DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1

by Phillip Strang

  ‘According to the records, Charlotte had some problems,’ Keith said.

  ‘She was always a sensitive child,’ Fiona Hamilton said. Keith could only assume it was a mother’s love for a child that failed to accept the reality. He wondered if they had the same suspicions about Duncan’s death as did Rory.

  ‘It was more than sensitivity, Mrs Hamilton,’ Rory said.

  ‘As you say. She had emotional problems,’ Charles Hamilton conceded.

  ‘I need to know where you sent her and the medical treatment she received,’ Keith said.

  ‘Is this necessary? Our son is dead; our daughter is missing. What more do you want from us?’

  ‘I am truly sorry,’ Keith said. ‘But this is a murder investigation. It is my responsibility to bring the perpetrators to justice, to make them pay for their crimes, to prevent more deaths.’

  ‘And you believe that Charlotte is a murderer?’ Fiona Hamilton stood up, screaming. Her husband took hold of her and held her close to him. She buried her head in his shoulder.

  ‘It may be best if you phone for the family doctor to come here, or I could arrange one for you. Mrs Hamilton could do with a sedative,’ Rory said.

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll make a phone call,’ Charles Hamilton said. He took out his mobile and dialled. ‘Five minutes, Doug. It’s important.’

  ‘Family friend, he’ll come straight away,’ he said to Keith and Rory on concluding the call.

  It was no more than two minutes before there was a knock at the door, only ten before Fiona Hamilton was mildly sedated, allowing the interview to continue. There were questions to be answered, and the answers were needed now.

  ‘Mr Hamilton, as you know I always had a suspicion regarding the death of your son,’ Rory said. This time, Fiona Hamilton stayed calm.

  ‘Do you have a recent photo?’ Keith asked.

  ‘It is five years old.’

  ‘Can I see it, please?’

  Charles Hamilton went over to an old writing bureau. He opened the top drawer and withdrew a photo that he handed over. Keith knew what he was looking at. Apart from the short hair and the younger face, it was Ingrid Bentham.

  Keith’s instinct was to phone Sara immediately, but he knew that first he had to conclude the interview.

  ‘I need to know the name of her doctor and whether she remained in this house after the death of her brother,’ Keith said.

  ‘I will give you the contact details. After Duncan’s death, her condition worsened. In the end, it became impossible for her to stay here. We found a good place for her, a well-respected mental institution, where she received the best care.

  ‘At the age of nineteen, no longer a minor, and not subject to any restraining order, she left. After that, we have not heard from her.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Keith said.

  ‘You believe that Charlotte killed those men in London, don’t you?’ Fiona Hamilton asked, her voice very quiet.

  ‘That is not for me to comment on,’ Keith said.

  Charles Hamilton sat quietly for a while. He eventually spoke. ‘Unfortunately, Detective Inspector Hewitt, you may have been right about Duncan’s death.’

  Keith could see a broken man, a broken family: one dead child, almost certainly murdered by his sister; the sister now a serial killer. He felt great sorrow on leaving the house. He knew he needed to be in London, although not before he had interviewed those in charge at the mental hospital where Charlotte Hamilton had stayed for eight of her twenty-four years.

  He knew that, whatever happened, the lives of good people were forever altered due to the paranoia of one child, now an adult. He was glad that he was retiring: too much misery and despair during his time as a police officer. Informing the Hamiltons about their daughter was the last piece of bad news he intended to impart to anyone again.

  Chapter 9

  The mood in the office changed dramatically after Keith had phoned through from Newcastle. Finally, they had a name, even if the woman was not using the name in London.

  Keith had sent a scanned photo through on his smartphone. Sara could see that it was Ingrid Bentham, as had Keith. Bob Marshall, pleased with the development, phoned through to Detective Superintendent Rowsome. The man unexpectedly showed up at the office thirty minutes later.

  ‘Great policing,’ he said. ‘An arrest soon?’

  ‘We hope so, sir,’ Sara replied. Bob Marshall stood close by, absorbing the accolades, justified in his decision to keep Sara on the case, although it had been Keith Greenstreet who had provided the first significant breakthrough.

  ‘Good woman you’ve got there,’ Rowsome said to Bob Marshall as he left the office.

  ‘She’s a good officer.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘You’re right, sir.’

  ‘You’ll not find anyone better than her.’

  ‘I know, sir.’

  The detective superintendent’s comments had the tone of a command, not that Bob needed one; he knew exactly what he was going to do about Sara.

  With the detective superintendent out of the office, Bob, back in DCI mode, turned to Sara. She was still glowing at the unexpected praise.

  ‘It doesn’t help much, though,’ Bob said. He had found a seat close to where she was standing.

  ‘You’re right. We may have a name, even an understanding of the woman’s state of mind, but no idea of her current location.’

  ‘She’s not finished her killing spree, you realise that?’ Bob said. ‘So far, she’s killed a lover and her flatmate’s boyfriend, but not the flatmate. What about her parents? Are they safe?’

  ‘We assumed they were, but who knows?’ Sara admitted.

  ‘Then you’d better make sure they have protection.’

  ‘Yes, DCI.’

  ‘And tell the flatmate to make herself scarce. The woman has only killed men so far; we don’t want a woman as well.’

  ‘I will deal with that.’

  ‘Sara, now that you’re the shining star, at least in Detective Superintendent Rowsome’s book, what’s your plan?’

  ‘Find Charlotte Hamilton.’

  ‘But how? What do you have apart from a name? So far, this woman has killed two people, almost three. And one of them in her old apartment. She may be as mad as a hatter, but she is smarter than us. Why is that?’

  ‘Luck on her part.’

  ‘It’s more than that. Ask Keith to check as to her intellectual capability. Even in her deluded state, she may be able to think rationally. She could kill again at any time.’

  Sara realised that Bob, yet again, had brought her back to ground with a thud. He was right that Charlotte Hamilton could kill again, and there was nothing they could do to pre-empt her. Their only hope was to apprehend her, but if she could change her appearance as well as her identity, then the chances of picking her up on surveillance cameras or finding her at the haunts she had frequented seemed slim.

  Regardless, Sara organised some uniforms to stake out the college she had attended, as well as her former flat and even the Chalmers’ house.

  Sara made a phone call to Charles and Fiona Hamilton. ‘Charlotte had a ring; it was engraved on the inside.’

  ‘I gave it to her the day she turned seventeen,’ Fiona Hamilton said. ‘It was a family heirloom. It had belonged to her grandmother.’

  ‘How are you?’ Sara asked.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Not good, I suppose.’

  The phone call ended. Sara assumed that the Hamiltons were beyond conversation.

  ***

  The Mental Health Register showed that Charlotte Hamilton had been placed in a mental facility not far from the family home. There was no mention of Rory Hewitt’s suspicion over the death of her brother, or that she was considered possibly violent.

  St Nicholas Hospital, a forbidding remnant of Victoriana, the home of Charlotte Hamilton for eight years, was not a welcoming sight to Keith. The place gave him the creeps.

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p; Rory Hewitt had accompanied him.

  They negotiated reception; it was either sign in or they were not going any further, police badge or no police badge. They were ushered into a small waiting room on the first floor.

  ‘Dr Gladys Lake, pleased to meet you.’ A rotund woman came into the room and introduced herself. The top of her head did not reach Keith’s shoulder. He bent his head forward and extended his hand. She shook it vigorously and with strength. He could see that she was an energetic woman; she reminded him of a teacher at the school he had attended as a child.

  ‘We need to talk to you about a former patient,’ Keith said.

  ‘Charlotte Hamilton.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I’ve had Charles Hamilton on the phone. He’s in quite a state. It seems that you have been making aspersions about Charlotte, something to do with her brother as well as the deaths of two men in London.’

  ‘Unfortunately, they are more than aspersions. We have a warrant out for her arrest.’

  ‘And you think that Charlotte could be responsible?’

  ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ Rory asked.

  ‘My office, you’ll need to excuse the mess.’

  Keith could see why the woman had mentioned the mess. There were patients’ files strewn across her desk, a laptop in the middle of it with a monitor to the side. Over on the far side of the office was a bookcase full of medical books.

  ‘It’s my bolthole away from all the cleanliness outside. It’s the only place I can get some peace to study.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Keith said. ‘What can you tell us about Charlotte Hamilton?’

  ‘A beautiful child, no doubt a beautiful woman now.’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘Are you sure about this? When she left here, she had not had a relapse for a couple of years.’

  ‘We have sufficient proof for a conviction.’

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘Yes, two murders now. We are worried there may be more.’

  ‘Her brother?’

  ‘We are not pursuing that. At least at this present time. The recent events in London concern us more.’

  ‘Subject to patient confidentiality, I will tell you what I can. Charlotte entered here after the death of her brother; she was deeply disturbed. We evaluated her, placed her on medication, and with time and counselling, she calmed down. So much so that she attended a local school, visited her parents at the weekends.’

  ‘Why did she not return to live with them?’ Rory asked.

  ‘It was difficult.’

  ‘We need to know.’

  ‘You are aware of Charlotte’s medical condition?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘Not exactly. Our criminal psychologist believes that she displays the classic symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia.’

  ‘Smart woman. With medication, Charlotte was able to lead a relatively normal life. However, …’ Dr Lake paused.

  ‘There were some issues with the Hamiltons?’ Keith asked.

  ‘Once back at the family home, even with suitable medication, she would revert to type.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She would become angry, frustrated, start lashing out at the parents, harming herself.’

  ‘Razors, that sort of thing?’ Keith asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And back here?’

  ‘Five minutes and she was fine, although she hated it here.’

  ‘Are you saying she switches on and off, medication or no medication.’

  ‘Not at all. She needs the drugs, but the dosages were too high for her to be with the Hamiltons for too long.’

  ‘But they came every weekend?’

  ‘Here, she was all right, and if they took her out, she gave no trouble, but near that house she had problems.’

  ‘Do you believe it was the memory of her brother?’

  ‘That was my assumption.’

  ‘What do you know of the death of her brother?’ Rory asked. So far, he had let Keith do the majority of the talking, but Duncan Hamilton’s death was a subject that he knew more about.

  ‘A tragic accident.’

  ‘Nothing more?’

  ‘Are you saying his death was suspicious?’

  ‘Charlotte has now killed two people. It is possible that Duncan’s death was not as recorded.’

  ‘And do Charles and Fiona Hamilton know of your suspicion?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did they deal with it?’

  ‘Badly from what we can see. You realise that we’re only doing our duty. Charlotte Hamilton could kill again. We need to find her.’

  ‘I have to deal with trauma every day. I understand that you must do what is right.’

  ‘We need your help,’ Keith said.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Charlotte has killed one lover, as well as the lover of her flatmate. Both crimes appear to be motivated by personal anger. Is there anyone else who could be a potential victim?’

  ‘In her state of mind? Anyone she came in contact with over the years, even me.’

  ‘So far we have ruled out anyone female.’

  ‘I don’t see why.’

  ‘Would she regard her parents with ambivalence?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘We have a police guard at their house.’

  ‘That will not stop her,’ Gladys Lake said. ‘Charlotte may have mental issues, but she is still a smart woman. If, as you suspect, she has reverted back to a paranoid state, then she could find a way.’

  ‘Medication?’ Keith asked. ‘We are aware that she was taking some medication.’

  ‘Chlorpromazine most likely.’

  ‘You’re not sure?’

  ‘I’ve not seen her since she left here. If she is on prescription, there should be a record.’

  ‘According to our criminal psychologist, Grace Nelson, the dosage and the medicines change over time.’

  ‘She is right, which would mean that Charlotte is under the care of a doctor. Or should be,’ Gladys Lake said.

  ‘Black-market prescription drugs are not that easy to come by.’

  ‘Maybe, and what I prescribed five years ago may not be relevant today, especially the dosage. And besides, a lot of patients stop taking them at times due to the side effects.’

  ‘If she failed to take her drugs or took incorrect dosages?’

  ‘Probably what you see now: a belief that people are out to get you, aggression, violence.’

  ***

  With the woman clearly identified as Charlotte Hamilton, an all-points warning was issued. This time it was more accurate than the previous one for Ingrid Bentham, not that Sara Stanforth held out much hope for it. A bottle of hair dye available in any supermarket, a different hairstyle, even plain clothes, and Charlotte Hamilton could go from attractive to dull and back to attractive at will.

  Sean, pleased that the case was moving forward, disappointed that his studies for a Master’s degree were slipping, focussed on detailing the murderous woman’s movements in the intervening five years, from when she had walked out of St Nicholas Mental Hospital until the murder of Gregory Chalmers.

  Legally prescribed drugs, especially the more potent ones, would be registered and on the record. Also, they needed to know if the drugs had changed over the years, and whether she was subjecting herself to regular medical checks.

  If the records were meticulous, Dr Gladys Lake should have been able to access them. After all, she had been her primary doctor for many years, and someone with a known psychotic ailment would be monitored at all times.

  His father, Keith Greenstreet recollected, was susceptible to blowing his top one minute, only to be calm the next, but with Charlotte Hamilton it was more than banging a fist on the desk in frustration. With her, it came with a knife, although no one, not even her doctor in Newcastle, had seen that possibility.

  Sara, for once riding high in everyone’s estimation, knew that it would not last for long.<
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  ‘Five days maximum before they start questioning your ability and my judgement,’ Bob Marshall had said the previous night. Detective Superintendent Rowsome was looking for an arrest; his Key Performance Indicators were slipping in a couple of key areas. With Charlotte Hamilton behind bars, he knew that his KPIs would be excellent for the next three months. The arrest of a murderer always counted for a lot, and Rowsome was looking for promotion.

  Bob had an unusual way of initiating sexual congress, Sara thought. Discussing a murder was hardly the ideal conversation for a lead up to a romantic interlude, although it was not going to distract either of them. Sara knew that DCI Bob Marshall was the man for her, although he had been cagey on the subject of marriage. She knew that he had been married before, and even though there were no children, no complications, it had left him cautious.

  Bob did not talk about his previous wife, which suited Sara, but sometimes the subject came up in conversation. According to Bob, she had a fiery temper coupled with a loving disposition. One wrong word on his part and she would not talk for a month, other than with monosyllabic replies.

  Sara could see no problems for Bob on that account with her: she had no temper, said her mind and then forgot it. And as for not talking? She was a woman with a need. A woman in need of affection, Bob Marshall’s affection, and she was not going to allow any temper tantrum to get in the way.

  Next day in the office, after a successful romantic interlude the previous night, Bob Marshall was back into detective chief inspector mode.

  ‘Sara, what are you doing about this woman, and is her flatmate safe? How about her parents?’

  ‘We have uniforms watching out for them.’

  ‘Not really good enough, is it?’

  ‘What else can we do? We can hardly protect them day and night. Besides, Ingrid’s, or should I say Charlotte’s, flatmate is out of sight, visiting relatives in Nigeria. The woman was scared and rightly so.’

  ‘You have an address, contact details?’

  ‘Yes, DCI.’

  ‘And the parents?’