Isaac asked the standard questions: mental state, what is she likely to do next, where will she be?
Dr Lake concurred with Grace Nelson’s conclusions. If Charlotte Hamilton was in Newcastle, she probably had unfinished business. She had failed to kill her, but there were others that she bore a grudge against.
The three police officers left the cottage, the cat clawing Isaac’s trousers as he stood up. Sara gave Dr Lake a hug.
Rory started his car and headed out of the city. The night was drawing in, and all three would have preferred to be warm and snug, a view that was echoed by a large number of the Newcastle police who were on high alert. A known serial killer was in the city and roaming free.
Teams of police officers were checking all the hotels, guest houses, and pubs throughout the city, and showing the photo of a woman with blonde hair and then dark hair. For every ten people they asked, one would say that they had seen her. Closer questioning revealed yet again that Charlotte Hamilton’s features suited the generic norm, and they were false sightings.
The publican at the Bridge Hotel sat down on learning that the woman who had slept upstairs was a serial killer. He did not admit that he was one of her followers on her website.
‘She was here. Not that she looked anything like your photos.’
‘Why do you recognise her, then?’ the young police sergeant asked.
‘There is a small scar just above her left eyebrow.’
The policeman studied the photo. He could see the publican was correct. ‘Good eyesight,’ he said.
The publican failed to reveal that he had seen it the first night he had slept with the woman.
Chapter 20
Wendy and Larry, still back in London, traced Charlotte Hamilton’s former flatmate. Gloria was in Hammersmith, happily married and with a child.
‘You are aware of your former flatmate’s reappearance,’ Wendy said.
‘Will she find me?’ The child bounced up and down on the woman’s lap.
‘After three years?’
‘She’s mad, isn’t she?’
‘Psychotic, paranoid schizophrenic,’ Larry said. Sara Marshall’s files had shown that Gloria had been promiscuous. From what he could see, the woman in front of him was subdued, caring and devoted to her husband, Asuko, whom she had met in Lagos.
‘She was always strange,’ Gloria said.
‘Our records indicate that you said she was normal.’
‘Three years ago, I may have said that, but now…’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Her goddamn virginity.’
‘You are aware of her history?’
‘Who isn’t. I sometimes check out her website.’
‘Why?’
‘Ghoulish, I suppose. She killed Brad Howard, and then put the photos on the internet. What sort of person does that? She’s certifiable.’
‘She probably is,’ Wendy said.
‘Is there anything else that may help us in our enquiries?’ Larry asked.
‘I told DI Stanforth all I knew. Will she find me?’
‘At present, she’s not in London. That is of two hours ago, but she could return at any time.’
Gloria shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Asuko, her husband, took the baby and left the room.
‘Once, when she was not in the flat, I looked in her room.’
‘To see what you could steal?’ Wendy said. She had read Gloria’s file before knocking on her door.
‘I was mixed up then.’
‘What did you find?’
‘A drawing. There were three people. A child and two adults. There was a big cross through the child. What does it mean?’
‘You are aware of her brother?’
‘No.’
‘She killed him when she was ten,’ Wendy said.
‘And she was my flatmate?’
‘Yes. What do you intend to do?’
‘I’ve already spoken to Asuko. We’re going back to Nigeria. Until she is in jail or dead, we’ll stay there.’
‘Have a good trip,’ Larry said.
***
By the time Isaac, Sara, and Rory reached the farm cottage it was dark. The only light inside the cottage came from the front room.
Rory knocked on the door; the first time, a gentle tap of the metal door knocker; the second time more vigorously. The sound of footsteps could be heard.
‘Who is it?’
‘Detective Inspector Hewitt. I’m here with two other police officers.’
The door opened to reveal Charles Hamilton holding a shotgun.
‘You’d better give me that, Mr Hamilton,’ Rory said.
‘It’s licensed; it’s staying with me.’
‘Where is your wife?’
‘She’s upstairs. We are taking turns to guard the cottage.’
‘You would shoot your own daughter?’ Sara asked.
‘We have heard about Gladys Lake.’
‘Dr Lake has suffered no injuries,’ Rory said. ‘Can we come in?’
‘If you must,’ Charles Hamilton said, dropping the shotgun to his side. He shouted upstairs. ‘It’s the police. You can come down.’
A few minutes later, Fiona Hamilton descended the stairs wearing an old dressing gown. She had red slippers on her feet, and her hair was bedraggled. She did not speak on entering the room and took a seat in the corner. The expression on her face was vacant.
‘My wife is not well,’ Charles Hamilton said. ‘It’s all been too much for her.’
Sara looked at the woman; she could only feel pity.
‘Mr Hamilton, we are concerned that your daughter will come here,’ Isaac said. He had found a wooden chair and was sitting on it.
‘Our daughter died many years ago,’ Hamilton said. His wife sat motionless, only moving to wipe her eyes with a handkerchief. Sara moved over near and put her arm around the woman. It was evident that she had not been eating properly as she was skin and bones underneath the dressing gown.
‘Mr Hamilton, are you seriously willing to shoot your daughter?’ Rory asked.
‘She would have killed Dr Lake. Why would she not
