‘Dr Lake, how are you?’ the man said.
‘Please, I need your help.’
‘Of course.’
‘A woman is following me. She is dangerous. I need the police.’
The man looked over the area while the dog continued to sniff. ‘I can’t see anyone.’
‘Please call Detective Inspector Hewitt for me,’ Gladys Lake said. She handed the man her phone. He checked the contacts and speed dialled. The doctor had been unable to hold her hands steady enough to press the buttons.
Rory Hewitt found Gladys Lake at her cottage. The couple and the dog who had helped her in the cemetery were there also.
‘It was Charlotte Hamilton,’ she said.
‘Positive?’
Rory phoned Sara who phoned Isaac. The situation had changed. The woman was on the move, and she was making mistakes. She had left a USB memory stick behind after killing the landlord where she had been staying; it only contained photos, and apart from their subject matter, it had revealed nothing more.
The killing of the landlord had been messy; her previous murders had shown a degree of calmness as she had showered, cleaned up, and left. Grace Nelson, the criminal psychologist, said it was to be expected. The shield of invulnerability made Charlotte Hamilton impervious to the possibility of capture.
Isaac set up a meeting at Challis Street. Sara Marshall and Sean O’Riordan came over; Rory Hewitt dialled in.
‘Rory, is it confirmed?’ Isaac asked.
‘Gladys Lake is sure.’
‘Is she alright?’ Sara asked.
‘She’s fine,’ Rory said, which was not altogether true. Gladys Lake had been scared witless and was under sedation.
‘All-points out for her?’
‘We have issued a general alert. The woman is dangerous, and she is to be approached with care.’
‘Another mistake,’ Wendy said.
‘If she had killed Gladys Lake, then it would not have been,’ Rory said.
‘Do you believe she would have?’ Isaac asked.
‘What else? She kills people, not frightens them. Gladys Lake would have died in that graveyard if a couple walking their dog had not come in. I’m certain of that. So is Dr Lake.’
‘Charlotte Hamilton’s parents?’
‘We’re checking on them now, as well as visiting her old house. The Hamiltons’ new address is not well known.’
‘Do you know it?’
‘Yes. We have police cars out there patrolling the area. I intend to visit after I conclude this call.’
‘Then you’d better go. She has failed to kill this time. Who are her next targets?’
Chapter 19
DCS Goddard had not lost faith in his DCI, but others had. As far as the Commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police, who sat up high in his ivory tower at Scotland Yard, was concerned it was a fiasco. People were dying, and the murderer was known.
‘Look here, Goddard,’ the commissioner, a plain-talking man, said. ‘I’ve not seen much to recommend this DCI Isaac Cook. Everyone tells me he is a man on the rise, destined to take my chair one day.’
Not before me, Richard Goddard thought.
‘He’s a good officer.’ Goddard leapt to Isaac’s defence.
‘Good or bad makes no difference. Sure, he has a few runs on the board: dealt with that Marjorie Frobisher case, found out who had killed a man thirty years ago, and wrapped up the death of the future Lord Penrith, but apart from that… What is it with this Charlotte Hamilton? Does he fancy her?’
The DCS knew that if Isaac survived, he would have to settle down. Aspersions about his performance based on his fraternising with members of the opposite sex were counterproductive.
‘That’s a scurrilous remark, sir.’
‘Don’t get smart with me. You're only here because you were friendly with the previous commissioner and because you suck up to the politicians. The prime minister may see something special in you. I don’t.’
Goddard knew that his defence of his DCI had placed him in a tenuous position. The previous commissioner had mentored him, but he was now sitting in the House of Lords and unable to protect him.
He had spent years focussing on the chance to become the commissioner of police, but the DCS realised that his efforts were yet again being thwarted, and this time by a man of little charm and no humour. Goddard knew that Isaac needed to get results, but so far he had achieved none.
Charlotte Hamilton was thumbing her nose at whoever she wanted. Her identity was well known. Her full medical history was available and had been carefully analysed, looking for patterns that would indicate where she would strike next. And now she was in Newcastle, although so far no one had been killed.
Goddard left the commissioner’s office in a worse mood than when he had arrived. As much as he disliked the commissioner, and thought him to be a pompous bore, he was right in one aspect: Isaac was not providing results.
***
The Hamiltons were not pleased when Rory Hewitt arrived. He parked his car to one side of the entrance and knocked on the door.
Charles Hamilton opened it. Rory looked in, saw that their previous well-presented house had been replaced by a run-down farm cottage.
It was evident to Rory that the Hamiltons had let themselves go. Charles Hamilton wore an old pair of jeans, dirty from what Rory could see, and a shirt that was fraying at the collar.
‘My wife’s in bed,’ he said.
‘Ill?’
‘Severe depression. It’s as if she has given up.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Rory said. He could only imagine the anguish they were going through. He had heard about Fiona Hamilton’s attempted suicide, but nothing more since then.
‘You’d better come in.’
Rory moved down the hallway to the kitchen. In the sink, there were dirty dishes.
