by Graham Smith
‘One last thing, Mr Ketteringham, if this number and address don’t check out, I may need details of the card used to secure this booking.’ Beth lifted a hand to silence the man’s protests. ‘I’m not asking for them now, but I may call for them later. I would appreciate it if you could have the details to hand should I call.’
Beth got a terse nod as his answer.
When Ketteringham left her to find her own way back to reception, she had to resist the urge to nip into the bar and scream ‘mouse’ while pointing at the far side of the room. It would be a petty action and one beneath her, but it might prick Ketteringham’s pretentious bubble.
Rather than making mischief, she had a higher priority. Now she had Lorraine’s full name and address plus a number for her, she could arrange to speak to the woman.
Thirty-Four
Rather than go straight back to Carleton Hall, Beth put in a call to the office and connected with Unthank. Within a couple of minutes, he’d run the address for Lorraine Jones and found that a Louise Jones lived there.
If Lorraine was a false name, and it seemed like it was, it made sense to Beth that Louise Jones would keep the initial the same as her real name. The nearer to the truth a lie was, the easier it was to maintain.
She asked Unthank to arrange a meeting with Louise/Lorraine Jones and set off towards Buttermere. She wanted to go and visit the area where Joanne Armstrong had been found.
As she drove the narrow roads to Buttermere, she was held up by a car towing a caravan. This was a regular occurrence in the Lake District. Caravanners would navigate the smaller roads at a snail’s pace as they made their way to a campsite. Time after time the driver in front of her slowed to a crawl as they met an oncoming vehicle. As much as she wanted to blast her way past the caravan, the driver in front showed no consideration for the cars whose progress he was impeding. As soon as the oncoming vehicle had edged its way past they’d continue with their trundling journey.
Beth could imagine the scene in the car as the caravanners consulted their satnav and pointed at the beautiful scenery. For them, their holiday had begun when they’d hitched the caravan to their car and set off for Cumbria. As they were on holiday, they were relaxed, unpressured and keen to take a leisurely approach to their progress along the road.
As keen as Beth was to get to her destination, she could handle the delay without impatience today. The sun was high in the sky and sending a torrent of glints across the dappled surface of Crummock Water, the fells had that scorching effect created by prolonged good weather and, most important of all to Beth, she had a puzzle to solve.
Claire’s words had been pointed, if cryptic. As a programmer, she’d be used to writing in code. What Beth had to do was decipher Claire’s unspoken insinuation.
The caravan indicated right, slowed to a stop and crept its way into a campsite with a fair number of failed attempts at getting through the gate unscathed. The multiple times it reversed, and then tried again before achieving success, suggested that the driver was new to towing a caravan or that the site owner needed a wider gateway.
With the slow vehicle out of her way, Beth put her right foot nearer the floor and covered the last few miles to her destination at a far more respectable pace.
Buttermere looked as magical as ever and there were a number of small boats with fishermen in them and a couple of people windsurfing. Like a lot of the smaller lakes, Buttermere was one where motorised boats of any kind were prohibited and due to its size there weren’t any yachts, or even facilities to launch or moor one.
Beth parked in the car park of a café and bought herself a bottle of water and a packet of crisps. She munched on the crisps as she travelled along the bridleway which started between the café and a hotel that had tourists occupying every one of the tables outside.
She passed through three gates as she walked along the bridleway. Holidaymakers smiled and nodded at her as she strode along. To either side of her sheep grazed in the small fields.
As she made the five-minute walk, her mind was focussed on the question of how the Lakeland Ripper had transported Joanne Armstrong along the bridleway. The first answer she came up with was that he’d waited until nightfall and had simply walked her to the place where her body had been found; Joanne’s compliance provided by a healthy dose of GHB or Rohypnol. Except that wouldn’t work. There had been no evidence found at the site and no traces of drugs in Joanne’s blood. The access to the bridleway was between the café and a hotel, which meant the Lakeland Ripper couldn’t have carried or dragged Joanne without risking being seen.
Therefore she must have been alive when she was brought here. Like the carrying or dragging, she couldn’t have been led along the bridleway at knife or gunpoint in case someone staying at the hotel had looked out of their bedroom window and seen what was happening.
Beth dredged every detail in her mind about Joanne Armstrong’s deposition site. She thought about the crime-scene photos, the CSI reports and the statements of the original investigating officers.
It was only when she recalled the date Joanne was found that she had an epiphany. Joanne was one of those hardy fell-walkers who paid scant attention to the seasons. Her body had been found on the thirteenth of January. A time of year when the nights were long and the tourists few and far between. Places like the two hotels in Buttermere tended to shut down in January due to a lack of trade and to allow the staff and proprietors to take their own holidays. Therefore there was every chance the hotel beside the bridleway had been deserted. If the Lakeland Ripper had known this, he’d have been confident enough to lead Joanne down the bridleway at knife or gunpoint in the middle of the night.
All these things went through Beth’s mind as she followed the bridleway. After cutting right, and running parallel to the lake, the gravel track gave way to a pathway which followed the banks of the lake until it was swallowed up by the wooded slopes of High Stile. A small bridge was in place to allow people to cross the river which connected Buttermere to Crummock Water.
It was in this wood that the naked and defiled body of Joanne Armstrong had been found by people hiking towards High Stile. At over two and a half thousand feet High Stile was one of the higher peaks in the Lake District.
As she stood at the edge of the wood, Beth took in what she could see and thought about what she couldn’t.
A family was sitting under the shade of an oak tree having a picnic, while another family was paddling in the shallow waters at the edge of the lake. Further along the bank, a fisherman was casting back and forth, but Beth never saw him allow the line to settle.
On glorious summer days like this, the area was populated in frequent regularity by hikers, fishers and ramblers, and the fields at the back would be visited by farmers checking their stock. Even on the days where the weather turned nastier, the farmer would still come by, and there were many fishermen who’d turn out regardless of rain and wind.
All in all, this area would have a certain amount of daytime traffic. That much was a given. But once the sun went down, especially in winter, it would be deserted, derelict of life.
As she turned and set back towards her car, Beth had a sheen of perspiration on her forehead and her shoes were coated in a film of dust from the bridleway. She was halfway back to her car when her phone beeped. She checked her messages and saw that Louise Jones had been contacted and an appointment to speak to her had been set up. DS Thompson was also on his way there to sit in on the interview.
Although decent enough, Thompson was an impatient man who hated to be kept waiting.
Tough. Before she headed back, Beth ducked into the hotel and spent a few minutes questioning the proprietor.
Her suspicions were right, the hotel shut down every January and had done for the last ten years.
Beth returned to her car, gunned its engine and sent a spray of gravel from her tyres as she rushed to get to Keswick before the DS had a good reason to grumble at her.
Her little car grunted and
strained as she navigated her way along Newland’s Pass. The narrow road wasn’t designed for fast driving and after the first time she entered a corner that little bit too fast, Beth eased off the throttle and accepted that being late was better than not getting to her destination.
Newlands Pass ran from Buttermere to Braithwaite and its route saw it winding its way between Robinson and Grassmoor Fells. The scenery was breathtaking as Beth travelled along the mountain pass. At one point there was only a foot-high mound of earth running alongside the road between the tarmac and a steep slope than fell hundreds of feet to the valley floor, and there was a hairpin bend beside a farm where the road steepened to a gradient that was almost three in one.
The route was both desolate and beautiful, although Beth was glad she was making the journey under a blazing summer sun rather than during a downpour. Winter frosts would make the road impassable to those without four-wheel drive, and considering some of the steep drops, Beth knew she’d always take the long way round rather than try and navigate Newlands Pass in treacherous conditions.
Thirty-Five
The appearance of the woman who opened the door didn’t surprise Beth in the slightest. Like Eleanor Dereham, she was stylish and well bred. This much Beth could tell by the clothes she wore, the way she carried her head and the quiet confidence she exuded. That she lived in a house with panoramic views over Derwentwater didn’t do anything to alter Beth’s opinion.
Not one thing about Louise Jones suggested concern at being questioned by a couple of detectives. Rather than worry, there was a wry amusement on her face.
Beth introduced herself and Thompson then explained to Louise they wanted to ask her a few questions.
‘Fine, come on in.’ As they were led to the kitchen, Beth couldn’t help but notice that the house was furnished in the same tasteful way the woman had dressed herself.
Once they were seated and the offer of a cuppa declined, Louise sat opposite them.
‘Would you care to tell me what this is all about, please?’ A heavily be-ringed hand tucked a stray wisp of mahogany hair behind her ear. ‘The officer who arranged this meeting was rather vague as to why you wanted to speak to me.’
‘It’s about something that happened last year.’
Compared to Louise’s soft voice, Thompson’s tone was gruff and unfriendly. He’d nipped Beth’s ear about having to wait ten minutes for her, and when she’d explained where she’d been he’d complained about her going off on her own.
Rather than have Louise drag the information from Thompson, Beth followed up from the DS’s statement quickly.
‘You attended a function last year. You stayed at the Wall Park Hotel in Workington.’
‘That’s right.’ A sly look crossed Louise’s face. ‘Nice hotel. Manager was a bit up himself though. I’m guessing it’s not him you’re asking about. Would you care to explain what you want to know?’
‘Of course, silly of me.’ This wasn’t the first time Beth had played the airhead to fool someone, and she wasn’t averse to using the tactic if it gave her an advantage. ‘We have a few questions we’d like to ask you about events that took place that evening.’
Louise interlocked her fingers and rested them on her stomach. The gesture was one body-language experts would interpret as being closed, but the way Louise carried herself suggested otherwise. ‘Ask away. I have nothing to hide.’
‘Would I be right in stating that you had a one-night stand with Derek Forster after a function in Workington last December?’
‘You would.’
Beth heard Thompson clear his throat to speak, but she didn’t want him interrupting her flow. So far Louise was talking without any issue and she wanted to keep things that way.
‘Mr Forster was under the assumption that your name was Lorraine rather than Louise. Can you explain why he thought that?’
‘He thought that because I told him my name was Lorraine.’ A wry look passed across Louise’s face. ‘And before you ask, I lied about my name because sometimes you don’t want to be yourself. It’s not often that I go to bed with a stranger, but as soon as I saw him, I knew I had to have him.’ She shrugged casually in response to Thompson’s raised eyebrow. ‘You might think it’s not terribly ladylike or something, but women have needs the same way men do. That night I was feeling, shall we say… needy, so I took him to bed.’
‘Let me get this clear.’ Beth leaned forward a little. ‘You pursued and seduced him?’
‘In laymen’s terms, yes.’ Beth caught the knowing look Louise tossed her way. ‘In reality, I turned things around so he thought he was pursuing and seducing me.’
Beth understood Louise’s point and tactics even as the woman was speaking. Men like Forster could often have their pick of women, yet when faced with enough of something that’s easy to obtain, it’s human nature to desire the thing you can’t easily have. Be it an expensive sports car, a house with a bigger garden or the person who is unaffected by your best efforts to charm them.
These are relationships of inverse proportions: the less obtainable the item is, the more you want it. The most bedevilling aspirations are those which are fractions beyond the fingertip. Close enough to visualise and communicate with, but just out of reach.
If Louise had piqued Forster’s desire and then intimated that she was unobtainable, he’d have been in her thrall. A man as powerful and successful as Forster would have enjoyed the challenge of seducing someone. His ego would never have allowed brain space to the idea that he’d been played by his conquest.
‘So, you lured him into your bed. You say you used a false name to add a layer of spice to the experience.’ Beth leaned back and mirrored Louise’s relaxed slump. ‘I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m doubting you, but your reasoning for using a false name doesn’t ring true to me. I think you used a false name because you didn’t want your husband or boyfriend to find out.’
‘I have neither a husband nor boyfriend and haven’t had for quite some time. It’s why I get needy from time to time.’ Louise pointed at her handbag. ‘May I?’ When Beth nodded she reached inside and brought out her mobile and pressed its screen a couple of times. ‘Here, this is my Facebook feed. Have a look through it. Scroll back to the dates in question if you like. You may want to pay particular attention to the relationship status.’
Beth placed Louise’s mobile on the table where she and Thompson could both see it. As she scrolled through the feed she saw a myriad of nondescript posts and plenty of ones about her being free, single and ready to mingle. The relationship status was marked as ‘single’ and the overall theme Beth got was that of a single woman enjoying life. None of the pictures on Louise’s Facebook wall showed her with a man in anything other than a group photo and there was no mention of romantic dinners out or dates with anybody.
‘Okay, I think we’ve established that you’re single and have been for some time.’ Thompson passed Louise’s mobile back to her. ‘What about your exes, did you have any nasty break-ups? Did you put anyone out on their arse? Break their hearts?’
‘No to all of your questions. My marriage fizzled out five years ago, and once I’d got used to living a single life again, I dated here and there for a few weeks, but never serious. I may have needs, but they’re not so strong that I’ll settle for second best rather than be alone.’
Beth kept her face implacable, but inside she was giving Louise a mental high five. Her life was in order and she appeared to be happy with her lot. When she had needs she dealt with them and went on with her routine. It wasn’t the life Beth wanted for herself but she admired Louise for living a life she enjoyed.
Louise’s face crumpled in thought. ‘So you’re not so much asking about me, as any partner I may have. You’re also asking about the night I spent with Derek Forster. That makes me think something has happened to Derek. Am I right? Is he okay?’
Beth tossed a look at Thompson and caught the tiny nod he gave.
‘We think someone is trying to
frame the mayor for a crime he didn’t commit, but we don’t know the person’s motivation.’
Louise pulled a face. ‘I get it. You think my partner may be that someone. The problem with that line of thinking is that I don’t have a partner or anyone who cares enough about me to set up someone I had a one-night stand with.’
Thompson rose to his feet. ‘We’re sorry to have troubled you.’
Beth wanted to reflect on what little they’d learned from Louise, but before she’d passed through Louise’s garden gate, her mobile went off.
A minute later she was running back to her car. O’Dowd’s insistence that she be at Carleton Hall by 4.45 p.m. was a worrying development, especially as the DI hadn’t given a reason for the summons.
Thirty-Six
Beth made it back to Carleton Hall with two minutes to spare thanks to getting a clear run along the A66 from Keswick. For once there had been no slothful caravans or tractors to impede progress on the parts of the road which weren’t dual carriageway.
As she entered the office, she took in the scene. Unthank was at his desk, phone pressed against his ear as he scribbled notes or peered at his screen. O’Dowd was fiddling with an ink cartridge for the ancient printer that refused to die despite giving a death rattle every time it was asked to print more than a full stop. She looked up at Beth as the younger woman put her jacket over the back of her chair.
