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

Eight 25 January

Dear Diary

Today was my first day working for the deputy mayor. I’d heard about how good-looking and suave he was and everything I’d heard was true.

Everything poor Harriet told me about this job was true and I’m so lucky to have it.

Until tomorrow.

Nine

As he went about his day, he felt that old familiar urge begin to grow again. Today had been no different than any other day, the same boring routine that he had the other 364 days of the year.

His daily grind had once been everything to him. What was it they said, ‘choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life’? This had been true for him.

Work had been his life, sixteen, eighteen, even twenty hours he’d worked some days, and what for? The money in his bank? The prestige of having a Jaguar in the drive and a big house in the country? Wealth and its trappings meant nothing without someone to share it with.

His was a family business. It had started off as his great-grandfather’s and had been handed down to each eldest son in the traditionally sexist way. When it had passed to him, he’d put in twice the hours his father had. Reinvested the profits instead of squandering them. The business had grown exponentially due to his effort.

Timing had been on his side when he’d looked over the fence and seen greener grass. The neighbour had accepted his offer after an evening spent surrounding a bottle of whisky as they haggled.

Twice more he’d visited a neighbour with a bottle of whisky and dreams of expansion. Twice he’d been successful.

Now though, the business victories were hollow ones.

Nobody greeted him with a cuppa in the morning. There wasn’t anyone to ask how his day was when he returned from work. Worst of all, there was nobody to cuddle into when he pulled the duvet up to his chin and switched off the light. Loneliness was a constant companion who was only displaced when sexual frustration came to visit.

The pattern was a recognisable one. First there would be the tingles, then the sense of despair followed by the burning desire. It wasn’t something he could explain any further; he just knew that the more he tried to ignore the urges, tried to deny them, the stronger they’d become.

Yesterday had been the despair day. Now all he could think about was the urge and his need to sate it.

He knew it was wrong to pursue it, that he shouldn’t give in to his desires again.

He also knew that however much he tried to talk himself out of it, he was going to find a way to deal with the urges.

It was something that he had to accept. It was time to go hunting again.

Ten

Beth kept her mouth shut and listened as O’Dowd started talking to the woman who’d arrived at Durranhill police station to see them. The DI had given Beth a short dressing-down over the way she’d lost her composure earlier, and to be fair to O’Dowd, Beth knew she’d gone too far and that losing her cool was unprofessional.

She had passed her probationary period in FMIT, but she was still the newest member of the team and felt as though she had to prove herself every day.

As much as she knew she was wrong to have behaved the way she had, Beth had felt an emotional pull to the case as soon as she’d learned of the victims’ fate. Of all the crimes one human can perpetrate against another, in Beth’s opinion, rape had to be one of the worst. Beth had heard rape described as a stealing of the soul and she understood why it was called that. She was aware that in the eyes of the law, murder, infanticide and a whole host of other offences such as paedophilia were all more serious crimes, and she knew why, but rape was an invasion of the body. For the victims, there would be terror that they’d be killed once their rapist was done with them. Plus there would be the humiliation of being powerless to prevent themselves being used without permission and last of all, the actual physical pain.

Like most women she knew, she had experienced sexual harassment, and received unwanted attention. Unlike one of her closest friends though, she had never experienced anything worse.

Beth had been the one Steph had turned to the morning after her drunken boyfriend had forced himself on her against her wishes. When the boyfriend had gone to the pub to watch the football with his mates, Beth had helped her friend load all her belongings into their cars and had put a roof over Steph’s head until she found herself a new place to live.

It had been Beth who’d nursed her friend through the trauma. Steph’s tears had stained her shoulders on a nightly basis as she wept for herself, for the ruined relationship and the knowledge that someone she loved had violated her. Steph had, by turn, ranted, cried and made vows never again to allow a man to hurt her.

Beth had listened, cajoled and nursed her friend back to the point where she’d regained enough of her original self to start the next chapter of her life.

Since moving out, Steph had been resolute in her resolve to remain single. Beth had tried, without success, to persuade Steph to report the rape, but her friend had refused. As much as she hated her ex for what he’d done to her, she told Beth she couldn’t face putting herself through the ordeal of testifying against him should the case go to court.

Like all cops, Beth knew the statistics regarding rape convictions were tragic. Few of the reported cases would get as far as a courtroom and many of those which did would take a frightful toll on the victim. Defence lawyers would blacken the victim’s character as a matter of