Hartmann: Malicious Rules (Hartmann thriller series Book 1)

by Helen L Lowe

  Harry sat down by the right side of the bed and pulled Julian’s leg towards him. He started drawing on his thigh with a pen. When the drawing was finished, he got up and went over to the shelves. He came back with a white hand towel, a surgical scalpel and a small tin which Julian recognised from his childhood. It was a pot of Modelflex Red Paint number ten.

  Harry used the scalpel to carve out the design he had drawn, and used the towel every few seconds to soak up the blood. The red paint was pushed into the wound with the scalpel’s blade. When finished, from Julian’s perspective while lying on the bed, it looked like one of those Greek numbers Chase had shown him, and he tried to remember the Greek he had been taught at school but his memory failed him.

  Harry wiped the red paint and blood off his fingers. ‘You’re very quiet. They usually start making a fuss at this point but perhaps you still think you’re going to be rescued.’ He stood up, picked up the stool, and moved around to the left side of the bed.

  Julian closed his eyes and tried to distance his mind from the distressing scene. His brain went off at a tangent and Chase’s description of the Thames Butcher victims came uninvited to the forefront of his mind. The overriding question hit him head on. If Harry was doing the red tattoos when he was still alive, what was the schedule for dismembering his limbs and cutting off his penis?

  ‘Open your eyes – I want you to see what I’m doing.’

  Julian was slow to obey the command.

  ‘Do it,’ Harry shouted, ramming the scalpel deep into his left knee.

  A red hot pain jolted through Julian and he groaned loudly through a clamped jaw. He made an instant decision to take the risk of talking with the knowledge that nothing he did would influence the final outcome.

  ‘Does Harriet know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘How you’re treating me?’

  Harry looked up and scowled at him. ‘She has no say in the matter.’ He went back to his work and glanced up at Julian to check he was watching.

  ‘It must be very hard for you,’ Julian said.

  Harry let out a heavy sigh. ‘What must be hard?’

  ‘Looking out for your sister all the time - I had to do that with my own sister, so I know what you’re going through.’

  ‘Had? Why did you say “had”?’

  ‘She’s not in my life anymore - married some Australian bloke. I think she only did it to get away from me – said I was too controlling and interfering but I was only trying to take care of her - protect her from all the sick men out there.’

  Harry had stopped his work and was looking at Julian as if he had just seen him as a real person for the first time. ‘Do you still see her?’

  ‘No – she went to Australia with him. She doesn’t respond to my letters – I don’t even get birthday cards.’

  ‘Harriet would never get rid of me.’

  ‘You never know with . . .’

  Harry jumped to his feet and gave him such a threatening look that Julian stopped mid-sentence. He walked over to the shelves and picked up a wide reel of gaffer tape which he cut to the required length before slapping it firmly over Julian’s mouth.

  CHAPTER 50

  7:15 p.m. Tuesday 11 April

  Julian had been drifting between various levels of consciousness but woke up every now and then with a jolt because he was freezing; so cold, his teeth were chattering. When he was awake, he tried to think logically about Harriet and Harry being the same person. He remembered the night of their dinner date, when Harriet had moved his hand inside her dress, and he had felt soft warm breasts. They were definitely real breasts but she had the strength of a man. He came to the only logical conclusion. She was a transsexual.

  He was still mulling that over when he heard the cellar’s demonic guardian rasp a warning. Would it be Harriet or Harry crossing the threshold? He decided that Harriet would be the lesser of two evils.

  She appeared by the side of his bed without warning. He saw a wild look in her eyes and watched her with mounting anxiety as she walked around the bed. There was a scalpel in her right hand.

  ‘Did you hear Michael die?’

  His memory from a few days ago was hazy. It started with an enchanting bluebell love scene which was interrupted by a nightmare from hell. The words kill, Michael and ox were floating around somewhere but he couldn’t work out how they were connected. He remembered a bright light shone directly into his eyes, stocking tops, suspenders and a jockstrap . . . a high pitched blood curdling scream that would have done Alfred Hitchcock proud and blood dripping off a bed sheet over the nurse’s shoes.

  The grand finale was Harriet’s blood splattered face . . . the fucking freak . . . so, did you hear it? Fortunately, he couldn’t say any of this because she hadn’t removed the tape from his mouth.

  ‘It was a shame he had to die so soon but I can only nurse two patients at a time – you should be grateful I didn’t kill Sam.’ She looked down at his naked body. ‘Tell me Julian - are you as fearless as you appear or is it just a façade?’ She held the scalpel loosely between her fingers and, from his pubic bone to his throat, drew an imaginary line with the blade on his skin.

  He remembered Chase mentioning the stab wounds and severe trauma on the torsos, and he tried not to panic when she positioned the scalpel just above his pubic bone again but this time with a perfect surgeons’ technique in preparation for an incision.

  He made a noise through the tape and she removed it.

  ‘Harriet, why are you doing this - I thought we had something special between us?’ It was until he had finished speaking that he realised he had called her “Harriet”.

  She didn’t appear to notice his mistake. Her eyes stayed on the designated incision point. ‘Special?’

  ‘I’m not sure how you felt but for myself, I was hoping there was a future for us.’

  ‘Do you want me to forget what I saw?’

  He looked at her guardedly.

  ‘You had a woman in your room,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry – did we wake you up when she left?’

  ‘I saw you mount her like a dog with a bitch on heat.

  He swallowed hard . . . she has to be guessing . . .

  ‘I’ve seen you in action, Julian. You present yourself to the world as a perfect gentleman but I’ve witnessed your vile, dishonourable behaviour. You were truly shocking. Harry was furious when I told him.’

  ‘How could . . .’

  ‘A hole in the wall in the laundry cupboard next to your room - it gave me a front row seat to what I can only describe as animalistic behaviour.’

  He shut his eyes and said a silent pray. When he opened them again, the scalpel was still poised over his stomach.

  ‘I thought you liked me.’

  ‘I do like you, Julian. In fact, I think I love you. That’s why I have to make you mine.’

  He hesitated before pressing on. ‘Why can’t I be yours alive?’

  She shook her head. ‘You won’t want to stay with me if you know the truth.’

  ‘How do you know that unless you tell me the truth?’

  ‘You really want to know my secret?’

  He nodded and tried to ignore the warning bells inside his head . . . she’s just going to tell you she’s really a man . . . right?

  Harriet walked around the bed and picked up the urinal from the floor. ‘I think you’d better empty your bladder before you end up with a wet bed.’ She positioned it accurately and walked away allowing him to use it with some degree of privacy. The bottle was removed and emptied in the sink.

  Harriet came back to the bed, and removed the white apron. The nurse’s uniform had buttons down the front to the waist, so that was on the floor in seconds. She was wearing a black lacy bra, black suspenders, stockings and black lacy knickers. Everything looked completely normal and Julian would have been really relieved if she had stopped right there but the unpleasant striptease continued. She took the bra off to reveal a pair of perfectly formed
breasts.

  ‘Do you like my breasts?’

  ‘Harriet - you don’t need to . . . ’

  ‘Yes – I do - you need to see for yourself.’ She bent down to release the stockings from their clips and undid the fastenings at the side of the suspender belt. Wearing only the black lacy knickers, stockings at half-mast and the white nurse’s cap, she got onto the bed to sit astride his thighs.

  The knickers were off with two quick cuts with the scalpel and a tight-fitting black jockstrap was revealed. Julian closed his eyes for a couple of seconds just to give his brain time to catch up.

  ‘Look at me.’

  He opened his eyes to see the jockstrap being cut off to release a set of heavy genitals. The penis was long and semi-erect.’

  ‘Are you shocked?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, not shocked – more surprised than shocked.’

  She smiled. ‘So you think I’m woman enough for you?’

  He couldn’t find any words and just tried to smile.

  ‘Do you think you could learn to love me – all of me?’

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘What man wouldn’t love you?’

  She looked genuinely pleased. ‘If I thought you meant that I think I could persuade Harry to change his mind about killing you.’

  He tried the smile again. ‘Of course I mean it. You know I have strong feelings for you.’

  ‘Can I kiss you?’

  He didn’t reply because he literally couldn’t speak.

  She came forwards on her hands and knees to kiss him and he tried to relax but when the kiss became more passionate and her tongue pushed down his throat, a wave of nausea swept over him. He attempted to move his lips away. She stopped kissing and pulled back to look deep into his eyes, and he watched her expression change. The repulsion he had been trying to hide was out, as painfully obvious as the nose on his face. At first, she slapped him repeatedly but the slaps turned into powerful punches. When she finally ran out of steam, his face was bruised, cut and bleeding and he was losing consciousness.

  He came to when he was choking on ice cold liquid that stank of disinfectant, and a naked Harriet was standing over him with an empty bucket.

  CHAPTER 51

  Tuesday 11 April

  Charlotte and Lizzie arrived at Sussex Gardens at 3:30 p.m. Charlotte parked in the access road a good fifty yards from the house and they settled down for a long wait. They talked about life and relationships and Julian was an unavoidable subject, but Charlotte managed to dodge questions about their bondage session.

  They were hoping Harriet would leave the house at some time but they started their surveillance at 4 p.m. and five hours later there was still no sign of her. They took turns to walk to a local pub to use their toilets. When it was Lizzie’s turn she was too embarrassed to blatantly use them as a public convenience and came back with packets of crisps and nuts.

  ‘Maybe she’s not in at all - there are still no lights on,’ Lizzie said, screwing up the last empty packet of crisps.

  Charlotte rummaged in her bag for the torches and gave one to Lizzie. ‘Come on, we’ll have a look at the back of the house.’

  They left the car and walked down the access road towards Sussex Place, the road that ran down the side of the House. The rear garden at Sussex House was a good two hundred yards long, with six foot fencing. At the end of the fencing, they turned into a narrow access road running behind the row of houses. They stopped at a five foot wooden gate which seemed to be locked from the inside but by standing on the bumper of an old blue Ford Escort van parked next to the gate, Charlotte was able to peer over the top. There was a padlock on the inside latch of the gate.

  ‘We’ll have to climb over,’ she said.

  Lizzie had walked along the width of the fence and around a garage that belonged to the house. She signalled for Charlotte to follow. She had found some loose panels that gave enough space to crawl through when lifted up. In the back garden, Charlotte, sensing Lizzie’s fear, took hold of her hand and led her towards the house. A few feet from the back door they crouched down behind some bins.

  There was a light on in a kitchen window but Charlotte pointed to a small window at ground level. ‘There’s a light on down there - it must be a cellar.’

  They crept up to the window and knelt down to listen.

  ‘I can’t hear anything,’ Lizzie said. ‘The light might have been left on by mistake.’

  ‘I bet there’s no one in.’ Charlotte searched her jeans pocket and brought out a hairgrip.

  ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘I’m going to pick the lock.’

  ‘You know how to do that?’

  ‘It was the only useful thing I learnt at my convent school. Mother Superior kept a few bottles of brandy in her office for the Priest’s weekly visits. We used to fill up small bottles and top up the brandy bottle with water.’

  It took Charlotte only a few seconds to unlock the back door.

  ‘You’re very good at it – you must have drunk a lot of that brandy.’

  ‘Yep – we were budding alcoholics.’ Charlotte led the way through the kitchen and into the hall.

  They went upstairs first. On the first floor they found Julian’s empty room and two doors that were locked. Charlotte opened both doors with her clip. The first door, which was next to Julian’s room, was a laundry cupboard. The other was a large bedroom. In the bedroom they found lots of makeup and blonde wigs.

  ‘It seems the glamorous landlady isn’t a natural blonde,’ Charlotte said.

  Lizzie was checking out the bathroom and came out carrying a jock-strap. ‘Is this what I think it is?’

  Charlotte laughed. ‘Bloody hell – she must have a boyfriend who stays here or . . .’ she grinned and shook her head.

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘I know it’s crazy but maybe Harriet is a man – a crossdresser or transvestite.’

  Lizzie’s jaw dropped open.

  ‘It would account for all the wigs and makeup. Is there any shaving stuff in there?’ Charlotte went through into the bathroom.

  They found a selection of razors and an electric shaver in a bathroom cabinet but there was also a bra hanging on a towel rail.

  ‘There’s no padding – it’s a normal bra,’ Lizzie said. ‘So maybe the jockstrap does belong to a boyfriend. Anyway, one of us should listen out for her coming back. I’m going out on the landing.’

  Charlotte stayed in the bathroom looking at bottles of medicines lined up on a shelf. There were several bottles of oestrogen tablets and some others whose names she didn’t recognise but the name of the patient on the bottles was “Harold Johnson”.

  Lizzie popped her head through the door. ‘I’ve found a back staircase and it goes all the way up to an attic.’

  ‘They’re probably stairs for the servants – I think these houses were built in the late 1800s - they would have had servants.’

  They checked the rooms on the next floor. There were three empty bedrooms which, like Julian’s, were fitted out with beds, furniture and kitchenettes. To get up to the attic they had to go up the back staircase. The torch light made the winding staircase look eerie.

  ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this?’ Lizzie whispered.

  Charlotte unlocked a door at the top of the stairs and they walked down a narrow passageway. There were six doors. The first door on the left was open. It was a bedroom that was overcrowded with too much furniture. Charlotte directed the torchlight around the room and stopped when she saw a bed. There was someone in it, and the wavy white locks of hair shining up in the torchlight obviously belonged to a woman.

  Lizzie gripped hold of Charlotte’s arm. ‘Look how still she is,’ she whispered. ‘Is she breathing?’

  They went closer to the bed. Charlotte reached out to touch the woman on the arm and had to stifle a scream. The body was cold and stiff. She shone the torch light directly onto the face.

  They both let out a shri
ek. It was a skeleton dressed in a grey wig, a nightie and bed jacket.

  ‘Who the hell is that?’ Charlotte said.

  ‘I don’t know and right now I don’t care – let’s get out of here, please.’

  Charlotte shone the torch on a large cabinet where a row of cards were arranged. ‘Mother’s Day cards – this is a shrine.’

  ‘I’m going,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Ok – wait for me.’

  They checked the other rooms in the attic before going back downstairs but they were just storage rooms for furniture and boxes.

  ‘I bet those rooms were the servants’ bedrooms,’ Lizzie said, as they went down the back staircase.

  They passed two floors and ended up back in the kitchen. Charlotte walked back into the hall and opened a door into a spacious sitting room. There was a desk by the window and the typewriter sitting on it looked familiar. She went over to it to take a closer look.

  ‘I saw a typewriter like this in Julian’s room.’

  ‘It is Julian’s,’ Lizzie said, pointing to the initials engraved in a metal plate on the top. ‘S Hartmann – the S is for Samuel - it was his grandfather’s.’

  ‘He would never leave without it, would he?’ Charlotte said.

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘That light in the cellar – Julian might be in there?’ Charlotte said.

  ‘Why would he be in the cellar?’ Lizzie’s eyes opened wide as the penny dropped. ‘Oh, my God – we have to tell the police.’

  ‘Let’s see if we can get in there first.’

  They went back into the kitchen. At the back of it, tucked away between a washing machine and enamelled sink, was a white heavily lacquered wooden door with a brass plate engraved with the words “Ward Sister”.

  ‘This must be the cellar.’ Charlotte said, getting out her clip but Lizzie pulled her away.

  ‘We should call the police.’ Lizzie whispered. ‘One of us could wait here out of sight and the other could ring them.’