering ram smash against the front door’s lock. It took three hard whacks before the wood around the lock splintered. A further strike was required to force it to swing open.

  The four-armed officers hefted their weapons and slipped inside in one fluid motion. They could hear the muffled shouts from within the building, then it fell silent. Garrick’s anxiety rose as, for two minutes, nothing happened. Then the two unarmed officers who had waited outside quickly dashed in. Moments later they escorted a dazed Rebecca Ellis out. She wore trainers, grey jogging slacks, and had her distinctive long red coat draped over her shoulders. She was taken to the back of a police car and cast a scowl in Garrick’s direction as he climbed from his vehicle and stretched his sore back. He waved to a liveried Volkswagen Crafter van parked near the gate. It was marked DOG SECTION. In moments, the trained handlers leashed up a pair of keen sniffer dogs, immediately sending the German Shepherds searching across the drive.

  Garrick led the way inside the house, Fanta, Chib, Wilkes and Lord following. They split to search the separate rooms they’d been assigned to. Garrick joined the armed officer standing in the living room who was watching the muted BBC rolling news playing an on enormous projector screen. He held his rifle in a low carry position and gave Garrick a curious look as he recognised him from the telly.

  “Wouldn’t mind one of these myself,” said the officer, nodding to the screen.

  “Did she resist? Or say anything?” Garrick looked around the luxurious living room, noticing the BBC report was showing the footage of him in the hotel. Feeling awkward, he didn’t meet the officer’s gaze. There was a half-eaten bowl of cereal on the table, now a soft mulch in a puddle of milk. Next to it a still steaming cup of tea.

  “No. She was crapping herself.”

  Garrick saw an Alsatian being led into the spacious manicured rear garden. He crossed into the open-plan kitchen. It looked barely used. There were two cups in the sink; only one had a lipstick mark on the rim.

  Chib hurried down the staircase and Garrick joined her in the hallway. “Looks like one person slept in the bed. I can’t see any obvious signs of anybody. And we can’t find those holdalls she picked up from Matthews.”

  Garrick nodded. He walked back outside and saw Sean Wilkes had all the doors of her Fiat Panda open and was examining the boot. The car carrying Rebecca Ellis drove away, passing a white forensics van turning in from the main road. He wished he wasn’t feeling so fatigued and didn’t trust himself not to fumble over some small pivotal clue. This was where all the threads had led. This is where he’d find the answers.

  The interview had scarcely begun when Rebecca Ellis slammed both hands on the desk and shrieked at Garrick.

  “This is a ridiculous waste of time! Instead of dragging me in here, you should be out there finding my Oscar!”

  For a moment Garrick was thrown, although he was careful not to show it. It wasn’t quite the line of defence he had been expecting. She was either a very good actor or was genuinely upset. He couldn’t tell which.

  “I think you know where he is.”

  “If I knew I wouldn’t be in this sinkhole of a country, would I?”

  “What was his business here?”

  “I told you already. I don’t know. I never asked questions.”

  “Because it was illegal?”

  The suited lawyer next to her shook his head. “Don’t answer that.”

  “No! We have a relationship in which we respect each other’s privacy.” She folded her arms and tilted her chin defiantly.

  Garrick pushed across the photograph of her and the mysterious person loading the bags into her car.

  “Help me with a name.”

  Rebecca looked at them for longer than necessary. She picked it up and held it closer. “That’s an old friend I hadn’t seen for a while. She was passing through, so we caught up. I gave her a lift to Ashford International. It gave us a chance to catch up.”

  A woman? That wasn’t what Garrick had hoped for. At the back of his
mind, he’d matched the height of last night’s gunman with the figure in the photo.

  “We’ll need her details.”

  “Jenny Laverty. She’s in France now. She could be anywhere. I don’t have any details to give you. She said she’d reach out to me when she settles down.”

  “This Jenny, did you take her back to the house for a catch up?”

  “There was no time. I left you, picked her up at Tonbridge where she was going to change for Ashford. It made sense to meet her there. It was short and sweet.”

  Changing trains made sense. That was another disappointment.

  “Oscar rented the house you’re staying in.”

  Rebecca shrugged. “Which is why I’m staying there. No big mystery.”

  “We didn’t find any of his clothes or belongings.”

  Rebecca managed a sarcastic smile. “Bravo. Now you see why I’m so concerned about finding him. When I arrived, he had taken everything. He always travelled light, but he’d taken his shower gel, shaver, blood pressure tablets. All gone. Which is why I’m so worried.”

  Her voice faltered slightly. Garrick was starting to believe her. Or at least that side of her story. He produced the photo PC Liu had taken, showing her arguing Mark Kline-Watson. She looked at it, then at him.

  “I’m having déjà vu. Didn’t we have this discussion already? Voluntarily? And without my solicitor?”

  “For the record, and for your solicitor’s benefit…”

  “I was there because I wanted to contact Hoy, because I believe my ex-bastard husband kept his business interest a secret to avoid splitting everything in the divorce.”

  “And you believed Mr Kline-Watson when he said he had no contact with Hoy?”

  “It fits with Derek’s obsession with secrecy and his desire to be at the centre of the universe.”

  “Who do you think killed him?”

  The solicitor sighed. “Detective, you can’t put words in my client’s mouth.”