by Graham Smith
As O’Dowd hadn’t answered, Beth decided to enter the conversation. ‘You’re right, we do know she was your intern. She was twenty-two years old and three weeks away from being married when she was abducted, raped and then murdered. Her daughter was six weeks old at the time.’ Beth slid a piece of paper across the 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 four pictures. They were screenshots from the Cumberland News’s website and each one had a picture of Forster in his ceremonial robes with a stunning woman on his arm.
The lawyer had made his point, and as much as she wanted to bend his point back and use it as a fishhook to gouge out his eyes for the disrespect he’d shown the victims, Beth found it hard to argue with his logic.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try.
‘Perhaps what you say is true, and perhaps your client raped these women so he could get something from them he wasn’t getting from the women he was dating. However, you couldn’t be more wrong about rapists targeting victims who are out of their league. Rape isn’t just about sexual gratification, it’s about power, exerting control over them, dominating the victim until they surrender. The only reason I can think of for you being so wrong, is that you’re naive to the mind of a rapist and, considering your profession, that doesn’t reflect well on you.’
‘Please, Constable, explain what you think he was getting from the women he’s alleged to have raped that he wasn’t able to get elsewhere.’
‘The women were all raped anally as well as vaginally. For a man such as your client, I don’t suppose there is a shortage of offers for normal sexual intercourse, but as for anal, well that could be a different matter altogether.’
‘I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but I have no interest in anal sex.’ Forster’s face backed up his words. ‘The very idea is abhorrent to me. Please, you have to believe me, it’s not something that appeals to me.’
O’Dowd arced an eyebrow. ‘If you were female I’d say you doth protest too much.’
‘It’s bad enough that you’re accusing me of rape and murder, to also suggest that I’d kill just so I could have something I don’t want is twisted.’
‘Really? You think it’s twisted, do you?’ Beth kept her tone level, but made sure she got her message across with the questions she asked. ‘What about the fact that four women were raped? What about them being murdered? What about the fact that they were all strangled? Can you imagine their last hours? I’ve been thinking of little else since we got this case. Let me t
ell you what I imagine their last hours being like: they’d be terrified, confused probably. Everything they feared happening to them, would happen. They’d be violated against their wishes.
‘You’re a man, so the odds of you being raped are a lot smaller than they are for a woman. You’ve probably never worried about a situation, never walked home with your keys in your hand in case you’re attacked. Just about every woman I know takes these kind of precautions all the time. We don’t live in constant fear of rape, but for women it’s an ever-present threat that we have to be aware of. You maybe don’t ever think about it, but the thought of someone forcing themselves onto me terrifies me.’
The horrified look on Forster’s face wasn’t enough to stop Beth continuing. ‘I can see you’re starting to understand; well, when you’ve got your head round the rape, try imagining what it must be like to be strangled to death. It’d be a slow process; you’d feel your throat being constricted until it was impossible to breathe. Your vision would blur at the edges as your brain was deprived of oxygen. You’d feel your limbs weakening. Maybe you’d be begging for your life, or trying to escape. It wouldn’t work. Perhaps the last thing you’d see would be the face of the man who killed you. Tell me, Mr Mayor, how scared do you think those women were? And you, Mr Vaughan, the next time you open your mouth, you should show a little respect for the dead.’
‘I said, that’s enough, Beth.’
Beth felt a hand on her arm. O’Dowd was pulling her back into her seat but she had no recollection of rising to her feet.
‘That’s okay, Inspector. Your colleague is right: as a man I have no idea how women fear rape. As I’ve stated all along, I’m innocent and will be proven so. When investigating crimes of this magnitude, it’s right that the investigating officers are fired up and passionate.’ Beth felt the power of Forster’s charisma being directed her way. ‘When this is over, I’d like to do more to help victims of violent sexual crime. Maybe set up a local charity or something like that. I know you see me as the enemy right now, but once it’s proven I’m not, I’d love someone with your passion to be involved to help women, in particular, feel that their attackers have been made to pay for their crimes. That scar on your face would instantly give you credibility when speaking to victims.’
Beth kept her mouth shut.
She had to.
If she said another word, she’d wind herself up further and would end up either being taken off the case or possibly facing a formal disciplinary hearing.
Forster had made light of her rant and had done the rich-man thing of identifying a problem, and finding the solution in his wallet. In doing so, he’d also managed to appear gracious when attacked by her vehemence. Beside Forster, Vaughan was failing to keep the smugness off his face.
That last line about her scar rankled her more than anything else. So far as she was concerned her scar didn’t give her victim status, it showed that she was a survivor, that she could face adversity and triumph against it.
O’Dowd suspended the interview, and as Beth was trudging out of the room after her, she was cursing herself. She’d known before beginning the interview that it would be a battle and she’d failed to keep a lid on her temper. Worse, she’d lost the plot and had been on the point of insulting the solicitor. She knew that she’d been lucky O’Dowd had interrupted her before she said something that damaged their case beyond repair.
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 knowle
dge 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 course as they did everything they could to discredit their account of the event, by saying the intercourse was consensual or the victim and her abuser had both been drinking. Then the CPS would have to make its judgements on the argument of consent and alcohol intake with regard to the Sexual Offences act. All of this had to be balanced against the likelihood of a successful prosecution before a decision about whether or not to proceed was made.
Nobody knew how many rapes went unreported due to the failings of the system, but as flawed as the system was, Beth believed it was better than nothing.
Of course the system had a duty also to protect accused rapists from false allegations, but the net result was cases going unreported and low conviction rates, meaning rapists potentially walking free.
Beth couldn’t miss the parallels between her own thoughts and the situation with Forster, yet she was still aggrieved at the injustice of everything. Steph’s experiences had shown her first-hand the damage that a rapist can do to a person.