Hartmann: Malicious Rules (Hartmann thriller series Book 1)

by Helen L Lowe

  ‘I have to get back for the children anyway.’ She got out of the car to help him with the bags. ‘Harriet’s the landlady, isn’t she?’

  Julian nodded.

  ‘You didn’t mention how attractive she was.’

  He was quick to defend himself. ‘I’m not interested in her, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘I’m not checking up on you, Julian. You’re free to see who you like.’

  ‘Am I?’ He picked up a bag from the car boot.

  She grabbed the same bag as him and held it firmly, forcing him to look at her. ‘Yes, of course you are. You mustn’t let what we have together prevent you from moving on with your life.’ She followed him to the front door. ‘I’ve promised to take the children to the Tower of London on Sunday but I’m free tomorrow and the weather forecast is good. I was wondering if you’d like to go to Hampstead Heath, after being in hospital the fresh air would do you good. I’ll bring a picnic.’

  Julian didn’t comment and searched for his keys.

  ‘You don’t seem very keen, would you rather we leave it for a day or two? I should really spend more time with the girls anyway. I’ll ring you in a couple of days.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, I think I’m just tired and need a good sleep.’ He leant forwards and kissed her. ‘A picnic and lots of fresh air sounds great.’

  ‘Good, I’ll pick you up at eleven-thirty.’

  She gave him one of her gorgeous smiles and blew a kiss to him as she drove off, and his bad mood was a thing of the past.

  Inside the house, Harriet was waiting for him in the hall. ‘I saw you arrive. How are you? Your friend, Lizzie, dropped by to pick up some things for you while you were in hospital. I hear you’re quite a hero.’

  He smiled politely and turned towards the stairs.

  ‘Let me help you carry those. You must take it easy for a while.’ She took some bags off him and walked with him up the stairs. ‘I thought you might appreciate a cooked meal tonight - I know hospital food can be very boring.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you but I just need to catch up on sleep. Hospitals are not the best place to get a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘I understand – well, maybe tomorrow night?’

  ‘I’m not sure what Lizzie has planned – she’s taking me out for the day to get some fresh air.

  Harriet failed to hide her irritation. ‘What a good idea. I’m sure you’ll feel the benefit after being in hospital.’ She followed him into his room. ‘I could do a late supper tonight if you prefer, so you can have a nice long sleep first.’

  ‘You’re very kind but . . .’

  ‘Of course,’ she snapped, ‘it was silly of me to presume that you’d want to spend some time with me.’ She dropped the bags onto his bed. ‘You’re quite stubborn at times, Julian, not an attractive quality if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘I’m not being stubborn – I’m just very tired and need to sleep.’

  ‘Well, I’m not one to stay where I’m not welcome. Let’s hope a sleep will improve your manners.’

  CHAPTER 37

  Sussex House

  11:30 a.m. Saturday 8 April

  Harriet heard a car horn and looked out of the small attic window. There was a white car, which she recognised as Lizzie’s, waiting directly outside the house and she saw Julian get into it.

  He really was behaving badly but she hadn’t given up hope that he would eventually appreciate how right they were for each other. She waited until the car was out of sight and turned back to face the freestanding full-length mirror. It had passed down the generations of women in the family and when Mother died it would be hers.

  She glanced around the room, once again noticing how crowded it was. Why Mother had wanted to move her bedroom up here was a mystery because there were plenty of larger empty rooms in the house, but this was the furthest away from Father’s bedroom. The man had been isolated in the house for years. They wanted him gone.

  She touched ornaments and bits of jewellery that had been left out. Some of the Mother’s Day cards that covered a heavy oak sideboard had fallen over and Harriet arranged them all in order of the year they were sent. She only had the last ten displayed because there simply wasn’t room for them all. The last one, sent just four weeks ago, was particularly nice with lovely words. Sometimes, if she couldn’t find a card with nice words she would write a little poem herself but on this year’s card she had just written ‘love Harriet’ because the words on the card were so beautiful.

  ‘There, that’s better,’ she said, glancing over her shoulder at the bed. ‘I wonder whether I should bring Julian up here. If I did, I’m sure he would understand me better - understand why he should stay. You’d really like him – he’s such a gentleman when he puts his mind to it.’

  She stood in front of the full-length mirror and adjusted the dress. Mother had rather large breasts and was considerably shorter than her but it didn’t deter from the pleasure she felt every time she wore it. She was wearing one of Mother’s silvery-grey wigs and her lips were painted red.

  When she smiled at her own reflection, that voice inside her head, his voice, said to stay there to see just how long she could smile. She was still there an hour later but the smile had changed into a malicious snarl.

  ‘You see,’ he said, ‘I knew it was fake - you can dress-up and preen yourself if that makes you feel good but it won’t change anything inside. Come on - touch me. Just grab hold of that throbbing penis in your pants and all this ridiculous behaviour can stop.’

  ‘I wouldn’t push me if I were you,’ she said. ‘I might do something bad – something you wouldn’t like.’

  He scoffed. ‘Do something bad? You have me quaking in my shoes. Don’t you get it? I control you. I make you hot and sweaty - so turned-on you can’t eat, sleep or even think. What could you do to hurt me - you pathetic excuse for a woman?’

  Harriet’s face visibly darkened as she stepped up to the mirror. The snarl was now a malignant glare. She pressed her face into the glass, eyes penetrating reflected eyes, piercing his vile soul.

  ‘I’ll cut your fucking dick off.’

  * * *

  As Harriet walked through the cellar she knew Harry had been there. The place was a mess with medical instruments strewn across the floor, chunks of hair scattered around Michael’s bed, and there was red paint on the bed covers and pillows. In the sink, lay a scalpel and razor covered in red paint. They would be impossible to clean. She had specifically asked him to clear up when he used his paint but as usual it had fallen on deaf ears. He just didn’t take the rules seriously.

  Michael was no longer sedated as his time was drawing near so, understandably, he was in a state. She checked his drip and emptied his catheter bag, and all the time his eyes were wide open in alarm, watching her every move. He made pathetic noises behind the tape across his mouth. She ripped it off.

  At first he was silent, too frightened to speak. ‘Harriet,’ he managed to say, ‘please, please stop this.’

  She stroked his hair back from his sweaty forehead. ‘Shh now, getting upset won’t change anything.’

  ‘But I don’t understand . . .’ a sob broke out, cutting off his words and he started crying openly. ‘Please, Harriet . . . I won’t tell anyone . . . let me go, please.’

  ‘All in good time, Michael, all in good time.’

  CHAPTER 38

  Hampstead Heath

  2:30 p.m. Saturday 8 April

  Julian had hoped that a day alone with Lizzie would bring them closer together but there were moments when he thought it would be the catalyst for their breakup. The food and wine she brought tasted good but she seemed determined to spoil it with questions about Charlotte.

  ‘So, are you going to tell me what happened with sexy Charlotte?’

  Julian picked up the wine bottle to top up their glasses. ‘There’s nothing to tell other than we dated for a while.’

  ‘And the bondage session?’

  He s
ighed. ‘Are you going to drag that up every time you fancy an argument?’

  ‘I don’t fancy an argument – I just want to know what happened.’

  ‘Why does it matter?’

  ‘It matters because if we decide to continue with our relationship I want to know what I’m getting into – and I can’t help thinking that this kinky bondage thing is become part of your life - first it’s Charlotte and then it’s Erikson – I dread to think what’s next?’

  ‘So you’re saying that what happened with Erikson was my fault.’

  ‘No, of course not – well, not exactly.’

  ‘D’you know, sometimes I wonder if you know me at all.’

  ‘I knew you when you were a teenager – people change.’

  ‘Not that much.’

  ‘Just tell me what happened, please.’

  ‘Ok, but I’m only going to talk about it on this one occasion. No bringing it up to have a dig at me.’

  ‘Ok, promise.’

  He paused to give himself time to think - how on earth was he going to relate that evening’s events without sounding like someone who enjoyed kinky sex or was a complete sissy who liked being chained up and whipped.

  ‘That evening we had been walking around the places the homeless hangout – showing them photos of Sam. We ended up being attacked. I was ok but Charlotte had bruises around her neck and she was pretty shaken up. When we got back to her house we had a few drinks to calm our nerves. Charlotte overdid it and became very amorous.’

  He paused again. This was the difficult bit. ‘It wasn’t a bondage session – not a planned one at any rate. It started off as a joke – we were just mucking around. She dressed up . . .’ he broke off as the mental image of Charlotte looking incredibly hot flashed into his head.

  ‘What was she wearing?’

  ‘A black corset, stockings, and boots – you know the kind of thing.’

  ‘And a whip?’

  ‘Yes – she had a riding crop.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She told me to take my clothes off.’

  Lizzie’s eyes widened. ‘And you did?’

  ‘I thought it was a game – I didn’t expect it to get out of control.’

  ‘Did she hit you with the whip?’

  ‘A few times – not hard enough to do any damage – as I said, we were just mucking around.’ He took a large gulp of wine.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘She told me to lie on the bed and hold onto the iron frame of the headboard.’

  The mixture of anticipation and disbelief on Lizzie’s face nearly made him laugh and for the first time since that night, he saw the comical side - maybe this wasn’t going to be so difficult to talk about after all.

  ‘That’s when she put the handcuffs on.’

  ‘Handcuffs? And you just let her?’

  ‘Well, at the time I was . . .’ he paused while he searched for innocuous words that would explain how Charlotte had pressed herself down onto his face. There weren’t any.

  ‘You were what - too drunk?’

  ‘I’d had a few – I guess I was distracted.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell her to take them off?’

  ‘I did – several times.’

  ‘You seem to be remembering well for someone who was drunk at the time.’

  ‘Believe me - it was hard to forget.’

  ‘So she made love to you.

  ‘Yes – I guess you can call it that.’

  ‘And the bites and scratches?’

  ‘She got excited.’

  ‘And what about you – did you enjoy it.’

  He shook his head. ‘That’s enough now – I’ve told you what happened – let it go.’

  ‘I asked if you enjoyed it.’

  He hesitated. ‘It was different – a new experience.’

  ‘From what you’ve said, it sounds like she raped you.’

  ‘It wasn’t rape.’

  ‘Was it consensual?’

  He hesitated.

  ‘It either was or it wasn’t.’

  ‘It wasn’t rape – ok.’

  ‘She handcuffed you to a bed, refused to let you go and then had sex with you – made love to you, whatever you want to call it. If it wasn’t rape it was, at least, forceful sex.’

  She waited for him to say something.

  He swore under his breath. ‘If you really want the truth you can have it. I enjoyed it – ok - once I’d got over the initial shock of being chained up, of being completely reliant on her - it was mind-blowing. You know you say that I like to be in control - well, you’re right. If I’m not in control of a situation I worry and get anxious but to have all control taken away from me was like being set free. It was exhilarating to be helpless and at her mercy – to be submissive. I didn’t want it to stop. She teased me and hurt me, took me to the edge repeatedly for hours but every time I was about to climax she slowed it down. She made me beg for release – beg for it – and when she finally allowed me to have an orgasm it was the most intense and explosive orgasm of my life.’ He stood up. ‘Happy now?’

  He turned away and tried to calm himself down. Just talking about that night had sent his heart racing, and Lizzie can’t have failed to notice the large bulge in his trousers. Not another word was spoken as they cleared up the picnic, and he was wishing he hadn’t opened up to her. Was it surprise or alarm in her eyes? Perhaps she was offended by the explicit nature of his confession. But on the walk back to the car, she wanted to talk. She told him about Peter’s drinking and his temper.

  ‘Why do you stay with him? Julian said.

  ‘I still have feelings for him and I suppose I was scared of leaving him, of being alone.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now things don’t look so bleak.’ She smiled and took his hand in hers, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve shocked you,’ he said, when they were back in the car.

  ‘I have to accept part of the blame - I shouldn’t have insisted.’

  ‘Does it change things between us?’

  ‘I’m not sure – it depends really.’ A smile flickered across her lips. ‘Do you want me to buy some bondage gear and make you my sex slave?’

  He felt his neck and face burn with embarrassment. ‘We haven’t even made love yet. I think we need to do that before we start trying to spice it up.’

  ‘Back to your place then?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  ‘And Harriet?’

  ‘Sod Harriet.’

  * * *

  Sussex House

  6:35 p.m. Saturday 8 April

  When Julian took Lizzie up to his room, he didn’t care if Harriet saw them or not. He had already made a decision to leave the house earlier than planned and if she chucked him out for breaking her precious house rules before his flat was ready, he would simply move back into the Worsley Hotel. But, as it turned out, Harriet was nowhere to be seen.

  Unlike their first attempt at this, he didn’t waste time with the polite prelude of offering drinks. When the room was thrown into semi-darkness by the drawn curtains, they stood in front of each other while they undressed, taking turns, removing one item at a time.

  He was overwhelmed by the sight of her. Her body had changed over the years. Although still looking trim in her clothes, without them she had a curvier, more sensual appearance. Her breasts were rounder with darker nipples that when erect, like now, were incredibly sexy. The faint stretch marks and soft curve of her stomach reminded him that she had brought new life into the world.

  He kissed her tenderly, gathered her up in his arms and laid her down on the bed. This time nothing was going to ruin the moment. He slowed everything down so he could kiss, caress, touch and taste every part of her. She relaxed in his arms, trusting him completely as he made love to her and when they were spent, they lay down on the bed, skin against skin, bodies entwined, not kissing, not speaking, revelling in the intimacy. In that moment, he was back at
the beginning, young and in love and in the arms of his sweetheart.

  CHAPTER 39

  Julian went back to bed after Lizzie had left. He slept solidly and was woken up at 11:15 p.m. by a grumbling stomach. While he prepared a meal he thought about Sam. He hadn’t brought up the subject of their missing son during the day because he didn’t want Lizzie to worry. She seemed convinced that nothing bad had happened to him, that he was just behaving like a typical teenager who would eventually get in touch when he felt ready to talk. Julian didn’t share her confidence.

  If Erikson was telling the truth and knew nothing of Sam’s whereabouts, it wasn’t a good sign at all. Julian was convinced that he wasn’t the Thames Butcher. He may be a drug dealer; an aggressive bastard but a serial killer? Julian doubted it and he knew that eventually DCI Chase would come to the same conclusion. It wouldn’t be long before the hunt for the serial killer would be back on but in the meantime Sam was still out there, alone and vulnerable.

  Julian had no choice but to carry on with his search but this time, instead of turning up with a banner saying ‘well-off middle-class idiot with a sexy vulnerable woman’, he intended to merge into the background. He dressed up in his roughest clothes: an old pair of jeans, a baggy jumper, his old and worn black leather jacket, scruffy walking boots and a black woollen hat pulled down over his ears. His old rugby scarf, wrapped around his neck several times to hide the lower half of his clean-shaven face, completed the look.

  He still had the list that Charlotte had given him and decided to visit the same locations again. Sadly, there was no sign of Sam and no-one recognised him in the photograph. The group behind Kings Cross Station, where the fight had broken out on his last visit, didn’t appear to recognise Julian and there was no sign from them that they had ever seen Sam’s photograph before.

  It made him realise that he was wasting his time. The wretched souls forced to live on London’s streets survived by keeping out of sight, hiding in the shadows. Even if they had recognised Sam, he doubted they would admit it because that would draw attention to themselves. What he needed to do was to find Sam’s heroin dealer and, apart from the Coleherne, he had no idea where to look.