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

‘I mean the Lakeland Ripper.’ Beth fixed Thompson with a stern look. ‘You can maybe make jokes about someone who kills and rapes women, but I can’t. You call him what you like, but until I learn his real name, he’ll be the Lakeland Ripper to me.’

Thompson raised a hand in her direction. Beth wasn’t sure whether he was shutting her up or apologising, until she saw the contrition in his eyes.

‘A penis extension, can they even do that?’

‘Shut up, Paul. Young Beth may well be onto something here.’

There had been a time when Thompson had re-ordered her name as a way to goad her, but Beth knew it was now meant as a term of endearment. That he supported her theory gave her hope that it wasn’t a daft idea.

The problem was in identifying those who’d had such an operation. When you factored in the shame and embarrassment the men would likely feel about the size of their penises, there was little chance they would broadcast the fact that they’d undergone enhancement surgery. They’d be more likely to do the opposite and keep their surgery a secret.

Perhaps a wife or lover would know, but Beth didn’t think that the Lakeland Ripper had anyone in that role. To her way of thinking, he was single, a loner, but not by choice. He would be friendless or perhaps have one close friend who was as weird as he was.

The Lakeland Ripper would be awkward around women, obsessed with sex, yet afraid to get intimate with a woman because they’d learn his shameful secret.

He may have tried visiting a prostitute, but that wouldn’t have given him what he wanted. His physical needs may have been dealt with, but his psychological ones would remain. He’d have wanted to feel that he had a level of sexual prowess, that he could please a woman in bed. He’d have known that the prostitute was only acting as if she was aroused, and that would have eaten at him, burned at his psyche with a series of self-mocking thoughts of worthlessness.

It wouldn’t surprise Beth if the Lakeland Ripper suffered from depression, that his black dog was walked on a very short lead.

Beth went online and looked for the names of the leading cosmetic surgeons in the country, and she had to wade through a few different sites before she established that the nearest place to Cumbria that offered what they called augmentation surgery was in the Sunderland area.

She didn’t know if the surgery would be funded by the NHS or whether the Lakeland Ripper would have had to pay for it from his own money. That was something else she needed to find out.

‘See, what you’re thinking about him getting one of the penis extension operations…’ Unthank looked at Thompson then Beth. ‘I think you’re going straight for the nuclear option. I don’t know much about such things, but I’ve been around enough to know there are lots of gadgets and pills that are touted as giving you a boost. If I was in the killer’s position, and believe me, I’m not, I’d try absolutely everything else before I let anyone near me with a scalpel.’

Beth had to smother the smile Unthank’s final sentence put to her lips. How typical of a man to insist that his penis wasn’t tiny. His point made sense though, and she agreed with his suggestion that the Lakeland Ripper would try all the other gadgets and drugs before going under the knife.

O’Dowd could make the decision regarding contacting the surgeons. Rather than waste time on a probable dead end, Beth went back to her spreadsheet and began to feed in the new information she had.

Twenty-Seven

Willow put down her bag and bent to greet Spike. As ever when she returned from work, he was scampering around her and jumping up so she could pet him. It was something he’d done since puppyhood and his claws had ruined many a pair of tights, but she didn’t mind.

Her day at the bank had been more of the same. Since coming back to Cumbria she’d landed a position as financial advisor to a number of small businesses and she was still getting to know her customers and their foibles.

Some had little idea of how to manage the money their business was making and these were the customers she liked dealing with. They were compliant and would listen to what she was suggesting and take her advice. She knew that she could make a little more commission by steering the customers towards certain aspects of the bank’s offerings, but she’d never been so greedy as to give what she felt was wrong advice just so she could line her own pockets.

The customers she liked the least were those who thought they were cleverer than they were. They’d want to gamble on certain stocks or would be asking her about some scheme they’d heard about and wanted to sign up to. They’d be insistent and wouldn’t listen when she explained that the bank didn’t offer that service or their money would be better used in a different way. These customers were the ones who’d lay blame at her door for investments that went wrong. Despite not heeding her advice, they’d point the finger at her, complain about the money they’d lost. Even when they did heed what she advised them, they’d complain their investment wasn’t growing as fast as they wanted it to.

Willow had dealt with two of these customers today and she was worn out from the mental acrobatics she’d had to perform just to keep them calm. Oliver Morrison was another prime example of this kind of customer, but thankfully she’d not had to see him or the less aggressively flirtatious Andrew Cooper today, and wouldn’t for at least another month. All she wanted to do tonight was soak in the bath and then curl up with a good book.

One benefit of moving back in with her parents was that her mother