Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 8 - Avery

"Look, Chris...can I call you Chris?" I don't wait for his approval. "You and I both know that you're going to keep acting uncertain and doubtful and I'm going to keep telling you how much more amazing Invega's antipsychotics are than Stemetil's.

"Then I'm going to read you all the benefits of Invega which you know since you have already researched it yourself because you would never trust a rep to speak the absolute truth. Thus, you have already made up your mind on whether you are going to purchase these and you are merely sending me on a wild goose chase.

"Of course, I am completely aware of this. Yet I will play along and I'll tell you how Stemetil's meds have worse side effects and that they are less effective and that you should really be looking to become more modern and try new drugs to give to your patients if you want to evolve along with the rest of the world.

"And you'll inquire about the price and I know you'll be wanting to haggle so initially I'll quote you a price a whole lot higher than it actually is, you'll say that there is absolutely no way you can pay that, so I'll drop the price right down to just above the actual retail value and you'll think you've won because you've got such a bargain, so you definitely won't pass up the deal.

"Then I'll be on my merry way with my hefty commission and you'll be on yours with your new drugs."

The doctor sitting opposite gawks at me, speechless and still processing my proposal.

"Trouble is," I persist, "this whole scene will take up a good thirty-two to thirty-seven minutes of both your time and mine and I'm sure that your time is highly precious. So, why don't we skip all of that nonsense and just strike a deal and go our separate ways?"

Once I have finally finished my speech, the room echoes silence. The air is so stiff and uncomfortable I can practically hear the fan flying above me, cooling the tension in the room.

The doctor avoids eye contact with me and fiddles with his heavy silver pen, clicking the top on and off.

After I have aged three years, he opens his mouth to form a sentence. "So, tell me, Miss Blake," he begins, "in what quantities will you be selling these?"

The corners of my mouth twitch slightly, but I withhold my smirk.

Fish meet bait.

"Thank you for meeting with me."

"My pleasure, Miss Blake. I expect I will be seeing you soon."

We shake hands to seal the deal and he holds the door open for me.

As I approach my car I sigh in relief, knowing that he was the last one of the day. Now I can go home and relax.

I know that my sales approach may be a little...abrasive, but I have been playing this game for a long time now and I've tried every trick in the book. Truth be told, a decent dose of upfront honesty is the most effective way of getting a sale in my experience. Of course, it isn't successful a hundred per cent of the time, but really, what is? If that doesn't get them hooked, a healthy bribe or blackmail will work just fine.

You may be wondering why I don't incorporate the drugs I sell into my extra-curricular activity. Well, in my opinion it is a cop out. It makes it too easy and takes the excitement out of the whole process. It also creates a link between us that there absolutely cannot be.

My most important rule is to never have the slightest connection to the victim.

It has been eight days now since my meeting with the Little Mermaid, and they are no closer to identifying the fish.

After I have visited a victim, I tend to move on rather quickly to marking the next, but I still keep tabs on the previous. Just to ensure everything plays out as it should.

By that, I mean the police will eventually identify the body, they will interrogate – sorry, interview – the relatives and friend, crossing their names off a list one by one until they officially conclude that the killer is, in fact, who they know it to be. Then, they will put the details of the case in my file because they think that there absolutely has to be a pattern to the tales. Therefore, one day the detectives on the case will have a great epiphany, find the missing link, realise who I am and take me down.

It's a sweet dream.

Naturally, I have access to all the CCTV, so my surveillance of their progress is always very thorough.

Tonight's episode of CSI: Grimm Reaper presents the detectives who are working my case and they just cannot catch a break. I grab a beer from the fridge, pull on my comfy clothes and watch the show.

This is the first time I have ended my victim in the way I did, so the poor sods have a stifling first obstacle to overcome.

The old and beer-bellied detective just received a phone call from the landlord of the Little Mermaid's apartment to find out that she had rented the place under a fake name. They really were going to be taken for a spin trying to put a name to her wrecked face.

Only about ten minutes later does the short, bearded one walk into other's office.

"Just spoke to Ned from downstairs." He sounds low-spirited. Why so glum? Don't worry you'll catch me, I'm rooting for you, I mock to myself.

"The dental records aren't going to be enough to ID her. She hasn't had any work done and unsurprisingly there are no matches in our current records."

The old one shoves his hands against the desk, pushing his chair back against the wall. He stares blindly and says nothing for a moment.

"Well, I guess that's it then. We'll just need to wait until someone reports a missing person who fits the profile." With more grit in his voice he adds, "even though we have hardly a profile for it to fit with."

This seems like it's going to be long episode. Perhaps I should bring out the popcorn.