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

  For some reason, though, I couldn’t settle. I was antsy. It had been a tough week. Too much information, most of it worthless, and what little of it did have some meaning was hard to separate. On top of it all, I had Gino’s death to cope with. Killing a man, even when there’s no other option, is one thing; living with it is quite another.

  I need someone to talk to, maybe....

  I dialed the number and waited. “Hello, Harry. Now’s not a good time. I’m kind of tied up, and I have a meeting scheduled shortly. Can I call you back?”

  I heaved a sigh. Senator Linda Michaels always seemed to be busy these days.

  “Yeah, Linda. Sorry I bothered you. I just wanted to talk for a minute.” I wasn’t about to tell her I’d just killed a man.

  “Harry, I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll call you as soon as I can, I promise. Okay?”

  “Sure. Any time.” I disconnected, stared at the iPhone screen, and then tossed it onto the coffee table. I don’t think I’d ever felt quite as alone as I did at that moment.

  I wasn’t really hungry, but I ate the sandwich anyway, drank the gin and, with the empty glass still in hand, I sat and stared, unseeing, out across the water. The rain was coming down in sheets. Visibility was down to just a few yards. I sat alone in the dark with only my thoughts for company. It wasn’t pleasant. I got up, poured another very large gin, sat down again, and stared some more.

  I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew it was after ten o’clock and my cell phone was buzzing.

  “Hello, Amanda. It’s kinda late, don’t you think? Yes, I’m alone. I dunno. I’m bushed. I don’t want to talk. I just need to relax.... You’re already here?”

  Geez, I really don’t need this tonight.

  “Okay. I’ll come down.”

  I opened the front door. She didn’t have a coat on, just a thin cotton sundress. She was holding an open newspaper over her head. She was soaked to the skin, shivering and laughing, both at the same time. As bad as I felt, I couldn’t help it. I laughed, too. I grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, out of the rain.

  “I should have known better,” she said, shivering. “Jack’s forecast said only forty percent rain. Look at me. I’m soaked.”

  I did look at her. Even with her hair stuck to her face, she was beautiful. The thin dress was pasted to her body, and it outlined every curve; she was perfection.

  “You know where the bathroom is. Go take off those wet clothes. I’ll find something for you to wear.”

  “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

  “Of course not. Help yourself.”

  Ten minutes later, she was out of the shower and dressed in one of my long-sleeve shirts. Her hair was wet. Her makeup was gone. She held her arms out for me to look at her, and she laughed. I did, too. All of a sudden, I was feeling better.

  “I hope my dress dries. I have to be out of here by seven.”

  “Oh. I see. You’re planning to spend the night, then?”

  She looked at me through her eyelashes. “Yes, please.”

  I nodded, smiled. “What would you like to drink?”

  I poured her a vodka tonic and we sat down together on the sofa to watch the rain.

  “It’s beautiful, Harry.”

  “It always is,” I said. “Amanda?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “No shop talk. Okay? I need to relax, clear my head.”

  She nodded, slowly. “Harry... I heard you killed Gino today.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

  “But....”

  “Leave it, Amanda.”

  She snuggled in closer. “I’m sorry, Harry. I can’t even begin to imagine.”

  I didn’t answer. I squeezed her tightly and stared out over the water.

  “Harry....”

  “It was his eyes,” I interrupted her. “I can’t get them out of my head....”

  She put her hand to my chin, pulled my face to hers, and kissed me gently. I looked at her. There were tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Chapter 28

  Amanda had left my place before seven and headed straight to Channel 7. She had slept like a baby, I not at all. I still had Gino on my mind. She brought me coffee before she left, kissed me, and looked into my eyes.

  “Will you be all right?”

  “Hah! Oh yes. How about you?”

  “Well. I need to go. Can I call you later? Just to see how you are?”

  “Of course. You can call me whenever you like. Amanda....”

  “What?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being there when I needed someone.”

  “Any time, Harry. Any time. Later... okay?”

  “Yeah, later.”

  She left. I lay in bed watching the sun rise over the river. The rain of the night before had ended. The sky was a deep cerulean with vast banks of billowing white clouds, ever changing shape as they scudded across the heavens. It was going to be a beautiful day, and I was going to be a part of it, despite the worst intentions of the now deceased Gino Polti.

  I drank my coffee, got out of bed, and stretched.

  Ouch. Dammit that hurt.

  The wound in my arm was still sore, and my left shoulder was still stiff. No matter. I had to work it off. I dropped and did six pushups. I’d planned on fifty, but it was too much for my arms. I did some crunches, just a few, but my heart just wasn’t in it. I lay there for maybe ten minutes, staring up at the ceiling. When I finally made it into the shower, I was hurting like the devil. The hot water helped, but I still felt like death warmed over.

  I dressed: light gray slacks, black golf shirt, loafers, and then swallowed five Ibuprofen tablets. I felt the empty Blackhawk holster at my hip.

  Awe hell. I can’t keep on buying guns. They’re gonna have to let me have at least one of them back.

  I called Kate.

  “Heeey, Harry. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “I’m good. Listen. How about you get one of my guns released? I can’t keep on replacing them. It’s ridiculous.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll bring it with me. You at the office?”

  “No. I’m still at home. I’m about to leave. I should be there by nine.”

  “See you at nine then.”

  I slipped the phone into my pants pocket, grabbed a Yeti full of Italian Roast, and headed out into bright sunlight.

  As I drove south in heavy traffic across the Thrasher Bridge on 153, I became lost in thought, not about Gino, or the past couple of days, or even the investigation. I was thinking about Amanda, and the other women in my life.

  There were now three of them.

  Kate, with whom I’d had an on again off again relationship for more than ten years, currently off.

  Senator Linda Michaels, one of the gods of Washington DC, who rarely had time even for herself, let alone for me.

  And now the lovely Amanda Cole, star of local TV. I didn’t know whether to count myself extremely lucky, or a stupid fool for pressing my luck. I didn’t believe in love, at least not until six months ago when I first became involved with Linda. Even now I’m not sure if such a thing even exists. Lust, yeah. Love? I ain’t so sure.

  Visions of all three of them flashed in and out of my subconscious. It was like a slideshow: one beautiful image after another. What it all meant, I had no idea. I think, in a way, I loved them all. In another... none of them. I was still trying to figure it out when I pulled the Maxima into my parking space outside my office.

  The looks I got from the staff when I walked into the outer office were odd. Except for Bob, who grinned at me and winked, a combination of sympathy and concern. I waved them off, walked over to the Keurig and made myself a cup of coffee.

  “Okay, everyone.” I looked around the office. “Grab your notes, coffee, and let’s do it.”

  Kate and Lonnie arrived just after nine o’clock. My scheduled Friday morning status meeting was all but finished.

>   “Hey, Kate, Lonnie,” I said. “Grab some coffee; take a seat. We’re almost done here.”

  “How are you feeling, Harry?” Kate asked.

  Oh hell, here we go again.

  “I’m good,” I said, impatiently. “If you’re talking about Gino, it’s over, done with. He was a piece of garbage. I can live with it. Let’s move on. I was saying before you came in, that even though De Luca admitted nothing, we can take it to the bank that he was responsible for both the attack on Cassell and Westwood’s death, which was an accident. Well... you know what I mean. I don’t think De Luca killed Sattler, and I don’t think he had anything to do with the theft of the 350 mil. Does everyone agree? Any comments?”

  “Just one,” Kate said. “Doc Sheddon called me earlier this morning. He did the autopsy on Gino. Guess what? Gino had a bullet wound, on his left forearm, a crease, seven or eight days old. It must have been him you shot in Sattler’s home that night.”

  “Well, that’s good to know, I suppose. We can only guess why he was there, though. De Luca’s not talking, neither’s Tony, and Gino certainly isn’t.” So, I nailed the bastard twice.

  “Anything else?” I looked around the table. They were all shaking their heads.

  “No? Okay, so let’s get the interviews done. Lonnie is going to see Hollins and Brewer, right?”

  “Yes. He’ll meet us back here when we’re done. You good with that, Lonnie?” Kate asked.

  He was.

  “Good.” I looked at Kate. “So you and I will start with Cassell. If you need coffee, now’s the time to get it. Let’s go.”

  Marty Cassell was not pleased to see us. In fact, he was downright pissed off. At first, he wouldn’t even come to the door.

  “We just need a minute of your time, Mr. Cassell,” Kate yelled at the glass door panel. Then she pounded on it with the side of her fist. Finally.

  “Clear off! I don’t want any more trouble. You’re gonna get my ass killed! I got nothin’ to say to you.”

  The door opened a crack and a bloodshot eye appeared. “I said, clear off. Now go.”

  I put my shoulder to the door, winced as pain coursed down my arm. Now I was mad.

  “Goddamn it, Cassell,” I shouted. “We just want to talk. Open the goddamn door or I’ll smash it open.”

  “Piss off!”

  I stepped back and kicked the frame. The chain tore away from the frame, the door flew open, and Cassell staggered backward.

  “Ow, ow, you piece o’ garbage. You busted my nose again. I’ll goddamn sue you. I’m callin’ my goddamn’ lawyer right now. Goddamn it, ow, my nose!”

  He was right. Well, maybe it wasn’t broken, but it was bleeding. I felt a wave of remorse wash over me.

  Oh shit. I need this like a hole in the head.

  “Marty, I’m sorry,” I said, helping him to his feet. “You should have opened the damn door; we’re not going to hurt you.”

  “You already did, you son of a bitch. Where’s my goddamn phone? I’ll have your ass locked up.” It was then he noticed Kate.

  “What the hell are you grinning at, Goldie Locks? You’re a goddamn cop. Handcuff this son of a bitch. I want him charged with assault.”

  “Calm down, Marty,” she said. “I wasn’t grinning at you. It was Harry. You should be honored. He never apologizes, to anyone. Look, we’re here to help you. Did you know James was dead?”

  He stared at her, his mouth wide open, and put his hand to his wounded nose.

  “Dead?” he whispered. “Oh my God. How? When?”

  “Wednesday night, late. He died of a heart attack as a result of extended torture.”

  “Torture,” he whimpered. “Like me? What... who?”

  “You know who, Marty,” she said. “Look at what they did to you.”

  In fact, he was looking a whole lot better than he was four days ago. The eyes were both black, but the swelling had gone down. His lips were almost back to their normal size. His ears were hidden by a bandage wrapped completely around his head from under which he stared out at us with bloodshot eyes. He looked like the manager at the sleazy motel near the airport.

  “De Luca,” she said. “Not him personally. Gino and Tony. James Westwood wasn’t supposed to die. The idea was to scare him, and you, and Ms. Steiner. He wants his money back.”

  Cassell looked wildly around him, then over Kate’s shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” she said, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Gino Polti is dead, and I don’t think De Luca will bother you again, okay?”

  “Gino’s dead? How?”

  “I shot him.”

  That brought a huge smile to his face, which, considering his injuries, was downright scary. It also hurt him, because it lasted only a second, and then he winced, and closed his eyes.

  “Hell, Starke,” he said. “Maybe you ain’t such a goddamn jerk after all. Okay. You’d better come in, I suppose.”

  “We won’t be long, Marty. Just a few questions.”

  He nodded, and we sat down at the same table as the first time we met him.

  “When they were beating on you,” she began, “what did they want? What were they after?”

  “The money, of course. The week was up. I was supposed to deliver it to De Luca, but I didn’t have it.”

  “Has De Luca contacted you since then?” I asked.

  “Every goddamn day. What he’s gonna do to me is.... He said he’s gonna cut my balls off, an’ that’s just for starters. He’ll do it, too. You don’t know him.”

  “Now think about this carefully, Marty,” I said. “Could he have killed Tom Sattler?”

  Slowly, he shook his head. “I don’t know; I don’t think so. I don’t think he even knew him. I handled his money. Why would he go after Tom?”

  Yeah, why indeed? For the same reason he went after James Westwood, and you, maybe.

  “Look, Marty,” Kate said. “We know you and Jessica were both at Tom’s house on the day he died. Did you go back later?”

  We both watched him carefully, looking for some sort of reaction. We got one and it wasn’t pretty. He stood up, pushed his chair back, and pointed toward the door.

  “Screw you, both of you,” he snarled, wincing. “Get the hell out of my house. Tom Sattler was a friend, so was James... and Jessica. You think any one of us could have killed Tom? You’re crazy. No, I didn’t go back. Now get the hell out of my home and don’t come back.”

  He sniffed through the splint on his nose, gave us a withering look, shook his head, and stalked out of the room. I looked at Kate. She rolled her eyes and stood up.

  “Let’s do as the man said.”

  I nodded, got up, and followed her out to the car. As I did so, I turned and looked back at the house. Marty Cassell was watching from one of the windows.

  -----

  The interview with Jessica Steiner didn’t go any better. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending upon how you view these things, she was fully dressed in shorts, a tank top, and sandals.

  Oh well.

  She was stunned to hear about Westwood, and she stared at me with what could only have been open admiration when Kate told her that I had killed Gino Polti. Yes, she knew De Luca, had met him several times. He’d made passes at her twice, both of which she had rejected. She hadn’t seen or heard from him for several weeks.

  When Kate asked her if she’d returned to Tom’s house the evening he died, she maintained eye contact and simply shook her head.

  As we left, she caught my eye, put her left hand to her ear, her thumb and little finger extended, and mouthed, “Call me.”

  Two down, two to go.

  Chapter 29

  By three-thirty that afternoon we were back on Stony Mountain Drive in the Mountain Shadows subdivision, outside the home of Gloria and Stephanie Sattler.

  “How do you want to play this?” I asked.

  “We need to talk to them separately. You take Stephanie, I’ll take Gloria. What do you think?”

  “I th
ink we need to find out exactly what was going on between Tom Sattler and Stephanie. If he was abusing her and what part the mother played in it all. She did, after all, use the abuse card to get her divorce settlement.”

  “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  Gloria opened the door. The passing days had not treated her kindly. It was mid-afternoon and she looked like she was dressed for bed in a T-shirt at least two sizes too big for her with the words, “You Can Have It If You Want It,” emblazoned across the front. A pair of old and sweaty spandex yoga pants clung to her thighs and ass and emphasized every extra pound.

  Er... no. I don’t want it, but thanks anyway.

  She didn’t give us a chance to speak. She simply looked at us, from one to the other, with dull, tired eyes, shook her head, shrugged, and then turned and walked from the foyer into the kitchen, leaving the door open behind her.

  We followed.

  She waved a listless hand in the general direction of the stools arranged along the outside of the breakfast bar. I supposed it was an invitation to sit. I looked at Kate. She rolled her eyes and sat. I dropped onto the stool next to her.

  “Mrs. Sattler–” Kate began.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she interrupted, “I know, you want to ask more questions. Gimme a minute, will you? You want some coffee?” She was already pouring herself a cup. Neither of us did.

  “So what do you want this time?” she asked, parking her spandex-covered rear on a stool on the opposite side of the bar.

  “We’d like to talk to you, and Stephanie, if you don’t mind. We need to ask a few more questions about Mr. Sattler’s death. Is she here?”

  She reached for an iPhone a couple of feet away on the bar top, punched something into it, hit send and put it down again.

  “She’s upstairs. She’ll be down, whenever. Look, I’m not feeling so good, as you can probably tell. Is this going to take long?”

  “We need to talk to you individually,” Kate said. “If you don’t mind.”