by Helen L Lowe
‘Would you like coffee or soup? I see you’ve bought some chicken soup.’
‘No, thank you - I can manage now.’
She came bustling back into the room. ‘Nonsense, you can hardly walk.’ She folded down his bed covers. ‘Where are your pyjamas?’
Julian was only just holding it together, with the words ‘piss off’ begging to be said. .
‘Pyjamas?’ she said, looking directly at him.
‘I don’t have any.’
Her lips curved up in a quirky smile. ‘Oh, I see - I’ll just check on that soup.’
He sat on the bed and silently counted to ten.
‘I thought it would be easier for you to have the soup in a mug,’ she said as she came out of the kitchen, ‘less chance of spilling it.’ She put it down on the bedside table. ‘I’ll say goodnight to you then but you must call me in the night if you take a turn for the worse.’ She opened the door and looked back. ‘Can I count on you for the Sunday roast tomorrow?’
Julian, relieved that she was actually leaving, was taken off-guard. ‘Yes, of course.’
Her smile lit up her face. ‘I’m so pleased - I’ll be setting the table up in the sitting room for one o’clock.’
‘Ok, thank you - and thank you for your help today.’
When the door shut behind her, he breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there, he thought she was going to strip him naked.
CHAPTER 13
Brompton Cemetery, Fulham Road
10 p.m. Saturday 25 March
John Erikson waited by the entrance to Brompton Cemetery for five minutes until he saw Jenkins’ car drive down the Fulham Road. He walked into the cemetery and followed the path around in a semi-circle to a row of benches that surrounded a memorial to the fallen soldiers of the First World War. He sat down, lit a cigarette and waited for a solitary figure to approach from the top entrance. Jenkins was a fast walker.
‘This better be good,’ Erikson said, getting to his feet. They walked along as they spoke.
‘Dr Julian Hartmann - recognise the name?’ Jenkins said.
‘Why - d’you know him?’
‘We arrested him outside the Coleherne Tuesday night.’
Erikson stopped walking and turned to look at him. ‘Why, for God’s sake?’
‘It was a tip off from one of our surveillance guys in the pub - they watched you getting all gooey-eyed over him - thought he was worth bringing in.’
‘Because they saw him with me?’
Jenkins nodded.
‘Was he questioned?’
‘Yes - but we roughed him up a bit before we took him in,’ Jenkins said, laughing. ‘You should’ve been there – he was scared shitless.’
Erikson glared at him with a look of thunder.
‘Don’t worry - it should heal without too many scars and if you don’t like his face anymore - well, you know what they say about stoking the fire.’
Erikson’s right arm shot out in a split second and grabbed Jenkins by the throat. ‘It’s unwise to make jokes at my expense,’ he said, tightening his grip until Jenkins started to choke. ‘Do I make myself clear?
* * *
The King’s Head, Fulham Road
12:05 p.m. Easter Sunday 26 March
John was eating a very tasty Sunday roast when he was interrupted by two uniformed police officers. He was taken to Paddington Green police station for questioning. The two detectives giving him the third degree were DS Cooper, who had been in the taxi with Chase the other night, and DI Trent, who he had never met before.
The first lot of questions were just repeats of the ones asked on his last visit. All related to Dave, their relationship and his assault. He answered them in monotone, making it obvious he thought it was all a waste of time. After twenty minutes, Trent stood up and announced a ten minute break. John was offered a drink but when it arrived the coffee was very strong and had a weird fishy taste. He wished he’d asked for sugar.
When Trent and Cooper came back into the room the questions started again.
‘Do you know Julian Hartmann?’ Trent asked.
‘Yes, I met him in the Coleherne - Tuesday night, I believe.’
‘Was that your first meeting?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you in a relationship with him?’
He hesitated . . . why all the questions about Julian.
‘Answer the question.’
‘We’ve only just met.’
‘Is that a yes or a no?’
‘No.’
‘Bet you’d like to be,’ Cooper said.
John ignored the comment.
‘Did you know he’s looking for his son?’
‘Yes, he told me - Sam, I think he said his name was - he showed me a photograph.’
‘Did you tell Hartmann you recognised him?’
‘Yes, I said I’d seen him at the Coleherne occasionally.’
‘Was that the only place you’ve seen him?’
‘Yes.’
Trent opened a folder in front of him. He took out a photograph and showed it to John. ‘This was taken on Wednesday twenty-second of February on Fulham Road, two hundred yards from your block of flats. As you can see, it’s yourself and a young man we now know is Hartmann’s son, Sam Bennett.’
John tried not to react. ‘Is it?’ He took a closer look at the photograph. ‘I suppose it does look like him but he was just a lad I met in the street. I didn’t recognise him at the time. He asked for directions to Parson’s Green tube station and I was letting him walk with me so I could show him which road to go down.’
There was a knock on the door and a uniformed police officer popped his head in. He gave Trent a meaningful look.
‘We’ll take a break,’ Trent said, standing up.
Cooper followed Trent out and a uniformed officer stayed in the room.
John was relieved to have some time to work out what direction the questions would go next. He hadn’t expected questions about Julian, and the photograph of him with Sam was a blow. If Julian had seen it, there was no way the man would trust him now.
* * *
Paddington Green Police Station
1:30 p.m. Easter Sunday 26 March
Julian had made up his mind to help the police with Erikson but that didn’t stop him from feeling nervous. He was escorted to an office on the third floor and politely asked to take a seat. Chase entered the room five minutes later.
He sat opposite Julian and placed a thick folder on the table in front of him. ‘Thank you for agreeing to help us - time is precious as you know. I’m going to tell you what we have on John Erikson so that you know the kind of man you’re dealing with.’ He opened the folder and pulled out the top sheet.
‘Erikson is a Londoner born and bred; now forty four, he has a criminal record for a string of minor offences, mainly assault, when he was in his twenties. He was convicted for drug dealing when he was thirty and served six years of a nine year sentence. After being released in 1958, he was the prime suspect for the murders of two men but at the time we didn’t have enough evidence to make it stick. In 1959 he was arrested for the assault and rape of a sixteen-year-old boy and he served five years of a seven year sentence in Wormwood Scrubs. Since his release in 1964, he has been arrested twice for assault. The first case was dropped because the victim died in a hit and run accident, and the second is in limbo because the victim, David Woods, is missing.’
He paused and looked at Julian. ‘It’s too much of a coincidence that the first torso was washed up in the Thames just a few months after Erikson was released from prison, and there are similarities between the dismembered bodies that have been recovered from the Thames over the last three years and the two bodies found in Soho in 1958.’
‘What sort of similarities?’
Chase let out a heavy sigh. ‘I’m not sure telling you all this is a good idea. You can’t repeat it to anyone - especially that girlfriend of yours.’
‘I won’t tell anyone, I give you
my word but I think you need to tell me everything if I’m going to put my life on the line.’
Chase nodded. ‘Yes, you have a point.’ He cleared his throat. ‘All the victims since 1964 whose body parts we have recovered from the Thames show signs of torture with stab wounds, severe abdominal trauma, and crude red tattoos that were carved out in the skin on all the separate body parts. There are also some toes missing on several of the victims, which are thought to have been removed prior to death. So far, we have only recovered three torsos but there are body parts for a total of five victims. On the torsos recovered, the genitalia have been sliced off and the penises were inserted into the rectums. Identification has been impossible, with the fingertips burnt with acid and no heads to give us dental records.
The similarities between the two murder victims in 1958 and our current ones are interesting. Although the 1958 victims were not dismembered or beheaded, they had similar red tattoos and their genitalia had been mutilated in the same way as the more recent victims. They were murdered in an empty warehouse in East London’s docks and left there to be discovered. When they were identified as Jimmy Jones and George Hall, drug dealers with criminal records and known associates of John Erikson, we were pretty sure that Erikson was the murderer. He had been seen just days earlier fighting with them outside the Coleherne and we had witnesses that would testify to Erikson threatening to kill them.’
‘But I thought the recent victims were killed by someone who hates homosexuals. At least, that’s what I’ve read in the papers,’ Julian said, ‘and there’s no doubt that Erikson is homosexual himself.’
‘I admit it sounds a bit odd but we’ve consulted a psychiatrist and he has confirmed that the killer is probably homosexual or bisexual, and that he has a severe mental illness. In fact, to be singling out homosexuals for his victims, he is most likely to be fighting something inside himself.’
‘If he is the murderer of the two men in 1958 and also the recent victims, why would he change what he does to them?’
‘An interesting point - it’s not uncommon for serial killers to alter their way of doing things – their special modus operandi – as the killings continue. It’s as if they are trying to perfect it, like an artist honing his craft, but we think the killer has started cutting up the bodies so they can be disposed of more easily.’
‘And the tattoos or whatever they are?’
‘We think they’re a way of numbering the victims – some bright spark worked out that they’re ancient Greek symbols for numbers.’ He took another sheet of paper from the folder that had a list of numbers with their equivalent Greek symbol.
‘The first two in 1958 were numbered six and seven.’ He pointed to the numbers and the years written in pen beside them. ‘In 1964, the body parts recovered were tattooed with the number eight. In the last two years the torsos and body parts have continued and we’re now up to the twelve victim. So we can reasonably assume that there are five victims predating 1958 that have not been recovered. The rate of escalation in the victims is particularly alarming. Unfortunately, someone in the police has been leaking information to the press and there are a number of rumours circulating.’
‘Yes, I read it in a paper a few weeks ago. They said that Prince Charles had been threatened. Is it true?’
‘We’ve received two letters from someone claiming to be the Thames Butcher. The first one, last October, claimed that the killings were to exterminate the scum of humanity from the streets of London. It stated that, so far, there had been ten victims and the numbers would increase month by month. The second one, in January, said the number of victims was eleven. It challenged us to catch the killer before he reached his eighteenth and final victim, eighteen-year-old Prince Charles. We have no proof it’s from the killer. It could easily be some other nutter trying to gain notoriety and mess up the investigation. However, as you can imagine, we are under a lot of pressure to make an arrest.’
‘And you really think Erikson is the killer?’
‘Well, you could say he’s the prime suspect but more accurately, he’s our only suspect. Since his arrest after his assault on Woods ten weeks ago, he has been under surveillance but again we have no real evidence yet to charge him with the murders. That’s our reason for asking you to help us.’
‘So you want me to get close to him - how close?’
‘I want you to chat to him, accept any invitations that he gives you to go to his flat or the gym. Encourage him to talk about himself - about his childhood - past relationships - that sort of thing. Once he knows he can trust you he might open up and give us enough information to charge him.’
‘And if he is the killer and he decides I’m his next victim?’
‘If we think you’re in danger we’ll be in there but if the situation suddenly turns bad you can say something - a word or words - a get out code that you can use to alert us that you’re in real danger.’
‘How are you defining “real danger”?’ Julian couldn’t hide the irony in his voice.
Chase paused. ‘I know this isn’t going to be easy - I believe you when you say you’re not homosexual and I know Erikson is, so there will be situations that you’re going to find difficult - perhaps even alarming - but you’re strong and healthy and from the look of you, I’m guessing that you’ve done some sort of physical training or combat sport.’
‘But Erikson is a big man and built like a body builder.’
‘And you’re younger and smarter - I think you could take care of yourself in most situations.’ He looked at Julian thoughtfully. ‘In all your years as a doctor, surely you’ve dealt with patients who were aggressive - I bet you talked them through their distress and calmed them down - and in a similar way you could probably talk Erikson out of doing anything you’re not happy with before he gets out of control. Have you made a decision about a sedative?’
‘Yes - I just have to find a way of getting hold of it.’
‘I can’t help you with that I’m afraid, and if there was any suggestion that I condoned the use of drugs it could jeopardise our case in court. Also, if you need to talk or contact us I want you to talk to me - is that clear?’
‘Is there something I should be aware of?’
‘I have concerns about the integrity of my team. By that, I mean someone is passing information on to the press and possibly to Erikson. So, if you need to contact me be careful who you speak to on the phone - and don’t give your real name. Say you’re Mr Hawk.’
‘Hawk?’
‘I give all my informers names of birds. Whoever answers the phone at the station will just assume you’re my snitch - and there’s something else - when you see Erikson again you can’t suddenly change your attitude and behaviour towards him. He’s used to you being scared.’
‘Did I really look that scared in the Coleherne?’
‘Well, perhaps nervous would be more accurate. When a homosexual propositions a straight man or a man who hasn’t - I think the expression is “come out” - he would expect the man to be cautious, nervous even. It’s one of the reasons why our undercover men have failed to get close to Erikson. He sussed them out every time.’ He returned the photographs to the folder. ‘Dr Hartmann, it’s not too late to say no.’
Julian shook his head. ‘I’ve made up my mind - when do you want me to start?’
‘He goes to the Coleherne most Sunday afternoons for the Jazz and doesn’t usually leave until around nine. So, this afternoon or tonight would be an ideal starting point. We’ll keep him here in the station until everything’s set up. He’s in an interview room as we speak – we brought him in after you phoned me this morning. He thinks he was brought in to answer more questions about David Woods.’
Chase closed the folder. ‘Any idea what you could say as a signal to get you out?’
Julian thought for a few moments. How about sortez-moi de là?’
‘And that means?’
‘Get me out of here.’
Chase smiled. ‘I’m not
sure anyone in the surveillance team speaks French.’
‘I’ll write it down.’ He wrote it in French and English.
‘Do you speak French fluently?’
‘Yes, I have done since I was very young - my mother was French.’
They walked side by side down the corridor towards the stairs and lifts.
Before they got into the lift Chase said, ‘I’ll ring you later this afternoon to confirm that everything’s set up. We won’t release Erikson until it is.’
By the doors of the staff exit at the back of the station they shook hands.
‘I want to thank you for agreeing to help us,’ Chase said. ‘Most people would have said no.’
‘No need to thank me - I’m thinking of my son - that was your advice, remember.’
CHAPTER 14
After leaving the police station, Julian drove over to St Mary’s Hospital in Praed Street and parked in a bay marked for doctors. He didn’t know if or when Joe was next on duty but the casualty department would be subject to the usual shifts so it was an evens chance. He entered the hospital via the casualty entrance and turned right to the reception desk. A nurse standing by the desk looked at him expectantly.
‘I was wondering if Dr Joe Saunders was here today.’
‘Yes, but he’s busy with a patient at the moment. We have another doctor who could see you sooner.’ She was looking at the bruises and cuts on his face.
‘I’m not a patient - I’m an old friend of Joe’s. Dr Hartmann.’
‘Take a seat - I’ll let him know you’re here.’
She came back seconds later. ‘Dr Saunders wants you to wait in an examination room.’ She indicated for him to follow her and led him into one of the rooms. ‘Take a seat, he won’t be long.’
Julian sat in a chair next to the couch and waited anxiously. He had rehearsed in his head what he would say to Joe and, in his head, it had gone well but now he started having doubts. Joe arrived looking professional in a long white coat and a stethoscope hung around his neck. He shut the door and pointed to the couch.
