by M. G. Cole
“If I do, I’ll wear a bulletproof vest.” Fraser flopped onto the sofa; legs splayed in a picture of slovenly relaxation. He balanced the small espresso cup on his stomach. “But that is brilliant news, detective. Let me guess, Becs?”
As he weighed up his response, Garrick noticed a new copy of Flying Magazine was open on the classifieds section. “Tell me about you and Huw Crawford.”
Fraser’s brow furrowed. “Crawford… Crawford… you’ll have to give me more to go on.”
“He’s in a relationship with Terri.”
Fraser leaned forward in his seat, resting his arms on his knees. He knocked the coffee back in one gulp and put the cup on the table.
“I knew she was seeing some other fella. But it’s not really my business. Why him?”
Garrick was disappointed to see he looked as confused as Garrick was feeling.
“He ran over a police officer while resisting arrest. He recognised me from your hotel room. He was the one trying to rob you. He was also involved with security truck heist in Tonbridge a couple of weeks ago, with an old friend of yours. Oscar Benjamin.”
All signs of ease vanished from Fraser. His right knee began to nervously judder.
“He’s no friend of mine, I can assure you. Although I think the worst revenge that I could unleash on him is to encourage him to stay with Becs. What makes you say he and Crawford did this thing?”
“He used the same gun in the heist and to rob you.”
Fraser gave a dry chuckle and shook his head in disbelief. “Some people…”
“It appears that Crawford was dragged into this through his girlfriend. Terri. Speaking of who…” Garrick gestured to the two new paintings he had noticed when he entered. He instantly recognised them as Hoys: large and awful. “Another two new Hoys?”
“You’re keeping my other two in evidence.” Fraser stood and moved closer to one to admire it. “I see you’re developing quite an eye.”
“Let’s just say I know what I like.” Garrick hadn’t meant to sound so disparaging. “And I know Terri is your mysterious artist. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. Unless of course she’s implicated in this mess as anything other than a victim. In which case, I would start searching for a new golden goose.”
Fraser didn’t turn around. His fists clenched. Garrick had been hoping for more of a reaction, but in retrospect, he had potentially just destroyed Fraser’s route to fame and fortune.
When he spoke again, Fraser’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Terri is an innocent in this. She’s too trusting. Too naïve.”
“Are you saying that as the father of her child, or…”
Fraser sharply turned with a thunderous expression. “He is not mine. How many paternity tests do I need to take? It doesn’t matter what she says. It doesn’t alter the truth that she slept around.”
“Which is what you were doing to, between her and your wife. And you suspected she and Mark were sleeping together.”
“She was sleeping with everyone behind me back.” He drew in a sharp breath to calm himself. “But that has nothing to do with anything. This Crawford fella is after our time together. Terri has nothing to gain from doing me in. Rebecca, on the other hand…”
“She potentially gets her hands on the house and a valuable artist. And Mark?”
Fraser became pensive as he turned back to the art. “He was just in the way, wasn’t he? Poor sod.”
“He was also using the gallery to launder money.”
Fraser searched for something to say. “He was always looking for a get-rich-quick scheme.”
“Aren’t we all? And he knew Oscar Benjamin through you.”
“I would hardly say they were friends.” He held up a hand. “And before you ask one of your meandering questions, I did my time – which I still say was a miscarriage of justice–”
“Naturally.”
“And with no jiggery-pokery involving Mark. I wouldn’t have even suggested something illegal to him. Or to anyone,” he quickly added. “I’m a bona fide member of the art community these days.” He lifted his chin, daring Garrick to challenge him.
“So I see.” Garrick stood, a jolt of electricity shooting through his backside. He hadn’t told the paramedics about his wing mirror spanking and was now wondering if something was fractured. He looked at the paintings. Fraser caught the disapproving look.
“You still don’t see, do you?”
“I think these are worse than the last two.”
“That’s because people inheritably try to bring people more successful than themselves down. There is a famous saying about it: everybody’s a critic.”
25
“You’re certain that you have had no interaction with Huw Crawford?” asked Detective Sergeant Okon as Garrick poured a paper cup of water for Rebecca.
Rebecca took the cup and sipped it. Then she shook her head. Out of habit, Garrick checked the video was recording her every expression.
“You’ve asked my client that three different times,” said her solicitor, consulting his legal pad. “And each time she has replied the same way.”
Garrick resisted a snide comment. Since the case was coming together so neatly, he let Chib run the interview. He was still in pain when he sat, but had fared far better than PC Harry Wilkes. He was being kept in hospital suffering a concussion, a dislocated left shoulder, and he’d broken his right leg in two places. Garrick was hoping he'd have time to pop into the hospital to see him before the end of the day, although he suspected that Rebecca would not crack so quickly.
“I’m just trying to find out if she has remembered anything new,” Chib replied with an easy smile.
In her cell, Rebecca Ellis had been unaware of the developments with Huw Crawford, but Garrick knew all too well that her solicitor’s confidential discussion before the interview would have alerted her to developments. Crawford appeared to have pulled off a trick and was still hiding from the authorities despite the intensive manhunt and his face being plastered across the news thanks to Molly Meyers’ enthusiastic reporting.
Chib lay the picture of Rebecca and the black-clad figure loading the bags into her boot.
“That is Terri Cordy.” Chib leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands together. “By all means continue telling us about this phantom Jenny friend of yours. But Miss Cordy is now in custody. She’s not as tight-lipped as you. Which probably shouldn’t be a surprise since she has a child to consider in all of this. You’re not a mother, are you? You don’t know how strong that bond can be.”
Rebecca glowered at Chib but said nothing. Garrick could almost feel the slap Chib’s veiled threat contained. So far, all Terri Cordy had done was sob hysterically and answer only the most basic of questions. He made a mental note, Chibarameze Okon was not as sweet as she made out to be.
“Derek couldn’t have children,” Rebecca said quietly. “Thank God. It would have been like giving birth to a weasel.” She took a moment to compose herself. “You have the wrong opinion about me.”
“I can only form an opinion on what you tell me, Rebecca.” Chib’s tone was warm. She was playing a one-woman good-cop/bad-cop routine.
“Everything I told you about Jenny’s situation was the truth. Except, Jenny is Terri.” She toyed with the photograph. “She wanted to get away from Huw. He was abusive. The problem is, she couldn’t admit that to anybody. She certainly wouldn’t admit that to you. But she was frightened and wanted to run.” She picked up the photograph and studied it. “She really wanted to jump on the train and head to the continent. But she didn’t even possess a passport. I was trying to help her move some things out, so when she left, she wouldn’t lose everything.”
They had run background checks on Huw Crawford. There was no sign of a violent past, he came across as the quiet boy next-door. However, the armed robbery, attack on Fraser, and the hit-and-run were more than enough to convince Garrick that Crawford was a nasty piece of work.
Rebecca shifted in h
er seat, battling her own self-doubt. Garrick was surprised to see tears roll down her cheeks. Just how good an actress was she?
“The plan was for me to move as many of her things as I could to Portugal. She was going to stay with Oscar and me until she could find her feet.”
Garrick couldn’t hold back. “That was very understanding of you.”
She fixed him with her steely gaze. “You do not know how understanding I am, Detective.” She spat the words out as if they were a threat.
“Once she has her passport, she is coming over with little Ethan.”
“It sounds like you took a lot of time planning it,” said Chib softly. “Which is confusing because you told us you’d only come over when you discovered Derek was still alive.”
“Oscar had suggested it before all of this happened.” She waved her hand to take in the interview room. “And I came to see for myself that the son of a bitch was still alive, and to find Oscar.”
“Oh, we’re still looking,” Garrick said. “Don’t worry about that. In fact, Interpol has just issued a Red Notice for him. Do you know what a Red Notice means?”
Rebecca gave a thin smile. “It means he can be arrested and brought back here for questioning. I also know what it isn’t. It isn’t an international arrest warrant. Which means you are scrambling to find any evidence to link him to your theories.”
She was irritating Garrick more than usual. Mainly because she was right, but partly because his migraine was returning. They had evidence that placed Crawford at the heist, and assaulting Fraser and Garrick at the hotel, but nothing yet that placed him with the corpse in Fraser’s house or the death of Mark Kline-Watson, other than the ownership of the gun.
“If you ask me, Rebecca, it looks as if your beloved Oscar Benjamin has disappeared so you can all take the fall for everything he’s done. Just like his brother did.”
“For what he’s done? Enlighten me.”
Garrick held up the Tonbridge Station car park photo. “You met Terri Cordy here. She came straight from London. We have her movements logged on the tube gates she swiped in and out of. You didn’t meet to help her move her possessions out because, she had very few of them to begin with. I saw her flat. In fact, according to the CCTV footage, she arrived empty-handed. Those bags were ones you picked up from Stanley Matthews dealership next door. You must know good old Stan. He’s an old friend of your beloved Oscar.”
He noted the solicitor’s growing concern. Obviously, the facts were not tallying with what she had told him.
“Those bags were then spirited away.”
Rebecca leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. She kept one hand on the table, tracing lazy patterns across the surface.
“Why would we do that?”
“One thing about the heist that puzzled me, although it was smart. Risky, but smart. They performed the getaway on foot. No car to be stopped and swabbed for forensic evidence. Just a quick sprint down a couple of streets and they can deposit the bags at good old Stanley Matthews’ dodgy dealership and stroll out of town looking like a pair of innocent guys. Then, after they lie low and things die down, they can send in their better halves to pick up the loot.”
The intrepid solicitor waved his pen to intervene. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t right. You arrested my client on suspicion over the death of Mark Kline-Watson and the other fellow in Mr Fraser’s house. Yet you are now trying to connect her to an armed robbery that happened when she was out of the country? Are there any other unsolved crimes the Kent constabulary wants to throw at her? This is ridiculous! I demand that you release her immediately!”
Garrick completely blanked the indignant man. “That cash was bound for Mark Kline-Watson, wasn’t it? Terri introduced Fraser to him. Fraser introduced Oscar when you were still married and having an affair. At the time, Mark was using his second-hand shop in Islington as a front to launder money. His gallery in Rye was supposed to carry that on and maybe shift more money. Except he wasn’t really selling very much until Hoy’s artwork appeared on the scene. Now moving around larger sums of cash would be a lot easier. But what if Mark suddenly decided not to play ball? Or perhaps demand a larger cut? It’s the sort of thing that could lead to arguments, or even…” he let the word murder hang in the air.
Rebecca stared wide-eyed at him for several long moments.
Then she burst into laughter. She was laughing so hard that tears trickled down her face.
“Oh my God!” She exclaimed. “That’s amazing. I mean, you have those bags, right? You have the loot all neatly bundled up inside?” She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. Her frivolity suddenly crashing to deep menace. “When I walk out of here, I can’t wait to find out how many other innocent people you have harassed and nicked, because the media tempest that is going to generate will hurt you, Detective.”
Her solicitor was now incandescent. “Just to be clear, Detectives. You don’t have this alleged money. Or the bags. Or witnesses or evidence that place my client and Mr Crawford together. Or, indeed, place her at the scene of Mr Kline-Watson’s murder, other than she was seen earlier that day demanding to know where her partner was. That has been her crime – caring about the man she loves. Nothing more.”
The rest of the interview went downhill from there.
Harry Lord was sitting up in his bed when Garrick entered the private room. His leg was in plaster and the bandage around his head looked almost comical. His arm was held in a plastic sling, but despite it all, he was grinning.
“You’re not the only one who can make it on the news!” he cried with pride. “Have you seen it?”
“I was there, mate.”
“Some students filmed it all on their phones. Wham! I went over that car like the Six Million Dollar Man!”
Garrick forced a laugh. His encounter with Rebecca had dampened his spirits more than he could even admit to Chib. And his head thumped incessantly. The migraine had reached such intensity that during the drive to the hospital, the headlights from oncoming traffic felt like needles stabbing his eyeballs.
“Except they rebuilt Steve Austin as a state-of-the-art robot,” he said, recalling the vaguest childhood TV memories. “The best we can do for you is a bit of Lego.”
“Well, the wife loves it. You just missed her. I tell you what, if you ever need your love life spicing up, just get hit by a car.”
“Your relationship advice is second to none. At least the students knew how to use their phones. None of them wanted to try out CPR.” He raised a plastic bag he was carrying. “I bought you a get-well-soon prezzie. Something I know you’ll find useful.”
Harry eagerly snatched the bag and opened it as Garrick sat on the chair by the side of his bed and plucked a few grapes from the obligatory fruit Harry’s wife had left behind.
“Oh. Brilliant.” Harry raised the bicycle crash helmet Garrick had bought from Halfords on his way down. Harry pretended to throw it at Garrick and both men howled with laughter.
Garrick looked around the Kent and Canterbury Hospital room. “Not a bad hospital this one.”
“Yeah. I think it’s the only one down here I haven’t spent a night in.” Harry’s career had seen him collect several injuries, including a minor stab wound. But this latest one had taken first place in his injury leader board. His voice dropped in horror. “You don’t think they let any of those students practise here, do you?”
“I think that’s a distinct possibility. As Crawford burned off with you on his bonnet, all I could see was his ‘I love K+C’ bumper sticker.”
Harry raised the sheet and glanced at his crotch. “I’m amazed they haven’t accidentally snipped my balls off then.”
“Don’t worry,” Garrick assured him. “They do micro-surgery at a completely different university.”
Harry plucked a grape and threw it at Garrick’s head. “You’re a bastard, sir.”
“Privilege of rank.”
“You got him yet?” Harry said, suddenly sober.
<
br /> Garrick shook his head. “He’s a rat alright. Gone to ground, but we’ll collar him,” he added with optimism he didn’t feel.
Harry became reflective. “He was really bloody frightened. I saw his face, right until I nutted the windshield. Wide eyes. Petrified.”
Just as he had been at the hotel, thought Garrick.
He told him about Rebecca Ellis’s scathing rebuttal. He had to admit, some parts were tenuous, but the main thrust of her allegations felt right. Or at least they didn’t feel wildly wrong. He recalled Drury’s warning about Rebecca being the type who peppered lies with just enough truths.
Terri Cordy had been uncooperative since coming down from London. He had intended to interview her next, but after the shambles with Rebecca, all Garrick wanted to do was sleep and approach things with new zeal in the morning. He was still convinced that, in the absence of Oscar Benjamin, Huw Crawford would unlock everything.
He told Harry about how Rebecca had responded when he revealed Hoy’s identity.
“She doesn’t believe it’s Terri?”
“Should found the very idea laughable. Said she might have studied art in uni, but she had no skills. The Met who arrested her searched the flat. They found some paints, brushes and a couple of small canvases.”
He showed the photographs they had sent through. Two depicted bowls of fruit and another of her sleeping baby.
“These were watercolours. Hoy’s stuff is oil on canvas. The second issue is obvious.”
Harry scrolled through the pictures, then nodded. “She’s bloody good.”
They may not be professional quality, but at least they were not the abstract mess Fraser had been peddling.
Harry passed the phone back. “You’ve got a message. Didn’t you say Fraser confirmed she was our missing artist?”
Garrick had silenced the phone on entering the hospital and had missed the call from Chib. He dialled his voicemail as he recalled Fraser’s reaction.
“He just sort of went with it. He didn’t actually say…” He fell silent as he listened to the short message. Then he hung up and stared at the screen.