“He wasn’t formally convicted of anything in that instance, but his company folded. We’re still looking into his work history, but it seems he started making an honest mark in the art world with some new up-and-comer. An artist only known as Hoy. The first few had only sold for a couple of hundred quid, but the last one reached thirty grand. It gained Fraser a bit of fame. He recently had a feature in Country Life magazine and Kent Life. We have digital copies on the article on HOLMES.”
“Clocking up an honest reputation?” Garrick pulled a face. “Cause of death?”
“Two gunshots to the chest.”
Fanta put up a picture of the corpse, this time the SOCOs had placed small plastic number tags on the wound and at various points on the carpet. Then she pinned up a photograph of Fraser’s badly beaten face.
Chib continued. “The attack was savage.”
Garrick stared at the images, comparing them to the dashing man on the beach. He was unrecognisable. “Assuming his wife almost cleaned him out, he maintained a decent standard of living. Nice house, car, clothes. His watch was taken…”
“Forensics say it’s match for a Rolex,” said Fanta, “Although they can’t be too sure.”
“So, he had either kept money away from his ex, or was now making a good profit on the art.”
“Or both,” said Harry, slowly rotating back-and-forth on his chair as he took in the wall.
Chib glanced through her notes. “He kept the house after the divorce. She took the holiday villa and almost everything else.”
Garrick stood for a closer look at the picture of Fraser’s ex-wife. She was a few years younger than him. Long black hair framed high cheekbones that gave her an austere yet beguiling quality. Her necklace, earrings and bangles looked expensive.
“This was fourteen months ago? They looked happy enough. Why the sudden divorce?”
“The deceased was having an affair, which came to a head when he got her pregnant.”
“He’s a father?”
“Apparently. We’re still trying to get in touch with the mistress. She lives in London. What are you thinking?”
Garrick was silent for a moment as he studied the picture of the smiling couple, imagining their perfect life together suddenly thrown into upheaval because of Fraser’s infidelity.
“It feels too light to be a simple breaking and entering gone wrong. The owner is dead on the floor, yet the burglar didn’t search the house. He took a Rolex, but never went upstairs to see if there were any more watches or jewellery. Or even money. He’s a known art dealer, but the prints were left untouched on the walls. His Mercedes was left in the garage.”
“What does this feel like to you?” Garrick enjoyed pushing his DS. She was smart, but still didn’t have the confidence to voice her own opinions. He had never assumed that his own theories were right. Often hearing other people come up with the same ideas allowed him to see any obvious holes.
Chib thought for a moment, before registering surprise. “A revenge attack?”
“You mean the snubbed mistress?” said Wilkes in surprise.
Garrick tapped the photograph of the ex-wife. “Or the spurned lover who didn’t want to see him get back on his feet.”
“You said it felt like a hit,” said Chib quietly. “That’s still a possibility.”
Garrick saw the flash of excitement between Fanta and Wilkes. As the two youngest members of the team, in their twenties, they were still innocent enough to get excited about some of the gruesome things people did to one another.
“An assassination!” cried Fanta, with too much enthusiasm.
Garrick held up a cautionary hand. “Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. But we need to consider it. What if he was getting roughed up for information and it got out of hand?”
“The killer panics and shoots him. Runs from the house as quickly as possible,” said Chib.
“Only pausing to nick whatever he could see to make it look like a robbery gone wrong.”
Silence descended as everybody contemplated the idea. Garrick felt uplifted. He thrived on having a purpose and, with everything else going on in his life, this was a welcome distraction. Even more so because the victim was a known creep, so his empathy levels were low.
“We need to find the ex-lover. Chib, London is your old stomping ground, isn’t it?” She nodded. “See what you can turn up.” He addressed the rest of the team. “I want to know when Rebecca was last in the country and if our man had been to see her since the divorce. And we need to speak to the gallery owner.”
“On it,” said Harry Lord, rising from his seat.
“No, Harry, I’m going to go. I want you to look into any criminal links he previously had and let’s see if any of them were feeling particularly disgruntled towards our man.”
Harry looked disappointed as he sat back down, but he nodded.
“Pepsi, you’re always complaining you don’t get out.” Fanta threw Garrick a withering look. While he claimed to keep forgetting her name, she knew it was just a wind-up. “You’re coming with me.”
“You’re actually letting me out of here?” Her face lit up; all snarky asides forgotten.
“Maybe you will see something in the crappy art he sells. You can educate me.”
With an excited bounce in her step, Fanta snatched her jacket from the back of her seat. “I’m ready!”
“David! A word.” Superintendent Margery Drury stood at the doorway and beckoned him over. Garrick wondered how long she had been there. He nodded and turned to Fanta.
“Give me a few minutes and tell me everything about the gallery on the way.”
He took a couple of steps, following Drury to her office, when Chib stood in his way. She looked concerned and kept her voice low.
“One thing, sir. Pathology confirms that he was beaten up before he died, but there
