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

as she listened to Natalie’s opinion of the farmer. Everything the woman was saying about him was making him a prime suspect.

‘Do you have his name and address?’

‘I can’t remember his name. Sorry. But I do know that he has a farm that’s about halfway to ’Spatri, it’s something Scales. A compass point, but I can’t remember if it’s north, south, east or west. Sorry.’

Beth understood the abbreviated name for Aspatria. The Scales farm shouldn’t be hard to find. There wouldn’t be that many options, and a quick search of an electoral register would yield the right result if she couldn’t google it on her phone.

One thing was for sure, once she found where the farm was, she’d be going there, and if Kieran was coming, he’d be riding in her car. As she’d followed him across Maryport to Natalie’s house he’d been the most cautious driver she’d ever encountered. It was as though he was sitting his driving test or chauffeuring the queen.

Sixty-Five

Willow’s entire body ached as she fought against the ropes restraining her. Her wrists were chafed raw from the rough hemp, as were her ankles. The muscles of her arms and legs were numb from hours spent thrashing in vain efforts to free herself. Even her neck and back hurt from where she’d contorted herself in attempts to put all her strength behind one particular limb.

Yet by comparison to the shame that she felt at having been so careless as to have been captured by what she’d thought was a white knight, none of the sprains or chafes or aches could begin to compete with the dread in her heart.

It hadn’t been a noble rescue. It had been a real frying pan to fire experience. She’d read the papers, watched the news. Willow knew all about the four women who’d been raped and murdered. She’d learned with horror of the fate which had befallen them.

Andrew Cooper had visited her three further times since he’d brought her here after saving her by the river on Friday night.

Each of his visits brought a new level of horror.

Once he’d tied her up, he’d talked to her for an hour. She’d been disgusted by the way he’d outlined his sexual fantasies in detail after lurid detail.

On his next visit, he’d ripped every shred of clothing from her body.

His third visit had creeped her out even further. He’d brought a camera with him and had taken hundreds of photos of her as she lay trussed to the bed. He had taken pictures from the other side of the room and he’d held the camera an inch away from the flesh he was making crawl with his actions.

Cooper’s fourth visit gave her the most concern though. He’d brought a basin of water, a towel and a sponge. He’d washed her from head to toe in silence. The only saving grace was that, as much as his eyes caressed her body, all she felt touching her skin was the coarse sponge.

Willow knew in her bones that it was only a matter of time before he raped her. The cleansing was a sure sign that he was preparing her as a receptacle for his lusts.

The sound of footsteps clumping along wooden floorboards made Willow thrash against the ropes even harder, as she knew what would happen to her when her captor entered the room.

She knew she couldn’t defend herself. And that if Cooper was the Lakeland Ripper he’d be planning to kill her once he’d enacted his fantasies with her.

Willow didn’t want either to happen, but the only defence she could think to mount was to hold onto the full bladder she was struggling with until she could be sure he’d be within range. The cleansing of her body had shown hygiene was important to him, and while it might earn her a few punches, it may well also keep her alive a little longer while he cleaned them both up.

Sixty-Six

The farmhouse at North Scales was surrounded by whitewashed farm buildings. Somewhere in the distance Beth could hear the heavy diesel engine of a tractor, and her nose was assaulted by the pungent farmyard smells. The air hung with the mixed smells of freshly cut grass and the tangy, potent stench of manure.

Outside the front door a black pickup truck sat with its nose an inch from the wall. The vehicle was layered with dust, but its licence plate showed it as being only a year old.

She remembered the description of Andrew Cooper from Natalie and what she’d heard had strengthened her belief that he may be the Lakeland Ripper. She could imagine the teenage Cooper being rejected by the girls he’d fancied because of his cack-handed approach. This would continue into adulthood, all the while fostering the bitterness inside him. If he was the Lakeland Ripper and his penis was as small as Dr Hewson had speculated, then he’d have even less appeal to the opposite sex. If he was their killer though, nothing on earth could justify what he’d done.

‘We should call for backup.’

‘Do we have any hard facts to reinforce our suspicions?’

Kieran answered Beth’s question with a shake of his head.

Beth pressed a finger against the doorbell. ‘In that case, we check it out; if we get any kind of confirmation, we can get all the backup you want. If not, we keep looking for Willow.’

She couldn’t hear the doorbell sound inside the house, but it was possible its buzzer sounded in a room at the other end of the building.

Nothing happened, so she held her finger against the button for the count of ten.

Nothing happened a second time.

She rapped her knuckles against the door, but still nobody came to answer it.

Beth tried the door handle. It was locked.

On the assumption that Cooper must be out and about, she decided to scout round the house. With Kieran trailing after her mumbling a series of protests, Beth walked along the house’s wall. When she came to a corner she veered away