Hartmann: Malicious Rules (Hartmann thriller series Book 1)

by Helen L Lowe

  ‘You didn’t say you were going to do that.’

  She shrugged. ‘I only thought of it when I went back to the house to change. My Editor wants me to come up with an angle on the homeless and the murders. I thought this was a good chance to do a bit of research.’

  ‘But the police think it’s a homophobic crime, don’t they?’

  ‘Well, I’m sure there are homeless people who are gay but remember the police are only speculating that the murderer is picking off gay men - they don’t actually know.’

  ‘Alright, but try to be more subtle about it.’

  At Temple Place, a little further along the embankment, there were at least twice the numbers of homeless. A soup kitchen van was parked there and they spoke to the people in the queue and showed them Sam’s photograph but again, no luck. Charlotte had removed her leather jacket and was carrying it over her arm with the cassette hidden and she managed to get them to talk about the murders. It was interesting hearing their different opinions but none of them knew anyone who had gone missing and they didn’t think the homeless were more under threat than anyone else.

  They spent a good hour walking around the Strand and down the side streets where vagrants slept in doorways. They were told to ‘piss off’ and often in stronger words but they weren’t really in danger until they tried to speak to a group of fifteen or so behind Kings Cross Station. A couple of drunks picked a fight with Julian while another tried to maul Charlotte. He put his hands around her throat as she tried to fight him off. Fortunately, she was rescued by three women who took the law into their own hands and floored her assailant, punching and kicking him until he lay motionless on the ground.

  She had to search for Julian and eventually found him in the centre of a group of people jeering at him because he had the drunks on the ground begging for mercy. When they ran off they were replaced by three youngish men holding knives and for the first time Charlotte was afraid for Julian’s safety. He didn’t look worried though and changed his stance as one of the men stood facing him. He did an impressive spin as his feet left the ground and he kicked the knife out of his opponent’s hand. Another kick had the man on the ground but one of his buddies ran at Julian with an aggressive yell. He, however, wasn’t prepared when Julian kicked him in the crutch. He howled like a baby and fell to the ground with his hands between his legs. At this point, the onlookers changed allegiance and started spurring Julian on. One of the men came back but was grappled to the floor and held in a lock that threatened to break his arm. Julian was telling him to drop the knife but he refused and made another attempt to stab Julian. As a result, there was the sickening sound of a bone breaking, followed by a loud scream. When Julian jumped to his feet ready to continue, the onlookers had dispersed and two of his three attackers were running away. The third, with the broken arm, stayed down.

  Charlotte walked towards him with a grin on her face.

  ‘Are you ok?’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine – and I can see you’re more than ok.’

  When they got back to the car, which was under a street light, he saw Charlotte’s ripped blouse and the red welts around her neck. ‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

  She was smiling but shaking like a leaf. ‘That was so exciting – did you see those women? I thought they were going to kill him - and you were amazing. I’ll never doubt you again.’

  ‘Stay here for a minute – I’m just going to check on something.’

  She watched him walk back over to the man who had attacked her. He knelt down beside him and tried to speak to him but he pushed Julian away and refused help. Julian went over to the man with the broken arm. He was still on the ground with a woman kneeling beside him.

  After talking to them, and making an improvised sling out of the woman’s scarf, he walked with them to the main road. Charlotte lost sight of him then but he reappeared five minutes later and came back to the car.

  ‘Sorry about that – I couldn’t just leave him there – I put them in a taxi and paid the driver to take them to the nearest casualty.’

  ‘Julian, you were brilliant – I can’t believe you actually broke that man’s arm.’

  ‘I didn’t have much choice,’ he said, trying to examine her neck. ‘We’ll have to get some ice on those bruises.’

  She let out a squeal of excitement. ‘I’m so glad I came.’

  He held her squarely by the shoulders in an attempt to calm her down. ‘You’re as high as a kite – are you sure you’re ok?’

  'Sorry, I’m fine - I’m used to fighting with two older brothers. Thank you for your concern though - it’s very sweet.’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘You were right though.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Your Japanese black belt martial art thingamabob was impressive – you’ll have to teach me some moves.’

  ‘I can think of a few moves you’d be perfect for,’ he said, opening the car door for her.

  CHAPTER 9

  Julian was left in no doubt that he was expected to stay the night when they got back to Charlotte’s house. Daisy was away at the family home in Kent at their father’s command, so the house was empty. They lounged on the sofa finishing off a bottle of whisky while Charlotte held a bag of frozen peas to her neck. She told him about the phone-call the newspaper had received from an informant in the police.

  ‘We all think it’s someone either in or close to the team working on the murders. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when they see it down in black and white. ’

  ‘See what in black and white?’

  Charlotte looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Well, I suppose there no harm in telling you now – the whole world will know tomorrow. You know that three torsos have been recovered but there’s something about them that the police didn’t release to the press. What they didn’t tell us was that the genitals had been sliced off and the penises were inserted into their . . . well, you get the picture - that’s why they’re convinced it’s a “gay hate” crime.’

  She drank the last drop in her glass and peered into the empty bottle of whisky. ‘Damn it . . .’

  ‘Are you really going to print that?’

  ‘Apparently - and the reason they haven’t been able to identify any victims is because no heads have been recovered and the fingertips have been burnt off with acid.’

  She searched through the drinks cabinet. ‘Blast - Daisy must have had the last bottle.’

  ‘She told me she hated whisky.’

  ‘Yes, she does but her boyfriend doesn’t - coffee?’

  He followed her into the kitchen. ‘The police aren’t going to be happy to see that in print.’

  ‘I know but it’s a hell of a scoop for us.’ She filled the kettle and prepared two mugs with instant coffee. ‘There was something else he told us but apparently we’re not going to print it yet. David Woods, a barman at the Coleherne, has disappeared. It seems to back up the gay link.’

  She sat next to him at the breakfast bar and pushed his coffee towards him. ‘You’re worrying about Sam, I can tell, but they don’t really know if the missing barman is anything to do with the murders. They’re just surmising, just like they’re guessing that it’s someone who hates homosexuals. Did you know about the Coleherne’s reputation before this visit to London?’

  He nodded. ‘I went there years ago to see the drag acts.’

  ‘So, what are you going to do about Sam?’

  ‘I thought about going there with Sam’s photo and asking if anyone remembers him - but now I think it would be best just to go back to the police.’

  ‘Yes, you have a point. A good-looking single guy would be an obvious target.’

  He smiled. ‘Thank you for the compliment - I think.’

  ‘How about I come with you - a straight couple wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention - and if anyone recognises Sam we could go to the police.’

  ‘Alright - but on condition that you don’t bring the cassette recorder or ask them any questions.’

&n
bsp; ‘I promise - anyway that’s enough about the murders, I’d rather talk about something else - history, for example.’

  ‘History?’

  She took his hand and led him towards the stairs. ‘When there were servants, maids - and masters.’

  ‘When chivalry and honour meant something - where are we going, by the way?’

  On the landing, she opened the bedroom door. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’ She pushed him towards the bed.

  ‘Really? I’m liking the sound of that . . .’

  ‘Just sit down and be patient.’ She opened the door to a walk-in wardrobe and disappeared inside.

  Julian sat on the edge of the bed, which was in the centre of the large bedroom, and waited. Five minutes later, he had flaked out but a sharp pain across his left thigh woke him up and he opened his eyes to see her brandishing a black riding crop. She was wearing a black corset, suspenders, black stockings, and black patent leather high-heeled boots that went passed her knees.

  He sat up to get a better look. ‘I like the outfit - and I see you’re not wearing any knickers, which I definitely approve of but the whip - you’re kidding - aren’t you?’ He was trying not to laugh. ‘I didn’t know you were into all that stuff.’

  ‘Some men - in fact, a lot of men find it a real turn-on.’ She stood in front of him and stroked the side of his face with the crop before tapping it sharply.

  ‘Ouch.’ He tried to grab it but she was too quick for him.

  ‘Undress,’ she said.

  He gave her a cheeky smile. ‘No problem – where do you want me to start - with the stockings or can I undo your corset?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

  He stood up and walked towards her, confident he could win her over but she flicked the whip towards him and struck the front of his shirt. ‘Do as you’re told and undress or . . .’

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘I’ll have to punish you.’

  He grinned at her. ‘You do realise I’ve just been told by a doctor not to get stressed.’

  ‘Then you’d better do as I say.’ She started to walk around him. ‘Shirt first - take it off slowly.’

  ‘I don’t believe this.’

  ‘The shirt.’

  ‘Ok, ok.’ He pulled the shirt out of the waist of his trousers and undid the buttons before dropping it to the floor.

  Charlotte was behind him. ‘Take off your shoes and socks next.’

  He did as he was told and was just turning around to face her when the whip flicked across his back.

  ‘Ouch.’ He swung around to face her again only to feel the whip across his chest. ‘Agh - that hurt.’

  ‘I didn’t say you could turn around.’

  ‘You look like you’re really enjoying this,’ he said, rubbing the red mark on his chest.

  She smiled. ‘And you will too if you try to get into character.’

  ‘Character?’

  ‘You’re supposed to be acting as my slave – as a submissive. Shall we try again?’ She pointed to his trousers with the whip.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not taking them off while you’ve got that whip in your hand.’

  ‘Julian - think submissive.’

  He sighed impatiently and started to undo his flies. Charlotte walked around him again and when the trousers hit the floor she was directly behind him.

  ‘Continue.’

  He slipped his boxer shorts off and while he waited for her next command he glanced down and saw his penis standing to attention. He laughed softly.

  A strike from the whip across his buttocks made him jump.

  ‘Are you finding this funny?’

  ‘No, of course not . . .’ he said, trying to suppress another laugh.

  She walked around to face him. ‘Because if I thought you weren’t taking this seriously, I would have to punish you.’ She reached forward with the whip to stroke his erect penis but he tried to take it from her and she struck him on the back of the hand. ‘Those hands seem to have a will of their own. Put them on your head.’

  ‘On my head?’

  ‘Do it.’

  Julian did as he was told and to his amazement a thrill ran through him. His penis started to throb.

  She walked around him with the end of the whip stroking his body and just when he was starting to relax she gave him two forceful strikes, one across his buttocks and the other lower across the back of his thighs.

  His audible groan was a mixture of pain and pleasure.

  She stopped directly in front of him, her body close to his, and stroked his rock-hard penis with the handle of the whip. ‘You see what happens when you do as you’re told – when you relinquish control.’ She brushed her lips against his and let him kiss her but when she saw him lowering his arms she bit his lip hard.

  ‘Shit - you bitch.’ Julian could taste blood.

  ‘I didn’t tell you to lower your arms,’ she said, stepping back from him. ‘Put them back on your head.’

  He raised his arms again. ‘Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit too far?’

  ‘Sit on the bed.’

  He did so with relief, encouraged that the bed would at least be part of the game.

  ‘Lie down on your back.’

  ‘Can I move my hands now?’ His voice was filled with sarcasm; patience wearing thin.

  ‘Yes.’

  Julian lay down on the bed and watched her as she stepped onto it, towering above him. He had a clear view of her crutch and when she lowered herself down to sit astride him, her legs parted and the sight of moist pink flesh was too much. He reached out to her.

  She knocked his hands away. ‘No touching.’ But when they kissed, his arms encircled her and she pulled away. ‘Hold onto the bars on the headboard.’

  ‘Come on, Charlotte - that’s enough now . . .’

  ‘Do it, Julian, or there’ll be no sex tonight.’

  He gave her a puzzled look. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘Don’t I?’

  He scowled but reached back for the bars directly behind his head.

  ‘The ones further out so your arms are spread.’

  Julian could feel his erect penis throbbing urgently, impatient for action, and he cursed under his breath. She got off the bed, walked behind it and moved his hands out towards the bedposts. Now he realised why the bed was in the centre of the room and not pushed against a wall.

  ‘Hold onto these,’ she said.

  Again, he did as he was told and grasped the bars with both hands. She came to him then; mounted him and kissed him with a passion that surprised him. She moved up his body, placed her knees either side of his head, and stroked her hands along his outstretched arms up to his hands, while she lowered herself down on his face. There was the sound of metal clinking on metal and before he realised what was happening she had clamped a pair of handcuffs onto each wrist. He was handcuffed to the bedposts.

  He was livid. ‘Take them off.’

  She moved back down his body and sat astride him.

  ‘I’m serious, Charlotte - take them off.’

  ‘Now, why would I do what you say?’

  He tried to yank his hands free, hoping that they were just cheap joke handcuffs but they didn’t budge.

  ‘You won’t be able to get free, the handcuffs are real. I used to date a policeman.’

  ‘Charlotte, I’m only going to say this once more and if you don’t do as I . . .’

  She stopped his words with her hand over his mouth. ‘It doesn’t matter what you say. I’ll let you go when I want to - when you’ve earned it.’

  He didn’t need to look down to know that the once respectable erection was now a thing of the past. ‘Charlotte, I know you think this is going to be an amazing experience for me but you’re wrong – being handcuffed to a bed is my idea of hell.’

  ‘You’re so sweet.’ She used a condescending voice as if she was speaking to a very young child. ‘That’s the whole point of being r
estrained – it’s supposed to generate a feeling of helplessness and suffering but hell isn’t always a scary place.’ She kissed him and bit his lip again.

  He flinched. ‘That really hurts – is that what you want - to hurt me?’

  ‘I might hurt you a little but I won’t really harm you. I’m trying to help you. You’re a successful doctor, dedicated to your work - always professional, efficient and in control – it must be exhausting. Now, I’ve taken control and there’s nothing you can do about it. You might as well relax and enjoy the ride.’ She stroked his hair away from his forehead and kissed him gently. ‘D’you know, I think I’m hungry.’ She abruptly got off the bed and walked towards the door.

  ‘Where are you going - don’t leave me like this.’

  She glanced back at him. ‘I won’t be long – just long enough for you to think about the ways I’m going to make you beg for mercy.’

  For the first few minutes after she left the room he was furious; with her for tricking him into this farce and with himself for allowing it to happen. He looked back at the iron headboard and for the first time realised that it was an old-fashioned four poster bed, possibly an antique but whatever, it was made from solid iron. He slid the cuffs up the bars, gripped onto the top bar and dragged himself up. After a lot of effort, he was sitting with his back against the headboard but it didn’t change his predicament one jot. There was nothing he could do. He was a prisoner with a crazy jailer who had some ridiculous idea that she was actually helping him - could the evening get any weirder? He glanced at this watch. It was 3.25 a.m. She didn’t come back until it was turned 4 a.m.

  She entered the room holding a bottle of champagne, one champagne flute and a plate of food. When she had poured the champagne into the glass and taken a long drink, she picked up the riding crop and turned her attention to him.