Retribution (The Harry Starke Novels Book 7)

by Blair Howard

  She turned in her notice at Chanel 7 as soon we got back from Maine. I’d wondered at the time if she was doing the right thing, and I asked her as much. She insisted that she was. That thing with Bob Ryan, my senior investigator, getting shot and almost dying had hit her hard. She was wealthy now, she said, and didn’t need to work. So she quit.

  She also terminated the lease on her apartment and moved in with me.

  “So I can work on the house,” was the reason she gave, and she did.

  Life was good for me for sure. For her? Well, I hoped so. She certainly wasn’t complaining.

  And so I’d been working on it for the past several weeks—the future, not the house—without her knowing, and right then, as I sat with my family eating lunch on a perfect Sunday afternoon, I was wondering if I was going to regret not having discussed things with her. Well, whatever would be would be. I really wanted to do something special for her, and well….

  Lunch came, and was eaten with some relish—they do a fine rack of lamb—and then dessert and finally coffee. It was then that Rose, my stepmother, turned the conversation inevitably to… you guessed it, Amanda and me, and when we were tying the knot.

  Rose is an absolute darling. Twenty years younger than my dad—that’s just three years older than me—she’s an incredibly beautiful woman: tall, blonde, perfect skin, perfect figure. When they married there was a lot of talk around the club that she was little more than my old man’s trophy wife, that she married him for his money. Not true. She loves him dearly, and I love her for it.

  Anyway, as I said, Rose managed to turn the conversation to the highly anticipated—yes, even by me—happy day.

  “Harry,” Rose said. “It’s time you two made up your minds. I can’t wait any longer, and I’m sure Amanda can’t either. Have you two decided when? I need to know, damn it. There are arrangements to make, clothes to buy, especially clothes to buy—winter, spring or summer—and August can’t just drop everything, as you well know—”

  “The hell I can’t,” he interrupted. “I can do as I damn well please. There’s nothing that can’t be put on hold for a few days. But she’s right, son. When, for Christ’s sake?”

  Oh hell, here we go.

  I looked sideways at Amanda. She tilted her head and looked at me with wide eyes. Yes, that look said. When?

  I took a deep breath, leaned back in my seat, stared up at the ceiling, closed my eyes, and said, “How about November twelve, Calypso Key, the Virgin Islands?”

  The two squeals I got in answer, from Amanda and Rose, turned every head in the room our way.

  “You son of a bitch, Harry Starke,” Amanda said, punching my arm with enough force to almost knock me out of my seat. “How long have you been planning that, and why have you not mentioned it to me? I’ve a good mind to tell you to go to hell.”

  I gave her the biggest, toothiest grin I could force across my face, and then said, “Go on then.”

  “Like hell I will,” she said, and jumped out of her chair, wrapped her arms around my neck, and laid a kiss on me that should have been reserved only for the bedroom. Needless to say, the dining room erupted in applause.

  She finally let go of me and practically fell back into her chair. And then it was Rose’s turn, and the kiss she gave me was every bit as amazing as the one Amanda had just laid on me. Okay, I know what you’re thinking, but come on; she’s my stepmother for God’s sake.

  “So when did you start planning all this?” August asked.

  “I dunno really. A week after we got back from Maine, I suppose. You know me. I love the Islands. I’m going to go live out there one of these days. I saw something on one of those TV travel shows about Calypso Key… and, well… it looked right. So I made a few calls and I booked us four four-bedroom villas….”

  “Oh you big oaf.” Amanda punched me again. “What about me? Don’t I get any say in all of this? I’m not going.” She stuck out her bottom lip, but then she took it back, got up from her chair, leaned over, kissed me gently, and said, “Thank you, my love.”

  And the conversation continued in like manner on into the afternoon. My plan, by all accounts, was a resounding success. By five o’clock Amanda and I were back on the mountain and in the pool, leaning side by side against the infinity wall, gazing down on the city. Yeah, life was indeed good.

  So that was the weekend. Now it was Monday morning, and I was out of bed and ready for the day by 5:15 a.m.

  These days, since I moved up here, I look forward to each new day. I usually get up around five and head out for a two-mile run along the roads on top of the mountain. The air is always fresh and invigorating, and even when the weather is hot, it’s always ten degrees cooler up there than it is down in the city.

  Sometimes Amanda joins me, sometimes not. That day she decided to get her exercise doing laps in the pool. That being so, I knew I had to get out of the house before she got out of bed. If I didn’t, I’d end up in the pool with her. Nice? Yeah, but not a good way to begin the day, or the week for that matter. Time in the pool seems to linger….

  Unfortunately, the run took only about fifteen minutes, so I ended up in the pool anyway. By six thirty, though, we were both showered and dressed; she for a day out shopping for wedding goodies, me for a day in the office and all of the drudgery that goes with it. One of these days I’d just turn the whole damned mess over to Bob and let him handle it. Now there’s a thought….

  I arrived at the office around eight thirty as usual and was also, as usual, the last to arrive. Jacque, my PA, was already busy organizing the week’s tasks for all the members of the team. Bob, now fully recovered from his horrendous wound at the hands of one of Conrad Rösche’s security guards, had moved himself into the cubicle of an office next to mine. Tim… well, Tim, now surrounded by more fancy equipment than NASA’s Mission Control, was already lost in a world known only to himself.

  At the end of our usual Monday morning staff meeting in the conference room, I took a deep breath, stood, and looked around the small group that had been my world for almost ten years.

  “Okay, my fine and gifted crew,” I began. “I have an announcement to make.” And then I stopped, not quite sure where I was going with it.

  “You think we don’t know, you ass?” Bob said, leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head.

  “Congratulations, boss!” They said it all in unison, and all I could do was stand there grinning like a moron.

  “Jeez, does nothing get past you guys? How did you know?”

  “You bin actin’ goofy for more than a mont’,” Jacque said, smiling. “What else could it be?” Her Jamaican accent, rarely ever present, was as heavy as I’d ever heard it. She came around the table, wrapped her arms around me, and squeezed.

  “When will you be you doin’ it Harry?” I think that must have been only the third or fourth time she’d ever called me by my first name, not that I’d forbidden it; it was out of respect for me as her boss, I suppose.

  “November twelve. You’re all coming. Every last one of you, and your significant others. We’ll wrap things up here on the afternoon of the tenth, shelve what can’t be wrapped, and close this place down. You’ll all receive full pay for the time off. We’re going to Calypso Key in the Virgin Islands for a couple of weeks. Amanda and I will tie the knot on the beach, on the twelfth, and then we’ll all spend the next two weeks eating like pigs and drinking like fish, sailing, swimming, scuba diving, or just plain lounging around. I need a rest and you guys do too, and you deserve one, and you’re going to get it. And….” I paused for effect. “Everyone gets a five-thousand-dollar bonus before we leave—and no, the trip will cost you nothing; the five grand is my wedding gift to you, and a token of my appreciation for all you’ve done for me and this company for the last God knows how long…. I love you all.” And with that, I turned and walked quickly from the room and into my office, leaving them in stunned silence.

  So it was a good start to the week, but my good mood
ended no more than thirty minutes later with a phone call from Doc Sheddon, the local Medical Examiner.

  “Harry,” he said, “I just got off the phone with your dad, and I’d tell you congratulations, but… in all conscience, I can’t, at least not now. I need you come to my office. Right now.”

  I would have asked him why, but before I could, he hung up, leaving me staring vacantly at the handset. Slowly, gently, I returned it to its cradle.

  What the hell…? What, the, hell?

  Chapter 3

  Monday - Late Morning

  It’s usually a fifteen-minute drive from my offices on Georgia to the forensic center where Doc Sheddon holds court, but that day I made it in ten. All the way there my mind was in a whirl. What the hell was going on? I’d had dozens of calls from Sheddon, but never one like that. He always, always told me what was going on and why he needed me. More to the point, the man had never hung up on me in his life.

  I parked the Maxima out back and went in through the rear entrance to the waiting area—it was frigging crowded, and when I saw that, I knew something was terribly wrong.

  The first thing I remember as I walked in was Rose taking a flying leap at me; she was sobbing as she flung her arms around my neck. The next thing I saw was my father, seated in an easy chair, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. And that wasn’t all. Kate Gazzara was there too, and she had a look on her face like none I’d ever seen before—something between shock and grief.

  Christ, what the hell is going on?

  I untangled myself from Rose just as Amanda came through the front door.

  She spotted me, grabbed me, arms tight around my neck, and whispered in my ear, “Oh my God, Harry, I’m so sorry.”

  I pushed her away. I was totally baffled.

  “What? What the hell’s happened? Where’s Sheddon?”

  She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. “You don’t know? It’s Henry. He’s dead, Harry.”

  I had my hands locked onto her upper arms, holding her away from me. For a few seconds it didn’t sink in, and then I let her go, my arms dropped to my sides, and I began backing away from her, shaking my head.

  “Sit down, Harry,” Sheddon said. He was standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets. His voice was very gentle.

  So I sat. I looked at him, then at Amanda, then Kate, then at my father—he was shaking from head to toe—then at Rose, who was still weeping.

  “Take a minute,” Sheddon said, “Then we’ll talk.”

  I jumped to my feet, “I want to see him, now.”

  “No, Harry….”

  I shoved Sheddon aside and almost ran to the autopsy room. I flung the doors open… and there he was, my kid brother, Henry—or Hank, as he liked to be called—lying on the stainless steel table, still clothed, and soaking wet.

  I must have walked to the table, but I don’t remember doing it. One second I was standing in the doorway; the next I was by his side. His face was the color of rotten fish, but it was the damage to it that caused me to suck in my breath. It looked like he’d been through the weir gates of Nickajack Dam. There wasn’t an inch that wasn’t cut, busted, or bruised. Someone had done a number on him.

  Holy Mary Mother of God….

  No, I’m not Catholic, but that was the thought that came into my head.

  “Come on, Harry. Let’s get you out of here,” Sheddon said. He put a hand on my arm, but I shrugged it away, shaking my head.

  “What happened to him.”

  “Not here, Harry. Let’s go to my office.”

  “No, Doc. Here. I want to hear it while I’m with him.”

  Sheddon sighed, shook his head, then sighed again and said, “We don’t know. Not yet. I’ll need to do the post, before—”

  “I’ll be here for that.”

  “Harry…. Remember when it was Chief Johnston’s daughter in here, and you said—”

  “Don’t say it, Richard,” That was a first, and I could tell it shocked him. No one ever called him by his first name. “So tell me,” I said.

  “Jeez. Alright. Well, Tennessee Wildlife found him at 10:15 this morning in the river on the south shore, just west of the coastguard station. I was called out, of course, and as soon as I saw him I knew who he was. He was within the city limits, so I called Kate. She’ll take the lead in the investigation. Couldn’t leave it to anyone else, could we? Then I called your dad and… well. My God, Harry, come on. You can’t stay in here, and I can’t let you attend the post. You know that.”

  “I’ll be here,” I said, quietly. “When?”

  “Christ,” he whispered. “This afternoon, early; one o’clock. Go see to your folks, Harry. They need you, and I need you out of here.”

  “I’ll see you at 12:45,” I told him, and left him standing there beside my brother.

  Henry was just twenty-six years old, nineteen years younger than me. My mother died of breast cancer back in ’86 when I was fifteen. Dad married Rose three years later, and Henry was born a year after that. He was Rose’s only child; he was my only sibling. We hadn’t seen a whole lot of each other over the years after he grew up—when he was a kid, yes—but we loved each other. He knew that, and I knew it too.

  Dad did the right thing by him, as he’d done by me: Henry attended McCallie, same as I had, and then Washington and Lee. But Henry was more like his mother, a soft and lovable kid. I’d taken after our old man.

  And all was well until maybe three years ago. He graduated college in 2013 and then… well, the way he told it he met the love of his life. And the love of his life turned out to be a real piece of work. She introduced him to the finer things in life: fine weed, fine cocaine, fine heroin, and all the other wonderful things that went with them.

  No, I wasn’t really surprised he’d ended up on a table in Doc Sheddon’s little house of horrors, but I was utterly devastated by it. I loved that goofy kid—much more than I’d thought I had. And as I turned to rejoin my family, there was a turbulent river of emotions in me the likes of which I’d never felt before.

  There’s no way to explain how I felt that day. Oh yeah, I was angry, white-hot, raging. Every muscle in my body seemed to be cramping. My throat was dry, my head was… blank, dead space, a white whirling chasm of nothing but pain and—and horror. But mostly I was inundated by an overwhelming sadness. Time seemed to stand still. I moved like an automaton, and like before, one second I was standing there beside the table, the next I was pushing through the autopsy room doors; then I was on my knees in front of Rose and my father. We had our arms tight around each other and all three of us were sobbing. Somewhere in the background I could hear Amanda sniffling.

  It must have been an hour later when I called Jacque and told her what had happened, and that I wouldn’t be back into the office until… well, I didn’t know when. I asked her to tell the others. That was more out of respect than anything else. I wanted them to hear it from me—indirectly, anyway—not from the news.

  Monday, September 19, 2016, a day that had begun with great promise, had turned into a nightmare. It was a day I’d never forget. A day that turned me into… a monster.

  Chapter 4

  Monday Afternoon, Late

  Henry’s postmortem was, as all posts are for those who don’t see them done on a semi-daily basis, a horror. On the best of days, a postmortem is an experience of utter despair. When it’s a loved one that’s under the knife, it’s… it’s the total violation, degradation, and humiliation of what had once been a very special human being.

  As I watched Doc carve up my brother, I had flashback after flashback to happier times, some long gone, some not so much. I saw him in Rose’s arms, barely hours old, saw myself playing with him as a toddler. Picking him up from kindergarten, driving him around the golf course on a cart. And then there were his birthdays. With each one he grew in size, but he never really did grow up. I’d attended his high school football games, and I’d attended his graduation from McCallie and from Washington and Lee. And you know wha
t? Never in all those years had I seen that boy angry. Never a disparaging or angry word did he utter. He was gentle, kind, and caring, even when he was stoned.

  And so I stood quietly by as Doc Sheddon literally took my kid brother apart. Kate stood stoically by my side. That she didn’t approve of my being there was obvious to one and all, but the hell with them, and her too.

  Doc? Usually his approach to an autopsy is a lighthearted one, the product of many years dealing with the dead and trying to figure out what happened to them. His banter during the work was sometimes humorous—gallows humor—but never did he disrespect his “clients.” His attitude was that he was the only voice these people had to tell their story, and tell it he would. Many a killer was doing “all day and a night” in prison because Doc’s patients put them there. That day, however, he was subdued. There was no banter, just the drone of his voice for the recorder as he worked his way through the procedure.

  “Ligature marks at the ankles and wrists. The victim was restrained, probably with electrical ties…. Severe bruising to the chest, face, jaw, and neck…. Fracture of the fourth cervical vertebrae….”

  I’m not going to go into any more of the details. You don’t want to know. Hell, I didn’t want to know, but I had to. What I will tell you is that when that autopsy was finished, I was a changed man, and not for the better.

  Amanda was waiting for us when we came out, and she joined us in Doc’s office, where he poured himself a coffee. Nobody else took him up on his offer.