‘Not unless you cover up,’ a voice bellowed at her.
‘I have gloves and foot protectors,’ Sara said.
‘Apologies. I’m Gordon Windsor, the CSE here. It would be best if you put overalls on as well.’
‘DCI Cook?’
‘He’s inside.’
Sara changed quickly and proceeded inside the house. It was clear that whoever lived there lived well.
‘DI, I’m Isaac Cook. I believe we’ve met. I wasn’t sure if you would have remembered.’
To Sara, it seemed naïve to believe that any woman would not remember Isaac Cook. He was over six feet, slim, and jet black. Even she had heard of his many romances, his straightforward manner with the average person as well as the top politicians in the country. She had seen him on television on more than one occasion.
‘Not sure I could forget you, sir,’ Sara replied.
‘I need your opinion,’ Isaac Cook said.
He led the way as they moved to the first floor of the house, and into the main bedroom. It was a scene that Sara had seen before. In the centre of a queen-sized bed lay the body of a man, naked and flat on its back.
‘The cleaning lady found the body,’ Isaac said.
‘Similar pattern.’ Sara looked up at the wall. She knew why she had been asked to visit the house.
‘Copycat or is it the same woman?’
‘It’s been three years. After so long, most people have assumed that she committed suicide.’
‘Had you?’
‘Never. She may have been mad, but she was always in control. You saw the photo on Facebook with me in the background. And Charlotte Hamilton in the foreground taking a selfie.’
‘Who hasn’t,’ Isaac said. In fact, from what he could remember, over five million had seen that photo.
‘I knew she was still alive somewhere.’
‘What do you reckon? Is this Charlotte Hamilton?’
Sara moved around the room. The man appeared to be in his fifties, a little overweight, but apart from that in good physical shape. She observed the slight erection, assumed it to indicate mid-coitus, although that was for others to confirm.
The knife, with only the handle visible, was embedded in the man’s throat. There was also blood congealing on his chest in the area of the heart.
‘She’s improved her technique,’ Sara said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘When she killed Liam Fogarty, she only stabbed him once with a stiletto knife. Unlikely that he would have lived, but he would have lived longer had she not severed the large artery.’
‘Are you certain?’ Isaac asked.
‘The crime scene investigators will confirm, but, yes, it’s her. Did she take a shower?’
‘Dried the floor, hung up the towel afterwards.’
‘So much blood. Gave her plenty of writing material,’ Sara said.
‘The number on the wall?’
‘It’s the same style of writing.’
Both of them looked at the wall, an off-white colour before the blood of the victim had been used to paint the number 5.
‘It’s her,’ Sara said. ‘She’s back, and she will kill again.’
‘We need to work together on this.’
‘The case was assigned to another officer.’
‘I’ll square it with your DCI.’
‘Thanks. I would like to get even with this woman.’
‘She’s dangerous, and she knows you,’ Isaac said.
‘And I know her,’ Sara said.
‘Welcome on board.’
***
Procedurally, the responsibility for the murder investigation would lie with the Homicide team in the area where the crime had occurred.
Graham Dyer, a local businessman, had died in Holland Park, close to Challis Street Police Station, and would come under DCI Cook and his team. The other murders had occurred in the Twickenham area, Sara Marshall’s area of responsibility.
Bob Marshall had no issues with his wife again taking the lead role in Twickenham, although his detective superintendent had, or at least had until Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard, Isaac’s boss, had phoned Martin Rowsome and insisted.
The plan was that Sara Marshall and her team, currently only Detective Sergeant Sean O’Riordan, would stay at their office, while Isaac Cook and his team would remain in Challis Street. The stations were close enough, only thirty minutes to drive, although sometimes it could take as long as forty-five minutes.
Sara had no illusions as to what was going to happen. Isaac had been hopeful that the death of Graham Dyer was a one-off, although he had been involved in enough murder cases to know that once a murderer has acquired the taste for killing they need to feed that hunger, and Dyer had been number 5.
Isaac had read up on the previous four deaths. He had been visibly disturbed by the death of Duncan Hamilton. He had read the psychological reports from both Grace Nelson, the criminal pathologist, and Dr Gladys Lake. The behavioural patterns of Charlotte Hamilton were clearly identified; the analysis was the same from both women: highly dangerous, likely to kill again, no cognitive sense of right or wrong.
Isaac knew this time they had a problem. In the past, his murders had been centred around blackmail, revenge, anger, a need to conceal the truth, but with Charlotte Hamilton, it went deeper.
The woman was smart. IQ tests in Newcastle had shown that she was in the top ten per cent in the country, yet coupled with that was no moral restraint, no comprehension of the evil she was committing, no concern about the emotions of those who had loved her, still loved her.
The media, as ever aggressive for a good story, had soon latched on to the death of Graham Dyer. So far they did not know about the number on the wall. They had been bad enough the first time, even attempting to portray her as some kind of folk hero, at least on one internet site dedicated to the bizarre and deluded. Isaac had checked it out; it had over twenty
