MURDER IS SKIN DEEP

Fraser.”
He was sprawled out in front of the television, with two large pools of dried blood extending from his shoulders and back like macabre angel wings. A large brickwork fireplace stood next to the TV and blackened logs and fragments of burnt papers showed it was still in use. The rest of the furnishings were all sleek and modern. A pale brown leather sofa, the end of which curved to sit five people, dominated the wall opposite the television. A large silver reading lamp hung over the corner. The metallic domed lampshade looked more at home in a science fiction film. The coffee table was handcrafted and modern, with multiple issues of magazines on it: Luxury Life, Country Life, Kent Life, Boat Owner, Flying Magazine, and Conde Nast Traveller.
The television was huge and kitted out with a Sky Q box and a surround sound bar. A pair of paintings hung on the wall. Garrick was no art connoisseur, and these looked amateurish, so he assumed they were collectibles, the sort coveted by people with no taste and lots of money.
Across the room was a solid oak dining table large enough to seat ten, with uncomfortable-looking narrow backed chairs neatly tucked all around. Beyond that was an open double-doorway into a kitchen that looked expensively appointed. At the opposite end of the living room an extension had been added, looking onto the front garden where Garrick had arrived. The glass from one of the smashed patio doors littered the floor with thousands of fragments.
“Burglary?” said Garrick as they moved closer to the body. Derek Fraser wore red trousers, a white shirt, and still had a pair of tan loafers on.
Chib read through the notes on her pad, all written in precise, neat script. “Maybe. Derek Frasier, 52, divorcee.” Frasier’s hair was a lush premature white, and his skin looked tanned as if from a recent holiday. Beyond that, his face was a mess of swelling and contusions. “Looks like somebody beat the heck out of him before shooting him.” Two broken teeth showed behind his death rictus.
“That looks like frenzied work.” Garrick glanced around but couldn’t see any photographs of the man himself. He wondered if the victim’s own mother would struggle to ID him. The blood had dried and solidified on the carpet fibres. “He’s been here for a fair bit.”
“Over twenty-four hours, they reckon,” Chib glanced at the forensic team.
“Who found him?”
“An Amazon delivery driver.” She indicated to a small package on the dining table. “Said he rang the bell before he noticed the patio was smashed open. The TV was on really loud. That’s what drew his attention. He came in through there,” Chib indicated to the broken door. “Found him dead. He muted the TV and rang 999.”
“SOCO found anything useful yet?”
Chib shook her head. “Forensics say It looks like the glass was broken with a hammer, we don’t know yet. Then it was used to bludgeon him too near-death. Then our killer shot him twice for good measure.”
Garrick knelt to get a closer look at the body. The left shirt sleeve was inched up, revealing deep indentations of watch strap. “Maybe his watch was stolen.”
Chib moved to the table and gestured to an open wallet. “This was left. No cash inside, but the credit cards are still there.”
“Maybe our killer took whatever cash there was and left the plastic. That's pretty common, as it makes little sense to be caught using a dead man’s credit card.”
“But why leave the TV?”
“That’s a two-man job to get it out of here. Nothing looks ransacked. It’s not as if he were searching for anything in particular. He would not hang around after killing him. He takes what he can and legs it.” Even as he spoke the words, Garrick felt there was something missing.
“There’s no sign of a struggle.”
“Mmm. What about a phone? Computer? Tablet?”
“Nothing yet, but we haven’t searched the kitchen or upstairs.” Chib crossed to the patio, careful not to disturb the broken glass. “So, our burglar breaks in here. Maybe Fraser heard nothing because of the TV’s volume. He crosses to here,” she took ten steps to the coffee table. “They have an altercation. Mr Fraser gets struck in the face with whatever the thief used to break the glass and is killed.” She cocked the fingers of the right hand to imitate a gun. “Then he’s shot twice for good measure.” She gingerly stepped around the bloodstains on the carpet. “Our killer dashes to the table where he sees the wallet. Takes what he can. Then, worried that the gunshots may have alerted somebody, he makes his way out the same way he got in.”
Garrick stood up and scratched the bristles of two days’ worth of growth as he looked around the room, picturing the moves Chib had suggested.
“If the intruder came with a gun, that sounds premeditated. If it was Fraser’s, then it sounds like an act of desperation.” He crossed to the Amazon package on the table. It was still taped closed. He left it for forensics to open. “Okay. The driver said the TV was on loud? How loud?” He spotted the TV remote on the floor, under the coffee table. He retrieved it and thumbed the standby button. The Samsung came to life with a raucous US crime show. It was so loud that the forensic team all jolted in surprise.
Garrick pointed at the TV and spoke to Chib, but his words were lost. She shook her head and yelled back but was barely audible.
“What did you say?”
Garrick stabbed the power button, killing the TV. “How could he hear the glass being broken when the intruder came in?”
“Maybe he was in the room or the kitchen? And just saw him?”
Garrick moved into the kitchen. It was dark, but after two attempts at finding the light switches, he turned them on. As he had glimpsed, it was a beautifully laid out kitchen with a central island, over which a rack of copper