Hartmann: Malicious Rules (Hartmann thriller series Book 1)

by Helen L Lowe

  Julian negotiated the numerous “Happy Birthday” balloons strewn around the hall and the legs of guests sitting on the floor, and made it to the kitchen. He searched through the bottles to find a decent whisky and tried to ignore the strong sickly sweet smell of cannabis. A spaced-out young man offered him a smoke but he declined politely and poured himself a large Scotch malt whisky.

  ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’

  Julian turned towards the voice to see a short plump woman of about forty wearing heavy makeup and a very low cut dress that failed in its attempt to contain her breasts.

  ‘Are you a friend of Charlotte’s?’

  ‘Afraid not – who’s Charlotte?’

  ‘This is Charlotte’s house - it’s her birthday party.’

  ‘Is Charlotte Daisy’s sister?’

  ‘Yes - not that you’d know it to look at them,’ she said, linking her arm in his. ‘I’m Elizabeth - Beth for short. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Charlotte.’

  She led him into a large living room where the smell of weed wasn’t as strong, and stopped by a group listening to a young woman telling an amusing story. Beth waited until after the punchline before interrupting. Still holding onto his arm, she took the young woman’s arm with her free hand and drew them closer together.

  ‘Charlotte darling, this is . . .’ she looked at him questioningly.

  ‘Julian Hartmann.’

  Beth squeezed his arm. ‘That’s a nice name.’

  He felt like a boy on the first day at a new school.

  ‘Julian, this is Charlotte Stratton-Brown.’

  Charlotte was the opposite from her sister. She was tall, around five foot eight, with short dark brown hair cut in a fashionable heavy fringed bob and she was wearing skin tight white hot-pants, white PVC knee length boots and a flimsy black transparent blouse. While Julian was trying to take his eyes off the outline of her breasts, which were not constrained by a bra, she looked at him with the suspicion of an overprotective sister.

  ‘Well - I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,’ Beth said, as she rushed across the room to greet another new arrival.

  ‘You’re not Daisy’s type.’

  ‘So I’ve been told.’

  ‘Have you known her for long?’

  ‘No, not long.’

  ‘Well, I hope it’s longer than the last one. He turned up here having only bumped into her on the underground.’

  Julian inwardly cringed at her words and glanced around the room. He saw Daisy dancing with a boy who looked like he’d forgotten his school uniform.

  ‘That’s one of her cast-offs,’ Charlotte said, obviously enjoying his discomfort, ‘he was best flavour of the month at the beginning of March - perhaps you’ll be April’s offering.’

  Daisy saw Julian and came rushing over. ‘Great - you came.’ She linked her arm in his and grinned impishly. ‘So you’ve met Sis.’

  Charlotte took his other arm. ‘Yes, we’ve been introduced. I was just saying to Julian that he isn’t your usual type.’

  ‘Well, I think I might give up on young boys and go for the more mature guys - don’t you think he’s gorgeous?’

  Daisy leaned towards Charlotte and whispered something in her ear and they both shrieked with laughter. Julian quietly excused himself and headed back to the kitchen. It was still packed with the same people who were there when he arrived. Strange how there’s always a group of people who never leave the kitchen.

  He had a theory that people who stayed in the kitchen fell into three categories; those who weren’t interested in anyone but themselves and their small circle of friends and who conducted their own little party while hogging a good proportion of the drink; those who didn’t want to come in the first place so consoled themselves by having a private drinking party for one, and those who felt ill at ease meeting strangers and making polite party conversation. For the latter the kitchen with its homely atmosphere and usually smaller dimensions gave them a measure of privacy and control. Julian knew this because he was one of them. Daisy found him leaning on the draining board drinking his third whisky.

  ‘So this is where you’re hiding.’ She took the drink out of his hand, lifted it close to her nose, pulled a face and handed it back to him. ‘That’s disgusting - I don’t know how you can drink the stuff.’ She selected a freshly opened bottle of red wine and poured a large glass. ‘Why did you disappear so suddenly?’

  ‘I needed a drink - so you live here with your sister?’

  ‘I have to. Daddy wouldn’t agree to me coming to London unless I lived with Charlotte.’

  ‘It’s a nice house - expensive - what does Charlotte do to pay for it or did Daddy buy it.’

  ‘Daddy did buy it but not especially for us. He owns lots of properties in Bayswater and Notting Hill that he rents out and we live here rent free. Charlotte couldn’t afford it - not doing her job.’

  ‘What job is that?’

  ‘She’s a reporter for the Daily Mirror.’

  ‘That sounds interesting.’

  ‘It isn’t - it’s usually really boring except when they have nasty bits of bodies floating around in the Thames. Charlotte says it’s the best story for years.’ She started pulling Julian out of the kitchen. ‘Please, dance with me - it’s a slow one.’

  ‘Dancing isn’t really my thing.’

  ‘Please - it’s my favourite.’

  He relented and let her lead him back to the living room. The Beatles “And I love her” was playing and the designated dance area in the centre of the room was crammed with smooching couples. When they were dancing Julian could see Charlotte standing with the kaftan wearing yeti apparently in a deep conversation but she glanced towards them at frequent intervals.

  ‘I don’t think your sister likes me very much.’

  ‘Yes, she does. She didn’t say anything bitchy like she normally does.’ Daisy looked up at him as if she suddenly realised something. ‘You haven’t told me what you do.’

  ‘Not much at the moment. I’ve just moved up to London.’

  ‘What did you used to do?’

  ‘I’m a doctor.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Cool.’ She smiled and rested her head against his chest.

  As the record came to an end Charlotte walked towards them. ‘Daisy, have you told him how old you are yet?’

  Daisy ignored her sister and started to pull him out of the room but Julian stopped her and turned to face Charlotte.

  ‘No, she hasn’t. Is it something I should be worried about?’

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. ‘Surely you must be thinking she’s too young for you?’

  Julian could feel the eyes of the other guests on them.

  ‘I’m just dancing with him - nothing heavy,’ Daisy said.

  Charlotte gave him an icy smile. ‘Well, perhaps he’ll dance with me?’

  Julian accepted her outstretched hand and went with her back to the dance floor.

  ‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ Charlotte breathed into his ear as they moved to a slow number. ‘Can’t you see how young she is?’

  ‘How young is that, exactly?’

  ‘She’s sixteen.’

  Julian pulled away from her in shock. ‘I’m sorry - I didn’t know she was that young.’

  ‘I wish I could believe you. She’s always picking up odd blokes and I’m expected to keep an eye on her.’

  ‘I think I’d better go.’

  ‘I’m sorry - it’s not that I think you’re odd - just old.’ She laughed. ‘Sorry, I’m managing to be quite rude. You’re obviously not old, just too old for her - please don’t think it’s personal.’ She caught his hand as he moved away. ‘Perhaps we could meet again in better circumstances - I need another man for a dinner party next week.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not much good at dinner party etiquette.’

  She pulled him closer and said in a low husky voice. ‘Perhaps a dinner for two would be more u
p your street.’

  He smiled. ‘Now you’re teasing me.’

  ‘I’m not teasing you - and you don’t have to leave.’

  ‘I think I do.’ He turned away and walked towards Daisy who was standing on the edge of the dance area watching them.

  He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Sorry love - you’d be better off with someone your own age.’

  ‘Please don’t go.’

  Charlotte had followed him. ‘Yes, she’s right - you really don’t have to leave you know - you’re being too sensitive.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to excuse me for being sensitive - I’m told it happens in old age – and, by the way - Happy Birthday.’

  CHAPTER 6

  The Worsley Hotel

  11 a.m. Saturday 18 March

  Julian sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands, and tried hard to remember what happened after leaving the party. Through bleary eyes he could see an empty bottle of whisky on the floor but he couldn’t remember buying it. So far, his attempt to cut down his alcohol consumption was a monumental failure.

  He had missed breakfast but managed to get an omelette, toast and a jug of filtered coffee sent up to his room. Alan kindly brought up today’s paper, earning himself another shilling. Julian ate the omelette and toast like a man who hadn’t eaten for a week and added an unhealthy amount of sugar to the coffee. Feeling almost human, he propped himself up on the bed with another cup of sweet coffee and prepared for his daily self-inflicted torture; the Thames Butcher murders, as the Daily Mirror had aptly named them. The article was discussing how cadavers dumped in the Thames were almost impossible to find in central London, the width of the river and the strength of the current made underwater searches almost impossible.

  The gruesome revelations about the murders were sounding worse every day. If it really was linked to the homosexual community, Julian felt sorry for them. They had enough bad publicity and discrimination lobbed their way without some nutter butchering them.

  While walking through the reception on his way out the concierge called him to the phone.

  ‘Did they give a name?’

  ‘The young lady said her name was Charlotte, Sir.’

  Julian took the call in the first of three telephone booths. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hi - I know this is a bit of a cheek but was wondering if you would be interested in accompanying me to a press ball. My date for the evening just bailed out. I can’t guarantee it will be fun - and we won’t be alone exactly but at least we’ll be together in a crowded room. It will give me a chance to make up for my rudeness last night.’

  ‘There’s no need - I was the one at fault.’

  ‘Please - you’d be doing me a favour - the last thing I want to do is go there on my own.’

  ‘A ball - a formal evening?’

  ‘Yes, you’ll need an evening suit and Dickie bow - is that a problem?’

  ‘No – nothing that can’t be sorted out - when is it?’

  ‘Tonight - sorry it’s such short notice.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. What time should I pick you up?’

  ‘Seven thirty?’

  ‘Ok – seven thirty it is – but do you mind if I ask you how you knew how to contact me?’

  ‘That was easy. Daisy followed you back to your hotel after you left the tube station the other night.’ She laughed. ‘She’s like a dog with a bone when she sees something she wants.’

  Julian had left several suits, including an evening suit, packed up in the loft at the house in Cosham thinking he would have no need of them but he could rent one. He racked his brain trying to remember the address of the men’s outfitters that he used as a student.

  The concierge took his room key. ‘Good morning, Sir - better day for sightseeing.’

  ‘Could you tell me where I can hire an evening suit? I need it for tonight.’

  ‘Yes - we have an arrangement with Chaplins on Bayswater Road. They have a good range of evening suits.’ He wrote the address on the back of a hotel card and passed it to Julian. ‘If you show them this they’ll deliver and collect it free of charge.’

  Chaplins was close to Lancaster Gate tube station, just a five minute walk. Their prices were more expensive than the one he had used as a student but the suits were a much better quality. They had a black one in his size, an evening shirt, bow tie and a pair of evening shoes, and the concierge was right; delivery and collection was free of charge

  He took the tube from Lancaster Gate to Paddington and while on route he thought about Sam. He felt he wasn’t doing enough to find him and now guilt about going out that evening was weighing heavy on his mind. It felt like he had moved Sam down on his list of priorities - and what about Lizzie? She was relying on him to find their son.

  After leaving Paddington station Julian walked past St Mary’s. On an impulse he walked through the doors and into the large central hallway which had a majestic staircase that wound up to the other floors. This hall was one of the oldest parts of the hospital, dating from 1845, and it brought back many happy memories for him. He stopped by a board which listed the many important dignitaries that a London teaching hospital attracted. He didn’t recognise the name of the Principal of the medical school but he did know the Head of Paediatrics, Mr Charles Dutton.

  On another impulse, Julian took the lift to the third floor and crossed the bridge to the administration block. He stopped at a door marked ‘Medical Staff Administration’ and knocked on it quietly.

  ‘Come in.’

  A woman sitting at a desk looked up to greet him with a polite smile but her eyes widened and her smile changed to one of genuine pleasure. ‘Julian.’

  ‘Pamela - it’s good to see you.’ He kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘You’re lucky to catch me - I don’t usually work Saturdays. Are you just passing by?’

  ‘Yes - and no - I’m up in London for a break and I just wondered if there were any jobs going.’

  ‘You’re in luck. We’re just starting to recruit for two six month SHO posts, both in surgery, and a two year Registrar’s post in paediatrics.’

  ‘When does the Registrar post start?’

  ‘September,’ she said, holding a form out to him. ‘Would you like to apply?’

  ‘What’s the closing date?’

  ‘You’ve got plenty of time.’ She checked a large wall calendar. ‘1st July.’

  ‘Ok, thanks - this may be just what I need.’

  Julian was walking out of the hospital when someone called his name. He turned and saw Joe, an old friend from medical student days.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Joe said.

  ‘Are you working here?’

  ‘Yes, in casualty - have been for the last year - are you still in Portsmouth?

  ‘Just left - thought I might apply for the Registrar’s post in Paeds.’

  ‘Are you in a hurry now?’ Joe said. ‘We could go for lunch somewhere - talk about old times.’

  They went to a French restaurant on Bayswater Road and did more talking than eating. When they were on the coffee Joe said he had something important to tell him.

  ‘I wondered if you have ever thought of the night of the hospital ball.’

  Julian laughed. ‘There were lots of balls - you’ll have to be more specific.’

  ‘The one when your date for the night got drunk and threw up everywhere and had to be taken home early - we both took her home, don’t you remember?’

  ‘Vaguely - if I remember correctly I was pretty drunk and you had to take me home as well.’

  ‘You don’t remember anything else?’

  Julian thought for a moment and shook his head. ‘Nope - guess I must have been stoned - anyway, what happened?’ He waited for Joe to speak. ‘Come on Joe, I’m starting to worry - did I do something terrible?’

  ‘It’s more what I did.’ Joe looked uncomfortable. ‘You were drunk, very drunk - we stayed at the girl’s flat for a while and smoked some weed but mixed with the amount of alcohol in your syst
em you were practically unconscious by the time I got you home.’

  ‘Was I?’ Julian laughed. ‘Well, as you know it happened now and then - still does occasionally but there’s no need to beat yourself up about it.’ He glanced around for the waiter. ‘We ought to ask for the bill.’

  ‘No, let me finish, please - this has been on my mind for years - I had to get you into bed, you see - you’d been sick on your clothes so I undressed you and put you to bed.’

  ‘And?’ Julian watched the colour drain from Joe’s face.

  ‘I kissed you - there, I’ve said it - I couldn’t help it. You were so - beautiful – perfect in every way - I’d been having thoughts about you since we first met and there you were in front of me, completely naked - I kissed you and - I tried not to touch but - well, I guess I was high myself and things got a bit out of control. I thought you might have remembered. You seemed to keep your distance from me after that. I just wanted to apologise.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Joe, if this is a joke . . .’

  ‘It’s no joke - I’m gay, Julian - no-one else knows - I’d lose my job at the hospital if they found out.’

  Julian stared down at his trembling hands on the table and felt his heart pounding in his chest. ‘I have to go - I need some air.’

  ‘Please, Julian, don’t go like this . . .’

  Julian took a note from his wallet and placed it on the table before he walked out of the restaurant and out onto Bayswater Road.

  He started off at a steady pace but slowed down when he realised he was breathing too fast. He saw a bench across the road against the railings of Kensington Gardens and managed to negotiate the traffic despite feeling lightheaded.

  When he sat down on the bench he knew what was happening. He was having a panic attack. Joe’s confession had been little more than drunken memories but for Julian it dragged up horrors from his past, events that had tortured him for years.

  He tried to slow down his breathing, to breathe using his abdomen and diaphragm rather than his chest, and all the while he tried to ignore the pounding of his heart . . . this is ridiculous . . . you’re a grown man of thirty four . . . a doctor . . . you can’t have panic attacks . . . but ridiculous or not there he was, desperately trying to get back in control before his wheezing got worse and it turned into an asthma attack. He hadn’t carried an inhaler for years.