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

by Blair Howard

  He nodded, and got to his feet.

  Next I went to check on Tim. The rest of the security disks had produced nothing new, other than showing the group doing the rounds of the downtown bars. Cameras caught them going into and then coming out of the Mellow Mushroom, and then the Big River Grill, both on Broad Street. Of the woman there was no sign. She must have begun and ended her night at Benny’s. She’d entered around nine thirty and, except for Emily, had spent the evening alone, as Benny had said, nursing her drinks.

  Damn!

  Tim had keys to the office, so I had Jacque lock up and left him to it. Amanda went to her apartment in Hixson; Kate and I headed for Signal Mountain and the Belle Edmondson College for Women.

  Chapter 5

  Belle Edmondson College was a throwback to the days when military academies were in vogue, which was hardly surprising because, back in the 1850s, that was exactly what it had been. Today, the old stone perimeter wall was just as imposing as it must have been back in the day. Even the massive, ornate iron gates flanked by two even more massive stone pillars were still intact, a relic of a once-grand era, though they now stood open and were in sore need of a good coat of paint.

  We followed the signs, and I parked the Maxima in the gravel semicircle in front of the administration building, a smaller but just as imposing version of the Citadel in South Carolina. The parade grounds were long gone, but vast stretches of immaculately manicured lawns separated maybe eight or ten three-story buildings of tan limestone. Here and there stood old-growth oaks and loblolly pines. But as imposing as the buildings were, there was a certain bleakness about the place.

  We walked into the administration building, our footsteps echoing around the vast lobby. It was only then that I realized the place was just about deserted. We’d seen maybe a dozen students walking the grounds, but here inside, just a single clerk—at least I thought she was a clerk—sat pecking away at a computer keyboard, squinting so close to the monitor that her glasses were almost touching it.

  “Good afternoon,” Kate said.

  “Be with you in a minute,” Glasses said. She didn’t even turn her head. She just kept pecking away. Finally she rose slowly from her seat, still typing, leaning farther and farther back as she became unglued, eyes still on the screen as she stepped away. It was quite a performance.

  “Sorry about that,” she said brightly. “Trying to write my thesis. Not too good at it, I’m afraid. Never mind. What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Lieutenant Catherine Gazzara. This is my associate, Mr. Starke.” She flashed her badge, quickly enough that the woman could see the shield, but probably not much more.

  “How can I help you, Lieutenant?”

  “We’re looking for a missing person, Emily Johnston. She’s a student here. She was last seen in the company of these people.” Kate laid out the six headshots across the counter. “The three girls are also students here. This one, probably not,” she tapped the image of the woman at the bar. “We need to find out who they are. Do you know any of them?”

  “Emily is missing? Oh my God. I didn’t know. When…?”

  “She was last seen early Sunday morning, leaving the Sorbonne in Chattanooga with this woman here.” She tapped the photo again. “Can I get your name, please?”

  “I’m Christine Hammond. I get extra credit for being Edna Morgan’s secretary. She’s the vice chancellor of student affairs. Are you sure Emily’s missing?”

  “Would you mind looking at the photos, please?” Kate asked.

  She looked at each one in turn. I watched her eyes and mouth, looking for tells. I saw none.

  “This is Autumn Leaf,” she said, and picked up one of the photos and handed it to Kate. “She’s a senior, a drama major. Her parents must have a sense of humor. Nice name, though, Autumn.”

  Kate turned the photo over and made a couple notes on the back, then opened her iPad and made some more.

  “And this is Marianne Siddons, and this is Jessica Henderson. They’re all drama students, Emily too. I don’t know who the boys are.”

  “Her father mentioned a girl called Lacy. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

  “Lacy McMillan. She’s also a drama major. I told you: they all are.”

  “How about her?” Kate asked, pushing the photo toward her.

  She shook her head. “I think I may have seen her before, but I can’t place her. She doesn’t work here…. No, I don’t know. She looks familiar, but…. I can’t remember.”

  “Please,” I said. “Try a little harder. This is the last person Emily was seen with.”

  “I’m sorry. She does look familiar, but I just don’t know.” She shook her head again, but after a moment her eyes brightened and her head came up. “Oh wait, no. She’s a vet. She was here a couple of months ago. One of the horses went down with colic, but Dr. Jepson wasn’t available for some reason, so she came instead. Now that I think of it, she’s been here several times—with Dr. Jepson, mostly. Wow.”

  “Wow?” I asked. “Why wow?”

  “Oh nothing. She’s… well, she’s not quite what you’d expect. That’s all.”

  “How do you mean?” Kate asked.

  “Well, she’s just not the sort of person you’d imagine being a vet, is all. Arrogant, a little snobbish. She didn’t dress like a vet either: short skirts, tight sweaters, heels. Most vets that I know, not that I know many, wear jeans and boots, but not her.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry. I never spoke to her.”

  “So,” I said. “Where can we find the girls?”

  “They all live together in the Huddleston building. That’s one of the dorms. It’s over on the north side of campus. I doubt you’ll find any of them there, though. There’s nothing to do on campus over the weekend; it’s too remote. Most people go into town. Still, there’s no harm giving it a try. Just follow the road around to the right. Eventually it’ll make a sharp left. Huddleston will be the building on the right. They’re in, hold on….” She turned to her computer, clicked the mouse several times, then said, “Rooms seven, eight, and nine, adjoining.”

  “And Emily’s room?”

  “Seven. She has… had it to herself. Her roommate dropped out, as I recall, just a couple of weeks after they returned from summer break. You’ll need a key. I’ll get it for you.” And she did.

  Kate took the key from her, gathered up the photographs, and told her thank you and goodbye. And then we left.

  We paused just outside the door, at the top of the steps. A campus security cruiser was angled across in front of the Maxima. Two uniformed security officers were leaning, side by side, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankles, against the side of my car.

  This could get ugly very quickly.

  “Let me deal with this, Harry,” Kate said quietly as she started down the steps. I followed, two steps behind.

  They were both big guys. Not big as in ‘I work out four hours a day.’ They were both overweight, and kind of frowsy. The taller of the two wore mirrored, wrap-around sunglasses, the other aviators. The guy with the mirrors was bald, his head shaved and shiny. He had a big, round face, florid, fat lips, and a nose that would have… well, let me put it this way: you wouldn’t get very many of them in a pound. He was a little over six feet and weighed at least 250 pounds. His partner was slightly smaller, though not by much. His hair was cut like a marine’s. His face was leaner and tanned, with a mouth that reminded me of one of those talking fish you see hanging on the wall in bars. And they were armed. They each had a Glock 17 holstered at their hip.

  Now why would that be necessary?

  Tough, both of them—at least that’s what they thought.

  “This is private property,” the guy with the mirrors said. “What y’all doing here?”

  “I’m a detective with the Chattanooga PD. This is my associate. We’re following up on some inquiries.” She flashed her badge. They both looked at it, but neither of them
moved, or even looked impressed.

  “Y’all don’t got no jurisdiction up here,” Mirrors said, his head cocked to one side.

  “That’s true,” she said, “but we’re looking for a missing girl. She’s a student here. We’re just about to head on around to the Huddleston Building to see her friends.”

  “Is that right? Well, I’m not sure we can ’low that. Like I said, y’ain’t got no jurisdiction. Y’all are trespassing.” He said it easily, but there was an edge to his voice. I took a step forward; Kate put her hand on my arm; I stopped.

  “Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. We were hoping for a little cooperation. After all, we’re in the same line of business, right?”

  The hell we are.

  “Yeah, well,” Mirrors said. His head was still tilted, but now he was feeling sure of himself, cocky, and he had a nasty grin on his face. “Can’t let you loose on campus. Got the ladies privacy to protec’. You’ll need to go get Sherriff Hands, him an’ a warrant. Either that or an invite from one of the biggies here at the college, an’ there ain’t none o’ them here right now that I know of.”

  “Look,” I said. “The girl is missing. She could be in real trouble. I’m sure you can appreciate that time is of the essence. We need to talk to her friends—now. We can get a warrant, but it will take time. Come on, friend. Let us go see the girls.”

  He grinned at me, shaking his head. “No can do, bub. Come back with a warrant. Oh, an’ I ain’t your friend.”

  I took another step forward; again Kate put her hand on my arm. They both came up off my car, stood side-by-side, feet apart, stuck their thumbs into their belts, and rocked gently back and forth on the balls of their feet, waiting.

  “We’ll be back,” Kate said. “Let’s go, Harry.”

  Reluctantly, I nodded, then walked down the remaining two steps and got into my car. Kate got in on the passenger side. Mirrors grinned at me through the windshield. Aviators didn’t. He just stood to one side, his arms folded.

  I backed out from behind the cruiser and headed back along the drive, out onto the highway. The cruiser followed, but stopped at the gates.

  “Kate, you should have let me handle it,” I growled at her. “We could have been talking to the kids right now.”

  “Yeah, probably. You could have handled both of them, of that I have no doubt, but the fallout: that you couldn’t handle. He was right. We had no right to be on the property. Those two rent-a-cops would have called the real thing, and that would have been Israel Hands’ people. You—no, we would have been arrested for assault, and the two bruisers would have sued you, and they would have won. Is that what you want?”

  Well, of course she was right.

  “Ah, fine, fine. And a warrant’s out of the question, at least today. We’ll need permission from someone to visit and question the kids. I’m not sure we’ll be able to get that sooner than the day after tomorrow, but we have to try. Time is not on our side, and I hate to say it, but we may need help from Israel, or at least his two lackeys. Damn it, Kate. What the hell are we going to do? We don’t have time for this bullshit. Emily sure as hell doesn’t either.”

  “Take me back to your office. I’ll pick up my car and head home. I need some time off, but I’ll make a few calls, see what I can do about getting us access. You need to head home too. You’re wired. I thought you were going to come unglued up there.”

  We drove up the ramp, off Signal Mountain Boulevard onto Highway 27. From there it was no more than a few minutes to my offices on Georgia. I dropped Kate off, then headed home. It was just after two. There was still time.

  I called Amanda.

  “Hey,” I said when she answered. “You haven’t left to meet the realtor yet, have you? Okay, good. Where are you? I’m coming with you.”

  Chapter 6

  The house on East Brow Road on the side of Lookout Mountain was a mess, but as my stepmother Rose would have said, it had potential.

  Built in 1932, it was set back from the road on almost two acres of some of the most expensive real estate in Tennessee… well, almost. A rambling, five-bedroom rancher in dire need of renovations, it came complete with what once had been a pool with a built-in hot tub; the bottom was covered with several inches of thick green sludge: nasty. Its best attraction was the extensive rock garden that stretched from the patio down the slope for almost a hundred yards, with tiny pathways that meandered this way and that among what once must have been a riot of color: the flower beds now were sadly neglected and, for the most part, denuded. Sad times had fallen upon the old home, but the view of the city and the river was spectacular. The house? I could see it would cost a fortune, and God only knew how much time it would take to drag it into the twenty-first century, and much as I liked it, I hesitated. Money I had; time I did not.

  “What do they want for it?” I asked the realtor.

  “They’re asking $1.25 million.”

  “Hmmm. And I’m thinking it will take almost half that much to renovate the place. It still has the original wiring and plumbing, for Pete’s sake.”

  I looked at Amanda. She smiled. I took her hand and led her a little way down one of the pathways, where we could talk privately.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “Oh, Harry. I love it. It’s beautiful.”

  “Hah. You mean it used to be. Now it’s a money pit waiting for a sucker to fall into it. I dunno. The money isn’t a problem. I figure it will cost at least half a million to renovate. But it’s the time to do it that I don’t have.”

  “You don’t need to. I’ll see to it. My hours at Channel 7 are flexible. It’s up to you. If you like it, do it. We’ll figure it out somehow.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked that last word, ‘somehow,’ but I sure as hell wanted to get away from Lakeshore Lane.

  “Let’s go talk to her,” I said.

  She was waiting on the patio.

  “$1.25 million?” I asked. “You think they’ll take less?”

  She smiled. “They might. Would you like make them an offer?”

  I thought about it, then said, “If it was in peak condition it would probably be worth that much, but it’s not. It’s far from it. I figure it will cost close to $500,000 to put it right. That being so, I’ll pay $900,000, cash. Tell them it’s non-negotiable.”

  She nodded. “If you’ll give me just a minute, I’ll let them know.” She smiled, took out her phone, and went into the house. She was gone for just a few minutes. When she returned, the smile was still on her face.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Starke,” she said, extending her hand. “You have a deal.”

  Damn. I was stunned; I hadn’t thought they would take it, not really. There was a sudden hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. What the hell have I done?

  Amanda was ecstatic.

  Maybe, I thought, I should have offered less.

  Chapter 7

  I woke early that Sunday. Amanda had gone home around nine the night before, so I was alone. And according to my bedside clock, it was just after five thirty.

  I tossed. I turned. By six, the bed was a pile of tangled sheets, and I could stand it no more. Reluctantly, I heaved myself out of bed and hit the shower. After more than ten minutes under multiple streams of blistering-hot water, I finally felt ready to face the world.

  The plan was that Amanda and I would meet around eleven thirty, and then join my father and stepmother at the club for lunch.

  Stepmother! I’ll never get used to that. She’s barely older than I am.

  I looked at the kitchen clock. Still only six thirty. Still dark outside. I looked at the Keurig, trying to decide if I wanted a single-serve coffee or something better. I decided on something better. I made a full press of Jamaican Blue Mountain—not a blend, the real stuff—and, wearing nothing but boxers, flopped down on the sofa in front of the window.

  The sky was clear, and the first faint hint of a promising dawn was just beginning to appear above the treetops to the east. The lig
hts on Thrasher Bridge spread across the surface of the Tennessee like glittering golden fingers. The homes on the crest of Lookout Mountain shone like stars against the still-dark sky. I savored the first cup of coffee, got up, poured another, returned to my reverie and sipped the delicious, full-bodied liquid. It was good. Hell, at sixty bucks a pound it had better be.

  I was at such loose ends, I actually sat and watched the sun rise. But the truth was, I was missing Amanda. I’d gotten used to having her around, which lately had been most of the time.

  By eight o’clock I’d had it. I almost called her, but thought better of it. So I dressed in sweats and running shoes and headed out around the Lake Resort loop at a fast clip. I ran the last half mile almost at a sprint, and by the time I got home, I was breathing hard but feeling a whole lot better.

  I showered again, dressed in a pair of lightweight tan pants, black golf shirt, and ECCO Golf Street shoes. I scrambled three eggs with a little white cheddar, and reheated what was left of the coffee in the press: a somewhat Philistine thing to do, but it was so good I hated to waste it. I ate breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, and… looked at the clock. Nine-thirty, whew. Okay, now what?

  It was at that moment that my iPhone buzzed on the kitchen table. Amanda! Thank God for that.

  But it wasn’t her. It was Chief Johnston.

  “Harry, they found her…. She’s—she’s dead.”

  I was stunned. I shouldn’t have been. We all knew it was likely. But the reality… well, it came as a shock.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah.” I heard his voice shudder. No, it was a half-controlled sob. “Yeah….”

  “Where, Wes?”

  “Signal Mountain. In the woods. Hick’s Branch, in the county just off Wicker Road, that old track that runs past the small lake, pond, whatever. You’d better come on up. Doc Sheddon’s already here. So’s Israel Hands, a county crime scene unit, and a whole mess of deputies. I’ve told them I want the scene preserved until you get here, but you know what these people are like, and I have no clout up here. Kate Gazzara is on her way now. How long will you be?”