Isaac hoped that the deluded would do it elsewhere; Charlotte Hamilton was enough to deal with. His team were primed and ready: DI Hill was already interfacing with his counterpart, DI Sara Marshall. Detective Sergeant Wendy Gladstone was in communication with Sean O’Riordan, and Bridget Halloran was collating the paperwork.
A joint operations room had been set up in Challis Street. Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard had attended the first meeting, given them the obligatory pep talk.
‘What do we know about this woman?’ Isaac asked after Richard Goddard had left.
‘You’ve read the report?’ Sara asked.
‘We’ve all read it, but what we need is to hear it from you.’
Sara, pleased to be a rising star again, not a has-been confined to the office more often than she would have liked, stood up to speak.
‘After Liam Fogarty’s death, we kept the investigation open for another four months. In all that time, we found no trace of Charlotte Hamilton, other than a hotel where she had stayed after killing Brad Howard.’
‘Are all the murders attributable to Charlotte Hamilton? Could any be copycats?’ Larry Hill asked.
‘There’s no doubt. Fingerprints and DNA at all murders, apart from Duncan Hamilton.’
‘She killed her own brother?’ Wendy Gladstone asked.
‘Psychotic. No concept of right or wrong,’ Sara said.
‘Medical reports aside,’ Isaac said, ‘what do you believe she intends to do? What are her thought patterns?’
‘She killed three people in London and disappeared.’
‘Any thoughts as to why?’ Larry asked.
‘As to why she killed three people or why she disappeared?’ Sara asked.
‘The latter.’
‘Either she went back on medication, although we could find no prescriptions in the names that she has used and no black-market sales, or she just stopped of her own free will.’
‘Is that possible?’ Isaac asked.
‘According to the experts it is, although the psychotic thoughts would remain.’
‘The triggers being men?’ Wendy asked.
‘That’s what we believe. So far, there have been no attacks against women, apart from Stephanie Chalmers at the first murder. We believe that only happened as a result of her walking in just after Charlotte Hamilton had killed Gregory Chalmers. Gloria, her flatmate, was not killed, although her boyfriend was.’
‘Gloria, where is she?’
‘I’ve no idea. Probably back in London, but we’ve had no reason to contact her for over two years.’
‘We need to find Charlotte Hamilton,’ Isaac said. ‘Any ideas where we should look?’
‘Where she’s stayed hidden for three years may be a good place to look,’ Sean O’Riordan said.
‘But you’ve no idea where to look,’ Larry reminded him.
‘As you say, no idea, and that is the problem.’
‘Job for you, Wendy,’ Isaac said.
Gordon Windsor, the crime scene examiner at the murder in Holland Park, joined the meeting. ‘I can confirm that samples we found at Graham Dyer’s house belong to Charlotte Hamilton. As expected, he died mid-coitus, seminal fluid found on the tip of his penis. At the moment of ejaculation, she thrust the knife into his heart. This time, she missed the large artery, and he would have still been alive. He had been stabbed an additional three times in the heart and once in the throat.’
‘Any clues about the woman?’ Isaac asked.
‘Brunette, although the roots were blonde. Also, she showered, cleaned the bathroom and left. Nothing more.’
‘We conducted door-to-doors,’ Larry said. ‘Nobody saw anything. Graham Dyer was a local businessman, successful by all accounts. He had been married but was living on his own. One neighbour stated that he occasionally brought a woman home with him.’
‘Where did he meet Charlotte Hamilton?’ Bridget asked.
‘Good question,’ Isaac said. ‘Sara, any ideas?’
‘Not really. Gregory Chalmers, she met when he and his wife had advertised for someone to help with the children. Brad Howard, she knew through Gloria. Liam Fogarty, she picked up at a club in Richmond. If she wants a man, she’ll find one.’
‘Wendy and Larry, you’d better get down to Holland Park and see if you can trace the murdered man’s movements.’
Chapter 14
Charlotte Hamilton had seen the black police officer. She imagined seducing him, and then at the right moment sticking a knife into his black heart.
She knew she had been right to stay hidden for three years; three glorious years where no questions had been asked, and everyone had been courteous and friendly, even invited her into their houses. She had not been fooled. They were no better than her parents who had deserted her, allowed her to be drugged and then electric-shocked, with the confusion and memory loss after. Sometimes she wondered about her parents: where they were, what they were doing, even wishing her stupid brother was still alive. But what if he was?
He had only been an irritant to her, teasing her, breaking her dolls, getting between the love of her parents for her. She was glad she had killed him, even though she could have saved him. She remembered him squealing as he hung on to a branch protruding at the top of the quarry. How she had enjoyed pulling the branch away from him; how she had enjoyed watching him fall and fall and fall, and then hitting the ground with a thud. The sound had been music to her ears, and if she closed her eyes, the scene was still so clear.
She had seen
