Hartmann: Malicious Rules (Hartmann thriller series Book 1)

by Helen L Lowe

  ‘Lizzie, your mother, said you’re living in a youth hostel in London.’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘Have you been there long?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Do you like it there?’

  ‘It’s ok.’

  Julian decided to admit defeat and wait to see if Sam’s curiosity would get the better of him. There was a two minute silence.

  ‘She said you were a doctor,’ Sam said.

  ‘Yes - I work at Queen Alexandra, just a few miles away in Cosham.’

  ‘Are you married?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why haven’t you married? I thought all posh people were married at your age.’

  ‘Posh?’ He smiled. ‘I guess I haven’t met the right woman yet.’

  ‘But you liked my mother?’

  ‘Yes, I liked her a lot.’

  ‘Did you love her?’

  Julian hesitated, surprised by the direct question. ‘Yes, I did.’

  Sam was looking at him, waiting for him to continue.

  ‘We loved each other but we were very young when your mother got pregnant - her family took her away. I only found out about you yesterday.’

  ‘Would you have married her if you had known she was pregnant?’

  Julian paused. ‘I would have asked her but I doubt her parents would have agreed to it – but at the very least, I would have supported her. I would have been there for her and you.’

  Sam shrugged. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s too late now.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s too late - not to get to know each other and I can help you, if you’ll let me.’

  ‘What can you do for me now that will make any difference?’

  ‘Perhaps I can help you move out of the youth hostel and into a place of your own - if that’s what you’d like. Maybe you’d like to do some further education, a course or learn a trade.’

  ‘I suppose she told you I was on the dole?’

  Julian nodded.

  ‘I was never any good at school.’

  ‘Why was that - because you didn’t understand or didn’t want to?’

  ‘A bit of both, I suppose.’

  ‘Sam, you’re only sixteen, you’re still very young. It’s not too late to get some qualifications.’

  He avoided eye contact and looked uncomfortable. ‘Look - I didn’t want to see you to ask for anything. I can manage on my own.’

  ‘I’m sure you can but just remember that I’m here if you need me.’

  Sam shrugged and mumbled, ‘ok.’

  Julian drove him back to the hotel and stopped the car directly outside. They exchanged addresses and phone numbers. ‘Do you have the fare back to London?’

  ‘She – Lizzie gave it to me and paid for the hotel.’ He opened the car door.

  ‘Sam, before you go - I have to ask you about your coat or lack of it. Did you deliberately not wear one today?’

  ‘The one I have looks - well, it’s old and smelly and it’s falling to pieces.’

  Julian took twenty pounds from his wallet. ‘There’s enough there to buy yourself a decent coat and anything else you need. Perhaps some regular meals would be a good idea - you look like you could use them.’

  Sam took the money reluctantly. ‘I didn’t come here for money.’

  ‘I know you didn’t but accept it – please - let me help you.’

  He nodded and a smile lit up his face. ‘Lizzie said you used to be skinny just like me.’

  Julian smiled. ‘Yes, that’s true - she was always trying to fatten me up. On the subject of food, perhaps you’d like to meet up for a meal next time I’m in London. I go up there quite often for medical conferences and meetings.’

  ‘Yeah - I’d like that.’

  Sam got out of the car and gave him a thumbs up before going through the hotel doors, leaving Julian to drive back to Cosham feeling like he had just woken up from a surreal dream.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Coleherne, 261 Old Brompton Road, Earls Court

  10:30 p.m. Wednesday 18 January

  John Erikson sat at the bar watching the couples at the tables and a few who were dancing by the jukebox. The pub was busy, which was usual even for a Wednesday night. John was on his third whisky and was thinking of calling it a night when he saw a young man doing sexy moves to a Motown number. There was an empty table close by and John decided that if he sat there at least he’d have something good to look at. He held up his empty glass and nodded to the pub’s manager, Bob Radcliffe, who was behind the bar.

  ‘Usual?’ Bob said.

  John nodded. He watched Bob pour the whisky and bring it over to him.

  ‘I don’t want any trouble tonight, John.’

  ‘That was a one-off, ok.’

  ‘It was one time too many - I had to tell Dave not to come in for a week, his face was a mess - he was frightening the customers.’

  John shrugged. ‘As I said, it was a one-off.’ He picked up his drink and went over to the table. Come closing time, the young guy was sitting at John’s table accepting drinks like there was no tomorrow. Paul claimed he was nineteen, a law student at King’s College, but John cared little about who he was or what he did, his only concern was getting the lad back to his flat.

  ‘I’ve got a good Motown collection at my place, singles and albums - you’re welcome to come back.’

  ‘Ok, but you should know I don’t put out for strangers.’

  ‘Good, I respect that. It’s nice to meet a young man with principles.’

  Out on the Old Brompton Road they only had to wait seconds for a black cab to pull up beside them. John indicated for Paul to get in first and when he followed he was surprised to see it was already occupied.

  ‘What the . . .’ he started to reverse but was pushed from behind and forced to sit next to a man he couldn’t see properly because the inside light in the cab was off.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Erikson, what a coincidence. I was just saying to DS Cooper that we might bump into you.’

  John recognised the voice as belonging to DCI Chase and he was forced to sit between Chase and Cooper. Paul was sitting on the extra fold-down seat.

  ‘Sorry if we’ve spoilt your night’s entertainment,’ Chase said, looking at Paul. ‘How old are you, son?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  Chase raised his eyebrows and looked at John. ‘Bit young for you, don’t you think.’

  John didn’t reply.

  ‘We’ll drop your friend at a tube station so he can get on home.’ Chase leaned forward to speak to the cab driver. ‘West Brompton tube station.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  John glanced at the cab driver and noted his short neat haircut . . . they’re all fucking pigs . . . he swore to himself. ‘If you’re not arresting me, you can let me out here.’

  ‘We wouldn’t dream of leaving you just anywhere,’ Chase said, ‘after all, you got into this cab in good faith, the least we could do is take you home.’

  The cab stopped outside the tube station and Paul was let out. The rest of the journey was done in silence until they pulled up outside John’s block of flats in Fulham Road.

  ‘This is harassment,’ John said.

  ‘You should make a complaint. I’m sure the Super would be delighted to hear from you.’

  When John was out of the cab standing next to Cooper, he gave the man a long hard stare until he saw the discomfort in his eyes. John wouldn’t let them get away with this. He had ways of dealing with pigs that they hadn’t even thought of, they were amateurs compared to him. The cab didn’t drive off until John was inside the building and when he was up in his flat he glanced out of the window and saw another car parked across the road. The night surveillance team had just begun their shift.

  * * *

  Carlton Tower Hotel, Knightsbridge

  Thursday 26 January

  The medical conference on 27 January was on supporting and promoting paediatric and child health research. Ju
lian had tried contacting Sam by phone at the youth hostel on several occasions but finally wrote a letter giving him the name of a Chinese restaurant close to the youth hostel. He suggested they meet at 7 p.m. A week later he had received a postcard with a picture of The Houses of Parliament on the front and on the back, the words ‘Ok, see you there. Cheers. Sam’. Julian travelled up to London by car on the evening before the conference and checked into the Carlton Tower Hotel in Knightsbridge just after nine.

  The conference, held in the hotel’s business suite, was informative and he made notes and managed to get some copies of the research data but his mind was on his evening with Sam. At the restaurant, he was ten minutes early by choice as he thought Sam might feel uncomfortable sitting alone waiting for him. Sam arrived on time and hung his coat, a warm looking duffle coat, on the back of his chair.

  ‘I like the coat - good choice.’

  ‘I know it’s boring but it’s very warm.’

  ‘No, I mean it – really and it will last for years.’

  They ordered drinks and food and a photographer came up to their table and asked if they would like a photograph done with an assurance that it would be delivered back to the restaurant in an hour. They had a photograph taken of the two of them and one of Sam. They took their time over the meal and unlike their first meeting; Sam opened up and told Julian about his childhood and adoptive parents who lived in Guildford. He described them as very kind and looked upset when he talked about his father dying of a heart attack when Sam was only thirteen. His mother died three months ago. He came up to London after his mother’s funeral.

  ‘With you being under eighteen I’m surprised social services didn’t want you to stay in one of their youth hostels.’

  ‘They did but I didn’t like it, so I left Guildford and came up to London – I told them I was eighteen when I checked into the hostel in Earls Court – but it’s ok, there are lots of boys my age there.’

  Julian decided not to pursue the legal aspects of a sixteen-year-old living without parental control or guidance but he was pleased with the way the evening went and he could see that Sam had enjoyed it too. When they were having coffee and Sam got up to go to the toilet, he accidentally knocked his lager over his shirt sleeve. He managed to soak up most of it with serviettes but at Julian’s suggestion started to roll his sleeve up to the elbow. Julian leant over to help him and in doing so saw track marks on the inside of his forearm.

  When Sam came back to the table and sat down there was a long and painful silence.

  ‘How long?’ Julian asked.

  ‘A couple of years.’

  ‘What are you on?’

  ‘Heroin - powder sometimes but usually Jacks.’

  Julian knew that Jacks were 10 mg tablets that were specifically used for injection. ‘Did the rest of the money I gave you go on heroin?’

  Sam nodded. ‘I’m sorry - I used to get it at a doctor’s surgery for free on one of those programs but it was closed down - and I tried to stop but one of my mates gave me some really good stuff that was nicked from a hospital.’

  ‘Sam, I know we haven’t known each other long but I want you to trust me. As a doctor, I’ve had a lot of experience with drug addiction. The only way to come off a drug like heroin is to be taken away from the temptation completely. If you stay in the company of other users it’s virtually impossible to get clean.’

  Sam avoided eye contact and stared down at the table cloth.

  ‘Would you be prepared to go into a clinic I know? They’ll give you medication to make it as painless as possible - they’ll give you all the support you need and they have a good success rate.’

  ‘How long would I have to be there?’

  ‘Between four to eight weeks - it depends on how you respond to treatment.’

  ‘Would I be locked in?’

  ‘No, it’s not a prison - you can leave at any time but - and this is a big but - their rules say if you leave before being officially discharged you don’t get a second chance.’

  There was a long silence while Sam looked deep in thought. Finally he looked at Julian. ‘Ok, I’d like to try.’

  It took a few days to organise. The private clinic Julian was thinking of was the Wellbeck Clinic in Hampshire, near Petersfield. An old friend of his, who had struggled with heroin addiction for years, had spent some time there and Julian was impressed with their withdrawal program. It was expensive but thanks to his inheritance, money was not a concern. He drove Sam to the clinic on Tuesday 31 January.

  ‘I can phone you every day and visit you on my days off, if you’d like that.’

  ‘Do they allow visitors?’

  ‘After the first two weeks.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that.’

  They walked through the doors of the clinic and Sam stood awkwardly by his side. Julian filled in forms and exchanged a cheque for a receipt and a brochure about the clinic which included a copy of their house rules for the patients and visitors. All that was left was for Sam to walk through the door marked ‘Patients & Staff’.

  Julian held out his hand for a handshake but Sam put his arms around him and Julian’s attempt at a reserved goodbye ended in an emotional hug. He made it back to the car with his self-respect intact but sat there unable to drive. This was right up there with the big emotional moments of his life; being dumped at boarding school at the age of six, the day Lizzie left sixteen years ago and having his old dog put down at the vets.

  * * *

  Queen Alexandra Hospital, Portsmouth

  Sunday 5 February

  Work at the hospital seemed to take on monumental proportions while Julian worried about Sam during the day and thought of Lizzie at night. At the house, Vickie, a pretty but meddlesome young woman who was always trying to sort out everyone else’s lives while totally ignoring her own, didn’t hesitate to give him the benefit of her limited wisdom.

  ‘Honestly Julian, you’re like a wet weekend lately - what on earth’s the matter with you?’

  He was drinking coffee in the kitchen while watching her attempts at cooking a beef stroganoff. She sat down at the kitchen table opposite him and sipped her glass of red wine.

  ‘So, who is it this time?’ she asked.

  He didn’t bother to reply. Vickie could have a whole conversation by herself without any help from him.

  ‘It’s not that theatre sister is it? The one with the big - hang on, didn’t you go to a Christmas party with that pretty Welsh staff nurse on intensive care?’ She drank some wine and looked at him with concern. ‘Julian, you’re your own worst enemy - you have too many girlfriends. Why don’t you stick with one for a while - it would be much less exhausting?’

  ‘I don’t want a steady girlfriend.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah - I’ve heard it all before but it’s not a good way to behave at your age. How old are you? Mid-thirties? You need to settle down.’

  Julian had washed and dried his mug and replaced it in the cupboard. ‘Is the lecture over now?’

  She shrugged. ‘Ok, don’t take my advice - it’s your funeral.’

  He was up in his room trying to chill to Buddy Holly when he was called back down for a phone call.

  ‘Dr Hartmann, I’m Dr Sanderson’s secretary at the Wellbeck Clinic. It’s concerning your son, Sam. I’m afraid he left the clinic sometime during last night. He was seen at ten o’clock at the last drug round and was in his room at lights out but the room was empty this morning and all his belongings were gone.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Sir.’

  ‘Thank you for letting me know.’ He replaced the receiver and looked up at the pin-board that hung on the wall for messages. The phone number of the youth hostel was on a scrap of paper pinned to the board. He dialled the number and said a silent prayer but minutes later he was walking back up the stairs with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sam wouldn’t be the first person to walk out of a withdrawal program but even so Julian was upset, and to top it a
ll he had no idea where he had gone.

  Vickie’s beef stroganoff turned out better than expected and Julian went down for the meal and tried not to push his depressive mood on everyone else. Ten minutes into the meal the phone rang again and he got up to answer it.

  ‘Julian, it’s me.’ Lizzie sounded close to tears. ‘I’ve had a phone call from my sister - the clinic called her.’

  ‘Yes, me too - I called the youth hostel but they haven’t seen him.’

  ‘But what if he doesn’t go back there - what are we going to do?’

  ‘There’s not much we can do until he contacts one of us. Is there any way I can contact you, just in case I hear anything?’

  ‘Yes, of course - the house number is Southsea 6249. Peter never gets home until after six during the week and I’m in most days by four. If one of the children gets to the phone first just say you’re a plumber. They know I’ve been ringing around for quotes for some work on the bathroom. If you need to contact me in the evening or weekends call my sister, Sally, on Knightsbridge 5290. Sam has her number too - she’s quite happy to be the go-between.’

  ‘Peter doesn’t know about Sam?’

  ‘No, I’ve never told him - he’s a bit old-fashioned about things like that. It was a stroke of luck when Sam turned up in January. Peter was in Germany for a week.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It must have been difficult for you – keeping a secret like that.’

  ‘I always thought I would tell him at some time but the right moment never seemed to arrive – now I don’t think it ever will.’

  ‘Well, try not to worry too much. Sam has my number too so I’m sure he’ll contact one of us soon.’ After saying goodbye, he replaced the receiver and stayed in the hall, deep in thought. Why hadn’t she told her husband about something so important in her life? If she really believed that she couldn’t tell Peter, it must mean that she had doubts about his love for her . . . here we go again . . . it’s like you’re on a one way road to self-destruction . . . but if you must torture yourself answer this question first . . . are you going to wait for their relationship to fall apart or are you going to provide the catalyst . . . a light flickered at the end of his sixteen-year-long tunnel of darkness but he snuffed it out. He simply refused to be drawn into thoughts and actions that could hurt the only woman he had ever loved. He ran his hands roughly through his hair in an attempt to clear his mind and walked back into the dining room. There was a hush around the table.