Don't Look Now

by Max Manning

  “What have you got that links him to the murders? Any trace of the I, Killer posts on his computer?”

  “We’ve got everything we need,” Tobin said. He had a self-satisfied grin on his face that made Vale want to slap him. “When our officers searched his apartment, they also found a knife, which I’m confident will turn out to be the murder weapon, and a mobile telephone. In the phone’s album, we found photographs and even some video footage of two of the victims, Edward Deere and Marta Blagar. They were the photographs that were posted on the internet. He’d stashed them behind the bath panel. The knife is being tested, but I’ve no doubt we’re going to find blood and DNA that we can match to the victims.”

  Vale wondered if Ince had targeted her because she was the profiler on the case. It made sense. She was happy that he was safely behind bars but disappointed that her profile had been so far off the mark.

  There was still a chance that checks into Ince’s childhood would throw up one or two matchups with predictions she’d made, but if she was going to have a chance of rescuing her reputation, she’d have to come up with a successful strategy for the interrogation. Before she could think about the direction the questioning should take, there were a few things she needed to know.

  “You say Ince is denying any involvement in the murders?”

  “He can deny it all he wants,” Tobin said, still smirking. “The knife and the phone are going to convict him. He knows that. He’s confessed to all the other stuff. Misuse of the database and stalking. In fact, we can’t stop him spilling his guts about stuff he’s done before and since joining the force. I think it’s a pathetic attempt to muddy the waters. By admitting some stuff, he’s trying to convince us that he’s being honest. I’ve seen it all before.”

  “What led you to Ince? I understand there was no forensic evidence to go on.”

  Tobin’s smirk stiffened. “We acted on a tip-off, but we would have gotten there anyway. The investigation started to gather momentum from the moment I took over. We were closing in. It was only a matter of time.”

  Vale raised her eyebrows. She wasn’t convinced. “Who tipped you off?”

  “Someone who called the murder inquiry helpline. He wouldn’t give his name even though our operator assured him it would never be made public if he didn’t want it to. In any event, we’ve got the bastard. We’ve done our job. He’s going to be convicted, locked up, and never get out.”

  Vale allowed herself a smile. The fact that Ince was arrested as a result of an anonymous tip-off would be conveniently buried. The Yard was going to have a lot of explaining to do once the arrest was made public. The media would pounce like sharks in a feeding frenzy on the revelation that the killer was one of the Yard’s own. It would be an even bigger disaster if the murder team was unable to claim credit for his capture.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Without waiting for an invitation, Ray Partington walked in.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But the papers have heard we’ve pulled someone for the murders, and all hell is breaking loose. We’re going to need to give them something soon. If they come up with Ince’s name before we give it out, we open ourselves up to all sorts of accusations.”

  Tobin raised a placatory hand. “Take it easy, Ray,” he said. “Slow down. Prepare a news release, you know, the usual stuff about someone being questioned. Throw them a bone to keep them at bay, but no names yet.”

  Partington gave Vale a look that left her in no doubt that he considered the detective chief inspector a half-wit. She acknowledged him with an almost imperceptible nod.

  “Of course, you already know each other from the press conference,” Tobin said.

  Partington smiled. “That’s right. Belinda had a starring role. Her profiling knowledge made quite an impression.”

  Vale nodded again, but said nothing.

  Partington refocused his attention on Tobin. “I’ve already prepared an initial release along the lines you’ve just suggested, but I’m here to stress that we’re going to have to be more expansive pretty soon. This is one hell of a story, and the more accommodating we are to the press, the more we give them to work with, the more likely they are to go easy on you.”

  Tobin frowned. “What do you mean me? Why would they single me out? I was brought in to sort this inquiry out, and under my command, we’ve caught the bastard.”

  Partington caught Vale’s eye. “When I said you, what I meant was us. What worries me is that if the media are starved of juicy details about Ince, they could focus on the performance of the investigating officers. They are likely, excuse the unfortunate phrase, to want heads to roll.”

  Tobin’s face reddened. Vale could see a vein pulsating across his left temple. “Thank you for the advice,” he said, sounding the opposite of thankful. “As always, it’s valued. Send out the initial press release as discussed. We’ll talk about how to follow that up tomorrow morning. I am sure that you’ll use your expertise to protect the reputation of the force and its officers. Please close the door on your way out.”

  The curtness of the dismissal didn’t seem to bother the press officer. He nodded at Vale before striding off. The vein on Tobin’s left temple had stopped throbbing, but his face was still flushed. Vale had no medical training, but she was pretty sure Tobin needed to get his blood pressure checked.

  Reverting to a strategy she used to calm agitated clients, she lowered her voice a notch and spoke slowly. “I appreciate you’ve got a lot to deal with, but I want to get started on working out the best way to get Ince to open up about the killings. If he’s being interviewed now, I’d like to drop into the observation room and take a look.”

  Tobin checked his watch. “I think they’ll be taking a break soon and resuming in about half an hour. You can start then. The man’s broken. He’s a babbling wreck, but he’s not speaking about the murders. We’ve got enough evidence to convict, but I’d rather not have to go to trial on this. It’d be a bloody circus.”

  Vale took a moment to think. A confession would mean the police wouldn’t have defense lawyers picking over their investigation, exposing every mistake, highlighting failures, and demanding a detailed explanation of the evidence trail that led them to Ince. She was surprised that the detective constable was resisting admitting guilt. Once caught, organized serial killers usually relish talking about their crimes.

  “It’s likely that he needs a bit of time to accept that there’s no way out for him,” she said. “The chances are that when that happens, you won’t be able to stop him boasting about how clever he’s been.”

  Tobin laughed nervously. “Let’s hope so,” he said. He stood up and checked his watch again. “We’ve got time to pick up a coffee on the way.”

  • • •

  By the time they reached the observation room, the interrogation had already restarted. Vale sat close to the viewing window, choosing an angle that gave her the best view of Ince’s face. His eyes were red and swollen, his complexion ashen. Detective Sergeant Daly stood in front of him, her hands on her hips.

  “I’ve told you everything,” Ince said, thumping his right fist hard on the table. “I admit it all. What more do you want?”

  Daly paused and looked across the room at her new partner, a straw-haired, pot-bellied detective standing with his back to the wall.

  “Let’s start with Lauren Bishop,” she said. “Why her? Did you hit on her? Did she reject you? Laugh at you? I bet that pissed you off.”

  “This is crazy,” Ince said. He slid his hands out and gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. “You really think I killed her?”

  “You were on the spot pretty quickly. Secured the area. Made sure the murder scene wasn’t contaminated. Handy that, if you want to make sure it’s clean, evidence free.”

  “I was doing my job. That’s all,” Ince said, a tremor in hi
s voice.

  Daly sat down and leaned 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 unauthorized 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 leaned 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 slumped forward, his hands clasped 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 around 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 sniveling. 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 demeanor 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 coloring 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 apartment.”

  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 whining 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.”

  Fifty-Six

  The walk to Leah Bishop’s apartment 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 onto Millennium Drive and looked up at the apartment block where Leah lived. It was a smart address, offering a view over the Thames toward 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 elevator 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 apartment. “I can’t believe you got him so quickly,” she said. “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 into Ince’s apartment, 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 defense counsel could claim that the evidence found in the apartment should be inadmissible. They
could even suggest that Blake had planted it.”

  Blake and Leah exchanged glances. Neither of them had considered that possibility.

  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 apartment 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 apartment 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.