Hartmann: Malicious Rules (Hartmann thriller series Book 1)

by Helen L Lowe

  ‘Thank you, good bye.’ Lizzie walked away, conscious of the other woman’s eyes on her back. Her feminine instincts told her that the glamorous landlady saw her as competition for Julian’s affections and right now she wasn’t sure which one of them he would choose. In the car, she felt like crying but reprimanded herself for behaving like a love-sick teenager and made an adult decision. There was really only one place she could think of going to next.

  CHAPTER 30

  3:15 p.m. Thursday 30 March

  Julian was drifting around in a weightless white cloud where there was no pain, no conscious thought; complete anonymity. He dreamed of an otherworldly place, the white light that would guide him to heaven or an abysmal blank unconsciousness that was a prelude to his brain-dead sleep. A pungent smell of tobacco dragged him ungraciously back to earthly hell and he opened his eyes to see Erikson sitting next to him on the platform smoking a big fat cigar.

  ‘Would you like a puff?’ He held the cigar towards Julian. ‘Ah, no - if I remember correctly you don’t smoke. Admirable, looking after your health like that but you’re still drinking – heavily, if you don’t mind me saying.’ He chuckled softly. ‘Julian, dear boy, I can’t believe I’ve rendered you speechless. Is there nothing you can say in your defense?’ He chuckled again. ‘I’m being cruel, I know, teasing you like this.’ For a moment his face became serious. ‘I expect you’re wondering if I’m the Thames Butcher,’ he chuckled without humour. ‘Sorry, you’ll have to wait a bit longer to get the answer to that.’ He stood up and walked slowly around the platform, pacing his steps as he talked. ‘So, you can stop worrying that I’m going to kill you anytime soon. I’ve got a film to make and I can promise you it will be fun but on an entirely different level.’

  ‘Is Sam really here?’ Julian spoke slowly, the words drawn out.

  He stopped pacing and turned towards Julian. ‘Yes, he’s here - a bit smacked out, like you, but otherwise ok.’ He started pacing again. ‘Now, where was I - the film - do you remember I told you about the films? Yes, of course you do, I asked you to come up with some scenes for you and Sam, you know, who fucks who - that sort of thing.’

  He stood over Julian with a grin on his face. ‘There - look at your reaction to the mere mention of the films - your breathing is erratic - you’re sweating. I expect you have a technical medical term for it but with my humble grasp of the English language, I would say you’re turned-on.’ He started pacing again. ‘Anyway, as I was saying - the films.’ He held up an arm and waved it around to encompass the room. ‘This is my film studio and I can’t tell you how excited I am that you’re going to perform. You, dear boy, will drive the punters wild.’

  He stopped pacing and went back to Julian’s side. ‘Now, I want you to calm down. You’ll only hurt yourself trying to get free. Come on, take deep breaths - it won’t be as scary as you think and for the finale I’ll bring Sam on like I promised. I’m sure seeing your son again will make you feel much better.’

  CHAPTER 31

  3:30 p.m. Thursday 30 March

  After Chase had escorted a distraught Lizzie Harrison out of the station, he called a team briefing. There were fifteen officers working on the Thames murders, more than any other case he had worked on during his twenty years on the force but this case was different. This one had the man at the top hammering on Chase’s door demanding results. Everyone knew they had very little to go on. The dismembered body parts that had been corroded by the Thames waters for weeks or even months, had skin peeling off within minutes of recovery. In fact, the pathologists had precious little time to examine them before they disintegrated in front of their eyes.

  There was no possibility of identification; no heads had been recovered to give them dental records and the fingertips had been burned with acid. They were lucky if they got a blood group. They knew the victims were young males, they had been dismembered, the genitalia had been removed and the penises had been inserted into the rectums; hence the belief that the victims were homosexual. He was guessing that Jenkins had passed some of this information on to the Daily Mirror and their sensational headlines had sparked off the panic that had spread through the gay community. It made Chase’s difficult job nigh on impossible.

  He waited in the incident room for the team to assemble, and noted how they gathered into their own little groups. So far, he had enough proof to charge Jenkins but he suspected there were others who were equally as bent. After several minutes, everyone was there except the surveillance team and DS Jenkins.

  ‘Has anyone seen Jenkins?’ he said.

  They looked around at each other with blank expressions on their faces.

  Chase checked his watch. It was 3:40 p.m. ‘Ok - I just wanted to update you all on the situation with Erikson and Hartmann. Last known whereabouts was Erikson’s flat. They talked and there was some violence but we recognised a conversation that we heard on Hartmann’s first visit to the flat. We think Erikson had recorded that conversation himself and played it back last night to convince us that Hartmann was still able to speak. Somehow, Erikson has discovered the bugs and he probably also knows that Hartmann has been working for us. I’m sure I don’t have to explain the implications of this but we’re hoping that Hartmann is still alive. Erikson was seen leaving the underground carpark at four thirty-five and there were two men in the car. We followed him over Putney Bridge but lost him - any questions?’

  There was silence in the room.

  Chase picked up a ruler and turned towards a large map of London on the wall behind him. ‘We’ve got cars out all around the Putney area,’ he pointed to it on the map, ‘but we know Erikson frequents several gay venues and a private club that is known to be heavily involved in the trafficking of drugs and the SM porn industry.’ He indicated various places on the map. ‘I want you all to help with the search.’ Chase looked over to a young officer who had done some digging into Erikson’s past. ‘You mentioned a place the other day - an antique shop in South London that Erikson used to own until it was busted for selling hard-core porn.’

  The young officer looked startled at the sudden attention. ‘Yes, Gov - the chap who owns it now said Erikson pops in occasionally but when we had Erikson in for questioning he said he hadn’t been there in years.’

  ‘Good - get over there,’ Chase said, ‘and work in twos. Erikson is a sick bastard - that’s Hartmann’s evaluation and he should know.’ He turned back to the map. ‘There’s a large area to cover including Putney Heath and Wimbledon Park and the places we know Erikson goes to on a regular basis - there’s a list of them up here but let the operations officer know where you are at all times. Erikson’s Bentley was last seen here.’ He pointed to a road just past Putney Bridge. ‘If you see the car, don’t approach it or let it be known that you’ve seen it - call in for backup.’ He turned around and clapped his hands. ‘Come on, get going - and remember, work in twos and take a radio with you, I don’t want anyone out there on their own.’ He dug his hands in his pockets and watched them organise themselves into pairs, and he wondered how many, if any, he could trust.

  CHAPTER 32

  3:45 p.m. Thursday 30 March

  John Erikson had expected Julian to be difficult to control but the man surpassed all expectations. It took four men to get him off the platform and over to the film set. He fought them with every ounce of strength left in his body and in the end John had to sedate him with the sedative that Julian had intended for use on him; shot straight into a vein it brought him down within seconds.

  ‘I don’t know how long this stuff lasts - get him over to the spreader-bar fast,’ John said, annoyed that he had been forced to sedate him.

  They lowered a four foot spreader-bar, suspended from the ceiling by a winch, right down to the ground and with Julian lying flat on his back, they positioned his hands on each end of the bar and wound leather straps around his hands, wrists, and the bar. They strapped his ankles to each end of another four foot spreader-bar so that his legs were spread ap
art. It had the effect of holding him in a spread-eagled position.

  ‘Shit - look at him - he’s out cold,’ John said. ‘Fuck it - that’s the last thing we need.’ He looked at his watch. It was just after 4 p.m. ‘Ok, someone needs to keep an eye on him but when he starts waking up don’t be fooled into thinking he won’t give us any more trouble, and don’t try to handle him on your own. I doubt a bit of sedation will make this one submissive.’

  ‘D’you want to keep the set ready - all the lights and everything?’ Teddy asked. He was a skinny young man with limited intelligence and was the runner for the crew.

  ‘No,’ John said, sighing heavily. ‘He could be out for hours.’

  John snorted cocaine and slept for four hours on a camp bed in the back room. He woke up when he heard a yell from Pete.

  ‘He’s awake - better get in here quick.’

  John walked back into the studio and saw a confused and drowsy Julian on his knees holding the spreader-bar above his head. ‘Take him up,’ John yelled to Pete, who had already started winding the winch. ‘Faster - good.’ He guided Julian to a standing position. ‘A little higher - so he can only just touch the floor. Perfect, lock it.’

  John walked around Julian and ran his hands over his body. He stopped in front of him and looked into his eyes. ‘Come on - stay awake.’ He slapped him hard across the face repeatedly until Julian groaned and opened his eyes. ‘That’s it - I need you fully conscious.’ He turned to Pete. ‘Get him ready and get some water into him. I’ll get changed.’

  When John came back onto the set he wore an outfit of black leather and chains. His leather trousers had a separate loin area, which could be removed to reveal his genitals and backside during graphic sex scenes, and he wore a brimmed black leather hat to protect his eyes from the whip. In his right hand, he held a hybrid four foot bull whip of his own design which had metal strips woven into the leather, and metal tips. His left hand held a heavy-duty mains operated cattle prod.

  He went over to Pete, now in his sixties but still able to multitask as the lights, sound and camera man. ‘Everything set?’

  Pete nodded. ‘Ready when you are - he refused a drink, by the way.’

  John shrugged. ‘Ok, let’s go for a take.’

  ‘Silence on the set - Take One,’ Pete said.

  The intro of Jimmy Hendrix and Purple Haze blasted out and John congratulated himself on choosing the same music as the club; it created a moody electric atmosphere. The set resembled a medieval dungeon with mock brick walls and stone floor. However, the chains, whips and torture implements on the walls were real and often used in the films. A spotlight shone directly on Julian, in stark contrast to the subdued and murky lighting around him. As John walked around him the music faded out, and he cracked the whip several times hoping to make Julian flinch. The man didn’t react but John thought it hardly mattered because he looked magnificent up there; skin glistening with oil and muscles in his arms and shoulders rippling as he took his own weight on the spreader-bar.

  John had no idea how Julian would cope with the training or the camera. He had it in mind to use him for a series of films depicting his journey as a beginner and virgin to an experienced submissive. For the first shoot tonight, John intended to punish him hard and break his cocky stubborn streak. As an expert with a bull whip, he could use it on a submissive and barely leave a mark or cut up a man’s back with the skill of a surgeon. This hybrid bull whip was designed to do maximum damage and, although Julian’s reaction to severe pain and subjugation was as yet unknown, John knew it would be exhilarating.

  ‘This slave is going to need some training,’ he said, looking into the camera. ‘His first time as a slave and, for all you guys out there hoping for something different, his very first time for a fuck.’ He hit Julian’s genitals with the handle of the whip. ‘You’re a virgin - isn’t that right, boy?’ He repeated the hit. ‘Isn’t that right, boy?’ he said louder. He reached out and grabbed hold of Julian’s balls and squeezed hard. ‘Say “yes, Sir”.’ He waited and squeezed harder. ‘SAY IT.’

  Julian groaned through gritted teeth. ‘Fuck you.’

  John laughed. ‘This is going to be fun.’ He walked around to stand at the back of Julian, and Jim on Camera 2 followed him. Pete, on Camera 1, stayed on Julian at the front.

  ‘So, we’ll begin.’ John cracked the whip letting it go close enough to Julian’s skin for him to feel the brush of air but he still didn’t flinch and for a moment John was a little concerned that the sedative was still affecting him.

  ‘Ok, bad boy, I’m going to give you six of the best - do you remember that from school? I want you to count them out loud. If I don’t hear you, I’ll assume I’ve missed and will repeat that stroke. Do you understand?’

  Julian didn’t answer.

  ‘Say “Yes, Sir”.’ He waited for a response. ‘Now, it’s seven of the best.’ He waited. ‘And eight - I’m waiting, and I hate to be kept waiting - nine - and ten.’ He cracked the whip again. ‘Ten lashes - you’d better prepare yourself, boy.’

  The first lash struck Julian’s back straight across the middle.

  ‘Count.’ John waited three seconds. ‘Ok, here’s number one again.’ He put force behind the next lash and it drew blood but Julian didn’t make a sound.

  ‘Count.’ He waited three seconds. ‘You want the first lash again? At this rate you won’t have any skin left.’

  Julian was breathing heavily but remained silent.

  ‘Ok, if that’s the way you want to play it, number one again.’ He wielded the whip harder and let it strike the same spot as the last time; blood trickled from the wound.

  Julian groaned and arched his back.

  ‘I’m waiting.’ John counted three seconds before touching Julian’s left thigh with the cattle prod.

  Julian yelled while his body jolted with the shock.

  ‘Do you want the prod again?’

  Julian shook his head.

  ‘Say “No, Sir”.’ He waited for five seconds, and prodded him on his right thigh.

  Julian groaned and jolted again.

  John aimed the next lash at Julian’s buttocks. ‘Count.’ He wielded the whip again and three seconds later he prodded Julian’s left side above his hip.

  Julian cried out and his whole body twitched in spasm.

  The third lash sliced through his skin like a knife edge and still no response from him. ‘Third again,’ John said, flaying the whip.

  Blood flowed freely from the cuts.

  ‘Did I miss?’

  Julian was struggling to breathe.

  John prodded him close to his balls and listened to him yell. He was impressed with Julian’s pain threshold but he needed some signs of subjugation for the punters.

  ‘Third for the third time,’ John shouted, choosing the same target again. ‘Better speak up soon, boy, your skin is starting to peel.’

  ‘Three . . .’ Julian spat the word out.

  ‘Not quite good enough.’ He wielded the whip again hitting the same spot and three seconds later prodded him on his left buttock, again very close to his balls.

  John walked around him and turned to the camera. ‘This slave is very stubborn so I’m going to use a more direct approach.’ He turned back to look at Julian and felt the adrenaline rush when he saw the hatred in his eyes. He walked back behind him.

  ‘As you’re not catching on with the counting and I don’t want to skin you alive just yet, we’ll do numbers four to ten without stopping.’ He flexed his muscles for the camera and let the whip crack twice in the air before starting again. He flogged Julian from the fourth to the ninth lash at a steady and regular beat. On the ninth, which was a particularly vicious strike, Julian cried out like a wounded animal.

  John walked back around to the front and walked right up to him. ‘Did I hear you cry, boy? Do you know what I do to boys that cry?’ John held the cattle prod close to his penis.

  ‘No more - please,’ Julian’s voice was raw.
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  ‘Do you know what number we’re at?’

  Julian shook his head.

  ‘Make a guess.’

  ‘Eight?’

  John laughed. ‘Eight, you say, and there was me thinking there was only one left. Now where should the last two go?’ He drew a line across Julian’s chest with the handle of the whip. ‘Nine could go here - and ten?’ John looked down at Julian’s penis and up to his face. ‘What d’you think, boy - should I make your dick take the last one?’ He stepped back away from Julian to give the whip room to fly. The ninth lash, which was really the tenth, struck the chest exactly where John had said and it sliced the skin like a knife. ‘What do you say, boy?’

  ‘Nine,’ Julian’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

  John used the cattle prod on his stomach and held it there for three seconds. ‘SIR.’

  Julian screamed as his body jerked.

  ‘No more, Sir.’

  ‘You’ve had enough?’

  Julian nodded.

  ‘Are you begging for mercy?’

  Julian nodded again.

  ‘Let me hear you say it.’ He waited. ‘I’m not hearing anything.’

  ‘Mercy . . .’ Julian’s voice trailed off.

  ‘No-one can hear you.’ John lifted the cattle prod up to his face. ‘Louder, boy, or you’ll take this in your mouth.’

  ‘I’m begging for mercy - Sir.’

  John thought for a split second about pushing him even further but he didn’t want a submissive blubbering in the middle of a shoot. He nodded his head. ‘Good, you’ve learnt your first lesson well. I will show you mercy.’ He stepped back and raised the cattle prod towards Pete.

  ‘Cut.’ Pete called out.

  John went over to Pete. ‘What d’you think - good?’

  ‘Yeah, it was definitely that.’ Pete looked at Julian. ‘Are we going straight on?’

  John shook his head. ‘Look at him - he’s not even holding his own weight anymore, he’s just hanging from that bar and shaking like a jellyfish.’