***
The taxi driver at King’s Cross Station had complained when presented with a fifty-pound note for a fare that was only fifteen, but Charlotte had no time to wait. ‘Keep the change,’ she said. Another time, she would have argued with the man, but Gladys Lake had left her taxi that they had been following and was heading into the hotel.
‘An old friend, I’ve just missed her at the station. She’ll be surprised when she sees me,’ Charlotte said when the driver queried why they were following another taxi.
Dressed in disguise, Charlotte was able to approach the reception and hear the woman check in.
‘Room 232, ma’am,’ a small, bespectacled man behind the reception said. Charlotte thought he looked like a gnome, but she managed to repress a smirk. She realised her mood was whimsical, whereas her intent was malevolent. She stood back when Gladys Lake turned around briefly. To Charlotte, it appeared to be a sign of nervousness on the woman’s part; she hoped it was. She wanted the woman to suffer, as she had suffered for all those years.
Gladys Lake picked up her bag and moved towards the lift. A smartly-dressed porter took the bag from her and pressed the button inside the lift. Charlotte stood back, pretending not to look in their direction but watching intently out of the corner of one eye. The conference was scheduled for two days; no need to hurry this time.
And besides, there was still the unresolved matter of Detective Chief Inspector Cook. She was not sure what to do about him. Somehow, vengeance for those who had troubled her seemed the most suitable way forward.
Charlotte returned to her accommodation, grabbing a bite to eat at a local fish and chip shop. Always aware of her figure before, she no longer felt the need to worry. She knew her time was not long, and she had no need to be attractive and fashionable. Her wardrobe, no more than what she could carry in a suitcase, was looking the worse for wear. The ten thousand pounds she had taken from the dead landlord was still intact, apart from several hundred pounds that she had laid out on the trip to Newcastle and the incidentals necessary to maintain a low profile: wigs, dowdy clothes, shoddy accommodation.
She knew that in the past she would have cared, but now she did not.
The man who had first shown her the room at her hotel was behind the reception counter when she got back. He offered an inappropriate comment; she chose to ignore him. He was a poor quality of man, not even worthy of contempt. Charlotte took the key for her room from him with a disparaging shrug of her shoulders, and climbed the two flights of stairs. Her room smelt of damp and decay, as did the rest of the hotel. A quick shower and she lay down on the bed. Her mind was full of the days ahead, knowing full well that she was to become more visible than ever before. She realised that the police would be looking for her, and they would not be far from Gladys Lake, her primary target.
There were two days for her to deal with Gladys Lake, and, if possible, Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook. She counted those that she had dispatched, starting with her brother. It pleased her enough to bring a smile to her face.
***
Even with the full force of the Met behind him, Isaac did not know where Charlotte Hamilton was hiding out. Apart from being certain that she had arrived in London, no more had been seen of the woman. Gladys Lake was being subjected to continued surveillance by the police, hopeful that she was safe. Rory Hewitt had received a few choice words from Isaac because he had allowed Gladys Lake to travel unaccompanied from Newcastle to London, an ideal opportunity for a devious woman to commit murder. Police Constable Grantham, who should have been at King’s Cross Station on Gladys Lake’s arrival, was also given an official reprimand.
‘What’s the latest?’ Isaac asked in his office. He had called the full team together. Police Constable Grantham was permanently assigned to Gladys Lake, as were two other junior police officers. The doctor’s protection was paramount, although it was believed that close proximity to her would also present the best opportunity to catch Charlotte. Isaac was still smarting from the photo that she had taken with him in Newcastle.
Isaac knew that his career could not suffer another embarrassing incident. Even now, he was confining his movements to the office, his policing duties and his empty flat. Socialising, even if there was time, was strictly off the agenda. Charlotte Hamilton could appear at any time; an inappropriate approach engineered by her with a photo posted on the internet, and he would be suspended. His career could not take the ignominy, he knew that. He had to catch her and ensure she was put behind bars; no doubt hospital bars as it was clear that she was criminally insane.
Regardless of the lax security, Dr Lake was in London. Protection had been assigned to her day and night, although Isaac and his team felt that, going on previous form, Charlotte Hamilton would not be easily deterred.
Wendy was the first to speak that morning in the office. As usual, she was upbeat and optimistic, in sharp contrast to Isaac.
Wendy, perceptive and having known him longer than anyone else in the office, sympathised. She was used to seeing a fit, upright black police inspector, not the man in front of her now with a worried look on his face. ‘Don’t worry, sir. We’ll find her soon enough.’
She realised it was probably a futile statement of encouragement. Apart from knowing Charlotte Hamilton was in London, they knew little more. Gladys Lake was still safe, although she was a woman not used to restrictions, and despite the best efforts of the police, all in the office knew that she still represented an easy target.
‘Don’t relax your guard for a minute,’ Isaac had warned her when they met at her hotel for a coffee. ‘Charlotte Hamilton is not far away, and she’s not used to failure.’
Gladys Lake, appreciative of Isaac’s visit to warn her, could only agree. ‘I understand, but I can hardly hide away until you find her. Besides, I don’t believe she wanted to harm her parents. All she wanted from them was unconditional love and a respite from her killing spree.’
‘Can you empathise with Charlotte?’ Isaac asked, not sure that the doctor was correct.
‘Empathise, certainly. I need to do that with all my patients, try to understand the world from their point of view, aim to bring them back to reality.’
‘And did Charlotte understand the reality? Do you believe she is aware that what she is doing is wrong?’
‘I believe I’ve had this discussion with your people before.’
‘Maybe, but I would appreciate your informing me.’
‘Depends on her medication, her current state of mind, but she probably does not believe she is at fault. However, like everyone she needs love, unconditional love. Her parents would be the obvious choice to give her that, and they attempted to in the past.’
‘That’s before they realised that Charlotte had killed her brother, their son,’ Isaac reminded Gladys Lake.
‘As you say, before they realised. And it’s clear they could not give her the love she wants now, and when she confronted them in their house the other week, it was always going to end badly.’
‘So she could have gone to their house hopeful of a warm welcome.’
‘Probably, but that’s not what happened, is it?’
‘No, her parents reacted badly. And your reaction if you’re cornered by her? Will you be able to empathise, to show her the love and trust she craves?’ Isaac asked.
‘Outwardly, I probably will, but I will be shaking like a leaf. Charlotte scares me, and I know she blames me for what has gone wrong in her life.’
‘Yet you do not take the appropriate precautions. You should have stayed in Newcastle,’ Isaac reminded her.
‘The conference I am attending is important. I needed to come.’
‘Important enough to risk your life?’
‘Not that important, I suppose, but I’ll be careful.’
Isaac realised that his discussion with Dr Lake, pleasurable as it had been, had achieved little. Even if there were someone with her at all times, it would not be difficult in a crowded conference room t
o get in close and to stab her. Still, Isaac realised that he had done his best, and her fate, as well as his future, were in the hands of a delusional woman who continued to evade justice.
***
Sara Marshall, fearful for her safety but mainly for her child, had asked her mother to look after the infant for a few days. Sara instinctively knew that the current case was coming to a conclusion; she didn’t know why, other than she could feel all the intricacies, all the components, of the case coming together. She had been involved with Charlotte Hamilton for too many years to believe that she would not go after Gladys Lake, and she intended to stay close to her, even if there was other protection close by. An assigned police constable, even with a photo and a description of Charlotte, would not recognise her easily, especially if she was disguised, and she was clearly proficient in that.
Sara knew more about the woman than anyone else, and she would be looking for mannerisms, the way she walked, the look in her eyes, similarities to her parents. No one else was more capable of recognising the woman, she was sure of that; no one else could save Gladys Lake.
Sean O’Riordan, Sara’s constable during Charlotte Hamilton’s first murdering rampage three years earlier, and now an integral member of Isaac’s team at Homicide, continued to look for the woman. His girlfriend, although used to his extended working hours and his time labouring over the books at home to obtain the qualifications to raise himself from constable to inspector and hopefully as high as commander, continued to complain, although her complaints were muted in comparison to the past. Sean and Sara had agreed to work together on Gladys Lake’s protection. They had run it past Isaac; he had been in agreement. If Sara was not with Dr Lake, then Sean would substitute.
Wendy Gladstone, always the best person to track someone down, and Larry Hill were involved with trying to find Charlotte Hamilton, although it was proving difficult. Her presence had not been confirmed in London, although the police officer’s sixth sense told them she was there, but it was a huge city: needle in a haystack, according to Wendy, but she didn’t give in easily.
And besides, if she wasn’t in London, where else could she be? The people who concerned her the most – Sara Marshall, Isaac Cook and now Gladys Lake – were all in the city.
Chapter 25
A lone woman sitting in an internet café in north London raised no interest. The others sitting at their terminals were all focussed on the screens in front of them, tapping away at the keyboards. Some were surfing the web, some talking to loved ones overseas, others looking for employment; only one was planning violence.
Charlotte’s mood was calm. Even though the weather was mild, she wore a thick coat, its collar turned up. Dark sunglasses, incongruous when looking at a computer screen, were not ideal, but they helped to conceal her identity. On her head, she wore a baseball cap.
It was necessary to be careful now, as her face was well known throughout the country. Even the newspaper that the man behind the desk was reading when she had paid for thirty minutes on the internet had her face on the front of it, with her history, and a warning to be on the lookout for her. She had to admit she liked the notoriety, even if it impinged on her movements, but regardless, she was hardly recognisable as she sat there in front of the well-used computer.
Her accommodation did not have Wi-Fi, in fact, it didn’t have much of anything, and she was not inclined to purchase a USB modem for her laptop in case the authorities could monitor it. Once they knew her laptop’s IP (internet protocol), then each time she logged on, they would be able to record all that she wrote, as well as find out where she was. No, she realised, it was better to use internet cafés, a different one each time.
As she tapped away at the computer, her mind focussed on the plan ahead. She knew where all those who were the bane of her life were. Sara Marshall was in Twickenham, Isaac Cook at Challis Street, and Gladys Lake at her hotel or the conference centre. She toyed with the idea of a romantic encounter with the black policeman before she stuck a knife into his heart, but rejected the idea, even if it brought a smile to her face. She knew that in an intimate encounter she would not be able to conceal her identity. If she wanted DCI Cook dead, then that was what would happen. Sara Marshall was another target, but not the prime one. She was a police officer, and apart from wanting to arrest her, she had done no wrong, although she still hated the woman. Gladys Lake, however, was a different matter.
Still, the need to be close to Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook ran strong in her veins. She knew she could not be closer, but another photo for the website, and the embarrassment it would cause him, seemed possible.
***
Wendy Gladstone and Larry Hill were out on the street; they had organised a team of one hundred constables to question people on the street at locations that seemed possible as the hiding place of Charlotte Hamilton. Without more accurate information, they had focussed close to the scenes of the past murders: Twickenham, Holland Park and Mayfair, as well as where she had killed the landlord at the cheap accommodation with the Peeping Tom, Jason Martin. That was discounted as the least likely area although it was still a good place to hide. They even ventured out to Joey’s in Kingston where Liam Fogarty had been stabbed in the heart, but no one had seen the woman there, although the club was still annoying the neighbours with the noise from the rowdy drunks into the early hours of the morning. Yet Charlotte Hamilton remained elusive, so much so that Isaac felt increasingly frustrated. It wasn’t helped by the ambivalence of DCS Goddard, his friend and mentor, towards him, and Isaac was no longer sure about the former of the two descriptors, as his DCS had been less than friendly since the unfortunate incident of the photogenic Isaac and the equally photogenic Charlotte appearing across the social media and on every newspaper front page, not to mention the hilarity on the early morning breakfast shows on television.
It was Wendy, his ever-loyal sergeant, who snapped him out of his inertia after she had returned from pounding the streets. She had seen him in his chair looking despondent.
‘It's not that bad, sir. It’ll blow over,’ she said.
Isaac, forced to focus, could only agree. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ he said. Regardless, he was the SIO on the case, and it was for him to get his backside out of his chair and to do his job. A meeting that afternoon seemed the best approach to breathe life into the search for Charlotte Hamilton.
At the nominated time, Isaac’s team assembled. He had to acknowledge that they were a finely-honed team and he had been primarily responsible for bringing them together.
Larry Hill reappeared in the office five minutes before the meeting started. ‘Bugger of a day. No sign of the woman,’ he said. It was clear that he was not in a good mood; Isaac put it down to his wife’s latest macrobiotic diet, which he was obliged to share or else feel her wrath and get the cold shoulder from her.
Larry confirmed Isaac’s suspicions. ‘I could do with a good plate of steak and chips.’
‘Why don’t you?’ Isaac asked.
‘My wife’s right, of course,’ Larry admitted, ‘although it doesn’t help with the hours we work.’ Isaac said no more; he understood. Jess O’Neill, before she moved out of his place, had been keen on eating properly, so much so that he had tried to modify his eating habits of grabbing a bite here and there, and to wait until he was home with her. On some occasions that was very late at night, as both were busy people with demanding jobs.
Sara Marshall and Sean O’Riordan were both present, as was Bridget, who continued to do a sterling job dealing with the paperwork, assisting Isaac with his when she could.
‘Any luck?’ Isaac asked, looking over in the direction of Sara and Sean. Sara was looking worried.
‘Not really,’ Sara said. ‘We know she’s in London somewhere.’
‘Apart from picking her up on camera at King’s Cross, she’s not been seen since,’ Isaac said.
‘She could hardly go back to Newcastle,’ Sean said. ‘Rory Hewitt and his team would have ap
prehended her if she had.’
‘Are you joking?’ Larry said. ‘Why should they have any more luck than us? Besides, she updated on social media that she was coming to London.’
‘And we trust her to be truthful?’ Isaac interjected.
‘She has unfinished business,’ Sara reminded the team.
‘Gladys Lake?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you, sir,’ Wendy reminded Isaac.
Isaac, usually a mild-mannered man, was becoming frustrated. Apart from Larry consuming the biscuits, he couldn’t see what they were achieving. Charlotte Hamilton continued to intrigue the media, although she had not killed for some time, and each time police ineptitude was implied, and on more than one occasion referred to overtly. His name had been mentioned more times than he appreciated, and whereas he had achieved some degree of celebrity, and someone had once said that any publicity was good, it didn’t ring true in his case. He had become accustomed to reading accolades about himself, receiving phone calls from Richard Goddard congratulating him on excellent policing, even from the commissioner, the head of the Met, on one occasion. But now every phone call from a superior asked the same questions: when will there be an arrest, what are you doing to find this woman? Isaac realised there was one question being asked amongst his superiors: Is DCI Cook up to the task or should he be relieved of command?
He felt sure that Goddard would protect him; after all, he had ensured that Isaac was on the promotion ladder, and he had protected him well enough in the past. However, his DCS was a political animal, and he was not going to allow his career to be hindered by defending the indefensible.
***
Charlotte Hamilton, safely ensconced in her room at the flea-bitten accommodation she had found, sat on her bed. Her mood was ebullient, even if her life was in tatters.
DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1 Page 79