The Watcher

About the Book

Title: The Watcher

Author: Eli Carros

Genre: Crime Thriller

One man must stop a psychopath in his tracks…

Chief Inspector Jack Grayson is hunting a serial killer terrorizing London, a stalker who watches his prey carefully and displays the bodies of his young female victims brazenly. But Grayson has a problem – only one lead and scant evidence – and the body count is rising.

He discovers that an unsolved 18-year-old murder case bears all the hallmarks of the current killings, but he still can’t seem to find a single, obvious suspect, and he is so far unable to outthink a master predator. 

Grayson must catch a hunter who knows how to outwit the police – a showman intent on completing his macabre collection. But he’s missing a vital clue, a critical piece of the puzzle.  When he finally discovers the killer's identity, he's completely unprepared for the fallout…

Author Bio

I'm a crime fiction and thriller author from London, England and my debut novel, The Watcher, was inspired by London, and by what can happen when sexual obsession, violence, emotional neglect, and madness collide.  It takes you behind the eyes of a murderous stalker with a secret past, and into the mind of the harried detective who must stop a master predator before he kills again.

I'm a trained journalist, and interned at The Daily Mirror before becoming copywriter and then a crime novelist.  I've always loved reading crime, thrillers, and mystery suspense, and am an ardent admirer of authors Steven King, Mark Billingham, Harlan Coben, and Patricia Cornwell.

I'm naturally a strong supporter of causes that promote equality for all.  In my spare time I love sailing, camping, hiking, and sketching faces, and detest getting up in the morning without several cups of strong percolated coffee.

Links

Website: http://www.elicarros.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elicarros/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/elicarrosauthor

Book Excerpt

He eyed the almost empty champagne bottle, a couple more and he could get quite a bit of information out of her. All the information he would need, in fact.

“We should get another bottle in for good measure,” he said.

“Can give you a lap dance if you like or we can go for a private, if you prefer?” she said, keeping her gaze fixed on him. Her large green eyes seemed to communicate the promise of some kind of sexual satisfaction if he said yes.

He nodded. “Lap dance sounds good.”

“Here then?” He nodded again. He quite enjoyed the whole performance of a public lap dance. It was the theatre of it, the jealous attention you got from the other punters, as a naked or scantily clad woman writhed in your lap.

It was all fake, of course. He knew that. He knew every stripper lied; you could see it barely concealed in their eyes even as they offered up their bodies so seductively, but he didn’t care. For a moment he could pretend it was real, and anyway, he wasn't particularly discerning when it came to feelings.

Her real name was Marilyn, he learned, and she didn’t have a stage name like some of the other strippers he’d known. It was an apt name for such a pocket Venus.

Marilyn was good at faking it too, her bare breasts thrust in his face, her scantily clad crotch grinding hard against his own. So good, he wondered for just a second if perhaps she wasn't faking it at all. Could that look in her eyes that told him how much she wanted him be genuine? Apparently not. Three lap dances later and four hundred pounds poorer than he’d gone in, he left the club, alone.

Sexually frustrated, but with the necessary information he needed, he smiled to himself as he made his way to the tube, traces of her perfume clinging to his shirt. The memory of the unpleasant meeting with his Mother temporarily replaced by the recollection of Marilyn’s soft flesh beneath his fingertips.

Marilyn may have been pretending but he was deadly serious. And by the time he was done with her, it wouldn’t matter much what her true feelings were.