Hartmann: Malicious Rules (Hartmann thriller series Book 1)

by Helen L Lowe

  ‘How long have you known John Erikson?’

  ‘I don’t know him.’ Julian’s heart pounded in his chest.

  ‘You talked with him for a long time - one could say intimately. Do you normally let strange men chat you up?’

  ‘There was nothing intimate about our meeting.’

  ‘You had an arranged meeting with him?’

  ‘No - I only just met him tonight.’

  ‘Are you homosexual, is that why you went there?’

  ‘Fucking faggot,’ Cooper chipped in.

  ‘I’m not . . .’ Julian broke off as he started to wheeze.

  ‘The arresting officers found photos of a young man on you,’ Trent said. ‘He’s a good-looking lad.’

  ‘Queers like them young,’ Cooper said.

  Julian could hardly breathe.

  ‘Dr Hartmann, are you feeling alright?’

  Julian couldn’t reply because it took all his concentration to suck air into his lungs.

  Thirty minutes later the interview was recommenced. Julian’s handcuffs were now off and his inhaler was in his hand.

  Trent held up a photograph. ‘Who is this young man?’

  ‘He’s my son.’

  ‘You reported him missing on Saturday twenty-fifth of February and you told the policeman who arrested you that you were trying to find him but why did you go to the Coleherne - is he homosexual?’

  ‘I don’t know - I was just told that he goes there.’

  ‘So, you were at the Coleherne to ask if anyone had seen him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And had Erikson seen him?’

  ‘He said he had - about five weeks ago.’

  ‘When you spoke to Erikson, did he happen to mention the Thames murders?’

  Julian was surprised by the question. ‘Yes, a little - I mentioned the missing barman and he said he had been a friend of his until they fell out.’

  ‘You knew a barman was missing before speaking to Erikson?’

  Julian hesitated.

  ‘It wasn’t released to the press - so how did you know about it?’

  Julian said nothing but Trent waited for his reply and there was a long silence. ‘I’m not sure - I must have heard someone talking about it in the pub.’

  ‘You arrived at The Coleherne with a young woman. Is she your girlfriend?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you know Miss Stratton-Brown is a reporter with the Daily Mirror?’

  ‘Yes.’ Julian knew were this was going.

  ‘That newspaper recently disclosed information about the murders that hadn’t been released to the press - did Miss Stratton-Brown tell you how they came by that information?’

  Julian remained silent.

  ‘Answer the question.’

  ‘She could lose her job if . . .’

  ‘And you could lose your freedom if you don’t co-operate with us.’

  ‘You must know that my arrest has been a complete fabrication - no court would convict me.’

  ‘On the contrary, we have witnesses who will swear in court that you offered them money for sexual favours and we have witnesses who saw you attack a police officer - not to mention the police officers themselves.’ Trent gave him a look that would turn anyone to stone. ‘I really think you should be worrying about yourself and not some unscrupulous reporter. If news of this arrest got out, conviction or not, it could be the end of your career.’

  Julian said nothing but his words had done their job. Trent was right. His career was at stake.

  ‘So, I’ll ask you again, did Miss Stratton-Brown tell you how they came by that information?’

  ‘She said it was a phone call.’

  ‘Did she give a name?’

  ‘She thought - she said they all thought it was someone in the police - someone involved in the investigation.’

  Cooper stood up and walked around the desk towards him. He grabbed Julian by the collar and hauled him to his feet. ‘You should be careful what you say.’

  His face was so close; Julian’s face was splattered with spit.

  ‘Or you’ll do what – beat me up again?’

  ‘Next time I’ll finish you off – you fucking queer.’

  Trent stood up. ‘Cooper, that’s enough.’

  Cooper grunted and pushed Julian back onto his chair.

  ‘We’ll take a ten minute break,’ Trent said. ‘Would you like a drink - tea, coffee?’

  ‘Coffee - and I need the toilet.’

  Ten minutes later he was back in the interview room attempting to drink very strong sweet coffee that had an unpleasant flavour of fish. Only Trent came in to talk to him.

  ‘We’re satisfied that you were acting out of concern for your son, so the charges of soliciting, importuning and conspiracy to corrupt public morals have been dropped but I must warn you against seeing Erikson again. He’s a dangerous man with a criminal record for assault and rape. Is there anything that you’ve held back from us about your conversation with Erikson – anything at all, no matter how insignificant you think it is?’

  ‘He looked a bit worried after he talked about the missing barman being a friend of his – like he wished he hadn’t mentioned it.’

  ‘When you left did he suggest you see each other again?’

  ‘He gave me a card for his gym – invited me as a guest.’

  ‘Did you say you would go?’

  ‘I said I might but I doubt I will - I was just being polite. Why?’

  ‘No reason – just curious.’ He stood up. ‘You’ll be kept in the cells for the rest of the night and will be up in front of the Superintendent in the morning. It will be up to him to make the decision on the assault charge.’

  Julian had a painful and uncomfortable night in the cells worrying about his career. If he was actually charged with assault, and there was any suggestion that he might be homosexual, he doubted any hospital would ever employ him again. Now he understood how difficult it must have been for Joe over the years.

  CHAPTER 12

  9 a.m. Wednesday 22 March

  Chase made sure he was there when Dr Hartmann was up in front of the Superintendent. He had already discussed the possibility of Hartmann assisting in their investigation earlier that morning and, although there was no guarantee that he would agree, it was understood that there could be no charges if they wanted his complicity. Dr Hartman certainly looked relieved when he received a caution.

  It was pouring with rain when Hartmann left the station and he was walking along the pavement looking around for a taxi when Chase pulled up beside him in his dark blue Rover convertible. He leant over the front seat to push the passenger door open.

  ‘DCI Chase - get in, please.’

  ‘I just want to go home now.’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  Hartmann hesitated but reluctantly got into the car.

  ‘Are you hungry? I know a café that does a good cooked breakfast.’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘Yes, of course but you might as well eat while you listen to what I have to say.’

  He drove down Edgware Road and parked in a side road. Hartmann followed him to the Greasy Spoon Café. They were sitting down with two mugs of strong coffee, waiting for their food, before they spoke again.

  ‘Are you alright - after last night, I mean?’ Chase said.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I wanted to talk privately to you about Erikson. DI Trent warned you about seeing him again.’

  ‘You needn’t worry - I wasn’t thinking of dating him.’ Hartmann didn’t attempt to hide his frustration.

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry about the accusations.’

  While Chase drank his coffee, he noted Hartmann’s trembling hands. The man had been through hell over the last twelve hours but he couldn’t afford to go easy on him. The stakes were too high.

  ‘I’m going to go against everything that was said to you last night and ask if you would consider meeting up with Erikson.�
�

  Hartmann looked shocked. ‘You want me to see him again?’

  ‘It sounds crazy, I know, but you won’t be on your own. Erikson’s flat, the office in his gym and his phones will be bugged - we’ll be listening and can get you out within minutes if you’re in danger. Erikson is our prime suspect for the Thames murders but we don’t have enough on him to make an arrest. We have him under surveillance. We have undercover men in the gym and at the Coleherne but so far we’ve drawn a blank.’ He looked at Hartmann with an intense gaze. ‘What we need is someone who can get close to him, someone he trusts.’

  ‘You think he’ll trust me?’

  ‘I was told he was infatuated with you.’

  A young boy approached their table carrying two plates of food and Chase waited for him to leave before continuing.

  ‘I know it’s asking a lot - we just need you to get to know him more, encourage him to talk - go to the gym and his flat if he invites you. We’re not expecting you to . . .’ he struggled to find the words.

  ‘To what - let him fuck me? The man’s built like a biblical Goliath. Even if I was homosexual I’d be running the other way.’

  ‘I know - but we had men watching you in the pub with Erikson. They said he was instantly attracted to you - no doubt about it - and they said your reaction to him was - well, they said you looked anxious – actually, they said you look scared.’

  ‘D’you blame me?’

  ‘You reacted in a perfectly natural way. Erikson’s a big man and an evil bastard.’

  Hartmann pushed his plate of food away. ‘You say you’ll be listening and if it gets rough you’ll get me out but how far away will you be?’

  ‘If you’re in his flat, which is on the top floor of a block of flats in Fulham, we’ll be in the flat next door. We can get in through the front door and from the adjoining balcony. If you’re in the gym, we’ll be in the offices above and will come in via the main and back entrances, and a fire exit down a back staircase. Either way, we can be with you in minutes.’

  ‘And you’ve searched his flat and the gym but found nothing incriminating?’

  ‘There was nothing in the gym but in the flat we found a room that was set up as - well, there was a metal framed bed with handcuffs, whips, and other various restraints - this in isolation doesn’t prove anything apart from a kinky sex life but I thought you should know.’

  Hartman looked visibly shaken. ‘Will you bug that room as well?’

  He nodded. ‘You know, I think you’re underestimating your ability to deal with Erikson. In your job, you must have met patients who were confused and aggressive. How did you manage them?’

  ‘I gave them an injection of a strong sedative.’

  ‘Perhaps having something like that on you in case of an emergency may be a good idea - it may help you feel more in control.’

  ‘Maybe - I need some time to think about it.’

  ‘Of course,’ Chase said, standing up. ‘I’ll drop you home.’

  ‘No thanks, I’d rather walk.’

  ‘It’s raining cats and dogs out there.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  Chase pulled a card out of his pocket and passed it to Hartmann. ‘This has my direct line at the station and my home number. You can contact me anytime - but if someone else answers just give your name and ask me to contact you. By the way, don’t take too long to make up your mind. Remember that Erikson is a free man and it’s only a matter of time before he chooses his next victim - think of your son, if nothing else.’

  * * *

  Chase sat in his car and watched the café in his rear view mirror. Hartmann came out of the door a good five minutes later, crossed the side road and walked out onto Edgware Road. He had half a mind to follow him and tell him to forget the whole thing but the Super would have his guts if he did. Judd blamed him when things didn’t go right, when investigations came to a grinding halt as in this case.

  ‘Do you know the kind of pressure I’m under?’ He shouted at Chase. ‘The heir to the thrown has been threatened and the Queen wants to know what we’re doing about it. We’ve had Erikson on surveillance for nearly two months – we need to make an arrest soon.’

  ‘What we need,’ Chase said, ‘is someone Erikson can trust.’

  ‘You’ve put three plain clothes in there already and not one of them got past first base.’

  ‘That wasn’t their fault - Erikson’s too damned smart.’

  ‘Well, I don’t care how you do it - just get someone in there that can hoodwink him - I don’t care who you get, use one of your informers, use one of the queers that spends every Saturday night in our cells. At least they might stand a chance.’ The Super suddenly grinned as if he had just come up with the best idea in the world. ‘That’s it - get a queer on the job.’

  And so here he was feeling like he’d just signed someone’s death warrant. He believed Hartmann when he denied being homosexual but he knew he would agree to help them; there was no doubt. He had used his trump card, the man’s son; what father wouldn’t say yes?

  * * *

  It was a wet walk. So incredibly wet that Julian’s shoes were squelching with every step and rain dripped off his hair, down his face and off his nose. He stopped in the doorway of an off-licence on Praed Street with the pretence of sheltering from the rain. He could have chosen several shop fronts that would have given him more shelter but they didn’t have an offer in the window for Bell’s Special Reserve, buy two and get the third free. It didn’t take much justification for him to make a decision.

  The next two days were a blur. He stayed in his room, drank whisky and tried to block out the world. During this alcoholic haze, messages were slipped under his door; two phone messages asking him to call Charlotte, and a note inviting him to have an Easter Sunday roast with Harriet and the other tenants. It requested an RSVP by Friday evening. Julian vaguely remembered reading something about social occasions when he moved in. It was Harriet’s way of making sure the relationships between tenants stayed harmonious. At present, he couldn’t care less about harmonious relationships. In fact, in his current situation relationships of any kind were bad news. Besides, he had missed the deadline because it was Saturday before his head was back in real-time.

  Still struggling with real­-time, he managed to muster enough cognizance to leave the house to stock up on food. It was an interesting experience going back into the world while suffering from the worst hangover in his life. He drove slower than the average person could walk and pissed off every driver on the road. When he shuddered to a halt outside a small convenience store he made the decision to get a taxi back. He struggled to get in and out of the taxi with his box of shopping, the pain from his ribs making every movement agony and, as if to end on a big finish, he missed his footing on the eighth step of the stairs in the house and went crashing down into the hall with groceries scattering around him.

  The door to the sitting room flew open and Harriet rushed forwards to help him. ‘Dr Hartmann, are you alright?’ She knelt beside him. ‘You look like you’ve been in the wars.’ She helped him to his feet, only to catch him as he staggered backwards and landed on the second step of the stairs. ‘You reek of alcohol - are you drunk?’

  He groaned and leant forwards, holding his head in his hands unable to think of anything remotely harmless that he could tell her. Harriet left him on the stairs while she picked up the shopping and after packing it back in the box, she went back to him and helped him to his feet.

  ‘Come on, you can rest on the sofa until you feel well enough to get back to your room.’

  Julian didn’t attempt to argue. Lying on a sofa while Harriet brought him a hot drink, aspirin, and motherly concern in bucket loads, felt strangely comforting. He fell into the deepest sleep he’d had in months and when he woke up it was dark outside. Harriet was sitting in a chair opposite him reading by a low wattage table lamp. He started to sit up but she saw the movement and came over to him.

  She knelt
beside him and gently pushed him back down. ‘Don’t try to get up yet.’

  ‘How long have I been asleep?’

  ‘About five hours - what on earth happened to you?’

  ‘I went to a pub that my son used to go to and I was beaten up.’

  ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

  ‘The police surgeon at Paddington Green police station - it’s just some cracked ribs and bruises.’

  ‘Would you mind if I take a look - I used to be a nurse?’

  ‘There’s no need, Harriet, they’ll heal on their own.’

  ‘Please - just lie quietly while I have a look.’ She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it back out of the way. ‘My God, no wonder you’re in pain - you should have your ribs bound to give you some support.’

  ‘No - it’s best not to, it can restrict breathing and cause more problems.’

  ‘What about ice to reduce the swelling?’

  ‘Yes, that could help but I can do it myself upstairs.’

  She stood up. ‘No, stay there, I’ll be right back.’

  Harriet came back with three bags of frozen peas. She applied them to the areas where the bruising was more severe. ‘Who beat you up?’

  ‘The policemen who arrested me.’

  ‘Arrested? Why were you arrested?’

  He hesitated. ‘Sorry – d’you mind if I don’t talk about it.’

  ‘I’m not prying - just trying to help.’

  ‘Harriet, I’m grateful for your kindness but . . .’

  ‘Was it a fight over a girl - because I could see how that would happen? You know - if you don’t mind me saying, you’re very attractive – strong and virile. I expect you have women falling at your feet all the time.’

  ‘No, I don’t - and it wasn’t over a girl.’ He tried to sit up. ‘If you’ll excuse me I’d like to get back to my room.’

  ‘Shh now - there’s no need to get upset.’ She pushed him back down. ‘I’m not one to interfere with things that don’t concern me.’

  Julian said nothing more and allowed Harriet to fuss around him but when he finally managed to get off the sofa to go back up to his room, she insisted on carrying the box of food. When he unlocked the door and turned around to take the box, she brushed past him and took it into the kitchen.