Calypso (The Harry Starke Novels Book 8) Read online

  He straightened up a little, staring at me through slitted eyes. “That’s a bit optimistic, my friend,” he said. The fake southern accent was gone. “I was here. In my study, writing. I’m writing a book, a novel, a crime thriller about a crooked cop and—”

  “Then why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Kate interrupted.

  He shrugged. “How long is this bullshit going to take? I have things to do.”

  “Did you kill your sister?” I asked.

  “Why in God’s name would I do that? Of course I didn’t.”

  “Money. You need money. She dies, you get to split her inheritance with your brother.”

  “I don’t need her money,” he said derisively. “Don’t you know who we are, man?”

  “Oh, I know who you are all right, and I know you need money in the worst way.”

  He straightened a little more in his chair. I flipped through several screens on my iPad, found the one I was looking for, and began to read aloud.

  “Evander Louis Martan. Twenty-eight. Educated at Henry and Adam High School. Attended Charleston Technical College but dropped out after six months. Employment: none, ever. Finances: inherited sixteen million from your mother on your twenty-fifth birthday. Liquid assets….”

  “Okay, okay,” he interrupted, “so I like to enjoy life. So what?”

  “So you have no assets,” I said flatly. “No investments. And when this report was drawn up, you had precisely $1,832 in the bank. What the hell did you do with the sixteen million?”

  “That, my friend, is none of your damn business. Now get on with this crap or I’m outa here.”

  “You’re right. It normally would be none of my business, but the several facts that your sister was murdered, that you’re just about flat broke, and that because of her death you’ll inherit nearly fifteen million dollars makes it my business. All of that also means that you had motive enough to kill her, and I think you did kill her. Your fingerprints are all over her room.” A bit of an exaggeration, but what the hell.

  “I think you hit her over the head,” I continued, “knocked her out, and then threw her off the balcony, and I think you did it for the money.”

  I was stunned when he burst out laughing.

  “What the hell is so funny?” I asked.

  He looked first at Kate, then at Bob. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he said. “Which one of you? Bad cop good cop, right? I know who the hell the bad cop is, so who’s the good cop…. It’s you, isn’t it, gorgeous,” he said to Kate. “Do you have a uniform? I love women in uniforms, and I bet you—”

  “That’s enough, damn it,” Bob growled, rising quickly to his feet. “Another word and I’ll bust your damned nose.” He made a grab for him, but he wasn’t quick enough. Evander spun sideways out of his chair, laughing, avoiding Bob’s grasp by no more than a hair.

  “Whoa, two bad cops. That’s too funny.”

  I watched in amazement as he headed for the door, leaving Bob hovering over the now-empty chair.

  “You stupid rubes,” he said. “If I wanted to kill her I could have done it a thousand times, and if I had, I’d have hidden her so she’d never have been found.”

  “But then,” I said quietly, “you would have had to wait seven years before you could get your hands on the cash, and you couldn’t do that, now could you? No, Evan. You killed her, and we’ll get you. Count on it.”

  He didn’t answer. He simply grinned at me as he opened the door.

  “Stay close by, Evan.” I said, but he’d already closed the door behind him.

  I looked at Kate, then at Bob. Both were smiling.

  “No, Evan,” Kate mimicked me—badly, I might add; her voice was practically a falsetto. “You killed her, and we’ll get you. Count on it.” I could tell she was holding back laughter. “What the hell was that about, Harry?”

  I couldn’t help myself; I smiled too. “Just giving him a little something to worry about, is all. He’s a bright boy, though. A whole lot brighter than he would have us believe.”

  “Oh we got that,” she said. “But I’m almost positive he didn’t kill her. Bob?”

  “I don’t think so. His brother Leo, yes, but him…. Nah. What do you think, Harry?”

  “I think we’d better keep an open mind. He has a motive and no alibi that he’s willing to share, so that means opportunity. His prints were found in her room, but so were those of almost all of the others, so without some physical evidence to put him there at the time of her death…. Well, you two know as well as I do that we have nothing on any of them, including surfer dude Evander.”

  I looked at my watch. It was only 11:35. Somehow, it seemed much later. I always thought time flew when you were having fun, and we were having fun, right?

  “You know,” I said, more to myself than to Kate and Bob, “he could have done it. He….”

  I was thinking about the smart-assed, sideways look he’d given me when he called us stupid rubes. That was twice someone in this family from hell had called us that, but the way Evander had said it…. Well, I was certain he meant it. He figured he was a whole lot smarter than we were. That being so, I also did a little figuring: He thinks he knows something we don’t know. What could that be, I wonder?

  “Harry?” Kate asked. “Are you still with us?”

  I shook my head, coming back down to earth. “Yeah, but I was thinking that maybe this guy is not only smarter than he would have us believe, but that he either did kill Gabrielle, or knows who did.”

  I looked at my watch again. 11:38. I sighed. “Let’s get on with it. Who’s next on the agenda?”

  It was Michael Collins, Vivien’s son. Either him or his wife, Laura.

  Chapter 19

  Monday November 14, 11:40

  “Let’s try something different,” I said, pulling a second chair up beside the one already in front of the desk. “Let’s do them both together, play one off the other. What do you think?”

  “I’ll give them a call,” Bob said, pulling his phone out.

  Just a few minutes later, the couple was seated together in front of the desk.

  Tommy Quinn was right about one thing: Michael Collins was all but unreadable, and he had his game face on. Laura Collins, not so much. In fact, she looked angry.

  As the general manager of the Windward Resort Michael was dressed as such, in a dark gray business suit, white shirt, and blue tie. He was of medium build, maybe five foot eleven, slim, tanned, and quite unremarkable. Laura, however, looked like a younger version of her mother-in-law. She wore her platinum blonde hair cut short at the back and long at the sides, so that it covered her ears and created a frame for her not unlovely face: the nose was a little on the small side, and her eyes had a slightly oriental slant to them—or was that just her makeup? Her clothes were noticeably expensive: a short, flared lace skirt with a slim gold chain around her waist, a sleeveless white top, and gold-trimmed, black leather sandals.

  I’d watched them both come in, and I had no doubt which was the dominant personality. He walked a step behind her. He waited until she chose a chair, and only when she had seated herself did he sit down himself, and when he did, he looked more like a librarian than a hotel manager. His shoulders were slightly slumped, and I watched him take out a pair of gold-rimmed glasses and put them on; they completed the picture. He was there only because he was married to her, and she was married to him only because of who he was, I was sure of it, and nobody had even said a word.

  “Thank you,” I said, “for giving up your time.”

  He said nothing. She nodded, and made a show of crossing her legs—and when I say show, I mean just that. Sharon Stone had nothing on this lady, and this lady had nothing on under her skirt. And she knew that I knew, and she didn’t care. The angry look on her face melted away, and she smiled demurely at me.

  Hell. It’s a good thing Amanda’s not here.

  I looked sideways at Kate, and I could tell by the expression on her face that she’d seen it too. I
glanced across the room at Bob.

  Nope, he’s missed out…. I mean he missed it… no, from where he is he can’t see up her—Jeez, Harry!

  I dragged my mind out of the gutter, looked at her, and….

  Oh, that smile is talking to me.

  “Mr. Collins,” I said. “Where were you between noon and two o’clock yesterday? Do you remember?”

  “I was at the resort all day, working.”

  “And I would have no trouble confirming that?” I asked.

  “No. I was on duty most of the day except for….”

  “Lunch?” I asked with a smile. “And what time was lunch?”

  “From noon until one.”

  “And did anyone see you while you were at lunch?”

  “I’m sure they did, but I can’t tell you who. I like a little time to myself. So I eat outside, on the patio. I’m sure someone did see me… well the waiters saw me, certainly. John, yes, John, and Ruby. They waited on me.”

  “How about you, Mrs. Collins? Where were you?”

  “I was in our suite on the second floor, alone. I don’t have an alibi. That is what you call it, isn’t it?” She was smiling, but there was little humor in it.

  I nodded, and turned my attention again to Michael Collins.

  “Were you having an affair with Gabrielle Martan, Mr. Collins?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s quite simple, Michael,” Laura said, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, gifting both me and Kate with a glimpse of… well, you get the idea. “They want to know if you were screwing our dear stepsister. You along with everyone else in this godforsaken family.”

  He looked stricken, the first real emotion I’d seen on his face since he came into the room, and yep, Tommy was right. She was a first-class bitch all right, and now I had no doubt about something else he’d said. Laura Collins had not liked Gabrielle, and that, I thought, was putting it mildly.

  “I gather, Mrs. Collins, that you didn’t like Gabrielle.”

  “Like her? No. I didn’t like her. She was a spoiled little rich kid and she made it very plain that she didn’t like her stepbrother and me. Nor did she like the Margolises. In fact, she hated Alicia.”

  “But she was having an affair with Jeffery Margolis…?”

  “I didn’t say she didn’t like his dick,” she all but snarled. “He is, so she told us whenever she got the chance, exceptionally well endowed. And his wasn’t the only one she liked. Have you talked to the butler?” Before I could answer, she continued, “Butler my derriere. The man is Leo’s bodyguard. He was a Navy Seal, or some such animal.”

  I flipped through Tim’s report on my iPad. She was right. Moore had been a Seal, honorably discharged, but there were no other details of interest.

  “No,” she continued as I flipped through the report, “Michael was not—I repeat, not—having an affair with Gabrielle. Look at him. He doesn’t have it in him, do you my dear?”

  Jeez. This really is a live one.

  I looked at Michael, and I immediately felt sorry for him. He was obviously well and truly under his wife’s thumb, but….

  “Can you account for your fingerprints being in her room?” I asked, knowing damn well that she could.

  “Of course. Gabby was always throwing parties. We were there with the rest of the family on several occasions. I’m sure you must have found theirs too. I couldn’t be specific, but they, and we, were almost all there at one time or another, and they will confirm it. So there you are. Make of it what you will.”

  “You hated her didn’t you,” Kate said. It was the first time she’d spoken. “Why?”

  “I’m not really sure, other than because she was totally spoiled and resented her stepmother, Michael’s mother, and the rest of us interlopers, as she called us to our faces whenever she lost her temper, which was quite often, by the way. She… she just wasn’t likeable.”

  “Did you kill her?” I asked, watching her carefully.

  “No. I did not kill her. She wasn’t that important. Again, I suggest you talk to the butler. May we leave now?” she asked sweetly.

  “One more minute, if you please, Mrs. Collins. You keep suggesting Victor Moore might be involved. What exactly do you know?”

  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, cocked her head to one side, and let the breath out slowly through her lips, making a spluttering sound.

  “Victor Moore is a pig. He once tried to rape me. Fortunately, Sebastian heard me calling for help and saved me.”

  “So that’s why you think he might have killed her?”

  She shrugged. “It’s possible. You probably know that better than I do. I do know that he was screwing her. She told me so herself. Now, if that’s all, I need to go to the stables and Michael needs to go back to work, don’t you dear?”

  The poor man didn’t reply. Instead he rose to his feet, walked to the door, opened it, and walked out without a backward look, leaving his lovely wife still seated in front of us.

  “Well,” she said, “I wonder what’s gotten into him.” And then she uncrossed her legs—Jeez—rose to her feet, and followed her husband out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  For more than a minute, the room sat in a silence that was palpable enough to cut with a knife.

  It was Kate who eventually did the cutting. “In all my years, I have never met one quite like that.”

  “Quite like what?” Bob asked.

  I looked at him and shook my head.

  “I saw that, Harry,” she said. “I hope you can live with yourself, especially when you meet with Amanda this afternoon.”

  “What?” Bob and I said it together.

  “You know what,” she said. “I thought your eyeballs were going to pop right out of your head. I thought you’d put all that stuff behind you.”

  “What?” Bob said again.

  “What the hell was I supposed to do, Kate? It was right in front of my damned face. I didn’t see you looking away either.” For a minute, I thought she was going to slap me. Instead she said, “It was quite a show, though, wasn’t it?

  “What?” Bob all but yelled.

  “Nothing you need worry your ugly head about, my love,” Kate said to him, at the same time gifting me with a grin. “And be sure you tell Amanda. If you don’t….”

  “Shut up,” I said, smiling at her.

  “Okay. Now. After that little show… I mean encounter, I want to talk to Moore again. Let’s get him in here.”

  Chapter 20

  Monday November 14, 12:30

  Two minutes after Kate called Moore to ask him to come by, there was a knock on the office door. “Good afternoon, Mr. Moore,” I said, offering him my hand. “Please, sit down.”

  He shook my hand, sat, then turned slightly in his seat and looked at Bob. Bob’s face was a mask, expressionless.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m here. Why? I’ve already talked to you.”

  “We want to know exactly what your relationship with Gabrielle was. We’ve been told by no less than three members of the family and… well, never mind, that you were indeed having an affair with her.”

  “I told you,” he growled, “that I wasn’t.”

  “What about Laura Collins?”

  He frowned. “What about her?”

  “She said you tried to rape her.”

  “I what?”

  “She said,” Kate said after a moment, her voice low and threatening, “that you assaulted her. That Sebastian Carriere stopped you. It’s easy enough to check. We can simply ask Sebastian.”

  “It’s not true. She came onto me one night during the summer last year. It was on the patio, late. She was drunk. She grabbed hold of me and I pushed her away. She tried again. She went wild, attacking me, screaming. And yes, Mr. Carriere, he pulled her off me. Ask him. He’ll tell you.”

  “Oh, we will. You can count on it.”

  “Why would these people say you were having an affair with Gabrielle if it wasn’t true?” I aske
d.

  “God. Do I really have to answer that for you? You’ve met them all. They, every one of them, are the product of—what’s the word they use these days… affluenza, right? Too much money, too little control, and even less early-life guidance. They’re a mess. All of them. Why do they think I was having an affair with Gabrielle? Because they’re a bunch of twisted… yes, I was very close to Gabrielle, and everyone knew it, but… I can only think that it was misconstrued.”

  Yes. I could see where he was coming from. But there was something about the way he kept avoiding my eye. Inwardly, I was shaking my head, but other than jealous family gossip, there was nothing to prove any of it.

  I flipped through the screens on my iPad, located the information Tim had provided, and said, “You were in the Navy for seven years. A Seal, so I understand. A butler is a strange occupation for—”

  “You know damn well I’m more than a butler,” he interrupted. “I provide Mr. Martan with security. He trusts me. Where he goes, I go. He’s known me since I was teenager, since before I joined the Navy. He knew what I was and when I got out he asked me to work for him, simple as that. He’s paranoid about being kidnapped.”

  “Okay, Mr. Moore. Just one more thing. Maybe you can answer it, maybe not. CSI found Jackson’s fingerprints in Gabrielle’s rooms. What reason would the gardener have for visiting her, do you know? Was he…?”

  He smiled, shook his head, and said, “No. He wasn’t. He’s the gardener. He visits almost every room in the house every day. He provides fresh flowers.”

  And there it was. Simple enough, and entirely believable.

  “All right, Mr. Moore. That’s all for now. Thanks for your time.”

  “I….” He hesitated, shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not important.”

  “Okay,” Kate said, as the door closed behind him. “I think he was having an affair with her, and that—”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “You know what,” I said.

  She smiled. “But I do,” she said quietly.

  “Bob?” I asked.