A Body in the Lakes by Graham Smith (great books of all time .TXT) 📕

table, on it were three dates. ‘We need to know your exact whereabouts for each of those dates. We also need to know where you were last night. You said you wanted to cooperate, this would be an ideal time to start.’

‘You cannot expect my client to remember his whereabouts on specific dates that go back five years.’

‘It’s fine, Neville.’ Beth felt the full power of Forster’s charisma. ‘I’m sure the young lady doesn’t expect me to rely on my memory alone. I remember her saying earlier that they would be taking my phone and computers. Because I have a busy life, I use my phone as my diary and I have done so for the last ten years or so. It’s synced with my computer, so you’ll get ten years’ worth of my diary.’

‘Our tech guys are going through them as we speak.’ Beth knew her counter was weak but she was willing to try anything that might rattle Forster.

‘That’s good, they’ll prove my innocence to you. As for last night, I was at a dinner at the golf club. Your chief superintendent was at my table. He’ll verify that I was there and that, while I wasn’t drunk, I was in no shape to drive around killing people.’

Vaughan raised his pen, so Beth nodded permission for him to ask his question.

‘Out of interest. Where were the first three women found, and which dates apply to which women?’

Beth recited the facts without looking at her notes. Every relevant detail of the case was already imprinted onto her brain.

Vaughan jotted down the information on his pad and adjusted his pince-nez once he was done.

O’Dowd reached for the file she’d brought in with her. ‘You seem very confident, Mr Forster. Perhaps a look at these pictures will remove some of your bluster.’

‘My goodness, Inspector, you really are using every cliché in the book, showing my client pictures of his alleged victims in the hope he’ll break down and confess, or say something that you can pounce on.’

‘Clichés are clichés for a reason. This is Christine Peterson, she was sixty-two years old with three grandchildren.’ A second photo was pulled from the file. ‘Joanne Armstrong, thirty-six and single.’ A third and fourth photo were slid across the table. ‘Harriet Quantrell. Felicia Evans, she is the latest victim. A walker found her on the bank of Lake Ullswater this morning.’

As the four pictures were presented to Forster his face registered shock. Beth was looking for any hint of recognition in his eyes, but there was only a flash when Harriet’s picture was shown and it had already been established that he knew her.

‘We get it, Inspector, four women and we’ve already discussed the unfortunate Miss Quantrell.’

Beth wanted to smash the lawyer’s stupid little spectacles into his face for his callous dismissal of Harriet, but she managed to keep her temper in check. Beside her she could feel O’Dowd bristle in the same way. This was all wrong: they were supposed to be making the lawyer and his client squirm, not the other way around.

Beth tried changing tack. ‘Mr Mayor, can you explain why we found a credit card with your name on it near where Felicia Evans’s body was found?

‘Was it my Amex card?’

‘It was, yes.’

‘I wondered where that had got to.’ Forster gave a non-committal shrug. ‘I lost it last week. If you check with Amex themselves, they’ll tell you I called up to cancel it the day I realised I’d lost it.’

All Beth wanted to do was grimace at their best piece of evidence being thrown back in their faces so easily.

O’Dowd reached for the folder again. ‘Perhaps if your client saw the pictures of the first three women that were taken at the crime scenes, rather than the ones given to us by the victims’ families you would treat these women with a little more respect.’

Forster again put his hand on the lawyer’s forearm. ‘There’s no need to show me any more pictures. You have eyes in your head and you’ve been using them to watch my reactions to your questions. At the risk of sounding conceited, I know I’m not an unattractive man. I’m wealthy and because of my position as mayor, I have a certain power and influence. For the last five years, I’ve been named as one of the top five of Cumbria’s most eligible bachelors. I will even confess that the News and Star calling me Foxy Forster on some occasions is a little tacky.’ Forster gave what Beth was sure was his best campaign smile. ‘I’m sorry to burst any bubble you may have, but I don’t need to rape anyone, much less kill them. I have sufficient offers of companionship to keep my libido more than satisfied.’

Beth knew that what Forster was saying was all true, yet there were the old maxims that power was an aphrodisiac and that power corrupts. As much as Forster may have plenty of women showing their interest in him, perhaps he didn’t find their acquiescence gave him the buzz that he wanted. He may well prefer to get his kicks from dominating reluctant women and bending them to his will.

‘If I may add something to what my client has just said?’ When O’Dowd nodded, Vaughan continued to speak. ‘My client is a handsome man; that fact is well documented and evident for all to see. At the risk of speaking ill of the dead, the women he normally dates are far more successful and, dare I say it, more attractive than the women who have fallen prey to a heinous killer. I am certainly no expert on the subject, but aren’t rapes usually committed against women who are out of the rapist’s league? You really should be asking yourselves why a man as good-looking as my client would rape and murder four women who are, with all due respect, nowhere near as attractive as the women he has his pick of.’

Vaughan opened his own file and slid out