Charlotte’s mind swirled with impossible thoughts: a happy family, Isaac Cook, even Gloria, her former flatmate, and even Gregory Chalmers whom she had killed so long ago. If only he had loved her, she would have looked after him and his children, but knew it could not have been. She recognised that her earlier ebullience had been tinged with sadness and regret.
‘Room 334,’ a voice snapped her back to reality. She realised that she had been daydreaming. She hoped it wasn’t noticeable, as the receptionist said nothing, and she could see that Sara Marshall was still sipping her coffee, talking to someone on her phone. Otherwise, the foyer of the hotel was quiet. Dispensing with anyone to show her to the room, Charlotte pressed the button of the lift. The room she had booked was as elegant as her previous accommodation had been flea-bitten. Appreciating the luxury, she took a lingering bath. Her mood tempered in the warm water, and for a moment, sanity reigned; the anger that she had felt had abated. Realising that her life had come full course and that there was no going back, she drew herself out of the bath, dried herself on the towel hanging behind the door and lay down on the bed.
When she awoke it was dark outside; she had been asleep for at least eight hours. Charlotte looked at the clock; it was 9 p.m. She dressed, careful to maintain her disguise, and left the room, unsure as to where she was going, although a good meal was first on her list of things to do.
As she left the hotel, she noticed her nemesis talking to someone she recognised: the police officer who worked with Sara Marshall, although she could not remember his name. Careful to give them only a sideways glance, she walked out of the front door and down the street. Feeling better after a pizza, she strolled around the area for some time, looking in shop windows, idly speculating on what could be. She saw couples walking arm in arm, elderly people hobbling down the street, even a baby in a pram being pushed by its mother. Charlotte daydreamed yet again about what her life could have been without her stupid brother, her uncaring parents, men who had wronged her, men who had used her body.
A car beeping its horn soon brought her back to reality as she walked out in the middle of the traffic, not looking where she was going. She knew that her mind was playing tricks when it was a time to be rational. There was a plan to execute, and she needed maximum focus, she knew that.
Charlotte returned to the hotel, noticing that Gladys Lake was not to be seen. She thought that it would be easy to knock on her door and to kill her there and then, but she needed to deal with others first. If she could not kill Isaac Cook, she could at least humiliate him again; that sounded fun to her. In her bag, she carried tablets that would calm her down, allow her to think clearly, but she knew that they would take away the anger, bring the regret for what she had done. She flushed them down the toilet.
***
Detective Chief Superintendent Richard Goddard was feeling the heat. A summons to the office of the Commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police was not what he wanted, especially as his relationship with the current commissioner was less than ideal.
A plain-talking man who Goddard kept his distance from if he could, the commissioner was in no mood to mince words. ‘What the hell are you doing, DCS?’
Goddard had no defence, although he needed to put on a good show. The previous commissioner, a friend as well as his boss, would have been sympathetic, offering to give assistance and advice, but the new commissioner was a blunt man who spoke his mind, sometimes too freely. He was in no mood to accord the DCS standing in front of him any words of encouragement.
‘We believe she’s in London.’
‘For Christ’s sake, there’s how many people in London? Eight, ten million? What chance do you have?’
‘We’re following up on all leads, conducting door-to-door, checking surveillance cameras.’
‘That’s just verbiage, and you know it. Admit it, you haven’t a clue where the mad woman is.’
‘Her ability to vanish is remarkable.’
‘And you and your team’s ability to display extreme incompetence is outstanding. Maybe I should bring in some people from my previous command to show you how to run an investigation.’
‘That’s not necessary, sir. My people are all competent and working hard to bring this case to a conclusion.’
‘How many people dead now, eight or nine?’
‘Six officially, sir.’
‘What do you mean by officially?’
‘Her brother’s death is still recorded as accidental, and besides, she would have been a minor then.’
‘Cook. What are you doing with him?’
‘He’s still the senior investigating officer.’
‘Any more photos of him wrapped around the main suspect?’
‘None.’
‘You’re a bloody fool to keep him in that position. I’ve been looking through his records: excellent policeman, but he has a habit of making a fool of himself,’ the commissioner said.
‘As you say, an excellent policeman who occasionally makes an error of judgement.’
‘Occasionally! You should have put him on restricted duties after that photo, brought someone else in.’
‘I realise that, sir.’
The DCS sensed a lessening in the commissioner’s venom, although he was premature in his assessment.
‘If there’is no breakthrough, then you and your team will be out. I need not add that your
