Hartmann: Malicious Rules (Hartmann thriller series Book 1)

by Helen L Lowe

  ‘I have feelings for him, not like I have for you but we’ve been together a long time – and he’s a good father.’

  ‘And his temper?’

  ‘I know someday I may have to leave him but . . .’ she stopped speaking as tears ran down her cheeks.

  He put his arms around her and held her until she stopped crying. ‘If we can only meet when you come to London, I can live with that but only if you can. I don’t want you to do anything that will make things hard for you.’

  ‘It’s just that I have the children to think of - but I do want to see you.’ She lifted her face to his and kissed him. ‘Now that we’ve found each other again, I don’t think I can live without you . . .’ her voice broke and she was in tears again.

  He held her close and buried his face in her hair. ‘Sweetheart, don’t cry – I’ll always be here if you need me.’ When her tears had subsided he stood facing her with his hands on her shoulders. ‘Now, no more tears – be thankful that we’ve found each other again – we’ll see each other when we can and that time will be precious to us. Just accept what we have now.’

  She nodded and gave him a weak smile. ‘Yes, I will, I promise but I don’t want you to put your life on hold – it’s simply not fair on you.’

  ‘Are we talking about girlfriends?’ He thought of Charlotte.

  ‘Yes – if you find someone special I want you to feel free to marry her and have a family of your own.’

  ‘But if I did that, it would be the end of us - I couldn’t marry someone else with the thought of still seeing you – of loving you.’

  She nodded. ‘I know but I’ve thought about this a lot over the last few weeks and I’ve made up my mind. I want you to have the freedom to marry someone else.’

  They kissed again for the last time and walked back to the lifts. He watched her step into the lift and smiled at her as the doors closed, and he slowly walked back to the ward with his eyes brimming with tears.

  * * *

  Block Six, Broadmoor, Crowthorne, Berkshire

  Tuesday 20 June

  Harry Johnson lay on his bed and watched the pigeons on the ledge outside the small barred window. He was being held pre-trial in Broadmoor, a high security psychiatric hospital. The single cells were kept for the ‘highly dangerous’ inmates and Harry was pleased to be called dangerous but the lack of an audience gave him little opportunity to weave his particular kind of madness.

  On Tuesday afternoons, the library trolley, a service run by a voluntary organisation linked to the Salvation Army, came past all the cells. Harry didn’t enjoy reading books but there was a selection of newspapers to be given out and he liked the Daily Mirror. He waited impatiently for the trolley. It was late, not a common occurrence, and Harry snatched at the paper when it was pushed through the bars. The date on the paper was four days ago and the headline:

  NHS DOCTOR RECEIVES THE GEORGE CROSS FOR BRAVERY

  Dr. Julian Hartmann who had risked his life to help the police capture the Thames Butcher has been awarded the George Cross. Hartmann volunteered to assist the police in gathering evidence to secure the arrest of the prime suspect, John Erikson. Erikson, who is a known homosexual with a criminal record for assault and rape, was charged with accessory to murder David Woods, a barman at The Coleherne pub, a venue frequented by homosexuals. Woods was killed during the shoot of a gay porn film. Erikson was also charged with kidnapping, sexual assault, grievous bodily harm, drug trafficking, soliciting, importuning and conspiracy to corrupt public morals. At the Old Bailey, Erikson was found guilty on all counts and will be sentenced in two weeks’ time.

  Hartmann’s subsequent abduction by Harold Johnson, when he was severely injured and close to death, directed the police to the real Thames Butcher. The police found six heads from Johnson’s victims buried in garden tubs. They also discovered another three skeletons behind a wall in the cellar and two skeletons under the concrete floor. A skeleton in the attic was identified as Johnson’s mother.

  The article ended with a mention of Harry having psychiatric assessments before his trial and the photograph they had of him made him look quite mad. It brought a smile to his face.

  The psychiatric assessments were on Wednesdays and it was the only time Harry was allowed out of the cell. Two wardens escorted him, handcuffed, along the third level walkway, down the steps to the second level, down two more levels to the ground floor and out of the main block to the double gated exit. Once through both sets of gates, the medical centre was connected via a walkway off to the right and Harry couldn’t for the life of him understand why the powers that be hadn’t recognised that the medical centre was the weakest point in the prison’s security.

  Dr. Richard Macintyre’s office was on the ground floor on the right after entering the medical centre. Macintyre was the lead psychiatrist and, crucially for Harry, was the person who would write the report. His report would either confirm he was in his right mind at the time of the murders and could be tried for murder or that he was suffering from a mental disorder that prevented him from understanding what he was doing or from recognising that what he was doing was wrong. Under the Criminal Procedure (Insanity) Act, if he was found to be not guilty of murder due to a mental disorder he would be detained in a secure psychiatric unit.

  Macintyre listened to everything and anything Harry told him. He even called him Harriet during the sessions when requested. He was like a sponge, soaking up every drop of information, every little lie Harry cared to invent. Macintyre was particularly interested in Harry’s father and appeared unaffected by Harry’s description of how he systematically tortured the man to death.

  Harry tried to explain why he mutilated the victims’ bodies but Macintyre seemed slow to understand. He said he understood why Harry had tattooed the victims with ancient Greek numbers, and why he had dismembered them to make disposal of their bodies easier but why had he removed the genitalia and inserted the penises into the rectums. Macintyre actually suggested it was because Harry wanted to cut off his own penis.

  What Macintyre failed to understand was that Harry couldn’t explain it. Just as he couldn’t explain why he needed to nurse them, render them completely helpless and reliant on him in the weeks and often months prior to their deaths.

  The wardens often joked that Macintyre was wasting his time psychoanalysing Harry and he laughed along with them, even when they laughed at him for needing to pee before and crap after each and every appointment with the psychiatrist. The toilets were at the back of the medical centre and Harry always went in the same cubicle. The implement he used to work on the screws holding the bars over the window was a bronze oriental paper knife he had taken from Macintyre’s office on the very first session. He hid it at the back of the toilet cistern. There were ten screws holding the bars in place, and so far he had managed to loosen five. When all ten were done, it would require just a couple of turns on each of them to remove the bars. After that, there was just the weak point in the wall that all the inmates knew about, and one electric fence to negotiate before freedom was guaranteed.

  * * *

  It was a crazy few months following Julian’s discharge from St Mary’s. He settled into the flat in Bayswater, which Charlotte had decorated and partially furnished for him, and Sam moved in. He was clean from heroin but, as any addict knows, you have to take one day at a time, and Julian did what he should have done years ago and gave up alcohol. In Julian’s mind, they were just a couple of junkies leaning on each other, father and son, but it felt good, really good.

  He got the Registrar’s post at St Mary’s and started work in September. Sam was enrolled in an art and design course at a local college. Charlotte was still part of his life but her jealousy of Lizzie never really went away. Lizzie managed to get up to London for a week during the August school holidays. It was wonderful to be with her but at the same time totally heart breaking, both of them knowing that they only had a few days before they said goodbye again. She rang him every week and
they would chat about insignificant things before a tearful goodbye, and all the time he thought of her with Peter.

  On Sunday 24 September, his pager went off while he was on the children’s ward and he was informed that DCI Chase was waiting for him in reception. When he saw Chase standing by the main doors holding a case in his hand, Julian couldn’t hide his pleasure.

  ‘My typewriter – I thought I’d never see it again.’

  ‘Yes, sorry – I’ve been meaning to bring it back for weeks.’

  ‘You should’ve rung me – I could have picked it . . .’ Julian stopped talking when he saw the expression on Chase’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I wanted to tell you before you read it in the papers or heard it on the news.’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Julian – it’s Johnson – he’s escaped.’

  Julian stared back at him in disbelief.

  ‘We’ve got half the police force hunting for him – it’s only a matter of time before we catch him. I just thought I should warn you in case . . .’

  Julian had a high pitched ringing in his ears and a heavy pounding in his chest as Chase’s voice faded into the background.

  ‘But I don’t think . . . Julian, are you alright?’ Chase asked, looking at him with concern.

  Julian nodded but kept his hand pressed to his chest.

  ‘As I was saying, I don’t think he would be stupid enough to stay in London but it wouldn’t hurt to take a few precautions.’

  ‘He’s not stupid at all,’ Julian said quietly, ‘he’s insane.’

  ‘I know - just be careful to lock your doors – that sort of thing – tell Sam as well – and if you have any suspicions that you’ve seen him or that you’re being watched, contact me.’ He shook Julian’s hand. ‘Try not to worry – we’ll get him.’

  After he had left, Julian walked over to the public phone cubicles in reception. Two of them were out of order and the third was in use so he had to wait. It was being used by a tall woman with blonde hair, dressed elegantly and wearing stiletto heels. Julian could only see the back of her but stepped into one of the empty cubicles and picked up the receiver to keep his face hidden. He hadn’t consciously thought that it may be Harriet but the adrenalin souring through his body was preparing him for fight or flight.

  When she left the cubicle, Julian managed to get a clear view of a complete stranger. He made the call to Sam with a trembling hand and was relieved to hear it pickup on the third ring.

  ‘Sam – thank God you’re in.’

  ‘Why, what’s up – you sound weird.’

  ‘I want you to do something for me without arguing.’

  ‘Ok – keep your hair on.’

  ‘I’m serious Sam – just do as I say. Lock the doors and windows.’

  ‘Lock them – why?’

  ‘Sam, just do it.’

  ‘Ok - but aren’t you going to explain?’

  ‘I’ll be home in about an hour – and Sam, don’t open the door to anyone.’