‘I wrote it in my notes. “Stupid Duncan up at the quarry, along came a sister and gave him a push.” It was eerie.’
‘Did you question her?’
‘She would not speak. Psychological problems according to her parents.’
‘Did you tell the parents about their daughter’s singing?’
‘Yes. This time Charles Hamilton sat mute; his wife spoke for both of them.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Fiona Hamilton stated that her daughter had an imaginative mind and to take no notice.’
‘And did you?’
‘What could I do? There was no proof, no witnesses, and no assistance from the Hamilton family.’
‘How old was Charlotte?’
‘Ten.’
‘But you always suspected?’
‘The song gave me the creeps. It sounded like a theme song out of a horror movie, yet it came from the mouth of a child.’
‘What happened to Charlotte Hamilton after that?’
‘I’ve no idea. The inquest was a formality. I made a statement, purely the facts, and the death was recorded as accidental. Both of the parents were present, although they did not speak, at least to me.’
‘The daughter?’
‘She was not there.’
***
‘We need to interview the Hamiltons,’ Keith said. It was a murder enquiry, and if Ingrid Bentham and Charlotte Hamilton were one and the same person, the inconvenience to the Hamiltons was of minor concern.
‘Understood.’
Keith made the phone call. ‘Detective Inspector Keith Greenstreet. I need to question you about your daughter, Charlotte.’
The voice at the end of the phone, female and initially friendly, went quiet. A masculine voice took over. ‘She is not here.’
‘Then where is she?’ Keith asked.
‘We have not seen our daughter for some years. We have no idea where she is.’
‘Are you Charles Hamilton?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am requesting a formal interview. It can either be at your house or at the police station.’
‘Come to the house, one hour.’
As the phone call ended, Keith could hear the faint sobbing of a woman in the background. He assumed it was Fiona Hamilton.
Rory, reluctant to venture near the Hamiltons’ house again but mindful of his duty, accompanied Keith.
‘It was over there,’ Rory said as they entered the front garden through a small gate. ‘That’s where she was singing.’
The Hamiltons, on opening the door, were polite, although obviously not pleased to see DI Rory Hewitt. However, they acquiesced and invited them both in. Keith saw that the house was beautifully presented, everything in its place. Trained to be observant, he noticed the photos of a young boy lined up on the bookshelves and on the mantel over the fireplace; it could only be Duncan Hamilton. He saw no pictures of a daughter, other than of a very young child, a babe in arms almost.
Keith, realising the importance of the interview, followed procedure and notified them of their rights.
‘Mr Hamilton, we are anxious to contact your daughter,’ Keith said.
‘We have not seen her for some years.’
‘I need to ask you why not.’
‘It’s a family matter.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Rory said. ‘That statement needs to be clarified.’
‘DI Hewitt is correct,’ Keith said. ‘We believe that your daughter is a possible witness to a number of serious crimes in London. We need to find her.’
Rory handed the Hamiltons a photo taken from the Chalmer’s house. Charles Hamilton took one look. His wife averted her eyes.
‘After the death of our son, we decided that it was best if Charlotte received counselling,’ Charles Hamilton said. He showed no emotion.
‘Because of Duncan?’ Rory asked. Keith realised the advantage of having someone with him who knew the family history.
‘She was traumatised by his death,’ Hamilton said. Keith could see Fiona Hamilton was barely able to contain her emotions. It was clear that Charles Hamilton was stoic, but his wife was of a nervous disposition.
‘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
