Page 9 of Cut Deeper

“Gareth has been missing since Sunday,” he said.

I nodded.

“We met at a local pub. Fucked in a graveyard and parted ways,” I said, leaning around him just in time to catch the older detective’s disgust.“Never saw him again.”

“That’s what you say,” he muttered, pacing behind his colleague.

“If you did your job and pulled the doorbell footage from the street, you’d see my car arrive on Saturday. I haven’t used it since.”

“What were you doing in Moorbeck?”

“I’m an artist. I go where my muse takes me. I didn’t know Garrett until he approached me in the pub.”

“His name is Gareth. He has a wife and a three-month-old son,” the arsehole said.

“Okay, and?”

“You haven’t heard from him since Friday?” the other one asked.

I shook my head.

“It was a one-off. We exchanged numbers, but neither of us reached out.”

“Okay, thanks for your time.”

“You’re welcome. I hope you find Garrett,” I said, glancing at the angry arsehole.

I closed the door. It was Tuesday.

Where did Gareth go? Who was in my studio? It was one coincidence too many for my liking.

Had someone made me in Moorbeck?

No—but I hadn’t harmed him. I’d had a two-week plan mapped out to lure him into my well-prepared trap.

Then there were the knives. I’d looked them up—high-carbon Japanese steel. Expensive and razor sharp. I grudgingly appreciated them.

But this?

This was exposure.

I pulled my phone out and began looking at home security systems.

?? ?? ??

The blank canvas mocked me. I glared at it, but nothing changed.

Blank.

My mind had never been blank before.

The new security system would be fitted over the weekend. The sales team had assured me it wouldn’t take longer than a day to install.

I squinted.

No difference.

I turned and grabbed the palette knife. With a scream, I slashed the canvas right down the middle.