Body Politic by J.M. Gregson Page A

black depths of the hidden pool.
    The pieces of broken ice disappeared for a moment with their sinister burden, then returned to the surface and settled again into stillness. The watcher wasted no more time. Within thirty minutes, the driver was back in bed like other, more innocent survivors of the Christmas festivities.
    Nature was the unwitting ally of evil. By morning, the ice on the surface of the hidden pool was already over an inch thick. When the body rose towards the surface two days later, the ice was a three-inch ceiling above the water, imprisoning the murdered body against discovery for as long as the arctic conditions should persist.

     
     
    CHAPTER TEN
     
    ‘The news is out. Such as it is. I knew we couldn’t keep it quiet indefinitely.’
    The Chief Constable stared dolefully at the newspapers on his desk. Like most of his colleagues, he found journalists more annoying at times than criminals. At least criminals kept you in a job, whereas it often seemed that if you made the wrong move journalists would be delighted to put you out of one. And you knew where you were with felons, whereas the fourth estate could switch sides overnight, without notice, and often with no good reason. ‘It’s only because he disappeared over Christmas that we were able to keep it quiet as long as we did.’
    George Harding was quite new in his post still. Despite voicing the ritual police suspicions of the press, he was much more at home with the media than his grizzled predecessor had been. They could be helpful at times; and even when they became a nuisance, he accepted that they were a necessary evil. He pushed the papers at Lambert.
    The story had made the front page of The Times , but only in the bottom-left corner: there were no glaring headlines as yet. ‘Mystery of missing Tory MP’ was the heading, and the text beneath began soberly, ‘There is still no news of missing Tory MP Raymond Keane. The promising backbencher was expected to spend Christmas and New Year in his Gloucestershire constituency, but last night had still failed to appear. His sister said yesterday that the family was “a little upset” by his failure to contact them, but saw no real cause for alarm. “MPs are busy people, despite what some of the public think,” she said. It appears that Mr Keane has not been seen since he visited his mother’s house on Christmas Eve.’
    For most of the tabloids, the Keane story wasn’t yet worthy of the front page. The Sun headlined its piece ‘Rottweiler Ray goes missing’, pinning a scarcely earned reputation for parliamentary dogfighting on Keane in the interests of alliteration. The article began, ‘Eligible bachelor and aggressive parliamentary debater Ray Keane has gone missing from his Gloucestershire constituency. The MP, known as Rottweiler Ray since he savaged Labour ministers in Commons exchanges, has not been seen since Christmas Eve. His mother and his business partner both refused to comment on his absence last night.
    ‘ Keane’s parliamentary research assistant, vivacious twenty-three-year-old Despina Mottershead, agreed that her employer was an attractive man, and thought that he might well have disappeared to the Continent, though she was not sure what country he might have chosen. She said she had no doubt that he would be back for the beginning of the new parliamentary session. “Mr Keane is one of the most responsible and dedicated of our younger politicians. I certainly expect to see him or hear from him within the next week,” she said last night ...’
    Superintendent Lambert knew why he was in the Chief Constable’s office. The hunt, which had so far scarcely been worthy of such a dramatic name, was to be stepped up. When the press chose to stir things up, they got attention, however much the police and other public services might deny the connection. That was real life.
    ‘ They haven’t raked up the unsavoury history of other disappearing politicians yet,’ he said.