MURDER IS SKIN DEEP, M.G. Cole [i can read with my eyes shut TXT] 📗

getting my face around and creating a bit of a mystery about this new talent, but I needed the cash now.”

“So you screwed over your business partner?”

“Oscar only came to me to because he knew I wouldn’t rat him out and nobody else trusted him. The deal was that he’d take seventy per cent to cover what I owed him.” He shrugged as if it was self-explanatory. “We dumped the loot in Matthews’ dealership and walked away. We didn’t have time to count it. It was only when I saw the news that I realised we hadn’t nabbed as much as expected. Eighty grand, not the two million we were expecting. So I broke in to steal it again. Not all of it, mind.”

“No, you’re too honest for that,” Garrick muttered.

“Fifty grand. I thought it would look like Matthews was short-changing Oscar when we both turned up to claim it.” He sighed and idly picked at the tabletop. “Huw helped me break in. He knew Oscar was going to use that cash to help Terri and Ethan leave the country to start a new life.”

“Which you didn’t want to happen.”

Fraser looked incredulous. “Why would I want anything good to happen for that little cow? She slept with Oscar behind me back. Had his kid, which I originally thought was mine! After the paternity test showed it wasn’t… that hurt.”

He took a long gulp of water, emptying his paper cup. “I knew Huw would help because he didn’t want her to go. Simple, right? I took the cash to Mark. I already had an offshore account lined up, and me and Oscar were going to use him to launder the loot, so it made sense. It made even more sense when we put the cash through the books to buy the Hoys we couldn’t shift.”

Garrick couldn’t help but laugh. “Let me get this straight, you used the now-twice stolen cash, to inflate the value of your own artwork?”

Fraser shrugged. “I didn’t think it would make much of a difference. Mark got his commission; I got me money. I burnt the paintings,” he added sadly.

“You could always whip a few more up in your kitchen, couldn’t you?”

Fraser looked up in surprise. Then he smiled in utter defeat.

“Ah, well. That was a good ride while it lasted. Goes to show that I could’ve been a famous artist.”

“If you hadn’t killed anybody, then you could carry on painting like an infant, I suppose.”

“Mark started demanding a bigger cut. I think he told Oscar what I did. I’m not sure, but Oscar confronted me.” He lapsed into silence, replaying the memory. “I didn’t mean to kill Oscar though It was an accident.”

“But you didn’t kill him, did you? He was still alive.”

“It wasn’t much of a difference, was it? When he came around, he’d kill me or have me killed. Oscar Benjamin was not a nice man. He was responsible for so many crimes he got away with while other people, like his own brother, did the time.”

“And you thought that by killing him you’d be doing society a favour?” He had expected Hellberg to protest, but she remained quiet and disengaged.

“I thought many people, including me, would be better off without him. And I saw a chance of turning it all in. Starting anew.”

“Faking your own death.”

“Aye.”

“Huw was training to be a doctor. He had aspirations of being a plastic surgeon. He could’ve had quite the career. But you blackmailed him to use his knowledge and skill to disfigure Oscar Benjamin just enough that he could pass for you, under the right circumstances.”

“I didn’t think it would work that well. I thought it would buy me enough time to disappear.” He smiled sadly and held up his hands. “Who would have thought my death would’ve suddenly made Hoy a must have? That next piece sold for stupid money!”

“And with you dead, Mark Kline-Watson was under no obligation to pay you. So you had no choice but to come back from the dead.”

Fraser waved both hands like a showman. “Ta-dah! Then guess what, I started making more money as Hoy than I could holding-up armoured cars.”

“Inspiring. And the more you were in the news, the higher that price climbed.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s why you persuaded Huw Crawford to fake an attempt on your life to steal the art, knowing that the reporter you had been talking to was in the building at the same time.”

“You got me.”

“I don’t think Huw did that willingly, did he?” Fraser looked away. “I bet you kept blackmailing him, didn’t you? Told him how everybody would know about his involvement in killing Oscar. You laid on the guilt, knowing he’d buckle.” Fraser stared at the table. At least he had the good grace to look guilty. Garrick was swelling with anger. “That’s why he ran when he saw me. Knocking over PC Lord was an accident, but one that made his guilt and self-loathing push him to suicide. He felt he had no choice. You were blackmailing him. The woman he loved was still leaving the country. What else did he have? He killed himself. Your actions made him take his own life. You were the last person he called. What did he say to you?”

Fraser shook his head and refused to answer.

Garrick was struggling to keep the venom from his voice. “Because of that call, you knew I would turn up to ask you about the Terri connection. That gave you plenty of time to brew up an alibi. Didn’t it? It’s what made you decide to run last night. You’ve been playing everybody. You played me. Asking for protection, throwing accusations at everybody else to cover your own dirty tracks. Offering the cops assigned to protect you a cuppa and a biscuit, to lull them into a false sense of security so that you could park your car down the lane between shifts, ready to do a runner when the time came. Is there anybody you didn’t use?”

Fraser looked offended. “Rebecca