A Body in the Lakes Graham Smith (free e novels txt) 📖

of thinking, O’Dowd had told her that she’d had instructions from on high and that Beth was to spend her time trying to identify who was framing the mayor, as the DCI and chief super both believed that was the best way to catch Felicia’s killer.

The playlist she put on for the journey had been stocked with power ballads. It was her ‘calm down’ music, as she wanted to chase away the anger at what she felt was unnecessary interference from the higher-ranking officers.

She accepted that the case had generated a lot of media attention. The killer had been dubbed ‘the Lakeland Ripper’ by the ITV news. As was typical, once someone had christened the killer, the name had stuck and other members of the press were sure to use it.

Once she got to the outskirts of Carlisle she managed to refocus her mind from its wandering across all aspects of the case and concentrate on how she would handle the mayor.

O’Dowd had made it clear that she must be respectful and that she had to apologise for the ways she’d pressured him on Monday. That wasn’t something she was looking forward to, but she was aware it had to happen whether she liked it or not.

The greater concern to her was how she should act around the mayor. There was no doubt in her mind that behind his public image he was a different character. That he wasn’t as squeaky clean as he made himself out to be. The fact someone was trying to frame him as a rapist and a murderer was a big red flag as far as she was concerned.

Sending an anonymous letter was one thing, but that the killer had escalated his campaign – by planting evidence at the scene which implicated the mayor and also secreting child abuse images on his computer – spoke of a deeply personal vendetta.

Maybe the DCI and chief super were right: maybe her best chance of catching Felicia’s killer was to trace him through his campaign against the mayor rather than following the trail from Felicia’s murder.

Beth felt a compelling urge to wonder if the vendetta was an indication there was a darker side to Forster’s nature, but she knew that while it wouldn’t be an easy thing to prove, it would be even harder to have her proof believed. When she factored in to the equation the mayor’s status and Mannequin’s scrutiny, she knew that any evidence she uncovered which showed the mayor had wronged someone who was a rapist and murderer would have to convince the DCI and chief super long before it got anywhere near a courtroom.

None of these reasons were enough to convince Beth that she was wrong. The internal voice telling her the mayor had played some witting or unwitting part in the chain of events spoke with too much conviction to be ignored. Besides, she’d never backed down from a challenge before and the series of obstacles in front of her only meant she’d have to rise higher than normal to deal with this particular challenge.

Beth’s fingers groped around the glove box until they found the small bag in which she kept a limited supply of make-up and a tiny bottle of perfume.

The last thing she wanted to do was make Forster think she was trying to entrap him, so she pulled only a thin smear of lipstick across her mouth and added a dribble of perfume to her finger which she then dabbed once behind each ear.

With her lippy applied, Beth climbed out of her car and headed for the stairs down to the shopping centre.

The Lanes was built in the eighties and its brick facades have stood up to the intervening years well. Its streets throng with people of varying statuses and there is a good mix of high-street shops.

On her days off work, Beth would often come here for a browse, or to source an outfit for a special occasion. Today though, she didn’t so much as glance at the window displays as she made her way through the covered alleyways of The Lanes and exited onto Lowther Street.

Derek Forster had set up an office for his mayoral staff at Broadacre House amid other such public services as Jobcentre Plus and the Chamber of Commerce.

During the short walk from the shopping-centre car park to Broadacre House, Beth did what she always did when walking the streets; she looked at every man she passed. Her eyes seeking a pair of lipstick kisses tattooed onto the side of a neck. Neither Neck Kisses nor the man who’d been holding the bottle that had ruined her cheek had been apprehended, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t stop looking until she found them.

As she entered the building, the cynical part of Beth’s nature told her that the mayor’s door would be considerably more open for those who were members of the Chamber than those who frequented the job centre.

Twenty-Three

The mayor’s office wasn’t anything like Beth had expected it to be. Instead of the country-house study she’d somehow imagined, it was like every other office she’d been in. Filing cabinets and desks laden with files took up most of the floor space. The walls were adorned with shelves lined by folders with handwritten labels and general office supplies like paper, envelopes and ink cartridges for printers.

Inside the office, three women were sitting at desks. All were busy typing or speaking into their telephone headsets, although one did look up and indicated she’d be with Beth in a moment.

The wait didn’t worry Beth. It gave her a chance to look at the women with more care. Each of them fitted the same criteria: thirty-five to forty-five years of age, good-looking and well-turned-out. None of the women carried more than a stone above what their doctor would advise, and only one of them wore a ring on their left hand.

To Beth it was as if the mayor was surrounding himself with pretty women. She couldn’t help