Don't Look Now

by Max Manning

  Blake braced himself, aware that his chances were low. A knifeman as skilled and as fast as Partington could shred someone in a heartbeat.

  The shrill wail of a siren filled the silence, the sound close. “They’re coming,” Blake said, trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. “The police know all about you. All about Ray Friel. What you are. Every pathetic detail.”

  Partington sneered at him. “Have you seen how many people have searched for and viewed my messages? What have you achieved? Who worships you?”

  Blake said nothing but edged closer.

  Partington mistook his silence for submission. He dug his right hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a smartphone. “Video time,” he said, lifting the cell phone to get Leah in the shot.

  Blake took his chance and dove across the gap, driving his head into Partington’s stomach. Both men crashed to the floor, the knife slipping from Partington’s fingers. Blake grabbed it and staggered to his feet. Partington slowly hauled himself up, a pained smile on his face. Blake lifted the knife and pressed the point of the blade to Partington’s neck.

  “Go on, do it,” Partington said. “You know you want to. You’ll enjoy it. Trust me.”

  Seventy-Three

  Blake tightened his grip on the hilt of the knife. The weapon felt heavier than he expected. He pulled the tip of the blade away from Partington’s throat, then jabbed it back. Partington smiled.

  “You want to do it,” he said. “What’s stopping you? I’ll give you permission, if that’ll help. Go on. Do it.”

  Is it evil to destroy evil? Blake wondered. Wouldn’t I be doing the world a favor?

  Partington’s smile widened. He seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of what was going through Blake’s mind.

  “What are you waiting for? You can say it was self-defense. It was me or you. You’ve got plenty of time to get your story straight. You’d better get on with it though, because she’s choking pretty badly.”

  Blake looked down and saw that he was right. Leah’s eyes were bloodshot and bulging, and she was sucking so hard on the tape, he could see the outline of her mouth. He quickly dropped to her side and used his free hand to rip the tape from her mouth. She coughed violently, gasped for air, and retched.

  Blake gave her a concerned glance, taking his eyes off Partington for no more than a fraction of a second. A fraction of a second was long enough. Partington’s right foot connected with his left temple, sending him to the floor in a blur of semiconsciousness. When his vision cleared, he was lying facedown. A couple of feet away, Partington stood behind a kneeling Leah, holding the knife against her throat.

  “Glad to see you’re back with us,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to miss the show. My followers are impatient. I can’t keep them waiting.”

  Blake lifted his chin and started to push himself up.

  “Stay down,” Partington snarled. “You had your chance, and you blew it.”

  Blake slumped forward into a prone position. He could see Leah’s lips swollen and bloody, but at least she was breathing freely. He stared at the blade held across her neck and thought about launching himself across the room. Pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, he tensed his body.

  “Back on your belly, there’s a good boy,” Partington sneered. “If you don’t do as you’re told, there will be consequences.”

  Blake dropped to the floor, shaking his head in frustration and using the movement to disguise the fact that he’d managed to slide a few extra inches closer.

  He wanted to keep Partington off balance. Keep him talking about the one thing that made him uncomfortable. “So your mother was sent to prison, Ray? I think I was working on another newspaper by the time her trial resumed. I guess she was sent down for a long time. That alone is enough to make someone suicidal.”

  Partington slid the knife gently back and forth across Leah’s neck, and Blake thought he’d overstepped the mark.

  “The trial never restarted,” Partington said. “There was no need. They locked her up on remand while they compiled psychiatric reports. They were never completed. It’s amazing what you can do with a bedsheet and exposed plumbing when you’re desperate. The funny thing is, she would probably have been sent to a nice comfortable psychiatric unit anyway. But it was your story that did it for her. She couldn’t bear that I’d never be in her life again.”

  “I’m sorry you see it that way,” Blake said. “But killing us is not going to change what happened. You know there’s no way out of here, so why take another life?”

  Partington shook his head slowly. His left hand gripped the knife under Leah’s chin, and his right hand rested on her right shoulder.

  “You still don’t get it. Why take another life? Why not? You’re not as stupid as you look, Blake, but you’re not as smart as you think you are. I knew you would work out who would be next. I knew you’d come running. I knew. You don’t think either of you are walking away from this, do you? Twice as gory, double the glory. Social media is going to explode.”

  Leah’s lips were still oozing blood, but it was her eyes that caught Blake’s attention. Keeping her head as still as possible, she repeatedly rolled her pupils to peer down at the knife.

  Blake raised himself up onto his knees.

  Partington glared at him. “Back on your belly, or I’ll bleed her out.”

  “You’re going to do it anyway,” Blake said. He stood up quickly and lunged across the room.

  Partington stumbled, and Leah took her chance. She pulled her head back, dropped her chin, and sunk her teeth deep into the mound of flesh at the base of his thumb.

  Partington cried out. Blake saw the knife fall and turned his lunge into a full-blooded dive. His head hit Partington’s shoulder, and the two men crashed to the floor. Blake used his momentum to roll on top of Partington and pin him down. A knee smashed into his groin. Blake’s stomach heaved. He was concentrating on not vomiting when Partington grabbed his shoulders and smashed his forehead into Blake’s nose.

  The bone cracked, and Blake tasted blood. He lay limp and helpless as Partington rolled him onto his back and pressed a forearm across his windpipe. Blake coughed violently, choking as the blood from his broken nose filled his throat. He felt the pressure on his neck increase and looked up into Partington’s eyes. They held no mercy.

  His lungs burned from lack of oxygen, and his eyes bulged in their sockets. Partington lifted his torso, ready to bear down harder and finish Blake off, but instead, he froze, the look of triumph on his face replaced by astonishment. He twisted to one side, slumped onto his back, and emitted a low, guttural groan.

  Blake gasped for air and pushed himself up onto his elbows. Blood poured from a wound in Partington’s side, between his hip and his rib cage. Beside him knelt Leah, the bloodied knife in her hand. Blake turned onto his front and crawled toward her. She wept silent tears as he pried the knife from her fingers, gripped it in his right hand, and flopped onto his back.

  Seventy-Four

  A paramedic wrapped a blanket around Leah’s shoulders and led her away. Two others worked on getting oxygen into Partington’s system and stemming the flow of blood from the knife wound. Nearby stood two Metropolitan Police firearms officers, their semiautomatic pistols drawn and pointed at Partington’s head.

  Overkill, thought Blake. He’s not going anywhere.

  The paramedic who’d taken Leah to the ambulance came back in and turned her attention to Blake. The damage to his nose looked spectacular, but it was a simple break. She ran her gloved fingers gently over his swollen throat, feeling for internal injuries. “Can you speak?” she asked.

  Blake considered the question for a moment. “I think so,” he whispered. “But it hurts like hell.”

  The paramedic gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m not surprised. Lie still, and we’ll get you to the hospital as quickly as we can.”r />
  Blake nodded at the two men working on Partington. “Is he going to live?” he rasped.

  The paramedic shrugged. “Probably.”

  Blake closed his eyes. “Pity,” he said.

  Seventy-Five

  The trees, stripped of their leaves, stood black against the cloudless morning sky. Despite the early hour, the park bustled with families making the most of the weekend. Blake had been pleased to get a phone call from Leah suggesting that they meet. He was less happy with her suggested meeting place. The spot where her sister had died.

  Two weeks had passed since Partington’s arrest. It had been a hectic time. Blake found himself at the center of a media circus eager to entertain the public with every detail of the drama. Blake’s part in the killer’s capture had been given prominence in most of the newspapers, despite his refusal to be interviewed.

  He reached a line of skeletal oaks running north to south and walked between two gnarled trunks. In the distance, he could see the triangular patch of undergrowth near the park’s Gore Gate that had hidden Lauren Bishop’s body. Taking a deep breath of cold air, he headed toward it.

  He’d seen Leah only once, a few days after the arrest, when he’d visited her in the hospital. She hadn’t been seriously injured physically, but the trauma had left her too frail and too frightened to return home. Blake recalled her lying pale and motionless in bed, unable to speak or even look him in the eye. He’d sat beside her in silence until she fell asleep.

  He reached the meeting place and looked at his watch. They’d agreed on 9:00 a.m., and it was five minutes past. He heard footsteps approaching the gate and looked up. His heart lifted when he saw Leah carrying a large bunch of flowers. She still looked a little frail, but her eyes were bright and her step brisk. He fought back a strong urge to go to her and stood his ground.

  When she reached him, she rose onto her toes and kissed him softly on the cheek. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “How’s the nose? It looks painful.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks. They tell me once the bruises go, it’ll be as good as new. Maybe even better.”

  Leah smiled, and it made Blake feel good. “What about you?” he said. “You certainly look better than when I last saw you.”

  Leah furrowed her brow in mock confusion. “Right. I think that’s a compliment.” She looked at the flowers she was holding, and a shadow fell across her face. “Give me a minute,” she said.

  Blake watched as she walked on and slipped into a gap in the undergrowth.

  A few minutes later, she emerged, no longer carrying the flowers. She strode back to where Blake was waiting, her eyes wet but defiant. “We did it,” she said. “We got the bastard.”

  Blake nodded. “Let’s hope he never gets out. He’s confessed to the lot. Proud of his work, by all accounts. But he’s slippery. He’s got a good lawyer, and they’re talking about pleading insanity. He still gets locked up, but in a hospital rather than a prison.”

  Leah shrugged. “Well, if Partington is diagnosed as insane, then maybe a hospital is the best place for him.”

  “Partington or Friel, whatever his name is, isn’t insane. He knew exactly what he was doing.”

  Leah closed her eyes and shook her head. “The hardest thing is getting my mind straight. Trying to make sense of everything that’s happened. I can’t understand how someone like Partington can exist. How such a sick mind is formed.”

  Blake reached out and took hold of her hands. Her fingers were soft and slender. “He’s not sick. He’s evil. He was born evil. He’ll die evil. There are plenty of people like him in this world. Too many people.”

  Leah moved closer. “Then it’s lucky there are people like you in the world as well,” she said.

  Blake let go of her hands. “Have you been in touch with Fenton?” he asked.

  “He came to see me in the hospital, and we’ve spoken a few times since. The police are pretty unhappy at all the credit you’ve been getting in the press. That’s probably why they’re taking it out on Dan. He’s fighting it, but it looks like he’ll be kicked out of the force. They say he broke the rules, so he’s got to pay.”

  Blake said nothing. The silence stretched.

  Leah was the first to speak. “He told me what happened. He did the right thing. He had to put his daughter first. Surely, you understand that?”

  Blake kept her waiting before nodding slowly. “I get it,” he said. “He had to put his child before anything else.”

  “That’s right. He had no choice. He’s a good man. A decent man.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Blake took a deep breath to steady himself. He’d had enough of avoiding the issue. “What are we going to do about us?” he said.

  “I don’t know. I need time to think. That’s why I’m going to Italy for a few weeks. To sort things out. Flying out tomorrow.”

  Blake resisted the temptation to ask if she was going alone. “Why leave now? That won’t solve anything. Surely, it’s better to stay in London so we can talk this through. We’ve agonized over this for too long. I was damaged. Things are different now. I’m different now.”

  Leah didn’t reply. She stepped closer, kissed him softly on the lips, and walked away.

  Blake wanted to call out to her, ask her not to go. Instead, he watched her until she disappeared through the gate. When she’d gone, he headed back to the line of leafless trees.

  Seventy-Six

  Things aren’t so bad here in prison. Naturally, I don’t have the use of a laptop, but the wing is awash with smuggled cell phones. I’ve been using mine for research, educating myself about the defense of insanity. I’m wondering if a hospital for the criminally insane might be a better option than your run-of-the-mill jail.

  You might think that I’m looking for a way to avoid responsibility for what I’ve done. That isn’t the case. The fact is, when you sit in a cell most of the day, you get a lot of time to think, and when I set my mind to thinking, I can cover a lot of ground.

  The long and short of it is, I’m reconsidering my approach to life. I’m prepared to accept the possibility that I might be afflicted with a personality disorder that could respond to treatment. I’m willing to try, at least. That’s one thing the staff here like about me. I’m a trier. I’m trying to be a model prisoner, and they appreciate it. It’s good to have a couple of wardens on your side when you’re inside.

  One of my many powers is the ability to get people to believe. You see, it’s easy to think that if you believe something, then it must be true. The real truth is, that’s rarely the case. If I can convince the right people that I’m desperate for psychiatric help, that I want to change my ways, how can they refuse me? That would be inhumane. It wasn’t my fault. Honest. My brain made me do it.

  The police, with the help of the press, are still gloating about my capture. It’s been going on for weeks. They’ve put me away. Stopped the notorious I, Killer in his tracks. If only they knew the truth. I may be locked up, but these bars cannot constrain an intellect as powerful as mine. The idea is laughable.

  You see, my internet posts are still clocking up record viewing figures. With that kind of acclaim comes responsibility. I owe it to my public to keep doing what I do best. I can’t let them down. My followers are loyal, and I appreciate that. But among them are a few special individuals who want to do more than look. They have embraced the darkness and are eager to learn from the master.

  Those determined to put a negative spin on this development would probably describe it as the birth of a cult. I like to think of them as my acolytes. They are lying low of course. They would be foolish not to. But they know—and I know—they will be my willing instruments. When the time is right, I will make my selection, and they will carry on my work.

  Reading Group Guide

  1. Social media plays a
n important role in Don’t Look Now, and the more I, Killer’s following grows, the more he wants to kill. What do you think are the positives of social media? The negatives?

  2. Why do you think people are drawn to I, Killer’s posts? Do you think it’s true that people have an inherent curiosity for the morbid?

  3. If you saw I, Killer trending on social media, would you look at the posts? Why or why not? If you did, do you think you would hold some responsibility for the attacks?

  4. Compare Blake and Fenton. How are they similar? How are they different? Why do you think they both are so intent on solving this case?

  5. We see Blake seeking counseling for his PTSD. How does his PTSD affect him? Have you ever known anyone who has suffered from PTSD? What was that experience like?

  6. Describe Fenton’s relationship with his daughter, Tess. How do they get along? What are the challenges in their relationship? If you were Fenton, what would you do to keep Tess safe?

  7. Do you think media outlets are responsible for the spread of I, Killer’s message?

  8. Is there a difference between a news source’s responsibility to share the truth with the public and their urge to create content that will attract readers? Is that line crossed here? Are there any real-life examples of this?

  9. Why do you think the Yard kicked Fenton off the case? Do you think that was a good decision?

  10. Imagine you are part of the general public watching as the police make multiple mistaken arrests. What would your reaction be? Who do you think should be held accountable?

  11. Describe Ince. Do you think he is dangerous to the public? What should his punishment be?

  12. If you had to choose, whose career would you rather have: Fenton’s, Blake’s, or Vales’s? Why?

  13. What do you make of Leah and Blake’s relationship? Do you think they have a future as anything other than acquaintances?