The first time in Newcastle, with a frivolous group of women, the DCI had been easy to corner. She could see even then that he was attracted to women, even to her, judging by the way he gripped her around the waist when the photo had been taken. She fantasised over him, yet knew it was not possible. Tired of staring at the television and daydreaming, she left the hotel; it was the end-of-day rush hour, and the city was milling with people.
She thought about leaving the city, to get maybe twenty to thirty miles out from the centre and find somewhere to use the internet. She walked up Euston Road as far as the entrance to the London Underground. Flashing her Oyster Card at the ticket barrier she looked for the next train.
As she descended on the escalator, safely ensconced in the melee of people, she looked to the right. Ascending on the other side was Sara Marshall. Unable to resist, Charlotte looked across at her. Even as well disguised as she was, there was no way the police inspector would not recognise her. Immediately Sara started pushing her way up past the people, attempting to flash her badge and to shout ‘Police’.
Equally alarmed, Charlotte pushed her way down and jumped into a train that was about to pull out, its destination unknown and unimportant.
Sara was now at the top of the escalator and on speed dial to Isaac and the team. Not waiting for a reply, she hurtled down the escalator in an attempt to catch up with Charlotte, her pulse racing at the realisation of who she had just seen. Isaac, on the other line, was unable to speak to Sara, but was able to register the noise and the activity on her end of the phone.
He quickly fired up the team, using another phone on a group call. ‘Sara’s in trouble.’
Sean O’Riordan answered first. ‘She was heading over to meet me at Gladys Lake’s hotel.’
‘Wendy, Larry, get over there now,’ Isaac said.
‘We’re on our way,’ Larry’s reply.
Thirty seconds later, Sara’s voice was heard. ‘Charlotte Hamilton, I’ve just seen her. St Pancras Underground.’
‘Where is she now?’ Isaac asked.
‘No idea. By the time I could get down the escalator, she had jumped on a train and left. Probably the Victoria line, heading south.’
Isaac phoned for support. An APW was instigated: focus on all stations downline from St Pancras. Soon, every station on the line was being converged on by police cars and police officers on foot; the woman’s importance ensured a maximum response from all police authorities.
Forty minutes later came the inevitable negative response from all stations. Isaac, annoyed that yet again she had eluded them, phoned his boss.
‘DCS, Charlotte Hamilton confirmed in London.’
‘You’ve caught her?’
‘Not yet, but she’s running scared now.’
‘I’ll phone the commissioner. May help to give you some time, but don’t count on it.’
Sara, deducing that St Pancras Underground and Gladys Lake’s hotel were too close to be a coincidence, rushed to the hotel after ensuring the police who were pouring into the station were updated. She found Gladys Lake in her room with Sean O’Riordan, two uniforms on the door outside.
‘Was she coming for me?’ Gladys Lake asked.
‘I don’t think so. She was heading in the wrong direction,’ Sara replied.
‘Staking out the area?’ Sean asked.
‘It’s possible. You’d better get Wendy and Larry to check.’
***
A desperate woman took stock of the situation. Charlotte had not expected to see Sara Marshall in the underground station; she chastised herself for looking her way.
If it had not been for the eye contact, there was no way that anyone, even a police officer, would have recognised her. If the train had not been there when she ran off the escalator, she knew she could have been caught. And now there was the problem of money. Checking her bag, she still had two thousand pounds; the rest was in her room back at the hotel, along with her disguises.
If I hadn’t got off one station down, she thought, having realised that the police would soon be mobilised to look for her. Her estimation was correct, and as soon as she left the station at Euston, she moved quickly away on foot. Hailing a taxi, she took it to Windsor, a small town to the west of London. Unable to think straight, too many issues to consider, she checked into a budget hotel using the name of Ingrid Bentham.
Once in the room, Charlotte took stock of the situation. ‘Two thousand pounds, the clothes I’m wearing,’ she said out loud to herself. She took a shower and then slept for two hours. Later, she went to a local supermarket and bought herself a few essentials: toothbrush, toothpaste, change of underwear. Apart from that, she decided to leave the rest of what she required for the next day.
She realised that the net was closing in on her. She saw clearly that the next few days would be crucial and she could not evade the police for much longer.
Wendy and Larry focussed on St Pancras; Bridget was looking at the CCTV. If Charlotte had been there, then it was clear that she knew where Gladys Lake was; it was too much of a coincidence to be discounted. Sara had been able to give a good description: red hair (obviously a wig), dark blue skirt, knee-length, blue top, possibly wool, as well as a calf-length coat, dark brown. From where she had been on the other side of the escalator, Sara had not been able to see what shoes Charlotte Hamilton was wearing.
‘If she hadn’t looked at me,’ Sara had said, ‘I wouldn’t have known it was her.’
‘Just hope she didn’t get a photo of you,’ Isaac’s reply. He had been close to Charlotte Hamilton, admittedly in the dark, but he had failed
