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

legs crossed and uncrossed at the ankle as her worry manifested itself as nervous energy, Beth started to put her questions forward.

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked off seventeen minutes as Beth wrung every drop of information she could from Willow’s parents.

Beth hadn’t known Willow had walked out on her husband. For a moment she’d entertained hopes that the missing woman had called him when drunk and had gone back to him, but when she learned why Willow had returned to the family home, she’d given up on the idea.

Another possibility was that the husband had come back for her. That he’d persuaded Willow to get in his car and had taken her back to the marital home. It was unlikely if his tastes lay in another direction. Plus, when Willow sobered up, her mind would change, or she’d at least contact her parents.

Could her husband have kidnapped Willow? she wondered. But according to the parents, he’d not fought for his marriage. He’d been civil and cordial as Willow moved out and the only possession he’d argued over was the springer spaniel curled up by Mr Brown’s feet.

At every mention of Willow’s husband, Mr Brown’s hands had clenched into white-knuckled fists then relaxed only to clench again.

Beth could understand his emotions; he’d have been furious that his daughter had been hurt. The primeval part of his DNA would compel him to seek vengeance for the daughter he’d failed to protect.

Her own father was the same way. Only once in her life had she seen him angry enough to fight. His usual calm and understanding manner eroded away by his desire to punish the men responsible for the broken bottle which had slammed into her cheek. Her mother had interrupted his rant by taking his arm and pulling him alongside the hospital bed until Beth could hold his hand. She’d never forget the words her mother had used to calm him. ‘Beth needs you to be the dad you’ve always been. Be her dad. Leave it to the police to punish the men who did this.’

Beth’s mother had been right about her needing him to be the dependable father she’d always known and loved, although she’d been wrong about the police catching the two fighters.

Mrs Brown brought out a laptop and showed her Willow’s Facebook feed. The information available was only what Willow’s mother could see as a friend, but it showed pictures of Willow laughing and dancing with friends the previous evening. The last update to her Facebook profile happened at 12.15 a.m. – it was a blurry picture of a tray of chips with cracked pavement as a backdrop. The accompanying words simply said ‘Chips. Cheeeese. Gravy. #Delish’. It was a typical social-media update that showed the world she was having a good time.

What grabbed Beth’s interest more than anything was the way Willow was dressed. The canary-yellow dress she wore clung to her body. Its hem was mid-thigh at best and in Beth’s mind, it was a statement that screamed ‘hey everyone, look at me’.

She knew it was a leap, and that she was making assumptions, but Willow’s choice of dress suggested to her that she’d gone out with the intention of being noticed. That was fine by Beth, people could and should wear whatever they liked, however, to some twisted idiots, a dress like Willow’s suggested an invitation the wearer had never sent.

With this thought came the fear that she was wasting her time; that Willow had gone off with an admirer and would turn up in time for work on Monday with a wide smile and a fistful of apologies to her parents.

One of the common ways to trace missing people was to track their mobiles. By triangulating signals from the masts, the phone and its whereabouts could be followed. If Willow had shacked up with someone for the weekend, her phone would reveal her location. Had something more sinister happened to Willow, the phone would either lead them to where she was – provided whomever had taken her hadn’t disposed of it – or because the signal kept working even if the mobile itself was switched off, they’d be able to find the phone itself. If the phone had been smashed or dumped, they’d be able to assess whether Willow’s disappearance was the result of foul play.

Beth got the phone numbers of Willow’s friends from Mrs Brown. She planned to call them while she waited for Willow’s mobile to be traced.

Sixty

O’Dowd was outside Carleton Hall puffing on a cigarette when Beth killed the engine of her car. The DI’s face was thunderous as she inhaled smoke into her lungs one scowl at a time.

‘Tell me you’ve got something worthwhile.’

Beth outlined not just what she’d found, but her suspicions about the Lakeland Ripper having taken Willow as O’Dowd listened without interrupting. When Beth was finished the DI arced her cigarette butt in the general direction of the sand bucket that was the ashtray and pulled out another.

‘That’s all I have, ma’am. Have you got anything new?’

‘Not a bloody thing. Although I did have the pleasure of being reminded what it’s like to be eviscerated by Hilton.’ A pause to rasp the wheel of her lighter and touch its flame to her cigarette. ‘Bloody man has a cheek. First he halves my team and then he expects us to not only cover for them, but also to double our efforts.’

Beth winced in sympathy but kept her mouth shut as it was clear to her that O’Dowd was in a foul mood.

‘To make matters worse, that preening bag of rotten offal, Mannequin, was there. Just when I thought I’d got myself off a hook, he’d point out some procedural point or other and then I’d have even more explaining to do. It’s the first time I’ve known that bugger to be in on a Saturday morning. He’s up to something and I for one would like to know what it is.’

There was no way she was going to