The Harry Starke Series: Books 1-3: The Harry Starke Series Boxset Page 7

  I paused for a moment, thought about what I was going to say next.

  “Tim, I want you to dig into Tabitha Willard. Find out everything you can about her, especially where she got her money from; it wasn’t from her old man. I also want you to look into someone else for me: Charlotte Maxwell, goes by the name of Charlie. Here’s her phone number, but do not call her. I don’t want her to know that we’re looking at her. Be discreet. Find out where she lives, what she does for a living, her finances, everything. And there’s one more thing I’d like you to look into: Michael Falk. He was Tabitha Willard’s boyfriend. He works for Harper, but he hasn’t been seen for a couple of weeks. Soon as you can, okay?

  “You got it, Mr. Starke.”

  “Okay, that’s it. Let me know when you have something.”

  I was about to let them go when I had another thought. I reached into my jacket pocket and fished out the pendant. I tossed it over the desk. Tim caught it, looked at it, and then looked at me, a question in his eyes.

  “See what you can find out about that. I have a feeling it means something, but what.... Hell, I have no idea. Let me know if you find anything. Take a photo of it and let me have it back.”

  He took out his cell, snapped a shot, and handed the pendant back to me.

  They rose and walked out of the office, and Mike closed the door behind him. I leaned back once more and stared up at the ceiling. I let my mind wander. Soon it was filled with the shadows of the past several days, images, twisting and turning.

  Charlie Maxwell? What is it with her? Beautiful. Wow! You can say that again. Beautiful! Was she coming on to me? I grinned at the thought, then pushed it out of my mind.

  What about Michael Falk? Need to find him, talk to him.

  Why did he dump Tabitha? Guys don’t dump girls like her.

  Who did she work for?

  He works for Harper, so that also connects Tabitha to Harper. The plot thickens.

  Does Harper own any of the off-shore dummy corporations? If so, which ones?

  Follow the money!

  Why are the finances of the foundation so murky?

  Is there any connection between the foundation and the mall? Is Harper connected to the mall? If so, what is it, and why?

  Well, maybe tomorrow will shed a little light on what the congressman is up to.

  Maybe I’ll shake his tree. Hah, good one, that.

  The pendant... what does it mean? Probably nothing. So why am I so hung up on it?

  What about the key? The business card? Why was the number disconnected right after I called it?

  I sighed and opened the center drawer of my desk, taking out a legal pad. It was time to make a list, put things in perspective.

  Little Billy is spending a lot of money.

  Why are the Feds looking at him?

  The key. What does it fit?

  The business card?

  The phone number?

  Charlie Maxwell?

  Michael Falk?

  Harper + Tree?

  Off-shore companies?

  The foundation?

  The mall?

  WHY DID SHE JUMP?

  I picked up the pad, leaned back in my chair, and stared at the list. It was short, depressingly short, and I had no answers to any of the questions, except maybe the last one, and that one I sure as hell didn’t like.

  I sighed, tossed the pad onto the desk, and looked at my watch. It was time to go home. No, it wasn’t. I still had a couple of calls to make. Dammit.

  I made the calls to Judge Strange and Larry Soames. Strange is a good contact. You never know when you’re going to need a friendly Federal judge, so it’s good to have one on your team. All he wanted to know was the status of a case I had Heather working on. I quickly brought him to speed. It was going to take a few days longer than I had previously thought. He was a bit put out, but I promised him lunch and we ended the call on a happy note. I really like the old boy.

  Larry Soames wanted to hire me. A routine divorce case. The husband having an affair. Soames needed proof of the infidelity. Bread and butter stuff. I never turn those away. I handed him over to Jacque. Had her do the paperwork, go get a check for the retainer, and then put Heather on it. I was done for the day.

  Chapter 11

  It was just after four-thirty when I left the office that evening. I needed to get to Greenlife to purchase some ingredients for the evening meal. I was looking forward to it. I like to cook, although no one ever believes that I do. I find it relaxing, and I’m pretty good at it. I had a bottle of Schloss Saarstein Riesling 2011 chilling in the wine cooler, and I had Mary, my housekeeper, go in and lay the table; that’s something I do hate doing.

  I had the butcher cut me a couple of generous salmon steaks, then I picked out two nice potatoes, and the ingredients for an Asian salad.

  It was already dark when I arrived home. The view from my living room window was, as it always is, stunning. The lights on the opposite side of the Tennessee were twinkling as if it was Christmas. The Thrasher Bridge was a ribbon of fast-moving lights; Chattanooga was heading home for the night. There was a light mist on surface of the river and I couldn’t help but think of that poor girl tumbling down into the freezing water. I shuddered and shook my head.

  She wouldn’t have felt anything, the cold.... she must have died the moment she hit the surface... neck snapped.

  I jerked myself out of it, looked at the table set for two. Nice. I smiled, nodded to myself, and headed for the kitchen. I put the potatoes in the oven and prepared the salad. That done, there was just time enough for a shower before Kate arrived.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed in a pair of lightweight tan slacks, a pale pink (the associate at the store called it grenadine) golf shirt made from soft Egyptian cotton, and a pair of comfortable tan Italian loafers. Hah, now I looked like I belonged in my apartment instead of being there to rob it.

  I had just put the salmon into the oven when Kate arrived. She rang the bell and let herself in.

  “Wow, look at you.” She walked across the living room, into the kitchen, leaned in, kissed me lightly on the lips, and then took a step back for another look. I grinned at her.

  “I like it. You should dress like that more often. I do like the rough, tough look. It’s very... masculine, but this look is much nicer.” She slipped out of her coat, tossed it over the back of one of one of the barstools at the breakfast bar, and perched herself on the one next to it. She liked to watch me cook.

  “You look pretty good yourself.” Geeze, what an understatement. She’s gorgeous!

  Now I have to tell you, Kate always looks good, even at work. She dresses well, and always for the occasion, so I guess tonight must have been pretty special. She was wearing a light gray, sleeveless woolen dress that was cut five inches above the knee, and showed a lot of thigh, seated as she was on the stool.

  “Would you like to pour the wine?” I nodded in the direction of the bottle and glasses.

  She did. She reached out, took the bottle, poured a small quantity into both glasses, swirled hers around the glass, put it to her nose and breathed, nodded. She took a sip, nodded again, looked at me, tilted her head to one side and said, “Nice one, Harry.”

  I watched her out of the corner of my eye as I put the food on the plates. Inwardly, I shook my head, unable to believe my good fortune.

  The meal was quick and easy. I served the lightly grilled salmon steaks with a baked potato garnished with lemon garlic butter sauce and an Asian salad: celery and parsley leaves; radish, alfalfa and bean sprouts, scallions, and Asian pear coated in a light lemon–rice wine vinaigrette. The wine was cool and delicious. The company was... let’s just say better than any man, let alone me, deserved.

  We ate the meal almost in silence. When we were done, we finished the wine and I made coffee. No Keurig this time; I used a French press.

  “So, what did you do today?” she asked. We were still at the table, relaxing.

  “Quite a lot.
As you know, I went to see Willard and Shady. After lunch with you, I went back to the office and called my father.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  I nodded, and then continued, “I told you I needed a reason for my visit to Harper tomorrow morning. He suppled it. I have a check from him, a donation to Harper’s campaign fund. It was all I could think of.”

  “Can I have some more coffee, please, Harry?” She held out her cup. I took it from her, poured some for her and some for me, too.

  “I also met with Charlotte Maxwell this afternoon, had coffee with her. It was interesting, to say the least.”

  “Tell me. What did you think of her?”

  “Well, as you know, she’s beautiful and she’s intelligent, and... and, I’m not sure, but I think she came onto me.”

  Kate sat back in her chair and grinned at me. “Do tell.”

  I smiled at her, sheepishly. “Well, she was obviously upset, about Tabitha.”

  “And you took advantage of her. You dog, Harry Starke.” She was joking, I could tell.

  “No, Kate. You know me better than that. Maybe I was wrong. It was just a moment. She put her hand on mine and looked at me. That was all, but....”

  “Harry.” She was serious now. “I’m sure you’re right. She probably did come onto you; she’s the type who would, but you’d better be careful. You know what I mean? Maybe I should go with you next time, if there is a next time.”

  I did know what she meant. She was talking about ethics, and especially entrapment.

  “Oh, there’ll be a next time. I need to know a whole lot more about them both, her and Tabitha Willard. But don’t worry. I can handle her. By the way, the boyfriend’s name is Michael Falk, but Charlie seems to think he did, in fact, dump her, just as you said. According to her, she hasn’t seen him for several weeks.”

  “Charlie, is it? My, aren’t we friendly, though?”

  “Hah, that’s just what everyone calls her. First thing she said when I introduced myself.”

  “What else did she say?”

  “Not a whole lot of anything, now I think about it. To be honest, I had a tough job reading the woman. There’s something about her that I’m not quite getting. Oh, and contrary to what she told you, she does know about the pendant, but she was very reluctant to talk about it. She said Tabitha had received it a gift, some six months back. That was about all I could get out of her.”

  I thought back to the interview, trying to dredge up what I’d missed: nothing would come.

  “She has an air about her. She was... dreamy,” I continued. “I don’t mean she was high; nothing like that. Just... well... dreamy is the only word I can think of. Even more strange is how little she seems to know about Tabitha Willard. If you live with someone, you usually know everything there is to know about them, but no. And yet she claims they were best friends. I asked all the questions. She said Tabitha was in public relations, but that was all she knew. She didn’t know who she worked for, who her clients were, what she did for them, or how she spent her days, other than that she was some kind of freelancer, came and went almost as she pleased. Hell, now that I think about it, the whole interview was a total waste of time. The only solid piece of information I got out of it was Michael Falk’s name, and that he worked for Harper.... You wanna go sit on the sofa, look at the view?”

  “Sure. I love this place, Harry.”

  “By the way,” I said, as we made ourselves comfortable, “you may well be right about Harper’s shady dealings and the foundation. I don’t have much yet. Not enough to draw any real conclusions, but I have Ronnie looking into it. I told him to dig deep, find out all he can. As soon as I have something, I’ll let you know.”

  She nodded, pensively. Her mood had changed. The time for conversation was over.

  We sat together on the couch for more than an hour, looking out over the river, enjoying the view, making small talk. We could see the lights on the Thrasher Bridge. There was a half moon, and the light from it turned the surface of the river into a vast blanket of shimmering, undulating silver. She was curled up beside me, her head on my chest. It was a beautiful moment. Not a rare moment; we sat together like that often, but one I always enjoyed.

  Suddenly she sat up, twitched her head, threw back her hair, and leaned in close. I could feel her breasts against my chest as she kissed me. A gentle, lingering kiss that silently told me all of the things I’d always wanted to hear her say. Then she stood, turned to face me, stretched her arms high ever her head, like some huge tawny cat, and then reached down, took my hands in hers, and pulled.

  “Let’s go to bed, Harry.”

  Chapter 12

  Congressman Harper had a suite of offices on the top floor of a downtown high-rise on Market Street. I found a handy meter, shoved in a half-dozen quarters, entered the building, and took the elevator to the top floor. It was quiet up there. Plush carpets, expensive furniture and artwork. The congressman had a corner office overlooking Market Street and Lookout Mountain. Nice. I entered the reception area and handed my card to the smartly dressed young man behind the desk. He picked up the phone, punched a button, and then said, “Mr. Starke is here, sir.”

  He listened, put the phone down, stood, and said, “The congressman will see you now, Mr. Starke. This way, please.”

  He led the way to a heavy walnut door, opened it and stood aside for me to enter, then closed it behind him. The door squeaked slightly as he pulled it shut.

  And there he was, a benign portrait of the quintessential politician. At sixty-two years of age, Gordon Harper was a picture of health and well-being: white hair, bald pate, twinkling blue eyes, and a smile that even Joe Biden would envy. Those teeth must have cost a fortune. Seated behind one of those metal desks with a glass top you could see right through, he was wearing a crisp, pink and white pinstriped, short-sleeved sports shirt, and black slacks accented by a white leather belt. His wristwatch was a slim, understated gold Breitling that nestled unobtrusively within the thick weft of dark hair on his left wrist. The only other jewelry he wore was a heavy gold ring on the pinky finger of his left hand. If Little Billy was a crook, he sure as hell didn’t look it.

  The first thing I noticed when I entered Harper’s office, other than Harper of course, was the man standing with his back to the window. Shaved head, shiny, small gold hoops in both ear lobes, no sideburns, just a black mustache that circled his mouth and joined a sharp pointed beard. He reminded me of the movie star Anton LaVey, or maybe a demonic wizard, only this guy was six foot two, and could easily have passed for Secret Service, which I’m sure he wasn’t. He was too well dressed. No off-the-rack suit for him. The one he was wearing was expensive, tailored, and.... Was that a slight bulge under his left arm? He stood with his legs apart, his arms hanging loose in front of him, hands clasped together, one over the top of the other.

  Harper caught me looking at the man, lowered the china coffee cup he’d been holding, and said, “Jackson Hope is my private secretary, Mr. Starke.” He turned in his seat. “You can go, Jackson. Just stay close, in case I need you.”

  I’m not sure what he meant by that, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t need him to take dictation. Anyway, he set the coffee cup down on the desk and looked at me through narrowed eyes, brow wrinkled in a frown.

  “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Starke. Who around this town hasn’t? You’re Judge Sharpe’s blue-eyed boy.”

  It was said veiled as a joke, I think, but I wasn’t amused. The look on my face must have told him so, because he smiled.

  “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I apologize. What can I do for you, Mr. Starke? What is it that you couldn’t talk to me about over the phone?” He said ‘apologize,’ but I could tell he didn’t mean it. This was a man who never apologized for anything.

  “Call me Harry, Congressman. My father asked me to call on you. I believe you know him, right?”

  He nodded. “Why didn’t he come himself? Why send you?”

  “Couple of
reasons. One, he’s extremely busy — he spends most of his time in court — and two, he figures he’s too high profile. He said he wanted discretion.”

  “He’s high profile... and you’re not? That’s funny, Harry. Very funny.”

  “Well, he’s looking for favors; I’m not. He asked me to stop by to give you this, a contribution to your upcoming campaign. He also hinted that there might a donation to the Harper Foundation.” I handed him the check for $2700. “He also said something about making friends in high places, whatever that means.”

  He took the check, looked at it, put it down in front him, and carefully adjusted its position on the desk until it was perfectly horizontal.

  The man’s O.C.D.

  “I’m not sure I know what to make of this, Mr. Starke. I don’t do quid pro quo.” He started to push the check toward me.

  “No, sir, I’m sure you don’t, and that was not the intention. Your politics are his politics. You win, he wins. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Are you talking tort reform, Harry?” he asked, so quietly I could barely hear him.

  He thought I was recording him. Hah!

  “Because if you are, I can’t help you.”

  I shrugged, but said nothing. Then I got it. I could have banged my head against the wall. The bastard was recording me.

  I grinned at him and shook my head. “Absolutely not. It’s not meant as a bribe, Congressman. Look at the dollar value. It’s the maximum donation allowed by an individual. If I were going to offer you a bribe, I wouldn’t do it here, and it would be for a whole lot more than $2,700. That’s a nice ring, by the way.”

  “Why thank you.” He held his hand out for me to see it. I leaned forward to get a closer look.

  “Yes. Very nice. What does it mean?”

  “I have no idea. It was a gift from a very dear friend.” Then he relaxed, settled himself back in his chair, and looked benignly at me across the expanse of polished glass: the check still front and center thereon.