And yet, strangely, none of the women who survived could remember anything of their ordeal.
Julius quickly learned that Walter also travelled to other parts of Europe and from the outset he began to teach Julius English and French, using hypnotism to aid the learning. Within a matter of months, Julius was travelling with him, acting as butler and valet to the cultured and confident Walter, and before two years had passed, he, too, had visited Berlin, Geneva, Paris, Madrid, Rome, London, and the Riviera coast.
In the summer of 1926, just after Julius’s nineteenth birthday, Walter decided that the time was right for Julius’s genuine apprenticeship to begin.
It was hard work and had to be fitted around his household duties which were never better than menial. Julius had to be up at half past six, to ensure there was hot water for Walter’s morning wash and shave. Julius would set the fire, prepare a breakfast of coffee and rolls, make certain that the cleaning and dusting were in hand, and Walter’s clothes for the day – the master kept a wardrobe full of the finest men’s fashions – were laid out and ready.
While Herr Walter went about his day’s business in either Heidelberg or Karlsruhe, Julius would go to the shops (but never anywhere near the baker in Heidelberg), collect the laundry, make the beds, prepare the evening meal, and if Walter was expecting some of his intellectual friends from the university for a game of cards, it was Julius’s task to ensure that there was ample wine, beer and food prepared for them.
On those days when he got everything right and learned his lessons well, his master would be pleased with him and would give him a hypnotised woman, but when he made mistakes, and in the early days there were many, he would instead receive a beating with that stout walking cane. Herr Walter was a demanding taskmaster who, despite his external good nature, suffered bouts of uncontrollable anger.
When first trying to hypnotise Julius to facilitate his language lessons, both he and Herr Walter found it difficult. Life as an urchin on the streets of Munich had taught him to keep his wits about him at all times, even when he slept, and it was difficult for him to relinquish that control.
“Relaxation, Julius, is not important, but concentration, letting go, is. You must trust me.” He had smiled upon the lad; that most beneficent of smiles, the one that was most dangerous. “You do trust me, don’t you, Julius?”
“Yes, master.” The words were automatic, but they were not felt.
Eventually, it happened. On a hot afternoon towards the end of August, 1924, Julius became lightly hypnotised, and he found it a curious, most relaxing experience, almost as if he was asleep and yet aware of everything going on around him.
After that it became easier and easier to enter the state, and it was not long before he could attain a deep state in a matter of minutes.
That was the strangest of all his experiences. He was in a deep, deep sleep and yet he knew he was doing something, but he did not know what. Akin to looking down a long, dark tunnel, with something happening in dim light at the far end, but he could not make out what. He was surprised when Walter brought him from the state to total awareness and he discovered that not only had he removed all his clothing, but he was also masturbating before the mirror.
Later in the year, as autumn turned to winter, Walter began to expound on the theory of hypnosis with a view to teaching Julius the art, and the mystery of the victims’ amnesia gradually became clear.
“When a subject is hypnotised, the conscious mind is effectively cut off and we work with the subconscious. It is that which causes the memory gap, and for our purposes, Julius, we can not only use those memory gaps, but enhance them, ensure that they are never plugged or replaced.”
“Our purpose, master?”
“Sex, my boy. Sex, and the acquisition of wealth. We use the women who are brought here for our own pleasure. I visit other women in their homes where I work on their medical problems, and I use them in a similar way. I fuck them to my heart’s content, and do you know what really makes it worthwhile?” Walter grinned. “They pay me for it. Large sums of money.”
Later in the week, Walter brought a woman home. Frau Bachmeier was in her early forties, a dumpy woman with flowing blonde tresses, hardly beautiful, but as Walter pointed out:
“Beauty, true beauty, has little to do with physical appearance.” He touched Frau Bachmeier’s shoulder. “You will undress, everything off, and lie on the bed for physical examination.”
The woman appeared not to notice that there was any other person in the room, but this did not surprise Julius. He had seen the same effect so many times on other women.
He watched Frau Bachmeier divest her dress and then the corsetry, the huge brassiere, freeing her voluminous bosom, and then the large knickers, before she lay on the bed, arms relaxed by her side.
“Now, Julius, observe true beauty. Frau Bachmeier, you will part your legs for an internal examination.”
The woman did as she was bidden, and Walter pointed to her sex. “There, my boy, is genuine beauty. If I were to believe in God, I would say that a woman’s cunt was designed with heaven in mind. In there is the source of the most joyous experience a man can have.”
Julius, who had only ever heard the word used as a derogatory curse, usually thrown at him by someone of the lower classes, was enraptured by Walter’s eloquence.
“The rest of her,” Walter gestured vaguely at the rolls of fat around Frau Bachmeier’s midriff, “is inconsequential. It brings no pleasure, no pain, it just is. But that channel, ah there is the supreme organ of delight, and regardless of how well or how badly the owner has looked after the rest of her body, it will still bring the ultimate pleasure to your cock.”
Walter stood back. “Now, Julius, Frau Bachmeier is a wealthy woman from Frankfurt, whose husband obligingly left her a widow in 1918, during the final days of the war. I have already stripped her of most of her money, I have also stripped her of her clothing. Now she is yours. Practice your command tones upon her, use her as you will, and then we shall dispose of her later this evening.”
And Julius did. Almost two years of living in the same house as the amoral Walter had developed his appetite for indulging his libido. Over the next couple of hours, he had the woman in three different positions, and had her carry out acts upon his body which would probably have revolted her were she in charge of her consciousness.
If he baulked at committing murder, he nevertheless enjoyed the bodies of these women when they were given to him, and because the commands given Frau Bachmeier were his, not Walter’s, he took even greater pleasure from abusing her.
After dark, they took her on the motorcycle to Worms, north of Ludwigshafen am Rhein and, in a small wood off the main road, Walter set up a noose on a tree branch.
“Sexual pleasure, Julius, comes in many forms, and one of the more alluring is to watch a woman’s death struggle. It’s not so noticeable when you cut their throats, but with a hanging, it is much more pleasurable. And now, my friend, you will give her the order to hang herself.”
Julius had always felt that murdering the victims was beyond the pale, although he had carried out the instruction on several occasions to ensure that he did not become one of their number. And yet, he had to admit that watching Frau Bachmeier dance and kick on the end of that rope gave him a strange feeling of excitement and a rising erection.
He quelled it instantly. It was one thing to be aroused at the thought and sight of a naked woman, willing or otherwise, but to become aroused at the sight of this poor creature, whose only crime had been to meet the unprincipled Franz Walter, fighting for her life on the end of a rope, was nauseating.
He was disgusted with himself.
Over the coming year, Julius was to learn much more about the process of hypnosis, how to induce it in others, how to control his subjects, get them to do exactly as he wished, most importantly, how to ensure they retained no memory of what had happened and how to determine those that may recall at some time in the future and theref
ore earmark them for death.
But there was one thing Herr Walter did not teach him: The Deep Secret.
In a half drunken haze one evening, his master had once told him that there was a means by which he could hypnotise some people, mainly women, with no words, nothing but a simple stare and the touch of his hand.
When Julius pushed him on the matter the following day, Walter became angry, and Julius decided not to pursue it.
Later, sober, Walter called him to the fireside and explained.
“Many doubt it, Julius, but you must believe me when I say The Deep Secret is real. I learned it many years ago from a Romany traveller by the name of Nicolae Munteanu. He was a hypnotist in the fairground sideshow and I travelled with them for a time, throughout the South and East of the country, learning my craft. I was nineteen at the time, the same age as you are now. I quickly realised the potential of this phenomenon and before long, I was enjoying the young ladies of Karlsruhe and Baden-Baden, and Stuttgart. Then Nicolae took seriously ill. He was an old man when I met him. As he was dying, he taught me The Deep Secret, but he also warned me of its dangers. It will give a hypnotist total control in an instant but if it used wrongly, it will lead to the death of the subject. Therefore, Julius, I will not yet teach you The Deep Secret. Later, when you are older, wiser, more discriminating, I will teach you how it works, but for now be satisfied with your progress.”
Julius went to bed that night filled with anticipation and frustration. He wanted to learn, he wanted to master this truly strange art, and he wanted, he so desperately wanted, to learn The Deep Secret.
6
While Billy was raping her, Belinda noticed that one of her bindings had worked loose. Now that they were alone, she worked to free her left hand, and once it was free, she soon loosened her right wrist. Dragging herself to her feet, trembling, terrified, blazing angry, she leaned over Trish and began to work on the knots binding her.
Unable to speak, Trish urged Belinda with muted, muffled cries. She began to tremble and sweat. Burke and his dangerous friend could return at any moment. Just a few more seconds…
***
They burst into the room. Billy raised the pistol and fired. Belinda’s head burst open as the bullet passed through the soft underside of her skull. She fell forwards slumping over Trish.
“Bitch,” Billy said. “After all we’ve done for you both.”
He turned on Trish who muttered unintelligibly from behind her gag.
“Can’t hear you,” he said, and yanked the gag down.
“You bastard,” Trish screamed, “You evil, perverted prick. You’ll fry in hell for this.”
Fury flushed Billy’s features. “See you there, then.”
Trish did not have time to cry out. He pressed the cold barrel to her forehead and squeezed the trigger. The bullet tore into her head and burst out at the rear.
Burke let out a yell. “What the hell are you playing at, Billy? We needed Sinclair. How the fuck are we supposed to get Croft here without her?”
Billy’s features were still furious. “Did you hear what she said?”
Burke squared up to him. “Do you know how often she cursed me when I had her prisoner for days on end?” He paced the bedroom, forcing himself to calm down. “Billy… Billy. You have to learn to curb your temper. She’d been fucked against her will. We killed her brother, you just killed the sister-in-law. Who wouldn’t curse you? Stop taking it personally.”
Billy, too, calmed down. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right, Gerry. You know me. Always hasty.”
“Yes, and hasty has cost us now. We won’t get Croft and The Deep Secret.”
Billy laughed. “He’ll come. Don’t worry. The minute he finds out she’s dead, he’ll be here; looking for you, pal.”
Burke’s features turned crimson with rage again. “This is no laughing matter, Billy. We—”
“You’re the one losing it now, Gerry. Just shut up a minute, and listen to me, because we’ve more important things to consider.” Billy checked his watch. “It’s nearly ten o’clock. How long before the Scarbeck law send the local plod round to check on Sinclair? I reckon we’ve another fifteen minutes at best, so we need to get our arses moving. Let’s get into Sinclair’s wardrobe. I need fresh clothing and you need to get out of that frigging nurse’s uniform. I said you should have nicked that van driver’s duds, or the taxi driver’s.”
“The van driver’s overalls stunk and the taxi driver was a Paki.”
Billy laughed again. “What was it Julius used to say? Untermensch. You always were a snooty fucker. Come on, let’s move.”
“I still don’t see what we gain from snuffing her,” Burke muttered as he left the bedroom.
“You will,” Billy promised him.
The larger bedroom had a walk-in wardrobe along one wall. When Billy checked the end closest the window, he found a large holdall, which he began to fill with Ted Sinclair’s clothing, while Burke threw off the nurse’s uniform and pulled on a pair of jogging pants, over which he put on a T shirt. The pants reached almost to his armpits, and the shirt spread below his waist.
“Sinclair was a lot taller than me,” he said.
“About the same height as me,” Billy commented, checking his appearance in a pair of navy blue chinos and a dark shirt. Pulling on a pale-coloured blouson style, zip up jacket, he wrapped two used condoms in tissues and put those in the holdall too.
Burke eyed him suspiciously. “Hang on a minute. You used rubbers?”
Billy nodded and led the way from the bedroom. “Think about it, Gerry. The filth know about you. They’re looking for you. But right now, they know nothing about me. If they track us down they’re coming for one man. When they meet two, it’ll shock them long enough for me to take ’em down. Yeah?”
“I suppose so,” Burke agreed while following Billy downstairs. “It seems to me I’m taking all the risks, though.”
“We knew that all along,” Billy reminded him. “I’m the unkown ace we have up our sleeve. Now get about the house. See if you can find the keys to Sinclair’s Range Rover.”
“And what are you gonna be doing?”
“Tooling us up.”
Billy made again for the gun cabinet. From it he removed a 12 gauge shotgun and a Colt 45 automatic pistol.
“Collector’s piece,” he said with great admiration. “Hope it still works.” He cocked the pistol and checked the trigger action a couple of times.
Satisfied, he once more opened the safe and took out ammunition for all three weapons. Stowing the revolver, shotgun and ammunition in the holdall, he loaded the clip for the automatic, and jammed it into the butt. Checking the safety was set, he tucked it into his waistband and pulled his shirt over it.
He was about make for the hall, when Burke burst in. “Deep shit. Plod coming up the drive.”
Billy glanced through the window and watched two uniformed officers, one male, one female, making their way to the door. Beyond them, on the road outside the drive, he could just make out the nose of their parked patrol car. “You stay here, I’ll deal with them.”
Burke settle himself onto a settee, the back of which kept him hidden from the outside. The doorbell rang and Billy made his way through the hall, opening the door and greeting the two constables with a smile. “Good morning. Can I help you?”
“Is it Mr Sinclair?” the man asked.
“Yes it is. Is there some trouble?”
“Routine call, sir,” the male officer insisted. “I wonder, could we speak to Ms Patricia Sinclair?”
“My sister? Of course. She’s upstairs. If you’d like to come in, I’ll call her for you.”
He stood back. The male officer ushered his partner through first, then followed, wiping his feet. With his back to them, Billy closed the door, and took the automatic from his waistband. As he turned, he brought it up, levelled it, and was pleasantly satisfied at the man’s surprised stare. A split second later, the bullet tore into his head and he crashed to the car
pet.
His partner, her pretty face suddenly terror struck, turned to run for the kitchen. Billy aimed and fired. The bullet hit her in the back, hurling her forward and face down, where she writhed in agony. Billy took three quick strides over the body of her colleague, and pressed the gun to the nape of her neck.
“Sweet dreams.”
The gun bucked in his hand again as he yanked on the trigger and her head and neck exploded across the hall carpet.
Burke emerged from the living room as Billy tucked the pistol back in his waistband. Staring in disbelief at the carnage, he said, “You killed two cops.”
“Well according to form you killed one in Scarbeck.”
“Yes, but she was a jigaboo. Fucking hell, Billy, you’ll have the entire country looking for us, now.”
“And you didn’t have them looking for you already?” Billy sneered. “Stop being a prat, Gerry, and let’s get moving. It won’t be long before they’re missed. Did you find Sinclair’s car keys?”
Burke held them up. “Listen, Billy, once the filth turn up here, they’ll put out an APB on Sinclair’s car.”
“We’ll need fresh plates for it, mate. After that, it’s as we planned. Let’s get moving.”
“One more minute.” Burke stepped over the dead police officers into the kitchen, where he scrabbled through the drawers until he found a notebook and pen. Writing a few words on it, marking it ‘FAO Felix Croft’, he left it on the table and beamed at Billy. “Love letter for an old adversary. Ready when you are, Billy.”
Billy returned to the living room where he collected his holdall, and then led the way out into the fresh, morning air. Burke pressed the lock release on the key fob, and heard the satisfying click of the Range Rover’s doors unlocking in time to a double flash of four-way indicators.
The Deep Secret Page 5