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

  “Bob, I need you to be thinking about what we discussed earlier. Yes?”

  He said he’d give it some thought, and then followed Tim out into the main office. I picked up the phone and called Kate.

  “We have her,” I said, when she picked up. “At least I think we do.”

  “And good morning to you, too,” she said. “You have who?”

  “The girl; the dead girl; we got a hit, and a tentative ID. The parents are on their way here. They’ll be here around two. You need to be here too, yeah?”

  “Whew, you need to slow down,” she said. “Yes, I’ll be there. Who is she?”

  I filled her in on the details and then called Amanda and told her I was on my way to pick her up for lunch.

  Chapter 21

  Kate was already there when Michael and Dondra Williams walked in through the front door just before two-fifteen. He was a big man, heavy, overweight, balding, maybe fifty-two or fifty-three years old. She was petite, several years younger, and still quite beautiful, though it was easy to see that years of sorrow had jaded her looks.

  I ushered them into my office, beckoned for Kate and Amanda to join us, and then I closed the door. They sat together on the sofa. Kate and Amanda took the two chairs. I brought up one of high-back chairs from in front of my desk.

  “Pretty tree,” Dondra said, distractedly, nodding in the direction of Jacque’s vast creation in the corner of the room. “Ours is not quite as big....” She trailed off, looked at me, her eyes wide. I felt like shit.

  “I’m sorry you had to come all this way,” I said. “I know you’ll understand when I say I hope it was a wasted journey.”

  They both nodded.

  “I have something I want to show you. I hope it won’t be too much of a shock. Are you ready?”

  Before they’d arrived, I’d had the reconstruction moved to my office and placed on the coffee table facing the sofa. It was covered with a white cloth.

  For several moments, I hesitated, almost to the point it must have appeared I was trying to create drama; I wasn’t. I just was beyond apprehensive. Finally, I took a deep breath and pulled the cloth from the head.

  “Ohhh!” Dondra gasped, then slipped off the sofa onto her knees, her hands reaching for her face. Michael grabbed her arm, slipped to the floor beside her, put his arm around her, and pulled her in close. She was now in tears. There was no need to ask the question; the answer was already obvious: we were looking at the recreation of Brinique Williams.

  It took them both a while to get themselves together. I left the room. Kate and Amanda stayed to offer a little comfort and support. How the hell do you comfort someone when you’ve just dropped a bomb like that on them?

  I looked at my watch. It was still only two-thirty. Hell, I need a little comfort myself.

  I went to the cupboard in the back office and grabbed the unopened bottle of Laphroaig, looked at it, shook my head, and put it back. Now was not the time to indulge myself.

  “Harry. Can you come, please?” Amanda leaned out of the half-open door to my office, saw me, and came the rest of the way out.

  “I think they’re ready to talk,” she whispered. “The woman is in a hell of a state, but he seems composed enough.”

  “What happened to her?” Williams asked. “Did she... did... she suffer?” What the hell do you say to that? Of course she suffered. She was strangled, damnit.

  Dondra was sobbing quietly. I looked at Kate, my eyebrows raised. She nodded, and said, “No, she didn’t. It would have been very quick.” It was a lie, but forgivable.

  We talked for more than an hour. It seemed the kid wasn’t at all bad, at least according to them. She ran a solid B plus in high school, played soccer, went to church... and then.... Yeah, you guessed it. She met a boy.

  From that point on, it was all downhill. The grades dropped, she stopped talking to her parents, stayed out late, wouldn’t tell them where she’d been, and then they’d found the pills. Mollies, is what they’d been told they were, a form of ecstasy. They locked her in her room, tried to get her to tell them where they came from, but she wouldn’t talk. She refused to eat, even drink. They panicked, decided to take her to a doctor. That was on May 27, 2005, a Friday. Unfortunately, the minute they were outside the front door, she bolted. Other than that single phone call a week later on Saturday June 4, they’d heard nothing from her since. No, she didn’t say where she was, who she was with, or what she was doing.

  I showed them photos of the necklace and the ring. The necklace they’d never seen before. The ring had belonged to the boy. An African-American kid named Ricky Jessell, RJ.

  “How old was he?” Kate asked.

  “I think he was nineteen,” Dondra said. “We thought he was too old for her, but you know how kids are. They never listen to their parents.”

  “Did you ever meet him?” Kate asked.

  They both shook their heads. I asked if he was still around. They said they’d looked for him, but he disappeared the same time Brinique did. Why wasn’t I surprised to hear that? I wonder....

  “How about his parents, relatives?” I asked.

  “As far as we know,” Michael said, “he had none, they were dead, his parents. I don’t think he had any brothers and sisters, at least we couldn’t find any. He seemed to be all alone.”

  There wasn’t a whole lot more we could do for them, nor they for us.

  “Tim said you had some photographs,” I said.

  Williams nodded and handed me a large envelope. Inside were a half-dozen color photos of the girl, and her dental records. I leafed through them, not saying a word. I couldn’t. I handed them off to Kate; she, in turn, handed them to Amanda.

  “Can you get one of these on the air this evening, with a request for information?” she asked her.

  Amanda said she would, and then handed the photos back to me. I took them out to Tim and asked him to scan them into the system and then print copies for everyone, including Amanda. That done, I gave the originals back to the Williams.

  I asked if they had somewhere to stay. Dondra replied by asking if it would be possible to see her daughter.

  “Do I need to identify her?” she asked.

  “No. I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Kate said. “She’s been gone a long time, and there’s not much to see. I think it would be best if you remembered her as she was. I will, however, need DNA samples from you both. We’ll use them and... well, we’ll use them and her dental records to confirm the identity, but I don’t think that there’s much doubt: it’s Brinique.”

  “How... how do you do that?” Dondra asked.

  “I’ll take mouth swabs from you both.”

  “Yes, I know that, but how about Brinique? You say there’s not much left of her.”

  I looked at Kate. I could see she didn’t know what to say. She stood. “I’ll be just a minute. I need to get the kits from the car.” Dondra nodded, and Kate left to get them.

  “So,” I said. “You didn’t say if you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

  “We’re not staying. We’ll drive back home tonight. When can we have... her? We need to lay her to rest.”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I know. I’ll try to hurry it up. I’ll call you.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were gone, and I felt like shit. It’s always the same. Parents try so hard to be brave, but they never can. How do you cope with something like that?

  I walked them to the door, watched them go, and then returned to my office where Kate and Amanda were talking together. They both rose to their feet when I entered.

  “I have to get back to the PD,” Kate said. “What are your plans, Harry?”

  “We need to visit both the Dickersons and the Draycotts. Are you up for it?”

  “Of course, but when? I can’t do it today.”

  “It needs to be soon. Tomorrow is our last day here before we close the office for Christmas. I’ll call Judge Strange and see if he’ll issue warrants. If I can
, will you or Lonnie go pick them up?”

  “Yeah, I’ll have Lonnie do it. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, around nine-thirty. Be ready. Amanda, don’t take any shit from him, okay?” What the hell was that about?

  “What did she mean by that?” I asked, when Kate had left.

  “Just girl talk,” she said with a grin. “She knows you too well, Harry. I hope I get to know you that well, too.”

  “The hell you do,” I said. I wasn’t quite sure what was going on, and I was even less sure I liked it.

  “Harry, I need to run these photos by the station. Can we do that, like now?”

  “Yes, we can do that, but first I need to have a word with Tim, make a phone call, and then I have something I want to do before Kate and I go visiting tomorrow. I can take you by the station and then I can either leave you there for an hour, or you can come with me. Which do you prefer?”

  “It depends. What is it you want to do?”

  “I need to drop by the Sorbonne and talk to Benny Hinkle, find out what he knows about prostitution and trafficking in the town. If anybody can fill me in, it will be him. You wanna go with me or not?”

  She thought for a minute, then nodded. “I do, but first let’s get these photos and the girl’s name on the air. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Maybe someone will recognize her. The station is only a couple of miles from downtown. It won’t take long.”

  “Okay, but we can’t hang about yacking. I need to get there early, before the bar gets busy.”

  “Yacking? I’ll punish you for that,” she hissed. Hmmm, the night holds promise.

  I asked Tim to see what he could find on Ricky Jessell. I figured he might just be the key to this thing.

  I called Judge Strange, told him what we needed, and that Lonnie would be by to pick them up. He didn’t even ask why I needed them.

  I’ve always said, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know, and this was one of those times when it paid off big. Judge Strange owed me a favor, one he could never repay. I’d found his wayward, drug-addicted daughter for him, and brought her home. Warrants were nothing, after that.

  Chapter 22

  It was just after four-thirty that afternoon when I parked the Explorer on a meter on Market Street. I figured there were enough people, mostly tourists, milling around that it would be safe enough from... well, you know. Amanda slipped her arm through mine and we made the short walk from there to the Sorbonne, maybe two minutes.

  “What’s he like, Benny Hinkle?” she asked, as we walked.

  I smiled at her. “You’ll see. He’s a complex character, hard to define.” Whew! Is that an understatement, or what?

  The place was already open, but there were no customers, which was unusual. Even so, the mind-numbing music reverberated off the walls. I parked myself on a stool at the bar. Amanda hoisted herself up onto the one next to it.

  “There he is,” I said.

  Benny was at the far end of the bar, his back toward me; he was talking animatedly to Laura, his partner and bartender. She saw me over his shoulder, dipped her head, and whispered something to Benny. He stiffened, turned slowly around, looked disgusted, threw the wet bar towel into the sink, and shambled toward me, shaking his head.

  “Damn it, Starke. I thought I told you to stay away from me, stay outa my bar. Who’s the tail?”

  Amanda snorted, trying not to laugh.

  “Now, Benny. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

  “Old friend, my ass. You are bad news, Starke. Every time you come in here, I get hurt. Now go on. Get outa here.... How come I ain’t seen you in here before, miss?”

  “Amanda Cole. Nice to meet you, Benny.”

  “Amanda... Amanda... Cole. Awe hell. I thought the face was familiar. You’re that broad from Channel 7. Harry, I don’t need this shit. You gotta get outa here the both of you. NOW!”

  “Benny, I need some info. I already owe you one. If you hadn’t warned me about De Luca.... Well, you did. Now....”

  “Not now, damn it. They was back last night, wantin’ to know if you’d been in. I told ‘em no, but I ain’t sure they b’lieved me. I can’t do it, Starke. You have to go... please.”

  I almost felt sorry for him. “Benny, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what I need to know. So, let’s talk. The quicker you spill it, the quicker I’m out of here.”

  He glared at me, then Amanda, looked furtively around, at the front door, licked his lips, nodded, and said, “Okay, but be quick about it.”

  “Turn that damn noise down first.” He did.

  “Billy Dickerson,” I said “is running some sort of home for kids on Cherry. It’s just a couple of blocks or so from here. What do you know about it?”

  He took a deep breath. “Nothin’, an’ I don’t wanna. Dickerson’s a goddamn crook. I stay away from people like him.”

  “What about his kids, Benny? Is he pimping them out?”

  He shook his head. “I told ya, I don’t know nothin’ about what he does. He has some very nasty people workin’ for ‘im and I stay outa his business.”

  “Tell me about them, his people.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Harry. You’re gonna get me in all kinds a shit.” He turned and yelled over his shoulder, “Laura. C’mere.”

  Laura, as I said, is Benny’s long-time partner. I’m not sure if it’s a romantic or a monetary arrangement, although I suspect it’s the latter. I shudder to think it might be the former. She’s quite a character, the epitome of the stereotypical Southern barkeep, a big, blowsy bottle blonde, usually attired in a tank top that barely covers her oversize breasts, cut off jeans that barely cover her ass, and, for God’s sake, cowboy boots. She wore little makeup. In fact, if you took her out of the Sorbonne, cleaned her and dressed her up a little, she wouldn’t be a bad-looking woman.

  “Hellooo, Harry,” she said, as she cut me a look that could only have been taken as an invitation.

  I caught Amanda’s smile out of the corner of my eye.

  “Cut it out, Laura,” Benny growled. “He wants to know what we know about them freaks that work for Dickerson. You know more about ‘em than I do; you serve ‘em all the time.”

  She looked at me, then at Amanda. The smile was gone from her face. “You need to stay away from them, Harry. They’re real nasty asses.”

  “Tell me.”

  She heaved a sigh, grabbed a glass from the back of the bar, jerked herself a beer, and swallowed half of it in one gulp.

  “There are four of ‘em. The main man is Darius Willett; they call him Romeo.”

  “Romeo? Why?” I asked.

  “‘Cause that’s what he is, a Romeo.”

  I was pretty sure I knew why they called him that. “Go on,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, there’s Darius. Then there’s Mouse; that’s Mickey Donavan. He’s all muscle; don’t talk much, just... well, he likes to ‘flict pain, and he likes ‘em young, his women, well, girls. An’ there’s Woody; don’t know anything about him. He only comes in now and then. Then there’s Little Jackie. I don’t know his last name. He’s Dickerson’s driver, among other things, a goddamn sadist for one. Last, there’s Lisa; don’t know her name either, but she’s Jackie’s woman. They’ve all been comin’ in here for a couple a years, or so. They spend big, tip well. That’s it. That’s all I know about ‘em.”

  “Laura,” I said. “What do you know about Dickerson? What’s he up to?”

  Her eyes shifted. She looked at Benny, then at the floor. I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Tell ‘im,” Benny said.

  Again, she heaved a huge breath. Her breasts seemed to inflate, and then collapse: it was unnerving.

  “Look. I don’t know, but I can guess. I’ve seen Darius in here with some of Sal De Luca’s people, Gino for one, until you... well, you know, and Tony, always Tony. Sometimes Darius will bring a girl in. He ain’t supposed to. They’re all underage, an’ I don’t serve ‘em, but the girls, they always look..
. I dunno, washed out?”

  “What do you mean, washed out?” I asked.

  “Washed out, you know... damn, Harry. I dunno. Like they ain’t with us, spacey; spaced out. Shit. Use your imagination.”

  “You think they’re running the girls, Laura? You think they’re trafficking?”

  “Hell yeah, I think they’re runnin’ them... I don’t know for sure, but if I had to bet on it. Trafficking? I ain’t real sure what that is, but yeah, that too, whatever it might be. If it involves girls, they’re doin’ it, I shouldn’t wonder. Dickerson’s a bad ass. He has access to ‘em, girls, little girls. What do you think he’d be doing?”

  “And you think De Luca....”

  She started to back away. I could tell she didn’t want to go any further. “Laura, I need to know. It’s important. I’m investigating two murders, both of them young kids. One was stuffed under the floorboards of that old house up on McCallie, the other was jammed into the drains. I think Dickerson has something to do with both, and if he’s in cahoots with De Luca.”

  She nodded, looked at Benny. He nodded.

  “I can’t say for sure, but Darius and Tony spend a lot of time over there, talking,” she pointed to a corner in the darker regions of the bar, “about what I don’t know, but you can tell it’s serious. I tried to listen one time, but as soon as I got close, they clammed up, looked at me, and waited ‘till I went away. One time, Darius brought a kid in here, a girl, maybe fourteen, fifteen years old. She left with Tony. You figure it out.”

  “Okay, Starke,” Benny said. “You got what you wanted. Now get outa here, before they come an’ find me talkin’ to ya.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I get it. Thanks, Benny, Laura; I owe you one, both of you.”

  “Yeah, you do,” he growled. “That’s two you owe me.”

  I got up off the stool, handed each of them one of my cards, and said, “Call me. You hear or see anything. You call me. Laura, you see any of them in here with a girl, I want to know. You call, ASAP. Yeah?”

  She said she would, but I very much doubted it. De Luca was big trouble, and they both knew it, probably better than anyone. Benny had already fallen foul of Gino Polti, a one-time De Luca soldier, now dead, thanks to me. They both were well aware that to talk... well, that kind of trouble, I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I remembered only too well what had happened to Marty Cassell and James Westwood. Cassell lived to tell about it; Westwood didn’t.