The Harry Starke Series Books 4 -6: The Harry Starke Series Boxed Set 2 (The Harry Starke Novels - The Boxed Sets)

by Blair Howard

  “So, Harry,” he said with a huge smile. “You come to offer me a job, or what?” He picked up the soda and sucked noisily on the straw.

  “Er… or what, I think. I need to talk to you about some work you did for Angela Hartwell. Do you remember it?”

  He looked at me over the Styrofoam cup. “Why do you want to know about that? She send you?”

  “No, Sol. She didn’t send me. She’s dead. They fished her out body of the river more than a week ago. I’m surprised you haven’t heard.”

  The look on his face was one of total shock. He shook his head, violently.

  “I didn’t… I never…. Shit! How? I don’t watch TV; don’t see too many people. She kill herself?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I dunno. She was in a bit of a state the last time I saw her. Must have been five or six weeks ago, I suppose. I did a little work for her; followed her brother-in-law for a while; took some photos. She paid well.”

  “Just what were her instructions, Sol?”

  “She thought he was having an affair. He was, though how involved it was I don’t know. I only managed to catch him kissing.”

  “Ruth Archer, right?”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “I have the photos. I didn’t see a report from you with them, though. How come?”

  “She didn’t want one. She paid me in advance, a lump sum. She said she needed photos. That’s all.”

  “Now you and me both know that that’s not all there is to it, Sol. You followed him, right?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Like I said. She paid well. I put in a lot of hours. I was waiting for him when he left home in the mornings and I was on his tail till he closed the door at night.”

  “So what else did you see?”

  “Not much. He was pretty clean. I was about to give up when they finally locked lips at the country club. Oh, he saw plenty of her in her office—he was there a lot—but I figured it was business. She also came to his bank a few times. They were friendly, but outside of the country club parking lot, I never saw anything inappropriate; that’s not to say there wasn’t something going on at her office, or his—I mean, they were there long enough. I just didn’t see it.”

  “Do you think he might have made you?”

  He laughed. “Come on, Harry. You and me, we’re pros, right? You think a schlump like Ralph Hartwell could make me? Never happen.”

  I smiled. I believed him. Like I said, I would have hired him years ago if he’d had the qualifications I needed.

  “So you followed him. What else did you see?”

  “Look. I wrote up a report, just in case she changed her mind. You can have it if it will help, but I don’t think it will. Like I said, he was clean. Saw a lot of Archer, but nothing I could nail him for.” He rose and retrieved a file from one of the cabinets, then handed me the contents: three sheets of a computer-generated report. I glanced through it. He was right. Just his hours, and a long list of places Ralph Hartwell had visited.

  Okay. There’s not much here. I wonder….

  “Sol, do you mind if I keep this for a couple of days? Better yet, can you make me a copy?”

  He could, and he did.

  “You want to earn a few extra bucks?” I asked.

  His face lit up. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

  I thought for a minute. “I’m not entirely sure, yet. I want you to follow Ruth Archer. I’d have my people do it, but I have a feeling I’m being watched….” I paused. That thought had just popped into my head out of the blue. But if my chin had dropped, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

  Am I being watched?

  I shook my head and smiled to myself.

  “What?” Sol asked.

  “Nothing. Look, I’ve been talking to Ruth, and the twins, and by now I’m sure they know at least some of my people. I just need you to follow her, for now, but there could be more. I need to think about it. If need be, could you find a couple more pairs of feet?”

  “I know a couple ladies. I think you know them too; they said they worked for you some time ago, when you brought down Little Billy. I’ve used them a few times before myself: Heidi Streck and Selina Cruz?”

  “Yeah. I know them. Make the call and have them stand by until I figure it out. In the meantime, here’s what I want you to do.”

  I told him what I needed, then left him to it. It was almost two thirty and there were some things I needed to do, in a hurry.

  Chapter 24

  As soon as I left Sol’s office, I called Kate.

  “Listen,” I said, “I’ve just interviewed Jack Bentley and Sol Wise. I need to go back to the office. I need to talk to Ronnie, and I think you need to be there. We need to put some pressure on the major players.”

  “Now?”

  “What better time. I need to get his thoughts, then we can figure out where we go from there.”

  It was just after a quarter to three that afternoon when I arrived back at the office. Kate was already there, waiting in her car; she got out and followed me into the building. Ronnie was in his cubicle. Jacque started to get up, but I pulled a face and shook my head. She dropped back into her seat, obviously not pleased. It couldn’t be helped.

  “Ronnie, my office please.” I said as I walked past.

  I dumped myself in behind my desk, and pulled a fresh legal pad from the drawer. Kate and Ronnie took the two guest chairs.

  “Okay, my friend,” I said, looking at him expectantly. “We need something to work with. You’ve had time to look the paperwork from Angela’s safe deposit box over. What are your thoughts?”

  “Ralph had quite an operation going, but… well we’re not actually talking about a whole lot of money, not when it’s spread over several years. I have to wonder if we have it all. Who knows? Anyway, most of the target companies were hit at least twice, with at least twelve months between hits, and different bogus accounts were used each time. None of the bogus company accounts were open for more than six weeks: money in, money out, via several wire transfers, all less than $10,000, to an offshore account in St. Lucia—a little more than $5.8 million—and then they were closed. That’s it. A very short trail ending, as far as I can tell, at the bank in St. Lucia. it’s classic.”

  “So, what are our chances of getting the bank to cooperate?” I asked.

  “Absolutely none. First, I doubt very much that the money stayed in St. Lucia for more than a few hours. Second, the island is listed in the top five most secretive offshore banking havens worldwide. It would take a request for information from a federal agency to get their attention, and even then they’d stonewall. It could take years.”

  “So that’s a dead end, then.” I said it more to myself than to Ronnie. “So how would they get the money back into the country?”

  “It’s easy enough. Remember how Little Billy Harper did it? He used a bunch of shell companies. The money would be wired out of St. Lucia and, via a circuitous route, end up in one of several shells, untraceable. It could be used for anything: investments, buying inventory for a used car dealership, for instance, or boats, real estate, untraceable loans that are never paid back….”

  “Yeah, Ronnie. I remember. I get the idea.”

  “Yeah, but if it’s the Archers that are doing it, they have the ideal setup to pull it off. Think about it. The used auto industry deals in a lot of cash, especially at their level: cash for deposits, cash for monthly payments, cash to buy their stock. Same for boats; more cash. The same for their rental properties. Most low-income rents are paid in cash.”

  I looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

  “Here’s another thought,” he said. “The shell companies invest in the Archer businesses, make loans to them. The money is used to buy inventory or real estate, all of which can be sold later, at a profit or a loss – it wouldn’t matter which. The investments and loans would be the fruit of the crime, but untraceable. The resulting income from sales would be clean, laundered. It
seems to me that the only legitimate business in the group—always supposing what I’m postulating is correct—is the finance company. It being financed entirely by the sale of cars, boats and real property.

  “So you think the Archers are behind the check scam.”

  “I have no idea. You’d know that better than me.”

  I leaned back in my chair and stared up at the chandelier. He was right. I did know it. The problem was: I couldn’t prove it. The pile of papers on the desk had given me the front end of the scam, but I needed to catch the Archers at the source.

  “What I do know,” he continued, “is that the Archers are running one of the most profitable group of small companies I’ve ever come across. In 2014 they declared a net profit of more than six million.”

  “So how come they’re so profitable? Exactly how would it work once they have their hands on the money?”

  “That’s the easy part. From what I’ve learned, they are selling upward of 100 vehicles a month. Let’s suppose you go to an auction and buy a car, or boat. You then hide it, in a garage or warehouse. Then, on paper only, you sell it for cash. Heck, you could even take a deposit and finance it, again on paper. You make two, maybe three, bogus payments, repo it, again on paper, and then take it out of hiding and bring it back to the lot. You’ve just laundered six or seven thousand dollars, and you still have the car. Think about it. It’s possible that as many as fifty percent, maybe even more, of their sales are bogus.: $150,000 to $200,000 a month.”

  “Makes sense, but how do I prove it, Ronnie?”

  “Beats me. If they’re good at what they do, they’ll have covered their tracks so deep, no one could run it down. What you have here,” he picked up the pile of paper and put it down again, “is just the front end of the scam. If you can’t catch them at the source…. You somehow have to tie them either to the checks or the bogus bank accounts, or you have to somehow prove the bogus sales, if that’s the way they’re working it. And I bet they are.”

  He didn’t need to complete the thought. I got it, and he knew it. The problem was, I needed to stir the pot, and I needed to stir it with a shovel, but how?

  “Kate?” I asked. “Got any ideas?”

  She did. So did I, but between the two of us we couldn’t decide what to do first. Kate wanted to interview Ruth Archer; I wanted to haul Ralph in for questioning. In the end, we decided to sleep on it.

  It was after five when she finally left to go home. I stayed a few minutes longer to catch up with Jacque on the day’s problems, and then she went home too, leaving me to lock up. It wasn’t until I’d pulled out of the lot and hit the button to close the gate that I noticed the silver Mazda 3 sitting fifty yards or so down Georgia behind me. And I wouldn’t have seen it all had its lights not come on in my rearview mirror as I pulled out into the street. Those automatic driving lights are a dead giveaway.

  I cruised down Georgia for maybe a hundred yards, then turned left onto Eighth, then left again onto Houston. Sure enough, the Mazda followed me. I pulled over to the curb and stopped. The Mazda accelerated as it went by me, but I got a glimpse of the man behind the wheel, a big guy almost too large for such a small car.

  I shook my head. It wasn’t the first time I’d been followed, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. I wasn’t particularly bothered by it, but it did start me thinking. But now wasn’t the time. I put the thoughts out of my head, hit the Bluetooth and called Amanda. It was Monday, so she had the night off.

  This time I cooked. Steaks on the Big Green Egg: a fillet for her, and a Porterhouse for me, both served with baked sweet potatoes and a green salad. To drink, a cool Riesling for her, and a Blue Moon for me, no orange slice. We ate on the patio outside, and listened to the river, and watched the last of the rose-tinted sky over Lookout Mountain. It should have been a night to remember, and it would have been, if I could have gotten Ralph Hartwell and Ruth Archer out of my head.

  Chapter 25

  As soon as I got into the office the next morning, I called Kate.

  “Okay,” I said as soon as she picked up, before she even had the chance to really say hello, “I’ve come to the conclusion that we have enough on Ralph Hartwell to bring him in for questioning. What do you think?”

  She thought for a moment, then said, “Let’s do it. I’ll grab a cruiser and come pick you up. You do realize that the minute he gets here, he’ll lawyer up though, right?”

  “That I do, but before Donald Duck gets there, we’ll have time to put the fear of God into him. He didn’t strike me as being very tough. Even if we get nothing, we’ll be able to read him, get an idea if we’re on the right track.”

  While I was waiting for Kate, I called Sol Wise.

  “Hey, Sol. Did you manage to line up your two investigators? You did. That’s good. Here’s what I want you to do. The Archer Real Estate Company owns 263 rental units; you can get the details from the records office. I want to know exactly how many of them are occupied, and how many are vacant. Have your ladies go and knock on doors. If no one answers, they are to get inside and look to see if the unit is vacant. I want a detailed list, and I want it yesterday. Capiche?”

  He said he would get right on it and have an answer for me before the close of business.

  Now that’s what I like to hear. She arrived at my office some fifteen minutes later. I’d already called ahead to find out where Ralph was.

  His office was at the bank’s main branch on Broad Street. He was actually talking to someone in the lobby when we walked in. He saw us immediately and, with a smile, turned to greet us. The smile lasted no more than a couple of seconds.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hartwell,” Kate said, also smiling. “We have a few more questions for you. I’d like you to accompany us to the Police Services Center on Amnicola. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Why—what, what for?” He was stuttering.

  “Just a few questions. Nothing more than that.”

  “Why can’t you ask them here? We can go to my office—”

  “No, sir,” she said, grimly. Both her smile and Ralph’s had disappeared. “At the police department, if you don’t mind.”

  “But I do mind. I mind very much.”

  “We can do it the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice. Either way, you’re coming with us.”

  He nodded. “Give me a minute.” He walked back into the bank, to what I presumed must be his private office. It was more than a minute. In fact, we were just about to go looking for him when he came back along the corridor, a somewhat sardonic smile on his face.

  “I guess he called Donald,” I whispered to Kate out of the corner of my mouth. She nodded.

  “Am I under arrest?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” Kate said. “What on earth gave you that idea?”

  He didn’t answer. He walked quickly past us, out into the street, and stood beside the cruiser, waiting. Kate opened the rear door for him, placed the obligatory hand on to the top of his head, and closed the door, effectively locking him in.

  As I expected, Daniel Drake, defense attorney extraordinaire, was waiting at the front entrance to the police department when we went in. He didn’t look happy.

  “What is the meaning of this outrage, Lieutenant? Why did you have to drag my client down here in a cruiser? You are damaging his reputation, and I won’t put up with it.”

  I stood back a little and watched Kate tear him down—gently, of course.

  “Mr. Duck. Whoops, sorry. Drake. I haven’t dragged him anywhere. He came of his own free will. And how can I damage a reputation he doesn’t have?” It was said sweetly, with a smile, but I could see Drake understood Kate wasn’t one to be intimidated.

  “Now, Mr. Hartwell,” she said, taking him by the elbow. “This will not take long. Your attorney is welcome to sit in while we ask you a few questions. I’ll get you out of here just as soon as I can, I promise.”

  “We?” Drake said. “Does that mean you’re including this… this… I don’t
know what the hell he is. If so, I strongly object. He has no right to question my client.”

  “Hmmm. How shall I answer that?” Kate said, still sweetly. “Yes, I’m including Mr. Starke. He is not a police officer but he is officially involved in this investigation, at my invitation and with the full support of Chief Johnston. So, if you wish to register your complaint, I suggest you do so with the Chief. In the meantime, I’m on a tight schedule, and you’re wasting my time.” And with that she turned her back on him, and escorted Ralph Hartwell into the building. I grinned at Drake. He glared back at me, his face white with anger.

  The interview rooms at any PD are not designed to make the interviewee comfortable. Just the opposite. And the one Kate chose for this confrontation was about as austere as they come: a steel table, bolted to the floor. Steel chairs for the subject and representative on one side, also bolted to the floor, and steel chairs for us on the other. A video camera gazed down at the table from the corner opposite the subject.

  As I sat I had a sudden feeling, not for the first time, that I was about to embark on a four-handed game of chess. It was a feeling I’d first experienced when I made detective more than thirteen years ago. Now, as then, it was game on, and the stakes were high.

  Kate read him his rights for the camera, and Drake made the first move.

  “My client will not be answering any of your questions unless I approve,” he said.

  “That won’t be a problem,” she replied amiably. “As you have decided on an adversarial approach to this interview, I will simply lay out some facts for you, and you, Mr. Hartwell, may comment or not. Let’s begin, shall we?”

  Drake nodded; Hartwell stared stoically at her.

  “Mr. Hartwell,” she said. “We have evidence that someone at Hartwell Community Bank was, until your brother died, stealing money from its clients, and that evidence points to you as the thief.”

  Way to go, Kate. Shock and awe.

  I watched Hartwell’s face as she said it. The muscles around the corners of his mouth tightened. He didn’t answer, but Drake did.