by Graham Smith
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 but wonder if he’d turn his charm on to any of the women when the mood struck him.
Beth had read the reports of the officers who’d interviewed all of Forster’s mayoral staff. None of them had raised any suspicions, and all had been aghast at the idea that the mayor had been implicated in such a way.
The woman who’d acknowledged her a moment ago was ending her call, when the mayor came into the office. Beth saw the flash of recognition in his eyes when she turned. As was so often the way with strangers, his gaze fixed on the scar on her cheek before moving away.
Beth held out her hand. ‘Mr Mayor, it’s very good of you to spare me some of your precious time.’
Forster gave her the full election-winning smile as he took her hand. ‘It’s no trouble at all. I’m eager to help.’ He released her grip and gestured to a doorway at the back of the office. ‘If you’d like to follow me.’
The mayor’s handshake had been firm, although the skin of his hands had been soft. Like so much about him, his handshake was a statement. Firm to provide confidence, but not so hard as to be a challenge or inflict pain. It spoke of reassurance, of power and of consideration. It told her that he was giving the impression of a man who could be trusted.
After shaking his hand, Beth trusted him even less than she had before.
The mayor closed the door of his mini office behind her and offered her a seat. His office was a smaller version of the main one, although she could see he had a few photos of himself at various events on the spare wall space.
Beth found it interesting that he had an ego wall. It told her even more about the real him than his handshake.
Businessmen had ego walls to provide confidence to other businessmen who came to their office, to show off their successes, and on the bad days, remind themselves of the good times.
The mayor had no need of an ego wall in this office. Any non-mayoral business he conducted wouldn’t happen here, it would take place on a golf course or a flash restaurant. This office was a place of work, functional rather than decorative, which meant there was nobody to impress beyond himself.
The pictures on the wall were nothing more than a back rub for his ego. Derek Forster was at the peak of his achievements: he was mayor of Carlisle and on an upward trajectory. He’d made a fortune selling his business and was always being named as an eligible bachelor. That he needed to massage his ego in this way gave Beth an insight into the man’s psyche. To some, the collection of photos might suggest that regardless of his achievements and successes, he could be insecure and used the wall as a way to bolster himself against the rigours of the office, but Beth didn’t think he was insecure.
When arrested for rape and murder on Monday Forster had been calm, assured, and even in the face of everything she’d thrown at him, he’d never lost his cool. He’d retained enough surety to overcome their accusations and never once had his confidence wavered. If anything, the more she pressed him, the stronger he got.
Beth took the seat she was offered, and a deep breath, before opening her mouth.
‘First of all, I’d like to apologise to you if you thought I was overly harsh the other day. Rape and murder cases are very serious and I’m afraid I let my emotions get the better of me. It was unprofessional for me to do that.’
Forster leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together across his chest. ‘Well, I have to say I wasn’t expecting that. I’m sorry, but I don’t accept your apology because I feel there’s no need to apologise. I knew I was innocent, just as you knew you were doing your best to prove me guilty. Circumstances made us adversaries and the truth ended the war. As a citizen of Cumbria, let alone the mayor of Carlisle, I support a determined, impassioned police force, who’re doing everything in their power to apprehend criminals.’
‘That’s very gracious of you.’ Beth meant it. There was something about Forster’s manner and the way he spoke that exuded charm and engendered belief. She recognised that she was being
charmed by him, so she pressed on with the reason O’Dowd had sent her. ‘I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I say next.’
‘Try me.’ There was a quiet confidence in Forster’s tone.
‘When the guys from Digital Forensics were looking at your home computer, they found over a thousand illegal images of child abuse.’
‘That’s absurd.’ All the colour had drained from the mayor’s face. ‘Utterly ridiculous. I would never do such a thing. I never look at any porn, let alone kiddie porn.’
‘I know.’ Beth spread her hands wide. ‘I’m here on my own; there’s no arrest team with me today. The times and dates that the files were added to your computer matched with times you were at civic functions. What you said about not looking at any porn is also backed up by your search history. We don’t think you looked at those images and videos, but we do think that someone wants us to believe you did.’
‘You mean you’re not here to arrest me again?’
‘Not at all. I’m here to try to find out who planted those images on your computer and who left your credit card beside the body that was found yesterday morning.’
‘That poor woman.’ The mayor’s face lost some of its colour. ‘How did my card end up so close to her? I’ve checked, and since I lost it, nobody has tried to use it. Why steal a card only to toss it away?’
Beth kept her tone soft and her eyes on the mayor. ‘We’re actually working on the theory that the card was deliberately placed near Felicia Evans’s body to implicate you in her murder.’
‘What? How did the person who stole my card know where a murder victim had been dumped?’ A hand flapped. ‘Sorry, that was crass of me. I didn’t mean it the way it came out.’
Beth didn’t say anything; she left the mayor to draw his own conclusions. A hand shot up to his mouth as if trying to catch the last of the colour as it drained from his face.
‘No. Please tell me that you’re not thinking that lady was killed just to frame me. Please?’
The mayor’s hands shook as he reached for the glass of water on his desk. His eyes never left Beth’s as they sent out a silent plea for absolution of blame.
‘That’s not what we’re thinking. We think that a rapist and murderer is trying to frame you.’ As much as she might have some doubts about the mayor, Beth felt sympathy for him. While the fact the killer had murdered and raped more than one victim may offer some reassurance to Forster that Felicia hadn’t died for the sole purpose of framing him, there would always be that nagging doubt at the back of his mind. ‘I know this probably won’t help you come to terms with what’s happened, but Mrs Evans was dying from cancer.’
Forster washed both hands over his face a few times. ‘To be quite honest, right now I don’t know if it helps or not. Who would do such a thing? Why would they do it to me?’
‘That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me. I need a list of who has previously had access to your computer. And I want to know about anyone who may harbour a grudge against you.’
‘I… I… I can’t think of anyone who’d do this to me. I’m the mayor for goodness’ sake. I’m respected for the good works I do and the charities I’ve supported.’
‘Take a minute and think about who would want to damage you and your reputation so badly they’d try and frame you for rape and murder.’
The way that Forster was blustering and the shocked expression he wore told Beth that her news had left his brain reeling.
She had to look at the facts: the mayor had been a successful businessman before dedicating his life to local politics. Neither field was one where you could succeed without picking up a few enemies along the way; a partner bought out before the business really took off, a rival put out of business because Forster had undercut him or sold a better product. Maybe it was a political opponent who’d tired of losing against the mayor and had taken to smearing Forster in this underhand way.
While any of these scenarios would present boundless options for grudges to get out of hand, a part of Beth was still wondering what the mayor had done to attract the hatred of someone who was a multiple murderer. The taking of a life, even one as close to death as Felicia had been, was a huge thing and to her mind it seemed unlikely that the killer was a political rival. While she didn’t trust politicians, she didn’t believe one was a serial rapist and murderer.
The way Forster had mentioned that he was the mayor and that he supported charities grated on Beth. It was as if those qualities overrode any other deeds he may or may not have done. Not for the first time since she’d entered his private office, Beth was being shown the size of the man’s ego.
She decided to press him a little while he was still off balance; it was a bit malicious of her, but just as in the interview room, witnesses sometimes needed to be prodded to provide their answers.
‘Have you any ideas as to who may bear a grudge against you?’
‘Nobody I can think of.’
‘Right, shall we start with who had access to the computer at your home?’
‘No one did. It’s passworded and nobody but me knows the password.’ Forster tilted his head to the side. ‘I was in IT, trust me, nobody could guess my password and I never wrote it down.’
‘Okay then, perhaps if I prompt you a little. Tell me about the business you used to have.’
‘It was a tech start-up I created when the Internet began to really take off. You know the booking engines like Booking.com and Ticketmaster?’
Beth nodded; she’d used both on several occasions. ‘You mean like hotels and so on? How does that work?’
‘Exactly.’ Forster’s natural confidence returned as he talked about himself. ‘Hotels, sports stadiums, and a multitude of other venues were suddenly finding that people wanted to book online. To use Booking.com as an example; when someone searches for a hotel in Carlisle, Booking.com will trawl its database and the person doing the search gets presented with the results.’
‘I’m with you so far. I’ve used Booking.com.’
‘Most people have these days. Anyway, when a hotel wants to sell its rooms on Booking.com, they have to upload their availability and what prices they’re charging for each room on each particular date. To do this manually for a large hotel would be a full-time job when you consider how many sites like Booking.com there are. As technology changed and more hotels began to get computerised diaries, or property-management systems to give them their correct name, there became a need for the OTAs like Booking.com to speak directly to the individual hotels’ PMSs.’
‘Excuse me, but what do you mean by OTAs?’
‘Sorry, acronyms were part of our daily lives. OTAs stands for online travel agents such as Booking.com, LateRooms and Expedia. Along with my team, I developed software that sat in the middle ground between the OTAs and the PMSs. Our software was called SimpleBooker and it would integrate over three hundred different OTAs with more than four hundred PMSs.’
‘Wow, I never knew there was a need for such a thing. It must have been terribly complicated working out all the kinks.’ Even as she said the words, Beth winced inwards at how simpering they sounded. While she didn’t want Forster thinking she was too smart, her pride prevented her from wanting to be taken for an idiot. ‘Why did you sell the company? It sounds to me like you’d have a business for life.’
‘I got an offer from a competitor that I really couldn’t turn down.’
‘What about your employees? Were any of them upset at losing their jobs?’
‘They were all a bit sad that the company was being taken over, but in the terms of the sale contract I put in a clause stating that my employees all had to be retained by the new company for a minimum of two years, working out of our old office. I also made all four of them directors of the company and gave them each a 1 per cent share. After tax, they’d all have cleared something in the region of a quarter of a million.’
Beth took a minute to consider this act of generosity. While it was a wonderful gesture from an employe
r to look after his staff in this way, the fact that he’d mentioned the staff each got around £250,000 after tax gave her an idea of the figures involved. Allowing for a 50 per cent tax rate meant that the 1 per cent share was worth £500,000 and the company £50 million.
Those kinds of numbers boggled Beth’s mind, but when you factored in office politics, they also gave a possible motive for the campaign that was being conducted against the mayor. If one of the former employees believed that Forster had made millions from their hard work, and had passed out just a paltry 1 per cent to each of the people whose hard work had earned him the payday, then there was a breeding ground for resentment. Especially when you factored in the sums of money involved. The problem was, if that theory was correct, it meant that one of his former employees was the murderer.
‘That’s very generous of you. As you’re out of that industry, I’d like to speak to your former employees to see if someone from that industry bears a grudge against you. For all you know, another competitor may have been wanting to sell their business to the same company you did, only for the deal to fall through because your sale happened first.’
Forster removed a piece of paper from the printer behind him and wrote down four names and addresses.
Beth was surprised he could remember his ex-employees’ addresses so readily until she thought about her own memory. While she was rubbish at remembering things like family birthdays, she could bring to mind the names of every suspect she’d ever interviewed, where they’d been picked up and how they’d looked and dressed.
She knew that recollection had a lot to do with interest, French lessons at school had taught her little more than oui, non and je suis, but she could sing every word to the songs she’d listened to at the time. If something was important to her, even if only for a fleeting time, it lodged itself into her brain for eternity, whereas the details she found irrelevant tumbled straight from her mind.
