The DCI Isaac Cook Thriller Series: Books 1 -3

by Phillip Strang

  Anxious to ensure that her plan was not thwarted, she walked around the edifice looking for another way in. She found Clifford’s Inn Passage, a lane to one side of the building. History would have told her that the name referred to an Inn of Chancery, one of the country’s legal institutions that had been founded in 1344, but she was not interested in that, only in whether the passage would afford her entrance into where she wanted to go. Moving up the lane, she found a small door; it was unlocked. She turned the handle and entered the basement of the conference centre. She ascended a flight of stairs: yet again, police. A cupboard solved the problem; it contained cleaning utensils and a cleaner’s uniform. She put it on and moved around the building, pretending to clean. Soon she reached the room where Gladys Lake was to present her paper; it was empty. Easing herself into a space beneath the elevated stage, she waited.

  It had been luck that the room was empty when she had entered. Within a few minutes, people started to file in, ready for the opening speech at midday. Gladys Lake entered the room just before it started, in the company of Sara Marshall. Charlotte watched them come down the stairs through a crack in the raised-floor's plinth. Up on the stage, the microphones were being given a final test: ‘One, two, three. Can you hear me at the back?’ They could.

  Charlotte listened to the boring speeches about subjects that she had knowledge of after years in a hospital. Gladys Lake was due to speak at 2 p.m.

  Charlotte, unsure how to proceed, waited patiently, although it was dusty where she was, and there was evidence of vermin. Regardless, she kept still, hoping that an opportunity would present itself. She saw the doctor fiddling with her notes, talking to Sara Marshall, looking around the room nervously. At ten minutes before her nominated time, Gladys Lake rose and left the room in the company of the police officer. Charlotte cursed, unable to follow them. She moved back, finding an exit. Quickly, unseen, she moved around behind some partitions to the rear of the room and through a side door into the corridor outside. At the other end, she could see the Ladies toilet; her assumption was that was where the two women had gone. She gingerly approached the door, listening for voices, hearing muffled sounds from the other side. Charlotte checked her bag and withdrew the knife she carried.

  Carefully she pushed opened the door; it squeaked. Once through it, she concealed herself behind a pillar. Certain of her target, she moved forward.

  ‘What the –’ Sara Marshall shouted in surprise, instinctively shielding her body from the knife that Charlotte held.

  ‘Where is she?’ Charlotte demanded. Her face was red with anger.

  Sara realised that Dr Lake was safe as long as she stayed in the cubicle. She shouted to her, ‘Don’t move.’

  ‘In there, is she?’

  ‘There’s no way out,’ Sara, her pulse racing, said. She knew that if she could reach her phone, there would be police officers nearby to take down the woman confronting her.

  ‘There was no way in, but here I am. I intend to finish what I started. To show those doctors in the other room what happens when you torture innocent people.’

  Sara used all her training in negotiation to attempt to calm the woman. She was a strong woman, and in her state, unpredictable. Sara moved away from protecting Dr Lake’s cubicle, aiming to distance herself from the knife. She hoped the doctor would have the good sense to remain where she was.

  Charlotte moved forward, matching the distance between her knife and Sara Marshall. Sara could feel her panic increasing and attempted to calm her nerves. She was a seasoned police officer, similar scenarios had been practised in training, but here was the real thing, and it was nothing like she had been taught. Then, there had been an element of make-believe, and there was no way that any harm would befall those who failed the test, but now: one mistake, one wrong word, one action, and there would be death.

  ‘Two for one,’ Charlotte said, grimacing. Sara could see that the situation was precarious. She thought of her child without a mother, all because of her chosen career and a mad woman.

  ‘It’s over, Charlotte. You cannot escape,’ Sara said.

  ‘With Dr Lake dead, what do I care?’

  ‘You need help, Charlotte,’ Sara said, hoping to delay the woman’s next action. Sara pressed her hand against her left pocket; her phone was there, but there was no way to use it, not while the woman was watching her intently. One wrong move and the knife would be propelled forward.

  ‘I’m coming for you,’ Charlotte taunted the woman in the cubicle.

  ‘Please, Charlotte, dear Charlotte. I always cared for you, did what I thought was right.’ The sound of Gladys Lake’s voice indicated the fear she was feeling.

  ‘Electric shocks and cold baths, is that how you care? Nobody cared for me, not my father, not my mother, and not that brother of mine.’

  ‘You killed your brother?’ Sara asked.

  ‘He deserved to die.’

  ‘Nobody deserves to die,’ Gladys Lake said.

  ‘Those men who treated me badly did.’

  Sara could see that the conversation was weakening the resolve of the woman in front of her; the knife was not held as erect as before. She kept talking.

  ‘What did you plan to do after here?’ Sara asked.

  ‘I have no plans. I’ve already told you.’

  ‘There is help available for you, you know that.’

  ‘Help! Drugged out of my mind until I’m no more than a vegetable. No thanks.’ The knife grip firmed.

  Sara moved further back, unable to avoid the direct impact of the blade. At the crucial moment, she managed to step sideways to avoid the full length of the blade entering her body. Charlotte came in again, Sara feebly trying to push her away. Gladys Lake, aware of what was happening, opened the cubicle door. It was the wrong move.

  At that moment the door from the corridor opened and two women entered.

  ‘Help,’ one of them screamed. Charlotte, taking advantage of the situation, bolted for the door, pushing the two women to one side. She ran along the corridor, somehow avoiding the other police officers in the building and found the stairs to the basement. She hurtled down them and out of the door and back into Clifford’s Inn Passage. She could hear police sirens in the distance, coming closer. She removed the uniform she had been wearing, as well as the brunette wig, and walked, almost ran, down the street, aiming to distance herself from the police.

  Chapter 28

  Five minutes after the events at the conference centre, Isaac was in his car and on the way, the blue flashing light and the siren easing him through the traffic. A police officer down, the most serious offence in an officer’s book.

  What concerned him was that one of his team had been stabbed. Details were sketchy. Her husband, Bob Marshall, had been notified.

  Arriving at the conference centre, Isaac parked his car, taking no notice of whether he was interfering with the usual flow of traffic, and headed into the building. He rushed up the stairs, a policeman on the door showing him the way. Thankfully, the constable had recognised him and waved him through. An ambulance had arrived just before him; a medic bent over Sara’s still body. Gladys Lake was also administering assistance, holding Sara’s head in her lap, although it was evident to Isaac that the doctor was in need of aid too.

  The doctor looked up at Isaac as he entered. ‘She’s going to be alright,’ she said. ‘The knife did not go too deep.’

  Bob Marshall arrived ten minutes later. Sara, by that time conscious, although sedated and bandaged, meekly acknowledged his presence.

  After the initial concern about Sara, Isaac took stock of the situation. He noticed the delegates at the conference filing out, their names and a brief statement obtained, although there was no need to detain them for long. Once again, Isaac realised, Charlotte Hamilton had made fools of them; he knew what was coming next.

  Wendy phoned Isaac from Windsor. Bridget had phoned her. ‘DI Marshall?’

  ‘She’ll survive. Luckily, she managed to avoid the full fo
rce of the knife. She’ll be sore for a while and out of action for a few weeks, but she’ll live.’

  ‘We found where she was staying. She registered as Ingrid Bentham.’

  ‘She’s not thinking straight,’ Isaac said.

  ‘Not much else to tell you. We found a bag and some clothing. Apart from that, nothing.’

  ‘It’s probably not relevant now. She’s here in London, and not far away.’

  ‘What about the police at the conference centre? How did they let her get in?’ Wendy asked.

  ‘Good question,’ Isaac said. ‘Someone will need to do some serious explaining later, but for now we need to find this woman. If there’s no more where you are, then you and Larry had better get back to Challis Street as soon as possible.’

  ‘We’ll leave in five minutes.’

  ***

  DCS Goddard phoned, as expected. ‘Sara Marshall?’

  ‘Her condition is stable,’ Isaac replied.

  ‘And Dr Lake?’

  ‘Shaken, but otherwise unharmed.’

  ‘Good. Now tell me what happened.’

  ‘Charlotte Hamilton attacked DI Marshall in the Ladies toilet. Gladys Lake was in one of the cubicles and protected.’

  ‘How did Charlotte Hamilton get in there? I thought the place was secured.’

  ‘I had asked the local police station to provide security.’

  ‘And they failed?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘I’ll need a full report on my desk by tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ve already had the commissioner on the phone. He wants a full internal enquiry as to how a known murderer can walk into a secured location and then attempt to kill a police officer.’

  ‘She wasn’t after Sara Marshall.’

  ‘That’s as may be, but she’s been attacked, and the commissioner intends that heads will roll; yours and mine, if he can arrange it.’

  ‘Understood, but our primary concern is finding Charlotte Hamilton.’

  ‘You’d better find her within twenty-four hours, or you’re off the case.’

  ‘Harsh, sir.’

  ‘Not harsh. It’s a directive from the commissioner. Your replacement is due in London within a day. I can’t stop this, and with a police officer almost fatally wounded, I’m not in a position to put forward a case for your retention.’

  Isaac sat down on a nearby chair. He had had some tight scrapes in his career, but this was the most severe. He wasn’t usually a drinker, but if he had been at home, he would have opened the bottle of brandy that he kept for such occasions.

  ***

  Charlotte walked and ran down Fleet Street, the former home of the major newspapers in the country. She could not think, only run, and remove herself from the area of the conference centre. As she hurtled down the street, she glanced in the occasional shop window. Without the wig, she could see Charlotte Hamilton staring back at her, not an old lady or a tarty female, but the Charlotte Hamilton that she knew, as did the police.

  What a mess, she thought.

  She turned right down Salisbury Court and Dorset Rise, joining Tudor Street. Once out of the immediate area, she slowed her pace to a brisk walk. Her breathing was still heavy, and she was perspiring. With no feelings of guilt about what had occurred, she found a café.

  ‘Cappuccino and a slice of cheesecake, please,’ she said, when asked by the waitress.

  A police car drove past; it took no notice of where she was sitting close to the front window. Charlotte discounted it.

  The waitress brought her the coffee and the cake. Charlotte took her time to drink and eat. She thought through what had just occurred, and what to do next. Outwardly, she resembled an average person just going about their daily business: worrying about their job, their children, how to pay next month’s mortgage.

  She left the café and walked down the street, turning right on Farringdon Street. She crossed Blackfriars Bridge, keeping her head low. Where to head for was uncertain, but she knew it had to be out of London.

  ***

  ‘Your career’s finished. You know that,’ Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ DCI Cook said. For once, the friendly handshake with his superior and mentor was dispensed with. Isaac was standing upright in the DCS’s office; Goddard was sitting down, although he looked ready to burst.

  ‘I’ve had the commissioner on the phone three times today already. If Marshall had died, can you imagine the problems that would have caused?’

  ‘Full inquiry.’

  ‘And the rest. They would have my head on a plate for letting you continue with this case. All that nonsense about you being the future commissioner of the Met down the drain.’

  ‘I never held much store to it,’ Isaac said, which was not altogether true. He had been working his way up to the top by exceptional policing, obtaining the right qualifications, and, if needed, charming those who could help.

  Richard Goddard had guided his career from the start, from when he had been a junior constable and Goddard an inspector. The previous commissioner had seen something in him, but the new commissioner did not like Isaac, any more than he liked the DCS, and Isaac was clearly Goddard’s man.

  Isaac’s good relationship with the former government whip Angus McTavish would not help as he was now sitting in the House of Lords. He was unlikely to want to sully himself with a DCI whose latest case had resulted in six murders, almost a seventh.

  ‘You’d better sit down, Isaac,’ Goddard said. ‘Let’s see if we can salvage anything out of this sorry mess.’

  ‘Sara Marshall is going to be fine,’ Isaac said, attempting to alleviate the tension in Goddard’s office.

  ‘I know that, and from all accounts, she handled herself well. No doubt she’ll receive an award for exceptional courage, probably the Queen’s Police Medal. At least, she’ll have my recommendation and the commissioner’s, that’s if I’m still around.’

  ‘That bad, sir?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Goddard’s mood changed again. ‘You were given this case when the death count stood at four. Or was it five?’

  ‘Four. Graham Dyer was the first, in Holland Park.’

  ‘And the count now?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘How can I defend you? It’s not as if you didn’t know who the murderer was. This Charlotte Hamilton has made us laughing stocks.’

  ‘Three were murdered some years previously when DI Marshall was running the investigation of the crimes down in Twickenham.’

  ‘Hardly a defence for your ineptitude, and besides, she was relatively inexperienced, her first murder case. You’re a DCI with an exceptional track record; plenty of convictions under your belt. What can I say? What can I do?’

  ‘Have you explained this to the commissioner?’

  ‘The man’s an arrogant fool,’ Goddard said.

  ‘First time you’ve said that.’

  ‘First time I’ve not cared if he hears or not. Isaac, I can’t defend you on this one.’

  ‘I know that. Protect yourself if you can.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that, and you know it. If one goes, we both go. Anyway, enough complaining and criticising. What do we have? And make us both a cup of tea.’

  For a few minutes, the conversation turned away from Charlotte Hamilton, and the two men spoke as friends and colleagues. The commissioner phoned Goddard, who answered in an obsequious manner.

  ‘Your replacement will be here within the hour,’ Goddard said.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Isaac asked.

  ‘Play it by the book. Give him all the assistance he needs, although he may bring his own people, start from scratch.’

  ‘That would be sheer madness. Charlotte Hamilton’s out there, probably not far from here, and she failed with Gladys Lake. There’s no way of knowing when she’ll strike next.’

  ‘Agreed. Your team is still with you, although the new SIO may purloin them.’


  ‘They’ll be reluctant to afford him the support they gave me.’

  ‘That’s understood, but they’re professionals. They’ll do their duty. You’d better tell them that. Now, what can you tell me about Charlotte Hamilton?’

  ‘Since the attack on Sara Marshall, nothing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She vanished.’

  ‘But how did she get out? You had the venue surrounded.’

  ‘We did, but she slipped through a door at the rear of the building.’

  ‘She’s not Harry Houdini. Didn’t your people cover all possible points of entry?’

  ‘They missed that one. We’ve put out an APW on her; she can’t have gone far. All the bus and train stations are being monitored.’

  ‘In the rush hour!’

  ‘She blends in well.’

  ‘Okay. What’s the situation with Gladys Lake?’

  ‘She’s returning to Newcastle earlier than planned.’

  ‘Is she safe there?’

  ‘She intends to secure herself at her hospital. It’s safer than here, and we believe Charlotte Hamilton to be close to London.’

  ‘But she could return to Newcastle.’

  ‘We realise that possibility, but regardless, the mental hospital she works at does have good security. Also, DI Rory Hewitt, up in Newcastle, knows Charlotte Hamilton by sight.’

  ‘Very well. Outline the plan.’

  ‘Gladys Lake will be taken to King’s Cross by a police car at two in the afternoon. That’s the earliest we could arrange adequate protection. She will board the train. There will be six police officers in plain clothes on the train, as well.’

  ‘Are you expecting the Hamilton woman to reappear?’

  ‘It’s a possibility.’

  ‘And where will you be?’

  ‘I’ll be travelling with Dr Lake, as will some of my team. Assuming that my team is not occupied with the new SIO.’