The Harry Starke Series: Books 1-3: The Harry Starke Series Boxset Read online

  Hah, the man was actually crying, sobbing as he rubbed his ear. The bridge of his nose was already turning black.

  I grabbed his right hand and slammed it down on the desktop, fingers spread.

  “Benny, you want to talk to me, before I start on your fingers?”

  “Okay, okay.” He nodded enthusiastically. “They... they... work... for the Pacman.”

  “The Pacman? You mean Lester Tree, Shady?”

  Hell, I knew Shady. He was a rare piece of work, into everything, protection, prostitution, porn, drugs, you name it, everything short of murder, and I wouldn’t put even that beyond him. I say was because I’d heard nothing of him for a while. I’d run into him several times before. I’d even shot him once, during an altercation. He used to operate out of a place off Bailey. The cops had been after him for years, but he’d never been arrested. So that was why I was having such a hard time with Benny. Anybody even mention Shady’s name in the wrong place and they’re likely to end up with their legs broken. That’s why they call him the Pacman: he eats up his enemies, and the competition.

  “Yeah, yeah, Shady Tree. That’s all I know, goddamn it. Now get outa here an’ leave me the hell alone, and stay outa my bar, you ugly bastard.”

  “Names, Benny. I need names. Who are they?”

  “Come on, Harry. They’ll hurt me if they find out I’ve been talking to you. Okay, okay. Put that goddamn gun away. The big guy, his name is Duvon James. The other, the small guy, is Henry Gold. They call ‘em Gold and Silver. James is muscle; Gold is brains. You don’t want to screw around with those two, I can tell ya. They’ll bust your ass... then again, maybe you should.”

  “What were they talking about, Benny?”

  “Harry, I swear I don’t know. You don’t listen in on those two’s talk. You just don’t do it, an’ I didn’t, don’t ever!”

  I believed him. I got up off the desk, holstered the nine, and walked to the door.

  “Keep your mouth shut, Benny. I was never here. You think Duvon and Henry are tough. Open your mouth and you’ll find out how tough I can be. You hear me?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll see you tonight, maybe.”

  And with that, I left him there, nursing his ear, tears running down his cheeks.

  I returned to my car. I don’t drive a fancy car. I could, but they attract too much attention. I drive a Nissan Maxima SL, midnight blue with all the bells and whistles, 300 horses and a Bose sound system that can make your teeth hurt. It’s not your run-of-the-mill, off the shelf version either. I’d had a friend of mine tweak it a little. That man’s a genius. The car can do zero to sixty in 5.3 seconds. Comes in handy, sometimes.

  Anyway, I sat back and let the leather enfold me, pushed the button and started the motor. I set the climate for seventy-two and turned on the seat heat. I laid my head back against the rest, closed my eyes, and let my mind wander over what Benny had told me. What the hell was a girl like that doing with two of Shady’s gangbangers? There’s no way she’s a hooker. Drugs? Maybe? What? I had no idea. I heaved a sigh, sat up, and punched up the Bluetooth. “Call Kate.”

  She picked up on the first ring. “What’s up, Harry?”

  I’m on Broad. I had a talk with Benny.”

  “Benny at the Sorbonne? Did you get anything?”

  “Oh yeah. Those two characters work for Lester Tree. Their names are Duvon James and Henry Gold.”

  “Never heard of ‘em. Shady Tree, I do know. He’s trouble, Harry, but he’s been kinda quiet these last couple of years. Keeps a low profile. I’ll see what I can find out. Anything else?”

  “Not yet. I’m about to call Willard.”

  “‘Kay. Later.” She hung up.

  I dialed Willard’s number. It rang twice, and then he answered.

  “Willard Residence.”

  “Doctor Willard?

  “Speaking.”

  “Doctor Willard. This is Harry Starke. First, let me say that I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Starke. What can I do for you?” He didn’t sound too upset.

  “I think Lieutenant Gazzara mentioned that I’d like to talk to you about your daughter, Tabitha. I'd like to come on up, if that’s convenient.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. Why do you want to talk to me about? Aren’t the police looking into her death?”

  “No, sir. It was a suicide. I was there. On the bridge. I saw her jump.” Silence.

  “Are you still there, Doctor?”

  More silence. I looked at the display on the dash. The timer was still running.

  “Doctor Willard?”

  “Yes, yes. Come on up. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Twenty minutes, Doctor.”

  “Fine.” Click. He’d hung up.

  Chapter 4

  The ride up Lookout Mountain was uneventful. No more than twenty minutes after my call to Doctor Willard, I turned onto the circular gravel drive in front of his home. Kate had been right. It was impressive, and yes, the garage was almost as big as the house.

  I parked the car in front of the house, walked up the five steps to the front door and rang the bell. He looked tired, wrung out, but he also looked as if he’d just stepped off the golf course: fancy slacks and shirt that must have cost at least a couple of hundred bucks. I felt like I was underdressed, and he must have thought I was, too, because he made no bones about eying me up and down.

  “Mr. Starke?”

  “Please. Call me Harry.”

  He nodded. “Come on in.”

  He took me into what I assumed must be his library. I have never seen so many books all in one place. The entire room was lined with shelves. It was a large room, made to look even bigger by the singular lack of furniture, just a huge partner’s desk, a plush executive chair, a couple of leather easy chairs, and a matching sofa. The view from the big windows across the perfectly landscaped gardens was spectacular. I could see all over the Lookout Valley, and then some.

  “Take a seat, Mr. Starke. I already know who and what you are. I made some calls. You have quite a reputation. A good one, I might add. Now, talk to me. Tell me what happened last night.”

  I told him everything I’d seen. I told him about his daughter’s presence in the Sorbonne and what had happened on the bridge. I told him everything, but I didn’t tell him who the two bangers in the bar were or who they worked for. I needed to know more about them. Could be their meeting was innocent, but I didn’t think so.

  “So why are you here, Mr. Starke?”

  I was silent for a moment, then I looked at him. “I’m not sure. I could tell she was scared out of her wits, but why? What could have frightened her so badly that she jumped off the bridge? We don’t yet know if she had anything in her system, but I’m almost certain she wasn’t high or drunk. I would have known if she was. She was frightened, Doctor, really frightened. I’d like to know why.”

  “Mr. Starke, Harry, I can’t imagine why Tabitha would have done this. She was a very stable girl. Level headed. She isn’t my only daughter. Her sister, Jessica, is eighteen months younger; she’s twenty-three. They both live here. Well, only Jess now. There’s an apartment over the garage, two of them, in fact. Anyway, I would also like to know what happened. I want you to look into what happened, officially. I want to hire you. Can I do that?”

  “You can, but–”

  “No buts, Harry. I need to do this, for her mother and her sister as much as for me.” He opened one of the desk drawers and took out a checkbook and pen. “I know you need a retainer. How much would that be?”

  “I charge $175 per hour, plus expenses, which could be extensive. Time spent on the case by my operatives and secretarial work are charged separately. My retainer would be $10,000.”

  He nodded, put pen to his checkbook, scribbled, then tore out the check and handed it to me.

  “I made it for twenty-five. If you need more, let me know. I expect to be kept up to date with the investigation. I’d like you to call me ever
y day. Can you do that?”

  I shook my head. “No, sir. I can’t promise that. That’s not how I work. I’ll communicate as needs be. I’ll call you whenever I have something pertinent to tell you, or if I need answers to questions, but that’s the only promise I can make. Will that work for you?”

  He stared at me for a moment, then nodded.

  “Good, then I’ll have Jacque, my PA, draw up the paperwork and send it to you for signature. You should have it sometime tomorrow afternoon. Please get it back to her as soon as you can. I’ll also need your cell phone number. Here’s mine.”

  I handed him my card. He wrote his number on the back of one of his own and handed it to me.

  “One more thing.” I fished my iPhone out of my pocket, pulled up the photo of the pendant, and handed the phone to him. “I know Lieutenant Gazzara showed you this pendant, but I want you to look at it again. Are you sure you’ve never seen it before? Your daughter was wearing it when they found her.”

  He shook his head.

  “How about this key? Do you know what it’s for?”

  He took it from me, shook his head, and handed it back.

  “Okay. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at her rooms.”

  “Of course. I’ll take you.”

  It was quite a hike: out of the rear door onto a patio by an enormous pool complex and across the courtyard. The apartments were side by side over the garage. Tabitha’s was the one closest to the main house.

  The door to the stairs was unlocked; the door to the apartment was not. Willard pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket, slid one into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open; then he stepped aside for me to enter.

  I crossed the threshold and stopped just inside. I wanted to get an over-all view of the room; first impressions are important.

  It wasn’t as opulent as I thought it would be. Oh, it was quite special, but I had the feeling that Tabitha hadn’t spent a whole lot of time there. The furniture was expensive, and so were the window treatments and the carpet, as you might expect.

  The apartment consisted of four rooms: a large living room comfortable, elegant, and furnished throughout by Williams-Sonoma. Not a stick is out of place.

  The small kitchenette, as far as I could tell, was unused. The bedroom also had a feeling of vacancy about it. Unconsciously, I shrugged my shoulders, and then I noticed that Willard was staring at me, questioningly.

  “Was Tabitha married, Doctor Willard?”

  He smiled. “She was married. It was a long time ago, when she was nineteen. It didn’t last long, thank God....”

  It was then that I think it hit him: she was gone, for good. He seem to deflate. He pushed past me and sat down on one of the bedroom chairs. He gulped, shook his head, and then seemed to regain some of his composure, but it was still there: his eyes were watering.

  I left him alone, sitting there, staring at the bed, and I walked into the bathroom. Oh boy, ladies do love their bathrooms. The rest of the apartment might not be luxurious, but the bathroom certainly was. It wouldn’t be out of place in Buckingham Palace. I looked into one of the mirrors and spotted Willard standing in the doorway.

  “I get the feeling she didn’t spend much time here, Doctor.”

  He nodded. “Well, not as often as she once did. I think she came here when she needed time to herself, weekends mostly, to get away from the city. She stayed with a friend, downtown. Easier than traveling up and down the mountain, so she said.”

  “Friend? What friend?”

  “Charlotte... Charlie Maxwell.”

  I nodded. Kate had mentioned her.

  “They’d been friends almost all their lives. They were in high school together, Baylor, and then they were in college together, Princeton.... Charlie doesn’t know about Tab. I need to call her.” He turned and walked back into the living room.

  “One moment, please, Doctor Willard.”

  He stopped, half turned, and looked at me.

  “She already knows. Lieutenant Gazzara has already talked to her.”

  He nodded, absently.

  “Do you have a photo of Tabitha I can borrow? I’ll make sure it’s returned as soon as possible.”

  He walked to the dresser, picked up two frames and handed them to me. One was a close-up of two girls, both in their mid-twenties; both were smiling, happy. I recognized the one on the left, the redhead; it was Tabitha Willard.

  “This must be Charlie.” I pointed to her.

  He nodded.

  The other photo was a broader shot of three girls sitting together on a sofa. Tabitha and Charlie, and another girl. I held it up for him to see.

  “Jess... That’s Jessica, our other daughter. She has the other apartment, next to this one.”

  “Did Tabitha have a boyfriend, anyone serious?”

  “Yes, she did. I don’t know much about him, just his first name, Michael. I don’t think she’s been seeing him lately, though. She never brought him home. That is to say, I never saw them here. I certainly never met him.”

  I made a mental note of the name. “Jessica. Could you tell me a little about her?”

  He nodded, absently. “She looks a lot like Tab, but colors her hair blond. She’s twenty-three years old, she’ll graduate UTC next year: psychology. Boyfriend, Will Dyson. He’s a bit older than I care for, twenty-eight, but seems like a nice lad, what we’ve seen of him. She comes and goes as she pleases... we don’t see as much of her as we’d like either, but... well, children are children, very independent at that age.”

  I was beginning to worry about him. He looked like he was about to fall asleep.

  “I’ll take another quick look around, if you don’t mind.”

  He nodded, and then let his chin drop, almost onto his chest.

  I took out a small digital recorder and began a tour of the apartment, recording my thoughts and taking pictures with my iPhone. It was, I was sure, a waste of time. Nothing untoward caught my attention, but I was able to get a feel for the girl. She was high maintenance. I was sure of that. Her closets — there were two of them — were filled with expensive clothes. There must have been sixty or seventy pairs of shoes, all expensive. No jewelry! Hmmm? Must have left it at her friend Charlie’s place.

  Her drawers were filled with expensive lingerie, not overly provocative, but, well, you know, expensive. Not the kind of stuff you’d find at J.C. Penny. The bathroom vanity, too, showed little personality. Kate’s bathroom was always a mess; this one was not. There were several bottles of expensive perfume: Miss Dior, J’adore L’Or, and J’adore L’Or Body Milk... I picked up one of the bottles, turned it over in my hand. Body Milk. What the hell is that? There was also a bottle of Coco Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle. None of it was the kind of stuff a girl would wear every day at the office. Then again, maybe they would. What the hell do I know? Other than the perfume, and a few odds and ends of makeup, there were no other personal items on the vanity. I opened a drawer: face cloths. I opened another: a hair dryer. I opened one of the cupboards: towels.

  ““When was the last time she was here, Doctor?”

  He thought for a moment. “A week ago last Sunday, I think. I’m not entirely sure. I can check with my wife, if you like.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, sir. There’s no need to do it now. You can give me a call later today.”

  He already had his phone in his hand and was punching in the number. He didn’t say much, just asked the question and then hung up.

  “Sunday; ten day ago. Why? Is it important?”

  “Probably not. I’m just trying to tie up the loose ends. What did Tabitha do for a living?”

  “She worked in public relations, some company out of New York. She didn’t need to. I gave her an allowance. With that, and what she earned at her job, she was never short of money.”

  “An allowance?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Not a big one. Fifteen hundred a week. If she needed anything... a car, things like that, I helped her with that, t
oo. She knew she could always come to me, for anything, but she rarely ever did. She was a good girl, never any trouble at all, Tabitha.”

  “Doctor Willard, you said her allowance was $6,000 a month, and that she was working in public relations, for a company out of New York.”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “She was wearing a coat last night that must have cost more than $4,000; her closets are filled with very expensive clothes and shoes, at least another $100,000 worth. Her income was not enough to support such expenditures. Do you have any idea where the money came from?”

  He looked at me, bewildered, shook his head, thinking. It was obvious he didn’t know.

  “Well, never mind. It’s something for me to look into. Doctor, I’ll take up no more of your time today, but I may need to talk to you again quite soon. In any case, I’ll keep you updated as to any progress I make, but it’s going to take a while. Please try to be patient.”

  He rose stiffly to his feet, looking for all the world like a big whipped dog. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

  He followed me down the stairs and out onto the courtyard. He reached out to me with both hands, one for my hand, the other for my shoulder.

  “Please, Mr. Starke. Her mother and I need to know. She wasn’t a bad girl, and we loved her dearly.”

  What could I say to that? Not much. So I didn’t say anything. I simply squeezed his hand, gently, nodded, and got into my car and drove away. I could see him through the rearview mirror, watching me go.

  How the hell does anyone cope with it, losing a daughter? I had no answer to that question. I felt sorry for the man. Well, I’ll do my best.

  Jessica Willard was a younger version of her sister. She didn’t want to talk, but it had to be done. Unfortunately, there was nothing for her to tell me. She was close to her sister, but they lived very different lives and saw each other only when they ran into one another, either in town or when they were at home together.

  Jessica knew about Michael, but she didn’t know they’d split up, and she seemed quite surprised to hear it. She was under the impression that he was very fond of Tabitha, and she him. No, she didn’t know his last name. No, she hadn’t seen her in more than a week.