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

a musical in Canterbury at the weekend. Garrick inwardly groaned, he couldn’t think of anything worse, but she had a friend in the orchestra who could get them cheap tickets. And he was enjoying Wendy’s company enough to endure two hours of somebody warbling on stage. He’ll reply later. He didn’t want to seem too keen.

Now wide awake, he texted Chib and told her he’d come with her to London to interview Derek Fraser’s ex-mistress. He still had a few early morning hours to kill before breakfast, and his headache was still there. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

London was the usual sprawling mass of lethargic traffic that Garrick didn’t miss. Since moving to Kent, he had spurned big cities, and winding through the snarl in Camden was a reminder of why. He was glad Chib had offered to drive. It had given him a chance to mock her Nissan Leaf electric car, and he took great delight when she informed him they will have to find a recharge station while they conduct the interview, otherwise they wouldn’t be able to make it back to Maidstone.

He decided not to mention the luxurious amount of leg space he had in a car with no mechanical engine. Nor the near-silent ride that was a blessing to his pounding head. He brought his DS up to date with the Rye gallery incident, and she told him about the progress they were making talking with Fraser’s known criminal affiliates. PC Lord and Wilkes had been tracking them down in person and discovered a trail of bad blood.

“Although Fraser did the time for fixing up stolen cars and reselling ones that had been written off, there were rumours he had plea-bargained.”

“Had he?”

Chib shrugged. “Not as far as we can tell. But some of his ex-thugs-in-arms think he spilled the beans about a group who were stealing catalytic convertors from cars, mostly while parked in driveways or public carparks. The rare elements in them sell for a fortune, and Fraser was one such trader.”

“Arrests were made?”

“A few. Including Noel Benjamin.”

“The name rings a bell.”

“He was arrested three times in violent robberies. They only made the last one stick and tagged the thefts on the end of his sentence too.”

“But he’s still banged up?”

“In Whitemoor.”

“So it couldn’t be him.”

“But his brother, Oscar, he was the alleged brains behind those armed robberies. Nothing was ever proven, and Oscar Benjamin has no criminal record. But it’s generally thought his brother took the rap for him.”

“What a family. Where is Oscar Benjamin now?”

“Six months ago, he sold his home in Faversham and left the country. We’re trying to trace him.”

Garrick never trusted coincidences. But lately, he also didn’t trust neat solutions. “Keep it quiet. Let’s not draw too much attention to him. I don’t want him spooked.”

To Garrick’s chagrin, Chib found a parking space at an electric charging point, just four-hundred-yards from their destination.

Terri Cordy lived above a betting shop on Camden High Street. She was 38, fresh-faced, despite the dark circles under her eyes, with long mousy hair cascading down her shoulders. She answered the door wearing grey jogging slacks and a baggy black t-shirt that had seen better days. Her five-month-old son was cradled against her chest, having just gone to sleep.

The apartment was threadbare, with a battered couch that looked as if it had been retrieved from a skip, and a stained coffee table filled with the detritus of baby care. There was no television, and she owned a pre-smartphone era mobile.

Chib had spoken to her on the phone, but again confirmed Fraser’s death in soft tones. She was very good at delivering grim news.

Terri was unperturbed. “If I tell you I don’t care, does that make me look guilty?”

“Did you have much contact with him?”

Terri gave a derisive snort. “Look at his mobile and tell me. He said he was going to block my calls. Then I think he did.”

“Do you want child support from him?” Chib glanced at the infant now slumbering in a cot, the only new piece of furniture in the flat.

“That would have been nice. Any acknowledgement that Ethan existed would have been welcome. He cut me off the moment his wife found out.”

“How long were you two seeing one another?”

“Eight months. We met at a fundraiser. I was doing some charity work, and he was all Scottish charm. It was about four months into it that the penny dropped, and I realised he was broke.”

Garrick looked up. “Broke? I thought he was doing well before the divorce.”

“His wife spent everything, and he was just playing catch-up to stay afloat. He said he hated her and wanted out. And me, I was already in love. The age difference didn’t bother me. I thought he’d divorce his wife and started dreaming we’d actually have a future.” She drifted into an introspective silence.

Chib gave her a little time to compose her thoughts. “Then you became pregnant?”

“He was happy at first. That’s what convinced me he’d divorce her. I mean, all this time he was convinced she was shagging somebody else behind his back.”

Garrick and Chib swapped a curious look. “His wife was having an affair?”

Terri nodded. “Yeah. Well, he was pretty sure. She spent more time in their villa than here. Suited us, as we could spend more time together.”

“If he wasn’t concerned about staying married, and he was broke because of her, what changed between the two of you? Why would he want to go back to her?” Garrick was mentally trying to understand the nature of their relationship but was drawing a blank.

“Good question. When he found out about her affair, he was the one that snapped. She was delighted. I think it was just the excuse she was looking for.”

Garrick held up his hand to interrupt. “He knew she was having an affair, and that bothered him, but when she knew about you, she didn’t care? And that bothered him more?”

“For a bit. Then he suddenly had an about-face