Now You See: A gripping serial killer thriller that will have you hooked

by Max Manning

  ‘I was doing my job that’s all,’ Ince said, a tremor in his voice.

  Daly sat down and leant across the table. ‘I suppose you were just doing your job when you hacked into the computer system to steal personal information. Were you doing your job when you carried out unauthorised surveillance on innocent members of the public?’

  ‘We’ve been through this before.’

  ‘We need to do it again.’

  Ince released his grip on the table, lifted his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes. ‘I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it. I’ve always liked watching people. It started when I was a teenager. It makes me feel good. I can’t really explain it.’

  ‘Go on. Give it a try. You get a kick out of it. It’s a sex thing then?’

  Ince blushed and shook his head. ‘It’s not like that, no. Well, maybe sometimes. It depends who I’m watching. But it’s not all about that. I’m good at it. Really good. I like watching people knowing that they don’t know I’m watching. It’s a compulsion. I think it’s the main reason I joined the police. The chance to do surveillance. Watch people for a living. I admit I need help.’

  Turning to her pot-bellied colleague, Daly mouthed the word ‘pervert’. He grimaced in mock disgust. The detective leant back in her seat and drummed her fingers on the table as she considered her next question.

  ‘When did this, er, this compulsion change?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I think you do.’

  ‘Nothing’s changed.’

  Daly shook her head slowly. ‘When did you move from watching people to stalking people, to killing people? Move on to cutting their throats, to hacking their heads off?’

  Ince clasped his hands firmly over his ears. ‘Why are you saying this? It’s not right. I don’t understand. This is madness.’

  Daly sighed. ‘There’s no point lying. We found the phone under the bath. The photographs, the newspaper cuttings, video footage and the murder weapon too. We’ve got you. There’s no way out of this. It’ll be easier all round if you stop pretending. It’s not going to get you anywhere.’

  Ince slumped forward and banged his forehead on the table. Daly watched his shoulders heaving and waited for him to stop snivelling. After a couple of minutes, he sat up straight and looked his interrogator directly in the eyes. ‘This is fucking wrong,’ he said, his voice suddenly deeper and more forceful. ‘Believe me you’re making a big mistake. Listen carefully, because after this I’m not saying anything else until I get a lawyer. Not a word. I don’t kill people. For the benefit of the recording device I’ll say it one more time. I don’t kill people.’

  The change in Ince’s demeanour threw Daly off balance. The detective sergeant slowly circled the table as she gathered her thoughts. After a couple of circuits, she sat opposite Ince and crossed her arms.

  ‘We’ve checked your shift pattern over the last few weeks. It’s interesting to say the least. You were working on the day Lauren Bishop was killed and on the scene in super quick time. At the times Edward Deere and Marta Blagar died you were off duty. So far, you’ve not been able to tell us where you were and what you were doing when they were murdered. That doesn’t look good.’

  Ince crossed his arms, mirroring Daly’s body language, and said nothing. The detective unfolded her arms and rested her palms on her lap. Ince immediately did the same.

  Vale noticed Daly colouring up. Ince’s body language game was doing what he’d intended it to do.

  ‘You had video footage of two victims and the murder weapon in your flat.’

  Ince stayed silent.

  Daly turned and looked straight at the two-way mirror and shrugged. ‘Okay then,’ she said. ‘We’re going to take another break.’

  Two police constables entered the room to escort Ince back to his cell. He held his head high as he rose to his feet, happy that he’d scored a minor victory.

  Tobin had observed the whole exchange in silence. ‘The little shit,’ he snapped. ‘What the hell is he playing at?’

  Vale took a moment to consider what she’d seen. ‘He doesn’t fit the typical psychopath pattern. All that whinging and poor me stuff is unusual. Still, that switch to defiance, and the body mirroring, that’s more typical. The suddenness of the change itself is interesting. Was he acting? Which is the real Ince?’

  ‘I don’t bloody know,’ Tobin snapped. ‘You’re the bloody psychologist.’

  Vale was momentarily taken aback. Tobin was desperate for a confession. She was there to give advice on the best way to get it. ‘He’s playing a game right now. It’s a game that keeps him in control and he likes that. It’s all about power and control. You need to get as much information as you can about his childhood and get him to talk about it. Bring him back to those times when he felt weak and powerless. I bet there were plenty of them. That’s when he’ll crack.’

  Tobin put his hands on the arms of his chair and pushed himself slowly to his feet. ‘He bloody better.’

  56

  The walk to Leah Bishop’s flat gave Blake plenty of time to think. The killer was safely behind bars. The first job he’d had in more than a year was over. It felt good. Now he’d need something else to keep him out of trouble.

  Blake turned into Millennium Drive and looked up at the apartment block where Leah lived. It was a smart address, offering a view over the Thames towards north Greenwich. Leah had called him the night before with an invitation to meet up for a lunchtime celebration of a job well done.

  He took the lift to the second floor to find Leah waiting for him at her front door, a warm smile on her face. She reached out, grabbed his hand and pulled him into the flat. ‘I can’t believe you got him so quickly. I didn’t really think it was possible. Lauren would be so proud.’

  Her grip was firmer, her skin warmer, than he’d imagined. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he said nothing. She gave him a curious look and dragged him into the living room, where Fenton sat in a leather armchair cradling a steaming mug of coffee.

  Blake let go of Leah’s hand. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Fenton,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d be back behind your big desk in Westminster by now.’

  It was obvious from the surprise on Fenton’s face that he hadn’t been expecting another guest. ‘Well, if it isn’t my partner in crime.’

  Leah gestured for Blake to take a seat and offered to get him a coffee. He sat on the sofa, but said no to a drink. Leah sat next to him, close enough to touch. She smelled fresh, like sweet rain.

  ‘I wanted you both here to thank you for what you’ve done,’ she said. ‘Lauren’s killer is locked up and who’s to say how many lives you’ve saved by stopping him. It’s such a shame that you’ve not been able to take any credit. I’m still not sure why.’

  Blake looked at Fenton, inviting him to explain. The detective laughed: ‘It’s not possible because our friend here broke every rule in the book, along with several laws. He illegally entered Ince’s flat, carried out an illegal search, and probably contaminated important evidence.’

  Blake shrugged. ‘If we’d done it your way I’d still be walking the streets following Ince around, ducking in and out of shop doorways to avoid being seen. At least we got him. Nobody else is going to get hurt.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Leah said. ‘It’s sickening that those pictures are still out there though, still being drooled over. The internet is like Frankenstein’s monster. Out of control.’

  Fenton took a sip of his coffee. ‘I’m happy the killer has been caught. But the reckless way he went about it goes against the grain.’ He pointed across the room at Blake, who stared at the finger with disgust. ‘If it ever got out we’d all be in deep shit,’ Fenton said. ‘It would probably seriously endanger the case against Ince. His defence counsel could claim that the evidence found in the flat should be inadmissible. They could even suggest that Blake had planted it.’

  Blake and Leah exchanged glances. Neither of them had considered that pos
sibility. Leah broke the uncomfortable silence. ‘There’s no reason it should come to that. We are the only people who know what happened. We did what needed to be done.’

  Leah’s support made Blake feel good. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘We got the result we wanted. I took a risk and it paid off. There’s no point in beating yourself up over what might have happened. You’re still squeaky clean. You’ll be back at the Yard in no time.’

  Fenton didn’t look convinced. He stood up. ‘Sorry, Leah, but I’ve got to go,’ he said. ‘Tess is waiting for me. They’re pulling the twenty-four-hour guard on the flat tonight.’

  He walked into the kitchen. Leah and Blake heard the tap running as he washed up the mug. When he returned Leah followed him to the front door. Blake took the opportunity to take a good look around. The flat was expensively furnished and impeccably clean.

  The front door banged shut and Leah returned. She sat down in the armchair Fenton had vacated. ‘I don’t know why you two can’t get along. You make a great team. You’ve got such different skills.’

  ‘We were lucky, that’s all. Very lucky.’

  Leah smiled with a look that said she appreciated his modesty. ‘I meant what I said earlier. Lauren would be proud of you.’

  Blake thought for a moment. Leah had been right. Taking on the case had been a turning point. ‘What now though?’

  Leah walked over to the sofa and sat down again. This time she was so close he could feel the warmth of her thigh against his.

  ‘Are you asking my advice?’ she said.

  ‘I suppose I am.’

  ‘Do what you’re good at.’

  Blake nodded. He understood what she was saying, but her proximity, her energy, shifted his train of thought.

  ‘Can I ask you a question?’ he said.

  ‘Go right ahead.’

  ‘Is there something going on between you and Fenton?’

  She looked him directly in the eyes. ‘Would you mind if there was?’

  ‘There is then?’

  She shifted a fraction to the side and leant away from him. ‘No, there’s nothing going on. Why would you think that?’

  Blake sighed, the hollow feeling in his stomach fading. ‘I didn’t really think he was your type. Mr Sensible. Lives life by the rulebook.’

  Leah smiled. ‘And the negatives are?’

  Blake could think of plenty, but he didn’t want to keep talking about the detective. ‘Is there anyone?’ he said.

  Leah dropped her gaze, then lifted her chin to look at Blake again. ‘Maybe, but there’s been too much going on.’

  Blake had taken the plunge and was determined to carry on. ‘What about us?’

  Leah paused for a moment. ‘Don’t misunderstand me,’ she said. ‘Grief can do strange things to people. You’re confused, not thinking straight. I’m not Lauren. I’m not a substitute.’

  Blake was confused. He was confused about why she made him feel this way. Made him say stupid things. ‘You may look similar, but you’re nothing like Lauren. She was caring, gentle.’

  ‘And I’m not?’

  ‘You’re you. Come on. I mean you’re different that’s all.’

  Leah stood up and disappeared into the kitchen. Blake stayed where he was, listening to cupboard doors and drawers being opened and shut. After a few minutes, she returned, her arms folded across her chest.

  ‘There’s something I can’t get past,’ she said. ‘It’s something I can’t just push aside and I don’t know if that will ever change.’

  Blake didn’t want to hear it, but he knew she needed to say it. ‘Tell me.’

  A sad smile crossed her face. ‘It’s simple. You’re my dead sister’s former boyfriend.’

  57

  Childhood trauma, parental rejection, emotional starvation: these words are spewed out so condescendingly it makes me sick.

  I wanted people to love me. I gave them ample opportunity. When they failed to see how special I am, I moved on. Well, it would be more accurate to say I was moved on. Usually at their insistence.

  When I could, I’d leave them a parting gift. It started small. The first, a favourite ornament. A tiny crystal swan given pride of place on the mantelpiece. Grinding it under my heel and kicking the glass fragments beneath the sofa made me feel good.

  On the day I left my seventh foster home, I decided to up the ante.

  The family’s ten-week-old kitten fitted perfectly in the microwave. Ten minutes on the highest setting did the job. The couple decided not to report me. They were scared I’d come back and do something even worse. I learnt an important lesson that day. I learnt about the power of being feared.

  I hit the jackpot with my next placement. The weird thing is, I didn’t even have to try to make them like me. They took to me immediately. I responded in a way which surprised everybody. I started to behave well. My new foster parents were delighted. One day after school, all smiles and glances, they sat me down, and explained that their prayers had been answered.

  I’d done it. I’d passed the test. I’d fooled the suckers. They adopted me. In exchange for pretending to love them they gave me something that opened up the world to me. They gave me a new name.

  Without it I wouldn’t be where I am today. Like a snake, I shook off my skin, and slithered out of my past into my future.

  58

  Blake switched on the television and slumped on the sofa. He needed something to keep his mind off Leah. He reached for the remote and flicked through the channels on autopilot, not really registering what he was seeing.

  Leah had made it clear that she couldn’t contemplate a relationship with her sister’s ex. Not now. Maybe never. Blake understood, of course he did, but that didn’t mean he was ready to stop hoping.

  On the television, a newsreader announced that a Metropolitan Police detective constable had been charged with the I, Killer murders and remanded in custody. A mugshot of Ralph Ince filled the screen.

  The follow-up story focused on the reaction across social media. The correspondent’s blonde curls bobbed as she reported breathlessly that the news that I, Killer had been arrested had exploded across Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, with the image of Detective Constable Ralph Ince being shared, viewed and ‘liked’ hundreds of thousands of times.

  Blake switched the television off. He’d heard enough and needed to pay a visit to the late-night grocery around the corner. Outside, the cloudless night carried a hint of the winter to come. He reached the store entrance just as his neighbour walked out clutching a six-pack of lager. Blake stepped aside to let the man pass, but he stopped and rested the lager on his beer belly.

  He looked up at Blake and grinned, revealing a mouthful of tiny crooked teeth. ‘Me and the missus have noticed you’re doing a lot less running on that machine of yours. I’m not the sort of bloke who holds a grudge, so thanks and all that.’

  Blake gritted his teeth. The old man always rubbed him up the wrong way. Blake couldn’t explain it, but knew it was unreasonable. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I’m doing more of my running outside these days.’

  The neighbour smiled again. ‘Good decision, mate. Much better for you. Also, I won’t have to complain to the landlord and get him to kick your arse.’

  Blake bit down on his bottom lip and shouldered his way into the shop, resisting the temptation to break the news that he was the landlord and was seriously thinking about getting a new tenant.

  As usual, the air in the grocery store carried the scent of decay, but it always looked clean. Blake wandered around for ten minutes before buying a steak and kidney pie that would be edible after a few minutes in the microwave. He spent another five minutes talking football with a spotty youth at the till before walking back to his flat.

  He was fetching a cold beer to complement the pie’s unsubtle flavours when his mobile rang. He didn’t recognise the number, but answered it anyway. At first, he didn’t recognise the caller’s name either.

  ‘I think you’ve got the wrong n
umber.’

  ‘No, mate, listen to me. It’s Perry, Perry Lee. The owner of Vic’s Café in Victoria Park. You get me?’

  Blake remembered. The smooth, shiny head and bushy beard. ‘Yeah, of course. How can I help?’

  ‘I think it’s me that can help you. You asked me to give you a bell if I remembered anything new about the day that woman was murdered.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I ain’t remembered nothing. But I got something else for you.’

  Blake wondered if Lee had been drinking. ‘You’re confusing me. What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s that detective killer. I saw his photograph on the news. The detective that’s been charged.’

  Blake still wasn’t sure what Lee was driving at and he was losing patience. Hunger always shortened his fuse. ‘Yeah, I watch the news too,’ he said.

  Lee laughed. It was an unpleasant snorting sound. ‘No, mate. You’re not getting me. That Detective Ince who’s the killer ain’t the Detective Ince who came to me café. He don’t look nothing like the one who took me security camera footage. Now do you get me?’

  Blake’s pulse started to race. ‘You’re sure about this. You know what you’re saying?’

  ‘Are you listening to me, mate, or what? That Ince on the television is not the detective who took the camera footage. He said he was Detective Ince, but he don’t look nothing like him. You get me?’

  Blake wanted Lee off the phone. He needed to speak to Fenton. ‘I get you,’ he said, and terminated the call.

  59

  Belinda Vale sat at her desk in her consulting room and read through her notes one last time. She’d been working on an interview strategy for four hours. Her eyes were tired and her head ached.

  Her private therapy work had ended at 5 p.m. and after an hour’s break for a light meal at a nearby Italian restaurant she’d returned to the office to concentrate on the I, Killer investigation. She’d reached the conclusion that Ince’s apparent emotional distress, and refusal to admit to the murders, was a game, a mind game, a way for him to continue exerting control over the situation.