by Blair Howard
By the time I arrived at my office the place was already bustling. I didn’t linger in the bull pen. I went straight to my inner sanctum and closed the door. I needed a little time alone to think and organize my day. I didn’t get it.
I’d just retrieved a legal pad from the desk drawer when there was knock at the door and Jacque walked in with a cup of coffee in her hand. She placed it in front of me and said, “Daniel Drake called, Mr. Starke. He wants you to call him back.”
I grabbed the cup. “I bet he does. Well, he can wait.”
“And how long do you expect him to wait? I’ll let him know you’ll call him… when?” Jacque is a great one for customer service. The problem was, Daniel Drake was not a client, nor would he ever be. Still, what Jacque wants, Jacque usually gets.
I heaved a long sigh. There was no getting out of it. “Okay, you win. I’ll call him now.” I reached for the phone. “Please tell Ronnie I need him.” I said, and then dialed the number. “And thanks for the coffee.”
Jacque nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.
“Daniel,” I said when he picked up. “I hear you want a word with me. What can I do for you?”
“You can stay away from the Hartwells is what you can do. They are both very upset at the way you and that police officer treated them on Tuesday. You are not, I say not, to talk to either one of them again unless I’m present. Do you understand me, Mr. Starke?”
“We’re being a bit formal, aren’t we Dan? You’ve always called me Harry in the past.”
“This is a formal call, and you should treat it as such. I will brook no further harassment of my client. I say again: do you understand?”
At that point, there was another knock at my door. Ronnie poked his head in. I waved for him to come in and take a seat.
“You wouldn’t be recording this conversation without telling me, now would you, Dan?” I said into the phone.
He was silent for a moment.
You sneaky son of a bitch, I thought.
“Well, since you are, I’ll make it worth your while. I am investigating, in conjunction with the Chattanooga PD, the homicide of Angela Hartwell. Now, as Ralph Hartwell was, for all intents and purposes, Mrs. Hartwell’s next of kin, and did in fact upon her death inherit more than $57 million, he and his wife are at the very least persons of interest and as such are part of the investigation. I will be interviewing them again, several times, I shouldn’t wonder, and at my convenience. You are welcome to attend any and all such interviews, should you so desire. Obviously I won’t be able to give you advance notice of such interviews, so you should hold yourself ready to receive calls from the Hartwells whenever they feel they might need you.”
“You son-of-a—”
“Goodbye, Dan.” I disconnected before he could complete his thought.
“So, Ronnie,” I said, laying the handset back in its cradle. “How are you this fine morning?”
He looked at me, his eyes wide, obviously taken aback at my good humor.
“Er… fine, Mr. Starke. Jacque said you needed to see me.”
“I do. I do indeed. Now, I know you’ve been looking into the Hartwells’ finances. Do you have anything to add to what I already know?”
He shook his head. “No sir, other than the fact that there have been rumors that Ralph may have been involved in some underhand dealings, but those seem have died down since his brother passed. I haven’t been able to find any meat on the bones yet, but I’ll keep digging.”
“Good. I have another project for you. What do you know about the Archer family and their companies?”
“Not much, sorry. I know who and what they are, and I know they sail very close hauled. I’d say they’re loan sharks, and even the word ‘usury’ might not be too strong, but their business practices are… very profitable. So I understand.” He said, sitting up straight in his chair. “Hey, is this about what we were talking about yesterday morning?”
Oh he’s quick, is Ronnie. “No, of course not.” I said. “I’ve had a couple of run-ins with the sisters is all, and I was wondering…. No, I wasn’t wondering. I need to know everything about them. Can you get on it right away?”
“Yes, sir. How deep do you want me to dig?”
“I want everything. I want to know about their finances, their companies, their social lives, Facebook, Twitter. I want to know what brand of toilet paper they use.”
He grinned, gathered up his phone and iPad, and said, getting to his feet, “I’ll get right on it.”
I waited until he’d closed the door and then punched my iPhone’s speed dial for Kate.
“Hey you,” she said. “I was just about to call you. What’s going on?”
I spent the next ten minutes bringing her up to speed on the last couple days, minus the pass Ruth had made at me. That I didn’t need her to know about.
“Kate,” I said finally, “I have a deep-seated feeling that the Archers are up to their necks in this thing.”
“That famous ‘second sight’ of yours at work again?”
“Call it what you will. A hunch, maybe. But I can’t get them out of my head. Look, I’ve been a member of the country club for longer than I can remember. I’ve seen the Archers around once in a while. I didn’t know who they were, and I didn’t care. Now, over the space of three days I’ve seen more of them than I have in a year, and they, all three, are showing an unhealthy interest in me—and in the investigation.
“And here’s another thing. We also know that the Archers do their banking at Hartwell. We know, at least we think we know, that Ralph was robbing the Hartwell Bank’s customers, right? So what if the Archers were part of that?”
“That, Harry, would be a hell of a stretch.”
“Yeah, well.” I sat back in my chair, not a little put out. “Listen, I also called to see if Willis found anything with that fancy new machine of his. I was wondering too if the divers had found the phone, and then I got to thinking. Those things, iPhones, they back themselves up to the Cloud, automatically, right? Maybe you can pull the backup.”
“There’s nothing from Willis yet, but he said maybe early this afternoon, I’ll have to let you know. No, the divers did not find the phone. As to the iPhone backup, yes, I can get it, but it’s not going to be easy. Apple is very protective of customer information. I’m not sure how it works with a deceased’s phone, but I’ll need a search warrant for sure, which I can get easily enough in this particular case, but the process won’t be quick—probably a couple of weeks, and then only if we’re lucky.”
“How about Angela’s apartment? Did CSI find anything new?”
“The two glasses were clean, and I do mean clean. They’d been washed and wiped; they were sparkling. There’s no evidence that the apartment was broken into, so either they had a key, or she let them in. There were prints everywhere, but none that couldn’t be accounted for, except for a few smudges, that is.”
“Well damn. That’s not what I was hoping for. Oh well. That’s okay, but we need that Apple backup ASAP. You need to go ahead and get that started. We need to see her e-mails, texts, call logs, photos, videos, the works.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get on it as soon as you hang up, sir.”
“Okay, okay. There’s no need for the sarcasm. I didn’t mean to come off like I was giving orders.”
“Hell, Harry. I know that. I was just yanking your chain. Lighten up. Is there anything else, or can I get back to work?”
“Yes, I need to interview a couple club members. Tomorrow, ideally. Do you want to join me?”
“Nope. That’s one of the reasons I involved you in this, remember? They’re your people. They relate to you, and your status in their world. Better if I stay out of it. Just keep me up to speed, okay? Why don’t you take Amanda with you? She gets along with that crowd.”
“I might just do that. If you’ll get that iPhone thing started….”
“Right away. Bye, Harry.” She disconnected.
I made c
alls to both the Crofts and the Bentleys, but reached neither of them. There was a house sitter at the Crofts who informed me that they were out of the country, had been for more than a month, and they weren’t expected back for another three weeks. I left a voicemail for the Bentleys telling them I would be at the club for lunch tomorrow afternoon, Friday, and that I’d like to meet with them.
The rest of the day I spent trying to make some sense of what I knew, which wasn’t much.
The only real suspect I had was Ralph Hartwell, and even that was tenuous. He had motive, but hell, Regis was his brother. Yeah, I know. It wouldn’t be the first time brother had killed brother. That story was as old as time itself. Cain killed Able, right? And for far less than to save his sorry ass and a company worth a couple of hundred million. I knew we’d never be able to prove that, but what about his sister-in-law? An extra fifty-seven mil would come in handy.
And then there was Ruth Archer. Maybe her sisters, too. As far as I could tell, Ruth was the last person to see Angela alive, and all three of them had seemed to have an unhealthy interest in what I was doing.
I doodled on the pad, wrote notes, scratched them out, wrote the same notes again, drank coffee until finally I had to quit. My head was aching and I was tired. When I looked at my watch, I saw that it was after five. Time to call it a day and go home.
Chapter 18
It was Friday, a beautiful June day, and Amanda and I were seated at my favorite spot, the table next to the big bay window overlooking the ninth green. Amanda was quiet. She seemed to have something on her mind, but wouldn’t say what it was. I was watching a foursome make their approach shots to the green.
I say watching. My eyes were on them, but my mind was elsewhere.
“Mr. Starke?”
She was dressed for tennis, perhaps thirty years old, nice-looking, good figure, and her face had a worried look on it.
I blinked at her. “Yes. I’m Harry Starke. What can I do for you?”
“I’m Grace Bentley. I got your voice mail. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you, but I’ve just returned from Barbados. I didn’t know about Angela…. I didn’t hear until this morning. I tried to call her cell last night, but it went straight to voicemail. I had a feeling something was wrong, but it wasn’t until I arrived here at the club that…” she paused, wiped her eyes, then continued: “that I heard she was dead. Mr. Starke, they tell me you’re working with the police on the investigation. Is that true?”
“It is. Please. Sit down. This is Amanda Cole.”
“Nice to meet you, Amanda,” she extended a hand and Amanda shook it, smiling. “I enjoy watching you on Channel 7.”
“It’s nice to meet you too. Would you like a drink?”
Grace shook her head and sat down opposite me, on the far side of the table.
I said, “I’ve been asked by Lieutenant Catherine Gazzara of the Major Crimes Unit to consult on the case.” I reached for my wallet and handed her my card and Kate’s. “You can call her. She’ll confirm. If you’d rather talk to her, I can call and ask her to see you.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I know who you are, and I know your father, August, quite well.”
She opened the clutch she was carrying, retrieving something that she then placed on the table in front of me. I picked it up, looked at it, then looked at her.
“Angela gave me this,” she said. “She was worried for her safety. She asked me, if anything happened to her, to give that to the police. It’s the key to a safe deposit box.”
I nodded. I could see that it was, and I could also see the number stamped on it: 1003.
“Do you know the bank?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s 1st Appalachian, the downtown branch on Broad.”
“When did she give you this?”
“Two weeks ago. Just before I left on vacation. I told her not to be silly, but….” She wiped her eyes again.
“You said ‘I.’ You went by yourself?”
“No, of course not. It was a girls thing; friends from college. We go somewhere every year.
“You obviously knew her very well.”
She nodded, still wiping her eyes. “I’ve known her since we were children. We were in grade school together.”
“Did she talk to you about…?”
“About Regis? Of course. She told me everything. She was convinced he was murdered. I was her best friend.”
Hmmm. That’s two best friends.
“Who did she think murdered him? Did she say?”
“No. All she would say was that there were people involved in Regis’s death who would like to see her silenced.”
“And she didn’t give you any idea who those people might be?”
“No. I asked her several times, but she just said it would all come out soon.”
“Did you spend a lot of time with Angela, Mrs. Bentley?”
“Oh yes. Mostly here at the club, but sometimes we’d meet for lunch downtown. She loved the English Rose Café….” She paused to wipe her eyes again, then continued. “We’d meet here two or three times a week, sometimes to play tennis and then have lunch, sometimes for dinner. My husband Jack was a golfing buddy of Regis’s. We were very good friends. She confided in me. The last time we were together was here in the club, just before we left on vacation…. She… she said she thought she was being stalked.”
Whoa, that’s a new twist.
“Why did she think that?” I asked. “Did she say who she thought it might be?”
“No. I asked her, but she said she didn’t know, that it was just a feeling that someone was watching her. She also told me that she thought her apartment had been searched, but she wasn’t even sure about that. I told her to go to the police, but she said they’d just laugh at her, that they already thought she was a kook.”
Hmmm. So she’d already been. Kate never mentioned that. I wonder if she made a complaint. If she did, there’d be a report.
I didn’t get it. If she thought she was being stalked, and she was making waves for someone, she must have known she was in danger. Why the hell wouldn’t she have reported it?
“Okay,” I said. “Now I want you to think very carefully about this next question. Was there anyone here in the club, among the members, that she didn’t like, didn’t get along with?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “Well, there was Ralph Hartwell, of course. She never got along with him, ever, and toward the end they were barely speaking to one another.” She hesitated, then said. “She wasn’t keen on the Archer sisters either. I caught her staring at them many times, and you should have seen the looks she gave them.”
“Why didn’t she like them, do you think?”
“I don’t know for sure, but….” She sighed. “Yes I do. She told me she caught Ruth making a pass at Regis. It would have been a week or so before he died. They are not well-liked here, Mr. Starke. From what I’ve heard, those girls are involved in a lot of shady dealings. They are very wealthy, but… well, there’s talk that they didn’t come by their money honestly.”
“What sort of talk?”
“Mostly from my husband, Jack.” She shook her head, obviously reluctant to continue.
“Go on, Mrs. Bentley. It’s important.”
She sighed again, but went on. “Jack is an auto dealer. He owns the Jack Bentley GM dealership.” I nodded. I knew Jack well; played golf with him occasionally. His family had been running a successful business in Chattanooga since the forties.
“Well,” she continued. “He knew Ben Archer quite well. In fact, Ben worked for Jack’s father, until he fired him. Something to do with spare parts, I think. Anyway, I don’t know the ins and outs of it, but Jack’s convinced that their entire enterprise is a scam. You’ll need to talk to him if you want the details, and even then all you’ll get is a lot of conjecture. No one knows much about them, not even Jack.” She looked toward the door, then back at me. “Look, Mr. Starke. I need to go. Here’s Jack’s number. Why don’t you give
him a call? I’m sure he’ll talk to you.”
I took the card from her, thanked her, and watched her go. There was something about the stoop of her shoulders, and the way she was wiping her eyes as she walked, that filled me with sadness.
“So, what do you think of all that?” I asked.
“I think you’ve found yourself a whole nest of worms,” Amanda said dryly. “I also think Ruth Archer is more than a bit player. Watch yourself, Harry. That one’s a man eater.” I grinned at her, but she didn’t smile back.
Chapter 19
Amanda dropped me off at the office at a little after two o’clock and then left to do some shopping. I punched up a cup of Dark Italian Roast coffee and retired to my cave. I had intended to take a few quiet moments to drink it, but I couldn’t. I was too restless. I paced back and forth in front of my desk, cup in hand.
I was well used to working alone, had been ever since I left the PD, but, as they say, “no man is an island.” I needed someone to bounce things off of. I called Kate, but her phone went straight to voicemail. Damn!
I went around the desk and dropped heavily into my throne, sat back, put my feet up on the desk, and closed my eyes. Almost instantly, my head was full of images: Angela on her back in the river; Ruth Archer—that was hell of a kiss she’d laid on me—the twins.
If Regis Hartwell was murdered, and Angela had proof…. If Ralph was robbing the banks, and if Angela had proof…. If he was somehow involved with the Archers, and Angela had proof…. Hell, she had been a dead woman walking any way you cut it.
I turned the safe deposit box key over in my hand. I needed to get ahold of Kate. We needed a search warrant to open the box. I dialed her number again. Voicemail. I left a message asking her to call me, then went back to my thoughts.
Suppose they were… the Archers, working with Ralph. How the hell were they doing it? It had to be something like Ronnie described…. Ralph doesn’t seem to be much of a techie, so Internet fraud was probably not the answer. He can’t just be taking it right out of customer’s accounts. He’d be caught at that in a New York minute, probably quicker. Has to be checks. Has to be….