Isaac found it difficult to concentrate: the chair was uncomfortable and the room was cold. ‘Has she contacted you?’ he asked.
‘Not for many years.’
‘Does she know where you live?’
‘I don’t know. It’s unlikely.’
‘The local police are keeping a watch on the cottage,’ Rory said.
‘Then tell them to leave. She will follow them,’ Hamilton said.
‘I’m taking Mrs Hamilton upstairs,’ Sara said.
Sara left, leaving the three men together. ‘My wife refuses to eat. She just drinks tea and nibbles the occasional biscuit.’
‘How about you?’ Rory asked.
‘I do what I can, nothing more.’
Sara returned five minutes later. ‘She’s asleep.’
‘What is the problem with your wife?’ Isaac asked.
‘Broken heart, although they call it depression. I suffer the same condition, but I remain resilient for my wife.’
***
Although it was late, the three police officers managed to organise some food at the Marriott. They had checked in: Isaac was on the first floor, Sara on the third.
Sara spent thirty minutes talking to her husband, checking on their son, before joining the two men. A party was in full swing in the bar next door.
Unable to talk about anything else, the three of them went over the case so far. Sara expressed her sorrow for the Hamiltons. Isaac asked about Charlotte, as Rory had seen the woman when she had been ten. He sang the song he had heard her singing, or at least a rendition of it, as he was tone-deaf.
Isaac phoned Wendy and Larry. Wendy was still in the office with Bridget; Larry had left for the day.
‘I’ve upgraded the security for Dr Lake and the Hamiltons,’ Rory said.
‘Can she find the Hamiltons?’ Isaac asked.
‘Unlikely.’
The three, exhausted after a strenuous day, then said little more other than pleasantries unrelated to the case. Sara drank a glass of the house white, Rory a beer, and Isaac kept to orange juice.
The party next door was starting to get louder, not that the three minded. The day had been depressing, as had the last few weeks. It was good to see people enjoying themselves. Isaac rose to pay a visit to the toilet. As he moved through the throng at the party, a woman came up to him. ‘Take a group photo for us, please.’ Isaac obliged the group, young females out celebrating.
‘And one with you.’
Isaac stood in the middle, his arm around two of the women. It was not possible to see very clearly as the light in the bar was subdued. The flash of the camera lit up the room briefly.
After the photos had been taken, Isaac received an obligatory kiss on the cheek and continued to the toilet.
‘Who were they?’ Sara asked on his return.
‘No idea. Just some women out having fun. My God, it was her!’
Isaac rushed back to the party. He looked for the two women; he found one easily.
‘Your friend?’
‘Her?’
‘Yes, the other woman in the photo,’ Isaac asked. Rory phoned for backup.
‘No idea. She just made herself welcome. Started paying for the drinks, as well.’
Two police cars arrived, road blocks were set up, people in the street waylaid. It was to no avail. The woman had disappeared.
***
Two hours later at a run-down internet café on the outskirts of Newcastle a woman took out her laptop. The man that she had paid did not look up as she placed the money on the counter. She had given him five pounds and told him to keep the change. He went back to watching porn on the screen below the counter.
The woman plugged her smartphone into her laptop. She downloaded the images, and then uploaded them to her website.
My favourite police officer, the caption. She then tagged the photo: Detective Chief Inspector Isaac Cook.
She closed the laptop, packed it into her case and left the café. Her accommodation was thirty minutes away. She would sleep well that night.
***
Isaac had tried to sleep, but it had not been possible. He had watched the television for some time, but apart from that he went over how he could have allowed a photo to be taken of him. He had not seen her clearly, and even if the light had been good, her ability at concealing herself was remarkable. He dozed after three hours, only to be woken by his phone ringing.
‘You’d better check her website,’ Larry said.
Isaac checked. He realised the repercussions.
He phoned Richard Goddard. It was better for him to find out from him than from someone else.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ Goddard exploded over the phone. ‘You can’t find her, but she can find you. Maybe I should employ her. The commissioner is going to go ballistic over this. Get yourself down here immediately.’
Isaac packed his case and headed to the railway station. A train left every thirty to forty minutes. He could buy a ticket at the station.
***
By the time Isaac arrived at King’s Cross, the newspapers had picked up the photos. Larry met Isaac at the station and drove him to Challis Street Police Station.
Isaac walked up the stairs to Richard Goddard’s office.
‘I can’t protect you on this one,’ he said. ‘Every time there is an attractive woman, you’re there with your tongue hanging out. What is it? Are you lonely, not getting enough?’
‘That’s unfair, sir. I took a photo at the Marriott. How was I to know that Charlotte Hamilton would be there?’
‘That’s as may be, but I can’t do anything about this. If the commissioner wants your head, he gets it.’
Isaac was aware that this time he was not going to survive. He was an ambitious police officer, yet on more than one occasion his friendly nature had got him into trouble. It had been a late night in
