“She is hypnotised, Julius, and we must get her out of here. There is always the danger that the hypnotic state will break down, and we cannot have her coming to her senses and screaming the house down, can we?” Walter touched the woman on the shoulder. “Dreamover.”
Julius did not understand the word, but the woman clearly did. She stood and began to dress. Julius watched her with all the fascination of a young man introduced to women’s dress for the first time. The delicate way in which she pulled up her directoire knickers, the softness with which she smoothed down her silk stockings, and the precision employed as she tucked her blouse into her skirt.
Walter then led her downstairs and out the rear of his house where he had a BMW motorcycle and sidecar parked. He helped the woman into the sidecar and motioned for Julius to take the pillion seat. Walter put on helmet and goggles, kick-started the motorcycle and presently they were roaring along through the dark forests, along the icy roads east of the city.
Thirty kilometres from Heidelberg, not far from the small town of Eberbach, Walter pulled off the road into the thick woods to the north of the road, ordered the woman to get out of the sidecar, and ushered both her and Julius into the forest.
Julius felt no fear, only curiosity. Was his new master, who in the space of a single day had saved him from prison and introduced him to the pleasures of sexual union, simply going to abandon this woman here?
Once they were out of sight of the road and any possible interference, Walter stood behind the woman, slipped an arm around her neck, and clutched her breast. Then with a speed and ferocity that surprised Julius, he brought out a knife and slashed it through the veins and arteries of her neck.
Blood erupted from the wound, the trance state broke down, she came to full realisation of what was happening and opened her mouth to scream. Before she could utter a sound, Walter pushed her to the icy ground. For some moments she thrashed, clutching at her torn throat, and then all was still.
By the trees, Julius trembled. He was in shock, suddenly afraid of his new employer, the man he had chosen to call master.
Walter rounded up on him, and there was no mistaking his determination. “I told you my last manservant left my service, Julius. He also left this life. Why? Because he threatened to go to the police. Are you going to go to the police, Julius?”
Too terrified to speak, Julius shook his head.
“Good. Tomorrow, we will find a new playmate, and when it is time for her to be dispensed, you will do it, not me. And then, Julius, you will never be able to go to the police.”
They returned to Neuenheim, Walter took a bath and Julius used the water after him. The following day, Julius would take Walter’s clothing to the laundry, and burn his own in favour of the uniform Walter supplied, a simple, white, half smock coat, and dark trousers.
Julius Reiniger lay awake on his cot far into the night, wondering what best to do. If he ran away, where would he go? Walter had a motorcycle. He could move far faster than Julius. He had money, Julius had nothing, not even the clothing he had stood up in anymore.
If he went to the police, they would undoubtedly arrest Walter, but it would be this crazed hypnotist’s word against Julius’s and Walter would probably claim that Julius had killed the woman to prevent her handing him over as a fugitive of the Beer Hall Putsch.
He faced the hard facts of life. He had run from the National Socialists, he had run from the police, he had run from the baker, but he could not run from Franz Walter.
4
The wall clock at Scarbeck police station read a few minutes after nine when Detective Inspector Millie Matthews hurried into the CID room to find only Detective Sergeant Dave Thurrock in residence, and even he was gathering up sheets of A4 paper from the photocopier as if he was in a hurry to leave.
“The old man’s going apeshit, guv,” Thurrock said. “He’s in the briefing room with everyone else.”
“I got caught in the morning rush, didn’t I? What the hell’s going on?”
“Burke’s out. Escaped last night.”
Millie gaped. “Jesus.”
“Call came from Nottingham just after midnight. Kid we had on nights didn’t realise who Burke was, so he just logged it as a routine call for an escaped con. Ernie turned it at eight, saw the report and the shit hit the fan big style.”
Thurrock hurried towards the briefing room attached to the CID area. Millie followed and found almost everyone at the station crowded around the tables, concentrating on Detective Superintendent Ernie Shannon, who stood front and centre before a large map of England.
Short and balding, a long-serving officer with an impressive arrest record, Shannon was known for his attention to detail and impatience with inefficiency, particularly when it involved tardiness in a senior officer.
“Well, now that we’re all here, let’s get on with it.”
“Sorry, sir,” Millie apologised, taking a seat alongside him. “Got caught in the roadworks on Warton Approach.”
“Save it for later, Millie.” Shannon turned his attention away from his subordinate and took in the whole room. “At half past nine last night, Gerald Burke, who we know as The Handshaker, was taken from Hattersley prison near Nottingham, to Queen’s Medical Centre after suffering a suspected heart attack. Medical procedures demanded that he be kept overnight, so he was moved to a ward. During that process, he overpowered and killed both his warders, and a nurse. He then walked out of the hospital dressed in the nurse’s clothing, and took a taxi away from the hospital. That was at 11.20pm. The taxi was found on Trowell Services on the outskirts of Ilkeston a couple of hours later, and the driver was in the boot, dead.” Shannon pointed to pins on the map highlighting the two locations. “CCTV on the service area shows two people, one in a nurse’s uniform, hitching a lift. They climbed into a van at one fifteen in the morning. Traffic cameras picked up the van on the hard shoulder near Bolsover in Derbyshire, about twenty miles north of Trowell. A man is seen to climb out of the passenger side, then get in the driver’s side. We assume it to be Burke.” Shannon pointed further north to Leeds. “The van was found at five this morning in the Beeston area of Leeds, the driver dead in the back. We don’t know what happened to the other person who got into the van with the nurse at Trowell, but we’re operating on the assumption that he was Burke’s accomplice. The van was found by two officers answering a 999 call reporting a woman in trouble with two men in one of the side streets not far away. She, too, was a nurse and was on her way to work at four forty-five. She didn’t turn up at work, and she’s not answering her mobile phone. West Yorkshire haven’t yet traced her car, either, and we assume that Burke and his accomplice now have her. Nottingham actually called us at midnight, but young Jones on the desk didn’t realise its importance, which is good news for Burke but drops us right in it.” Again using a pointer, Shannon traced the route on the map. “His movements are consistently north and west and it’s safe to assume he’s making for Scarbeck. It may be that he’s here already.”
Millie put up a tentative hand and Shannon raised his eyebrows at her.
“Felix Croft is living in Tenerife now, sir, so Burke has no target here other than Trish Sinclair, and she’s at the hospital where no one, not even Burke, can get at her.”
“We’re aware of that, Millie.” Shannon went back to addressing the room. “As Inspector Matthews has just pointed out, Burke has no apparent targets here in Scarbeck other than us, and I reckon we can take care of our end, but…” he paused to emphasise his warning, “bear in mind he’s dressed as a nurse. He may very well try gaining access to Patricia Sinclair. When the briefing is over, I’ll be posting two uniformed officers on duty outside her ward until such times as Burke is recaptured. Detective Sergeant Thurrock has copies of all the relevant details, including the registration number of the car belonging to the missing nurse from Leeds.” His eyes gleamed in the fluorescent lighting. “As of this moment, until Burke is recaptured, all leave is cancelled. Detective Sergeant Fletcher is sit
ting his Inspector’s Exam today, but he will be back with us tomorrow. This has absolute priority over everything. I don’t care if we have a mob of armed taxpayers bearing down on the town hall, this is the number one priority. For those of you who were not with us during The Handshaker affair, I expect you to familiarise yourself with the details, particularly Burke’s appearance and his modus operandi. If you spot him or his unknown accomplice, do not approach them alone. Most of our heroes are in the cemetery, and I don’t want anyone else joining them. Call for back up.” He paused again, allowing time for his words to sink in. “Right. That’s it. DC Thurrock will give you your info sheets, duty rosters and beats. Let’s get out there and get this madman back where he belongs.”
The briefing began to break up with a noisy scraping of chairs on the composition floor tiles, and officers crowding round Thurrock for instructions.
Millie made her way to join Shannon as he left for the CID room.
“Sorry I was late, guv, but the traffic…”
“No problem, Millie.” Shannon led her across the room to his small office. “I had nothing planned for today and I was taking my time until I saw that call from Nottingham. I’ve spent the last hour running round like a blue-arsed fly chasing up all these reports. Nottingham, Derbyshire and West Yorkshire are all trying to lay claim to him, and I’ve had the usual dogfight getting the information out of them.” He pushed his way into the office, took his seat behind the desk, waved Millie into one of the two visitor chairs, and picked up the phone. “Superintendent Shannon,” he barked. “Two teas in my office five minutes ago. Cheers.” He dropped the receiver, leaned across and turned the vertical blinds so that they let in the murky July daylight. Looking back to Millie, he asked, “Croft?”
Millie chewed her lip. “When he left, sir, he swore blind he would never come back, and aside from odd visits on business and what have you, he never has.”
“I don’t like him, Millie. You know that. But credit where it’s due, he’s the best weapon we have against Burke. He knows how that bastard thinks; he can solve the stupid puzzles Burke throws at us. Any danger you can get him back here?”
She shrugged. “He blames himself for what happened to Trish Sinclair. I’ve been out to see him twice since he moved to Tenerife, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve called him. He even asked me to stay there, live with him. He won’t come back here. All I can say, sir, is I’ll bell him, and try.”
“Do it,” Shannon ordered. “In the meantime, I’m sending Thurrock down to the hospital to make sure Sinclair is well guarded.”
***
Tied to the bed while Burke took her, Trish Sinclair closed her eyes and mind to the horror. From the floor, the sound of Belinda, her sister-in-law, suffering the same fate at the hands of Billy, reached her ears.
Trish’s brother, Ted, lay dead downstairs, clubbed to death by Burke when he first arrived at their luxurious detached house at Appleton, near Warrington. Then the two men had tied and gagged both her and Belinda and dragged them to the bedroom where their clothing was torn off and they were bound, Trish to the bed, Belinda to the bed’s lower legs, and raped. Billy had her first, while Burke had Belinda, and now they had swapped.
Trish had been living with her brother and his wife for several months, having been discharged into his care. Ted and Belinda had tried to tell her all the things that had happened, but she found it difficult to take in. Had she really been in hospital for over a year?
She had no recollection of Cromford Mill, and only vague memories of having been kept prisoner at Burke’s house for a week during The Handshaker murders.
Of one thing she had been certain. She wanted Felix. But Ted had insisted Felix was responsible for her problems. Later, while Ted was out at work, Belinda had gone into more detail. Unlike her brother, Belinda admired Felix, and she was more truthful. Felix had tried to rescue Trish; he had spent a week searching for her, and had confronted Burke on that final Sunday morning. None of it was Felix’s fault, and yet, in common with Ted and Andrew, Trish’s other brother, he had shouldered the blame and moved to Tenerife where he could no longer threaten the safety of Trish or any other woman in Scarbeck.
Belinda had tried to get an address where Trish could contact Felix, but emails to the Scarbeck police had met with legally and politically correct refusals, insisting that even if they knew, they were not permitted to disclose such information.
And now… now Burke and his bullying friend had arrived at her brother’s home to put her through the same ordeal all over again. And not just her; Belinda, too. A pair of evil men satisfying their sadistic lust on her and her sister-in-law, while Ted, beloved Ted lay dead downstairs, his skull caved in with a prison officer’s riot stick.
Trish had no doubt that when he was finished with Belinda, they may both be murdered but Burke had refused to commit himself.
“We may, we may not,” he had told her. “Your boyfriend has something I want, and I’ll need to turn the screw to get him to give it to me. But don’t worry. If I decide to kill you, it won’t be long before I send him to eternity to join you.”
Trish held her tongue. There was little point in arguing with this maniac. All she could do was close her eyes to the horrors before her, and pray that when Felix did show up, he would be capable of beating them.
***
Burke ejaculated and paused a moment to savour the spasmodic thrills coursing through him. Second… no third time today. The nurse from Leeds, and now these two bitches with which he and Billy played swapsies.
“A year and a half without a fuck does wonders for your libido, you know,” he said to Billy as he climbed from the bed.
The place had been easy enough to find, thanks to Billy’s work over the past few weeks. Situated on a quiet, suburban street, they had parked the car belonging to the nurse from Leeds further along, and ambled up the long drive to the semi-secluded detached house, noting Ted Sinclair’s chocolate coloured Range Rover and his wife’s Ford Focus parked in the drive.
“That’s ours,” Billy had said, indicating the Range Rover as he rang the bell.
A large and spacious garden surrounded the two-storey house, but Ted, obviously keen on maintaining his privacy, had planted tall hedgerows to keep the nosy neighbours at bay. The lawns and flowerbeds were well-tended, the house bright and cheerful from what looked like a recent coat of paint, and Ted Sinclair was also in a cheery, summery mood when he answered the door.
It did not last. Before Ted could say a word, Billy had beaten him half to death on the doorstep. Dragging the inert man into the kitchen, he had finished the job off while Burke cornered the two frightened women, snatching the mobile phone from Belinda’s hands as she tried to call the police.
Forcing the two terrified women upstairs, bindings were easy to find. Tights, stockings, plenty of flimsy knickers to use as gags.
And then… the pleasure.
“Now we have to deal with the two whores before we can move on,” Burke said, bending to stroke Belinda’s tight breast. “Won’t be long, chickadee, and we’ll get shot of you. It’s going to hurt. But it won’t last long.”
Burke reached for the baton, but Billy stayed him.
“Know what Sinclair keeps downstairs?”
“What?” Burke asked.
“Follow me.”
They left the bedroom and made their way downstairs.
Arriving in the vast open space of the living room, Billy looked around. “Ah! There they are.”
He approached a large display cabinet lining one wall, filled with guns, from small pistols to rifles and a shotgun. He pulled at the door. Locked. Bugger. Snatching up Vince Alton’s baton, he smashed it against the glass. Shards flew everywhere, one barely missing his eye.
“Fuck.”
He reached into the cabinet and pulled out a Webley .22 revolver. He hefted the gun in his hand. Perfect. Hardly good for long range shooting, but ideal for what he had in mind now.
“How’s
that, Gerry?”
“Never used one.” Burke smiled. “You knew these were here, didn’t you?”
Billy nodded. “Remember what you told me about doing your homework? When the hospital told me Sinclair had been moved to her brother’s home, he wasn’t hard to find. He’s well known in these parts, you see, and he had this website crowing about his guns.” He hefted the revolver again. “Surprised he hasn’t been done over before, you know. Always plenty of lags looking for some artillery.”
Finding ammunition took a little longer, but he eventually unearthed fifty rounds in a locked cabinet in the spare room which served as Ted Sinclair’s office. He loaded the chambers and returned to the kitchen, where Ted lay.
“Hadn’t you better test it?” Burke waved a vague hand at the weapons. “They might just be showpieces.”
“Not according to the website,” Billy grunted. He pressed the barrel to the dead man’s temple, Billy yanked the trigger. It resounded with a satisfying crack, and blood and brains spread everywhere.
Billy smiled broadly. “Perfect.”
5
From the first, bewildering and in many ways, frightening days with Herr Walter, Julius learned much.
Walter was a homeopath, but described himself as Dr Bergen. He had his rooms in Neuenheim, and an office in Karlsruhe. Here in Neuenheim, one room was reserved for ‘consultations’, and in a large display cupboard he kept all the chemicals, natural and pharmaceutical, he required to mix up his concoctions.
“One day, Julius, when I believe you to be ready, I will teach you the secrets of my art.”
Walter, he soon learned, was completely without morals, totally lacking in compunction. He travelled much of Southern Germany, seeking his victims, comfortably introducing himself into local society, and within days had usually hypnotised one or two women, taken as much money from them as he could, and laid them a time or two. Some he murdered for his own sadistic pleasure, others he left in a state of confusion, usually dropping them off in a town or city far from home. In the depths of the bitter winter of 1925, he abandoned an Augsburg woman on the shores of Lake Constance on the Swiss border where she froze to death overnight, and another woman, from Frankfurt this time, was left in the depths of the Black Forest, where she was found days later, in a state of exhaustion suffering from exposure and near to death.
The Deep Secret Page 4
